X. The Battle of Schapendorf (4)
X. The Battle of Schapendorf (4)
The battle was not decided by a single clash.
After one furious engagement, unless one side collapsed entirely, the battle entered a temporary lull.
That was what had happened now. Having withdrawn with the other knights, Keldric watched the two formations slowly pull apart.
As soldiers and mercenaries caught their breath, surviving wounded men and those who had not yet escaped the field hurried back to their lines.
"One clash clearly wasn't going to be enough."
Sir Rutger clicked his tongue, removed his helmet, and shook his head. He had clearly had enough.
Keldric felt much the same. The reek of blood and iron threatened to numb his nose, yet Baron Gofrit's army remained fit enough to continue fighting.
No matter how mighty Keldric was, he couldn't slaughter over two hundred men without a moment's rest.
The same was true even with five knights fighting together. The enemy had knights of their own.
"How many did we bring down?"
"Two."
"And our side?"
"Sir Tomar was carried off."
Keldric and Sir Rutger had each felled one knight, while the enemy had brought down one of theirs.
They had captured no one amid the chaos, but at least the fallen enemy knights were unlikely to return to the fighting that day.
It was uncommon for a knight to die in battle.
Everyone risked death by taking the field, but knights often captured one another, respected the captive's honor, kept him alive, and demanded a ransom.
Thanks to that, not a single knight had died in the first clash.
If the fighting became too chaotic for capture, a knight might be killed, but that had not happened yet.
Both sides now had five knights. The supporting cavalry had also fallen to six apiece, though the knights themselves would decide the course of battle.
'Fewer than I'd hoped.'
Keldric clicked his tongue in disappointment.
He had felled a knight the moment they entered the melee, but the field had been so chaotic that he had spent the rest of the time cutting down mercenaries. He had failed to capture the knight he personally knocked unconscious.
The knight had therefore been carried safely away by his attendants, leaving Keldric empty-handed.
It was Keldric's first large battle. With enemies on every side, he had swung his weapon desperately without time to seize anyone he felled.
Keldric reflected on the mistake. A mistake was acceptable if he admitted it and corrected it.
Besides, the battle would continue. There were too many men for it to end in a single round.
"Report casualties."
As soon as they returned, Sir Rutger stopped an attendant hurrying through the camp and questioned him.
"Yes, Sir Rutger. Fifteen dead, twenty-three wounded."
"How many of the wounded cannot continue fighting?"
"Ten."
"Nnngh..."
Losses hurt in any situation, especially one like this, when every able-bodied man was desperately needed.
Still, the losses were lighter than they had feared. Morale had been low, but Keldric's forty elite soldiers had helped restore it.
"I'll propose organizing a treatment station to Sir Lothar. Gather herbs and clean cloth with the other attendants, and boil water deeper inside the camp."
"Understood."
Sir Rutger's attendant hurried away. Keldric studied every detail of the older knight's calm response.
All of this was experience. If Keldric faced a similar situation later, Sir Rutger's measures would prove useful.
"Sir Rutger. Does our camp have anyone skilled in medicine?"
"We've brought a barber with us. He isn't a physician trained at the Academia, but he should be serviceable."
Keldric nodded uneasily. He knew barbers in this era also performed surgery, but entrusting his body to one still felt deeply unappealing.
He absolutely could not get hurt. He had just acquired another reason not to lose.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
If arrows were the opening passage of battle, knights were the period that brought it to an end.
The story between those points, however, was rambling, chaotic, and disordered. So the battle proceeded.
"TWANG!"
The second engagement began with arrows flying from both formations.
Standing beyond bow range, Keldric watched from a distance. Treating it as a spectacle felt grotesque, but he needed to assess the enemy lines as events unfolded.
Where were they weak? Where were they strong? And where did he need to be cautious?
Naturally, he had to avoid the dense ranks of spearmen. Even a sturdy warhorse would die from repeated thrusts to the neck.
"Easy, Boreas. Just wait a little longer."
Keldric scrubbed Boreas's mane. Excited by the approaching battle, Boreas snorted roughly.
Aveline preferred gentle scratches, while Boreas liked a vigorous scrub.
