A fantasy battle story, as promised.
The battle of the bones, so named because I’m unoriginal and didn’t come up with anything better at the time. Not really sold on this, probably need to do a lot more practice before I’m happy with my “battle” writing again. I may delete my tumblr over this tbh.
The Battle of the Bones occurred in the deep of winter on the Tychepih Fields north of the Emerald Veil. The sprawling woodlands of the Veil, thick with trees and ferns, covered the southernmost peninsula of the continent of Nyss. Hunting grounds to both the Ami and the Vykana, important for the rich game and sacred for the very same reason.
A small contingent of soldiers numbering only twenty march towards the village of Tychepih ahead of the advance of the enemy. Two full units of infantry, one Vykanese and the other Zaihi. A small group, just an advance unit to ensure the village is evacuated.
The commander is a woman, Asae, a veteran, a Zaihi. She marches into the village at the head of her forces, her deer form making moving across the snow-draped landscape easy. Her hooves dig into the ice, her antlers are dripping long icicles that she shakes loose as her forces take position in the village’s square. A small round clearing amongst the stone buildings. The two dozen structures seem entirely empty, until the deers and wolves of the soldiers form up as men and begin to adjust their armour. Nineteen women, one vyman.
“By the edict of the Empress Katra, this village has been declared forfeit to the enemy. Gather your belongings and prepare to make journey to the capital.”
Nyss has not had an enemy for many years now, the previous foes from the south - the Kossani and the Svearics are no longer foolish enough to fight Katranoika’s might. Unfortunately they did not have to.
Silence, a chilling sign. Asae’s breath frosts over in the cold.
“We are two late, Sisters,” the lone vyman’s voice trembles.
Asae is reluctant to agree, not out of distrust but out of fear. All but Asae draw their blades and raises their shields. Asae places a hand upon her sword’s hilt and approaches the closest of the buildings.
“Come out, your Empress demands it.”
The Zaihi, facing the western side of the square, begin to move forward in step with Asae. The Zaihi are not as confident soldiers as the Vykana who stand watching their back - though they are just as skilled. Asae, her heart beats quickly as she takes steady steps forward. Armed with shield and sword, armoured in thick leather, chain and a woolen tunic. Her antler velvet is frozen, and snow has begun to fall again. It is only then she notices how thick the snow is upon the ground.
Her heart stops, she should have noticed, she was tired... she was foolish.
“We need to leave.”
She turns her attention to the Vykana, they have stood their ground alongside their unit leader - the lone vyman, Sczansil.
“Fall back,” he snarls, “Zaihi first, watch your flanks.”
The Zaihi and Vykana fall into lines, the Zaihi leading the way out of the village and the Vykana at the rear backing slowly from the square. Sczansil continues to watch as the Zaihi begin towards the stream to turn and form a line at the edge of the village. He sends his men further, away from the village.
Sczansil steps back in towards the square, and opens the first door on the first house he comes across. Inside the frost swirls, his sword low and his step a shuffle with nearly no sound. Had it not been for the chain armour he wears, he would be silent as he inspect the bodies within. Frozen, the single room home and its occupants are ice.
He uses what little is left within to rekindle the fires of the home’s hearth and lights for himself a torch, then thrusts the torch into the wooden structure of the stone walls. Reemerging with fire in hand to begin the destruction of the next home. A snarl echoes through the square, a blood curdling shriek.
White as the snow, eyes like a fire of ice. Smouldering, freezing him. Ice hangs from its bones, the skeletal remains of a man. It raises a frosty sword and takes an awkward step forward towards him. Sczansil throws the torch onto the roof of the nearest house and begins a hasty retreat to the rest of the soldiers.
“Drau!”
His cries stir the soldiers, and he breaks into a sprint as the dead fill the village and begin to march after him. The crack of ice and frozen joints chills his blood. Asae rallies into action, finally drawing her blade.
“Zaihi to the front, shields high. Do honour to your ancestors, bring pride to the Mother!”
