Battle

Bryant emerged from the trees out onto a large green plain. Beyond were the giant stone walls of Acrusia City, his home. For a lifetime he defended these walls with his life, but now he was about to attack his own lands, his heart. The pain of the decision was too much to bear at times. The internal battle was harder than any physical one, but a thought towered above any other. Machiavel must be stopped. To his left and right the rebel soldiers lined up waiting for his orders with the catapults ready to take instruction from their temporary battle leader. Captain Bryant of the Imperial Guard put his helmet on and gritted his teeth. Taking the sword from its sheath he walked into the clearing turning to face the men who would fight for him, their young faces showed a scared excitement, a determination in their eyes only present before battle. The rebels had never wanted war, but to be left in the woods but Machiavel had destroyed any possible peace and now he must pay the price. There are times when peace can only be made via the edge of the sword. Taking a heavy breath he stepped forward into the clearing enjoying the last sounds of tranquility. A bird sang a pleasant tune in form the woods as the breeze rustled the leaves and swayed the grass. He raised his sword to the sky, his lieutenants following suit. He turned towards his home: ‘sorry’ he whispered into the air and at that he brought his sword down quickly. The commands were given and the mechanical sound of catapult fire began. Battle had begun.

The first smoldering boulders rained down smashing the stone walls surrounding the city sound echoing across the plain like great tidal waves. The smell of burning oil filled the air as they splintered the wall which still stood erect inviting more. With every passing second the element of surprise would lose its effectiveness so it was vital to allow an opening for the infantry into the city as quickly as possible before Machiavel’s soldiers would group making fighting difficult, and more crucially for Bryant, more rife with casualties. Too much blood had been spilt already.

The second wave of catapult fire was unleashed; the deadly black specks flew into the sky for their target the walls of the city now showing signs of wear with stone falling to the ground from above. The sentries had raised the alarm, and bodies could be seen massing at the towers looking over the plain towards the enemy, no doubt screaming orders for men in the city to get ready. ‘We are almost there’ Rowan shouted to Bryant over the sound of stone connecting with stone. Bryant only nodded in agreement his eyes fixed on the target.
‘They will retaliate soon. I can feel it’
Rowan was right. From beyond the walls a counter barrage of shouldering boulders leapt into the air towards the rebels. Machiavel had catapults, and he was clearly prepared. Aware of the flying rock they tried in vain to evade its deadly force, but it was difficult to anticipate landings. The rock rained down smashing through the trees as the rebels instantly learnt the difference between cover from sight and cover from fire. One catapult near Bryant exploded from an impact; some trees set alight as the burning oil rained down with the rock. The sound of men screaming in pain was heard from behind as the oil contacted with their skin. Bryant ducked as splintered wood and metal flew in all directions but stood again regaining composure with the sound still ringing in his ears. The men operating it were killed instantly, theoir flaming broken bodies littered the ground.

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The sun had set and Bryant could only watch from his position by the trees in continued frustration as rock continued to rain down on the beautiful walls of his home city. They would not fall allowing the vital opening. More catapult fire screamed across the sky in both direction, the flashes of light and sound echoed across the plain with each blast ringing in his ears, the light illuminating the world in brief flashes. The constant barrage of noise became a blur in his consciousness and he looked around to the infantry all waiting for the signal to advance onto the city itself. Their equipment glinted as light filled the skies. They stood motionless waiting for the order, no doubt they were fearful of every boulder landing, but they stood poised. Their discipline astounded Bryant. With each smash of debris, with each returning boulder, with each loss of life his hatred for one man increased in ferocity like a burning in his soul. The primal violent thoughts of animal brutality filled his mind for Machiavel. He thought of smashed bone, blood, rage and he bathed in its deadly nature momentarily. He almost smiled at the thought of having Machiavel under his foot so he could damage his body beyond repair, stamping on his ugly head. Sanity shook him violently and his smile faded as he realized the perverseness of the thought suddenly ashamed. Maintaining composure was paramount. Such thoughts did not belong on the side who wanted only peace. The thought of Marsha’s cries of pain, of Alec’s poisoning. All the pain and that one man brought amazed him. The captain promised himself right there in the midst of battle that once this was over, he would dedicate himself to the constant peace of Acrusia. It was his personal mission. The suffering needed to end.