Battle Prologue

It was upon the baked hills outside Luccini’s walls that her army prepared for battle against the forces of Remas. The numerically superior Remans flew red and white banners bearing the eagle and spear, while the Luccinans held high their blue standards, the twin swords of Lucan and Luccina displayed proudly on them. The sun had reached its highest in the blue sky once the armies had fully assembled and its light glinted off the plate-armor of the Venators and footmen, no doubt the men inside the suits were desperately hot.

Signor Rossi payed little heed to the furnace that encased him as he surveyed his army for the last time before the battle was to begin. Before him stood three-thousand Reman troops, regiments of pikemen, crossbowmen, sword and bucker-men, and twelve cannons lined strategically in great blocks together. On each end of the army were the heavily armored and warhorse-riding Venators. He had asked for more, but the Triumvir refused to give up all the city garrison for the battle.

Rossi’s captains rode beside him on their own steeds, waiting intently for him to sound the advance. The armies stood almost in silence, occasionally someone would jeer to his foe across the field but other than that only the horses made sound. The yellow grass of the summer swayed gently, as did the banners with the course of the wind and Rossi motioned to his captains to disperse. They nodded eagerly and trotted off.

The army began to stir like the dust under their horses hooves at the sight of their captains approaching their assigned regiments and once the last of them were with their men Rossi drew his sword from its hilt. He hefted it into the air and swung forward, and moments later the calm silence was torn away by the cannons, each roar sent another missile crashing towards the Luccinans.

The enemy began to advance, their commander panicked by the death toll the cannons were making. It was a Tilean tradition that both armies advance at the same time, but Rossi was no traditional general. He was chosen for the campaign because of his boldness and his understandings of war, the council of fifty elected him almost unanimously. His army stood in wait for the foe to reach crossbow range, and when they did the enemies ranks began to fall to the ground pieced by the deadly bolts.

He lowered his helmet visor and moved towards his Venators on the side of the great host. They lifted their lances in salute to him as he approached and was handed his own by a captain. The men of Luccini began to hesitate as the crossbow bolts scythed through them even more as they drew nearer. A horn sounded and men covered by the ranks before ran to the front of the army bearing pavise shields and after them came their own marksmen.

They returned fire and the first deaths of the Remans were heard. They stood too close for the cannons to fire, if they did they would blast through friendly soldiers. At that moment Rossi smiled, the battle was going to be more interesting than he thought. His thoughts ripped back to the battle at hand as a horse nearby screamed and its rider, struck with a crossbow, slumped onto the parched ground.

The bastards, Rossi thought, he gripped his shield tighter and looked back to his Venators just in time to see a half dozen more die. He looked forward at the enemy again, his smile wiped away under his visor. They were targeting the horsemen intentionally, a very nontraditional way to fight. But Rossi caught himself before he cursed, the enemy were smarter than he thought.

He lifted his heavy lance into the air and shouted to charge, the captain of the Venators blew his horn and the horses began to thunder across the fields. More and more horsemen were ripped out of the saddles dead by the crossbows as they rode out onto the flanks of the Luccinans. The great formations of infantry marched forth after the Venators as the sun beat on, men fell onto the dusted fields spilling blood from their wounds.

I’ll cut them down, Rossi thought, we will charge into their flanks and we will shatter them! He gritted his teeth and drove his horse onwards, its armor clattered against its body and his targets swarmed the narrow view of his visor. Bolts punched against his shield but did not penetrate as he lowered his lance and couched it under his arm.

Rossi did not notice that there were not enough Venators to make an effective charge so he rode onwards. He was nearly at them when men ran forwards through the crossbows holding massive wooden stakes, his horse could not stop in time and the beast was impaled in the chest by one of the braced weapons. He was thrown forwards off the horse and landed face-first. His armor crumpled with the force of the impact and he felt some bones break.

Soldiers turned him over and ripped off his damaged helmet, but they were not his men. Two pointed crossbows at him while a third threw his helmet into the field. A fourth approached in armor similar to his own save for the blue tabard that fitted loosely around it. His hair was cut short and black and a trimmed goatee adorned his chin. Blue eyes pierced Rossi’s as he looked down.

The man learned towards the broken general and said simply, “You have been bested, Signor Rossi”.

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