A warhorse was a knight's companion, so learning each mount's preferences was part of a knight's work.
The realization that he needed to know a mere animal's preferred kind of back scratch briefly wounded Keldric's dignity. After all the time they had spent together, however, it did not feel quite so absurd.
One bad fall could break his neck or leave him trampled to death beneath dozens of men. Boreas was effectively Keldric's lifeline.
"You're riding your usual mount this time?"
Sir Henri rode over in greeting, and Keldric nodded casually.
"Nothing good comes of overworking a single warhorse."
"True. I've changed mounts as well."
Indeed, Sir Henri's mount had a different coat from before. The horse was named Touare.
"Touare can be rather rough, so I'm worried. Take care you don't get kicked."
Sir Henri patted Keldric's shoulder, speaking in jest.
Boreas had a temper too, so Keldric merely laughed.
"By the way, your horse is in excellent condition."
Sir Henri admired Boreas. The healthy shine of the coat and mane was thanks to Helga's care.
Keldric thought of Helga, who would be tending to Aveline somewhere behind the lines.
When Keldric had returned from the first engagement with blood all over his armor, Helga had been so startled that tears filled her eyes as she handed him Boreas's reins.
"I owe it to my attendants."
"They're good children, and loyal. Attendants like that are rare. Treat them well."
"I intend to."
BRAAAM—! BRAAAM—!
Their time for idle conversation ended at once.
Without needing to be told, Keldric, Sir Henri, and the other knights donned their helmets or lowered their visors with a clank.
"Charge! Charge!"
Sir Rutger's command for the second charge echoed across the field.
Keldric pressed his heels into Boreas's flanks on instinct. He and Boreas had built a bond from the first day of their journey.
Aveline was unexpectedly delicate and moved as one with the rider; Boreas rampaged with the destructive force of a wild horse.
Boreas accelerated at a frightening rate. The wind no longer brushed past but screamed as it was torn apart.
Keldric did not falter against that savage resistance.
He trusted Boreas and the bond they had built since the beginning of their journey.
A warhorse was a knight's companion—something more than an animal that carried its rider from the beginning of battle to the end.
Boreas's harsh snorts battered Keldric's ears. Saliva scattered on the wind, and the mane streamed like reeds in a storm.
Boreas—the name of an ancient god of the north wind.
Living up to that name, Boreas raced like the fierce north wind blowing over the mountains.
"Go! Boreas! Run faster!"
Though Boreas could not understand human speech, the warhorse answered with a savage neigh.
"Faster! More!"
Faster. More violent. More primal.
Keldric surrendered himself to that pure wildness. They moved not as knight and warhorse, but as a single beast charging to shatter the enemy.
Sir Rutger, Sir Henri, and the other knights likewise gave themselves wholly to that primal current of violence.
"Sir Keldric!"
Sir Henri shouted, his voice flushed with excitement. The other knights' breathing had grown harsh as well.
They knew that although Sir Rutger led the vanguard, Keldric and Boreas would be the sharpest spear piercing the enemy formation in this moment.
They also knew that a charge that shattered an enemy formation was glory beyond description.
WHOOSH!
The wind screamed as it tore, yet offered less resistance than a sheet of paper.
The knights burned with absolute confidence that nothing could stop their charge.
"Lower lances!"
With Sir Rutger's harsh yell, the lance heads swept down.
The knights broke into a gallop, facing the wind as they advanced.
Their allies hurried to clear the way until terrified enemy faces filled their vision.
"Die!"
"For glory!"
"Wretches!"
Then they collided.
CRASH!!
Boreas struck the formation like a wild beast and sent three soldiers flying.
Keldric's lance remained perfectly leveled, as though ready to tear through anything, and impaled two mercenaries.
He felt the shaft nearing its breaking point. It could not endure his monstrous grip.
That was no concern. The camp held plenty of spare lances.
Keldric released the lance without hesitation and drew his longsword.
The enemy soldiers, having already experienced a knightly charge once, retreated from them in terror.
There was nowhere to flee amid the chaos.
"S-save me—!"
CRUNCH!
The ink-dark blade cleaved diagonally through a mercenary, armor and flesh alike. The body collapsed.
