In the midst of the Confederate horde…
Whinnying, two horses stood side by side, with one unsettled and another disciplined, reacting little to the frequent crackle of gunfire. Neither side had known rest since their first contact, and it would appear that there would be a stalemate, but the heavens shifted. The gods leaned over their clouds, watching not them but their enemy. Wondering what was so much more entertaining about the peasant army, a colonel cast his gaze to the skies, as if he could see the wind flocking south. His instincts brought his rose-red eyes to the disturbance his troops streamed towards, wrapping around him like water around a rock. It appeared the decisive moment that would determine the fate of the battle had finally come, but he was sceptical of what it could have been.
Noticing the source of the noise, he tightened his grip on his glaive. “Have they sallied out?” The colonel judged from the scale of their reinforcements’ movement.
With half a cape hung over his arm, a newly promoted third general walked his mount a few paces forward. “Indeed, they have…” The eccentrically dressed man gleamed at an opportunity to display his worth. “It is a foolish endeavour that crushes what hope they had.” Rzhev mocked his enemies, his words full of inflections.
Extravagant details ornamented his armour, along with a fair layer of riches over a silken gambeson. The metal was silver in the shade, and it only turned gold beneath the sun, its distracting tint protecting his body from head to toe. His pauldrons were shaped into two bears’ heads, accompanying a helmet of a third whose jaw devoured half his face. A touch of powder was smudged on his well-kept skin, with two long bangs of near-black hair dangling down to his handlebar moustache with outrageously curled ends. His appearance was a landmark on the field, recognised by both friends and foes. Although some would reel from such attention, especially with the threat of becoming a target, he basked in it. The man’s demeanour was telling of his belief that the world revolved around him, but whatever it was that gave him this confidence, he must have had something to show for it. After all, he rose to his position quicker than his peers, and in his mid-twenties, Igor Rzhev was no more the child that his tutor found him as. Their characters may have differed like fire and water, yet he was the first and proudest student of the Summer Lion.
The mud kicked up by their men advancing to the frontlines splattered on the colonel’s greaves, but he ignored it, too preoccupied with his thoughts. “There must be a reason. Warneńczyk is no Nikola.” Troubled, he bit on his finger, feeling his teeth break through his velvet glove, looking for hints to enlighten his situation.
He had considered his troops, from cavalry to footmen, guards, and regulars, but nothing came to mind. A messenger emerged from beneath the tide of horsemen. His colours and uniform were out of place, but he represented the same Confederacy. Among the splendour of furs and heirloom sabres, as well as the glitter of ceremonial-style armour, the messenger’s attire appeared far too modest to be in the presence of the third general. He kept his head low, avoiding his comrades’ judging gazes and sniggers, and appeared before the third general and colonel, holding a runner’s seal. Rzhev did not bother turning to face him, instead giving him a side-eye out of maximum respect.
Clearing his throat, the messenger snapped to attention and saluted his officers. “From the colonel general!” He relayed with a resonant voice.455Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtbAy5NdL09
The third general leaned over, holding up a hand released from his rein. “Allow me a guess.” Rzhev stopped the messenger and asked him. “Full assault?” Twirling his moustache, he speculated.455Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2eqDJntq5b
“The wings are to assault the walls as the centre withdraws.” He spoke with his head held down. “Withhold the reserves and await further orders.” The order must have been rushed for him to come without a written copy.455Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG6oB4g1Uod
“Oh, is that so?” Rzhev chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss the messenger.455Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEPLbwQKj69
Nodding, the messenger gave a departing salute, pivoted around, and marched off, finally relieved to leave the presence of the sickeningly egotistical noble guards. They pettily gave way to the soldier only when he raised his seal again, brushing his shoulder against the muddied boots of the cavalry. The upperclassmen fought solely for prestige and fame, while their families enjoyed immense wealth. There was little danger to them in battle as promised by their Grand Prince, but no doubt, they were the most hated band of troops. Even the colonel, himself an aristocrat, felt embarrassed to be associated with this group of bumbling idiots. Regardless, orders were orders, and he knew not to betray command, choosing silence over words against those he found despicable.
