Nine days and three hundred and sixty leagues later, in the valley of Natiß, Lechen…443Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2MJjBJoh8p
Woodwinds tootled, lightly coating the soldiers’ spirits as they marched down a single road through a soft valley, sandwiched between two flat ridges. The river was half-dry, and on both banks was a bed of pebbles and loose sand where columns pushed on, hauling a floating convoy of supplies tied to rafts downstream. They were piloted by men with legs made for the sea, stumbling but never falling overboard. Their comrades kept up with the soft currents, but the sound of trickling water brushing against the shore and sparkling in the sun’s rays drew everyone’s attention. Their commanders had to keep them in check, despite their desire for the river’s embrace. Kneading their nails into their palms, they fought a battle a thousand times worse than one against the Confederates trying to forget their thirst, and the heat did not help. When some began to cave in, surrendering to weather they had never felt before, a shadow entered their ranks. The gallant wind charged through the heatwave, saving the troops from exhaustion as the hairs on their arms stood up from the sudden chill provided by the gracious heavens.
Warneńczyk, a superstitious man, read the skies as an omen. Swaying side to side on his white mount with an elegant silver mane, he rode down a path that lined the levee, while both he and his horse looked behind them to see where the wind was coming from. The clouds had arrived, and the sky was overcast a hundred leagues away. Like foam on waves, they doused the land of fire with rain. Florian remained silent to allow his general to think in peace before he spotted Warneńczyk turn and give his horse a gentle kick, advancing ahead of his winged hussars. Perhaps he wanted to scout the land or simply escape his guards to be alone, but the chief of his elite cavalry would not let him. He trotted behind the general, and his hussars filed out beside him, cutting through the air with wings on their backs.
An opportunity had arisen for the lieutenant to speak up, and he did not waste his time expelling the doubts that he had harboured ever since his first battle in this war. “We’ve been marchin’ fer ten days now. Surely, that bastard’s given up.” Having never ridden before, Adam adjusted himself on his uncomfortable saddle and optimistically suspected that the enemy had forgone their pursuit.
“You underestimate Vasilevsky.” Florian tightened his grip on the reins and spoke. “He wouldn’t have given chase unless he knew we were easy prey.” It sounded like he was belittling his army, but he had good reason to speak in such a manner.
Adam recoiled, making a face and furrowing his brow in confusion as he turned to the side. The baggage was heavy with priceless books, harnessed around his commander’s saddle on a much larger mount than his. He noticed the colonel’s unchanged expression, his wine-red eyes narrowing from the dust in the air. His hair was dark and combed back, but his skin, like the lieutenant’s, was olive-toned despite rarely seeing battle. Florian, a twenty-eight-year-old man with the build of a scholar, lean but sensible given his height, taller than Adam by an inch at least, was born an aristocrat. However, the characteristics that defined his early life had faded, eroded by years spent with commoners around him. His former condescending self would have laughed at him then, at a soul that had become understanding of a soldier’s life, except for one, for which he still had reservations.
“Us? Easy?” Adam yelled aloud, untroubled about disturbing the order.
The colonel sighed and affirmed. “In some aspects, yes, but we rely on this fact for our successes.” Before the lieutenant would misinterpret him, Florian turned his head slightly and spoke with the general’s voice, his eyes pinned to the ground.
Adam tried to decipher his words, but however long it took him, he did not understand it. Unconvinced, the lieutenant rubbed his head, wondering if he was simply too unintelligent compared to Florian, when he felt his hand unexpectedly land on his shoulder.
Confident that he will come to learn its meaning in time, the colonel reassured him that he need only follow one order. “Trust in the general, and all will be well.” Florian tried to convince the lieutenant to judge for himself.
The march advanced, but the banners in the vanguard came to a halt. The loyal hussars heeded unquestioningly and maintained their columns as other troops broke formation, wondering about the hold-up. The lieutenant and colonel moved their mounts forward, like a few other officers, leaving their posts to rally around the head of the army when they spotted a hand being raised in the air and then lowering. A horseman rushed past them from behind, carrying the seal and banner of a messenger. He was granted permission to approach the general, but his haste left little room for formalities. As he approached Warneńczyk at a daring speed, he reeled in his reins, which forced his steed to come to a vicious stop. His horse skidded, breaking into the gravel that nearly dislodged its shoes, but before steadying himself and his creature, news had to be delivered.
Unnerved, the messenger gathered his breath before delivering the message, his chin wet from sweat. “The king has fled, Warsau has fallen, and they give chase ninety leagues east from here. Over three hundred thousand, we estimate.” Without a break in his voice, he informed the commander of the peasant army.
Officers muttered, some being dispatched to rejoin their cohorts, as the messenger was promptly dismissed before lashing his reins and giving a desperate kick to his mount. He sped off down the road and into the distance to repeat the same news to other forces in retreat, as the hussars watched his figure rapidly shrink and disappear from their view. The news spread quickly, but their commander was least concerned. Warneńczyk had known, years mayhaps decades ago, that the fall of his homeland was inevitable ever since the king was elected in the twilight days of the Second Calamity. His mind was already elsewhere, working fervently to solve their crisis.
The rafts of his army’s supplies were being piled ashore, with his men taking the opportunity to wash themselves in the river. Currents flowed and merged at a confluence which a village, an abode of mere dozens, commanded. Another waterway joined the river they had followed, flowing down from the northern hills. He gazed towards the ridge that softly sloped into a forest, while a slight ridge overlooking the settlement was to his left.
Everywhere he looked and everything he saw, trapped in what many found a funnel of death, made him hesitant, but the winds of the valley spoke to him, a sign convincing him that the earth beneath him and the woodlands and fields around him were sufficient for his plan. “This is as good a place as any.” He said to himself, nodding, with his lieutenant and colonel flanking him.
He signalled his army to make camp, and his brigadiers hurried to break their troops out of formation to begin the tedious work of construction. The villagers of the settlement opened the blinds of their windows and emerged from their homes. Seeing the red and white colours of Lechen, and more importantly, the colours of Warneńczyk, they scuttled in search of their elder. Children stood in awe at the size of the army as their grandparents’ eyes burned with spirit they had not felt in decades. Just the face of the man and his banners moved them to tears, which the young could not explain, and although the chief had not yet been summoned, the son of the village elder took his post to greet their guest. Sprinting past a rustic gate, he drew the attention of the winged hussars who sought to halt him, but Warneńczyk held up his hand, and they withdrew their lances. The young man pledged his and his people’s loyalty with a hand over his heart and knelt down to receive the general as if the man was their lord. Imploring him to rise immediately, Warneńczyk chuckled and joked, pretending that he did not know why a good citizen would kneel before him, yet the gesture was done. The lieutenant learnt enough about Warneńczyk that reinforced his faith in this army.443Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhugS5upbFq
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