The Riverlanders advanced, walking at first, then picking up into a jog, Alexios keeping with them. Laripotami grew, the besieging Turks galloping around the walls. Another trail of gunsmoke rose from the walls as they closed. A small rise ran across the plains before them and Alexios slowed as they drew closer.
”Tureit!” he shouted. No response. The Riverlanders ran on. He scanned the line, looking for Namejs’ bronze helmet. There, the dull yellow armor bobbing amongst the line. Alexios ran after him but his foot caught on a root and he went flying forward, knocking the wind out of his lungs and scraping the palm of his hand open on the rough ground. He staggered to his feet and started to run after the line, but it had already faded into the dust cloud kicked up by the Turks.
He broke into a run, drawing his parmeion, his vision fading as he drew closer to the skirmish, a great dust cloud kicked up by the cavalry plunging the battlefield into a murky pink-streaked storm ringing with a bedlam pitch of tortured screams, bellows, the constant deafening clatter of hooves, and above it all the thundering roar of cannonade.
Alexios plunged into the swirling blast, pink fading to black and light falling to spots on the whistling curtains. A shadow flickered across a bright patch and he tensed and Alexios swung, striking only dust. He relaxed, glancing at another spot.
And then he was flying backwards, a deep cut on his hand and a Turkish boot print on his mail and he was rolling away as a scimitar whistled past his ear and slammed into the ground. He scrambled back to his feet as the sword swished by him again. He turned and faced his attacker, a Turk slightly taller than he was. Alexios shifted, and started circling to his right, trying to get around the man. The Turk did the same, and the two circled, pacing each other, the sweat running down Alexios’ face and stinging his eyes. The man feinted down and Alexios blocked low, then desperately swung up to block the Turk’s overhand strike. The sheer force of it pushed him back and he half-turned, sending the Turk lunging past him. He turned back and tried to take the man’s arm off but the Turk was already back to his feet, slicing at him and slashing through his leg armor. Alexios slashed him across the shoulder and the man grunted in pain, then Alexios swung again. His arm shocked, and his sword logged itself in the Turk’s chest. The man sunk to the ground and Alexios pulled his sword out, panting. He stabbed one more time, into his eye to make sure he was dead, then stumbled away.
The wind picked up, driving the dust into his face. He squinted, holding up his arms to shield his face and a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm. Alexios hadn’t even noticed the cut.
The light returned and he burst through the storm.
He blinked, trying to see in the harsh light, and then there was a scream in Latvian and he was knocked to the ground and his sword flew out of his hands and the air rushed out of his lungs. He tried to roll back to his feet, but there was a heavy weight on him. He tried to push it off and stand, but there was a loud
thhhhhhlit and what felt like a punch into his arm, and then white hot pain, arms convulsing. His vision blurred and a shadow flitted across him. He rolled onto his stomach and started to crawl away, his sight swirling as pain bit deeper into him. His hand closed around his parmeion and he pulled himself to his feet, vision twisting into a pattern of sparking lights, swinging wildly. His sword bit into flesh and he felt his arm jerk down as the corpse of the man fell. He tugged it out and his vision cleared somewhat, enough to make out the shadowy form of a horse. He stumbled towards it and grabbed the reigns. His arms screamed in pain but he swung onto the horse, his sword slipping from his hand. He kicked into the horse and it charged forward at a gallop, nearly throwing him off. Alexios tried to lean forward back into his saddle but a bolt of pain raced over him and his hands slipped and he slid off the saddle. He hit the ground, the arrow shaft thrusting farther into his shoulder, he writhed in pain, and then everything went black.
“Alexios!”
His eyes opened. He was staring at the roof of a tent. His limbs felt numb, but as feeling slowly retuned he felt hand shoving his uninjured shoulder. Alexios’ head turned.
“Alexios!”
“Manouel?”
The man sighed. “Good. We captured Karman, he’s offered to ransom himself.”
“Wait, stop. Karman’s surrendered?”
“Yeah. He’d have to be a complete idiot not to, there are only about thirty who got away. “
“Thirty who?”
Manouel winced. “Err... What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Falling off a horse.”
“Ah, okay. So when the Turkopoli arrived, they and the Riverlanders fell back. Karman then charged the berm, and while his men were against the river the auxiliaries swung back around and cut them off.”
Alexios nodded, then swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His knees buckled and he collapsed forward, Manouel grabbing him halfway down. He helped him back up, and the two staggered out of the tent.
The sun was low over the Aegean, and the sky was a light pink-purple. They walked through the rows of tents, Alexios’ legs weakened, and he collapsed after a few clearings. Manouel started to help him up again, but then,
“Chalazi Vasileios! Hail Vasileios Alexios!”
Alexios turned, staring into one of the few open spaces. It was packed with soldiers, swords and spears raised, cheering, “Hail Vasileios! Long-live the Vasileios!”
He sighed and muttered, “Shit.”
<< Index
Last edited: Jun 9, 2019