Kicking his mount to walk on, the colonel neared the third general. “Shall I give the order?” He gave a pre-emptive, temperate response to Vasilevsky’s message.
“No!” Rzhev sternly rebuked his comrade, as his temper suddenly flared up. “What a waste of my precious time when I could be sipping wine in Lutet by winter.” He turned to his comrade as if he could understand his desires, but he mistook him for a man who indulged himself.
The colonel looked away, his pride preventing him from ever being considered equal to Rzhev, but the third general had his own pride, which caused him to refuse a direct order from his commander. He whipped his head forward, shouted, and rode out, trotting a few paces behind his men. He unsheathed his rapier that shone in the sun, with a golden basket hilt that wrapped around his hand like strings of honey. Based on his handling of the blade, it appeared to require no strength to wield, although it weighed the same as a two-handed sword. Rzhev straightened his arm and pointed its tip at the sky, where a corridor of light had opened up, the clouds dispersing and raining down the heat of the sun, but as if its holy rays had been absorbed by his steel, the soldiers who lifted their heads to listen to him felt only a cool breeze. His noble cavalry gathered around, fitting their helmets and bouncing their weapons in their hands, waiting for an order they could care about.
Having heard the voices of the gods, a language that he did not understand, which, however, could have been interpreted as a bad omen, the colonel rode to the third general and implored for his reconsideration. “Rzhev, the colonel general would not have issued this order unless his judgement was clear.” He prayed that he could help the man find reason and attempted to persuade him.
But the ears of the receiver had already silenced every last rational thing, too impatient and too rash to listen to him. “And is my judgement unclear, Colonel?” Rzhev’s eyes widened, turning his head only to ridicule his comrade.
Clenching his fists, the colonel took a breath, wanting to take his head for defying him, but he knew his place. If he was still his younger self, then he would have done so already. He let out a noiseless sigh, having learnt that the wish of another did not always satisfy his, and let the third general act as he wished, with no intention to stop him any more.
Having expelled the colonel from his mind, Rzhev returned to his loyal troops, who behaved better to his preference. “Men, this will be the day when yet another nation and her people shall be liberated from the chains of the Aelon!” Looking around him, he watched for his men’s reactions as he joked. “They stay put, believing that passiveness will win them this war!”
Laughter erupted from his cavalry and infantry, whose smiles widened as each jeered, thousands speaking ill of the enemy, confident that their words would be heard. As the colonel looked on, finding no reason to partake in such stupidity, the scent of an Eifer whiffed past him. He could smell his comrades’ blood pouring out, flooding the field and rivers and echoing the sound of steel striking bone. For a brief moment, he imagined the face of the boy whose aura was strikingly similar to his, and he remembered encountering that exact scent nearly two weeks prior. His hands tensed as he confirmed that his comrades had been deceived by the facade of weakness Warneńczyk had so insistently flaunted.
Plunging his rapier forward, the third general brought his troops to attention, blinded by the enemy in front of him and the prospect of claiming victory without regard for the danger that awaited him. “All units! The first man to deliver the wretched Peasant King’s head will earn himself an estate in the capital!” With the resources to back up his reward, it was an offer that no one could refuse.
It was especially enticing for the footmen, the majority of whom had never seen nor taken the slightest peek at the noble interior of the red city, and they were crazed by the thought. Like madmen, they charged on, screaming with bloodlust as aristocrats rode forth hurriedly, seeking to disallow the opportunity of a lowly troop to rise the ranks. Seeking to claim the general’s head, Rzhev led a squadron of mounted companions, knights who fought not for coin but out of prestige. He dashed off, forgetting his colonel, who had stayed back to assume command over the rear guard as tens of thousands mobilised for the frontlines.
A cloud of dust shrouded his face in disgust. The air around him changed from that of a harmless creature, dismayed by the greed of man falling into the traps of dishonour, to that with the eyes of a wyvern.
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