Cries and shouts filled the field. Keldric maintained perfect clarity amid them and concentrated on his longsword.
Height carried many advantages. Mounted on a rampaging warhorse, Keldric's full-powered downward cuts were incomparably destructive.
Death rattles sounded around him, barely registering in his ears.
His extreme focus narrowed the world to the movement of his sword. The unwavering ink-dark blade split men apart and grew wet with blood.
Enemy knights charged to oppose them, yet none dared approach Keldric carelessly.
Someone still had to face him.
"...!"
Keldric saw a knight spurring his horse this way. A large frame, a deep reddish-brown horse, and the savagely decorated horns of his helmet stood out.
'Sir Gerhard!'
Sir Gerhard of House Olenmayer—the powerful knight whom no one had been able to stop amid the chaos of Baron Yaven's earlier defeat.
Keldric's heart struck once with savage force. That single contraction sent hot blood surging through every vessel.
His vision narrowed and expanded at once. A great axe hurtled toward his chest.
Keldric seized it. His hand clamped around the sturdy ash haft just beneath the axe head.
"Wha—?!"
Sir Gerhard stared in disbelief and strained to wrench the immovable haft free.
'He can withstand this?'
Keldric was equally surprised. He had tried to wrench the axe away, but Sir Gerhard's hands had barely maintained their grip.
"Hup!"
Keldric pulled again, this time with every ounce of strength he possessed.
"Urgk!"
Sir Gerhard let out a strangled gasp. Their contest of strength was not settled at once.
But this unexpected stalemate existed only because Keldric was pulling with one hand.
The longsword in his right hand slashed in. Sir Gerhard threw himself backward, and the blade barely grazed his helmet.
His posture had broken, yet Sir Gerhard still refused to release the axe.
Keldric changed tactics.
CRRRAACK—!
The haft gave an ominous groan. Sir Gerhard's eyes widened behind his visor.
His eyes seemed to ask, 'No way.' Keldric answered through action.
CRUNCH!
Sir Gerhard had guessed correctly. Keldric shattered the thick ash haft with his grip alone.
As splinters burst outward, Keldric reversed his grip on the longsword and swung with all his strength.
CLANG!
The pommel struck Sir Gerhard's helmet in a glancing blow.
The metal dented slightly. Reeling as though about to fall, Sir Gerhard hurriedly wheeled his horse away.
"Is that all? Come at me again!"
Keldric intended to disable Sir Gerhard completely.
The man was strong enough to contest Keldric's strength, if only briefly. He could not be allowed to leave intact.
Just then, a chill ran down Keldric's spine, and he reflexively wrenched Boreas's reins aside.
FWOOSH—!
'...Fire?'
Fire had erupted from the spot where he had stood a moment earlier.
It was no ordinary flame. It looked thicker, almost viscous, and slightly paler than normal fire.
Keldric immediately looked toward his camp. Alisa stood far in the distance.
She leaned against Helga, apparently exhausted. Flames rose among the enemy in response to her gestures.
But Alisa was not pointing at Keldric.
This was not Alisa's magic.
Keldric's eyes snapped toward the enemy lines.
Near a crude palisade, a robed man collapsed to his knees, gasping roughly.
Keldric could not make out his features, but the man's gaze was unmistakably fixed on him.
'A wizard!'
The spell had missed, yet Keldric had felt threatened for a moment.
BRAAAM—!
A horn blast rolled across the field, signaling the end of the engagement.
The soldiers clashing spear and blade withdrew warily. Knights locked in combat swiftly wheeled their horses away.
Keldric turned back while calming his ragged breath. Sir Gerhard had already escaped.
"Damn..."
Regret hit him hard. But Keldric was human; he could not break through two hundred men in an instant.
Even if Keldric could manage it, a single wound to Boreas would be disastrous.
Sustaining intense combat in heavy armor for so long was exhausting as well.
He had not come to play at being a hero, so he had to be satisfied with the havoc he had wreaked.
Keldric guided Boreas toward Sir Rutger.
By the time the two engagements ended, dusk was settling over the snowfield.
The frigid northern night approached, bringing darkness that would cool the heat of battle.