“Vya!” they cry out and rush forward to assemble a shield wall at the edge of the village.
The Vykanese fall back, and alongside Sczansil their bodies shift. The crack of bone and tear of skin is nearly instantaneous, the Vykanese take form as wolves in the thick armour they wear as men. Together they follow the snarls and barks of Sczansil and venture from the rear of the Zaihi line and around the edge of the village.
The Drau, the dead returned, finally free of the frozen joints that hinder them, rush towards the Zaihi and are met by shield and sword. The line pushes them back, batters them with shields and sticks them with swords. The dead number many dozens, more than this village should hold. Refugees, children, dead guards sent to keep the village safe until their evacuation.
Asae pushes forward, her soldiers in line with her, forcing the horde back into the confines of the village. The burning homes to either side of their line, the fire blinding and smoke choking. The chill in the air makes it hard to swing her arms, her joints are stiff but even so she is far quicker than the abominations.
A sweep of her blade and a ram of her shield, she topples two Drau and forces her way in amongst them. The line breaks, the Zaihi forcing their way into the horde and cut down the enemy left and right. Most of the dead do not have weapons, but their numbers still threaten to pull them under. The Vykanese will arrive soon from the flanks and even the odds.
Asae drives a dead back with a blow from her antlers and drives deeper into the enemy ranks. Ice, splintered bone and ash covers her and in the thick she is grabbed, and twists her way free.
Upon the northern roads, the land is thick with the dead. Thousands, they approach from the north, from the villages there. They are moving towards Juno. He sends back his fastest soldier to Asae and alongside his wolves finds another way into the square.
Asae, tired from the slaughter and her blood boiling from Sczansil’s failure, turns her attention to her soldiers, “Fall back, the wolves are not coming.”
She can barely hear herself over the din of the fighting, but her soldiers follow orders. In her moment of distraction she is grabbed once more, this time by her antlers. With blade she cuts herself loose and loses an antler in the process, and pushes them back once more as she backs from the village.
Cuts and scrapes are luckily the worst her soldiers have taken, aside from her broken antler. She helps reform a line to hold the Drau back, and is surprised to see the fang and fur of the wolves break into the middle of the square and tear their way from the centre and towards the line.
“Steady your shields, prepare to let them through.”
But the Vykanese turn and retreat from the square, drawing with them the greater part of the dead. A voice behind her warns her of the threat from the north, and she acknowledges them with a grimace and a bleak thought before ordering her soldiers, “Fall back to the stream.”
The Zaihi fall back, step by step, and are joined by the Vykanese as the dead chase. The steam is not frozen, nor is it particularly quick running, but it is wide and will be awkward to traverse.
Sczansil, no longer in his wolf-form, joins her as the soldiers hurriedly march just ahead of the column of drau pouring from the village.
“There is dead as far as the eye can see. The plague has already spread to Erysl.”
“You may be correct, sister,” Asae’s eyes scan the stream looking for somewhere to fjord where the cold water will not drench them entirely.
“We cannot continue at this pace, I know of a way to lose them.”
“Tell me then, do not mince words.”
He gestures to the woods far in the distance across the fields, “Allow me to delay them so you can escape to Juno, I shall lose them in the woods.”
“You must not lead them to the Veil,” she snarls.
“Then I shall do what I must for the Mother, continue on to Juno, sister. See they do not hang me for desertion.”
Sczansil turns to his men and orders them to continue with Asae. They do not argue, and he heads back towards the dead alone. None will deny him the only honourable death a vyman is capable of.
Sczansil stands on the road south of the village, disappearing amongst the drau and as the rest of the soldiers race towards the capital, they turn to watch him slip into the horizon. Tired, wounded, they march on - unable to stop. A day’s march to the nearest village. Now far to the north of them, a wolf slips into the cold waters of the stream near to the village of Tychepih and crosses into the fields away from the dead hordes. Unable to chase, they resume their long march south.
