The battlefield changed and its frontlines shifted. The center that many thought would matter little to the outcome of the battle became the gavel in a court. Suddenly, a wave of troops drifted towards it as reserves from both armies poured into the gap, attempting to break open the other. Thousands were attracted by its total anarchy and violence. A heavy mist settled over their heads, covered in blood and sweat. The heat was confined to such tight ground. Yet, the attacks on the walls did not relent. Paying no heed to their distant comrades waging their own battle, the Rus continued to throw away their lives towards a single goal. Slowly but surely, the palisades eroded on the flanks from gunfire and sappers. Looking down on the valley where the enemy had made camp, he was certain that the lion would soon introduce his field guns in a matter of hours. His bombards were no doubt being dragged along the riverside road whence he came too and neither he nor his men knew when it would be exactly that they would see the first barrel of their batteries of emerge from the turn in the path. But the elder could not wait simply to admire his adversary’s prowess. Taking no reservations, it must be done.
Snacking on a jerky, sweetened and spiced, Warneńczyk spectated the battle with half-interested eyes. “You are no fool, Vasilevsky,” The last piece of his snack was washed down with a swig of coffee as he wiped his hand on his jacket. “But your generals certainly are.” He sounded as if he wanted better for his foe, but they need not hear his complaints.
The general appeared to be done with battle from the perspective of his troops below as he turned and marched away. Escaping their view, his back was straight, and his face was clear with determination. When the commander settled his mug on a table, lugged out from his tent, and on it was a box of matches that he swept into his hand, he pivoted around again and marched towards two soldiers pouring buckets of wax, pitch, and lard, anything that was flammable, onto the base of a tower of hunks of wood and sticks. The ground around it had been cleared of grass where Warneńczyk halted and stood safely at a distance from the tower. Signaling his men to disperse, his officers too stood behind him, fearing that the inferno could swallow them if they were careless enough. But unafraid, Warneńczyk whipped a match across the box’s striking surface and lit the splint. He hesitated, staring into the matchbox, and raised an eyebrow with immature intention. Shoving his matchstick into its box, Warneńczyk tossed it into the air as it burst into flames and landed over a lump of fat. In even as brief as an hour the dry spell of weather was, the tower was engulfed by a raging fire from where a pillar of black smoke erupted.
Peering through the haze of the heat with his arms crossed, the general patiently watched. Minutes went by and there was silence, his officers unsure of what was supposed to come of his spell. When they began to question the stale purpose of the tower of flames, movement appeared from the forest opposite their encampment. From where the northern stream flowed, birds were rattled and in flocks they took flight. Trees were rocked and the ground shook. It was impossible for the enemy to ignore the clamor when their rearguard was thrown from their feet. Out of the treeline, colors and banners began, then came the hooves and the wings of men. Charging out, they released a cry for their preferred god, king, or general. Carbines fired, cutting down the Confederates, and unsheathing their lances and sabers, tides of sparkling blades and roaring troops rolled downhill. The Rus cavalry panicked, still cruising through their breakfast when they could not hurry enough to dress themselves and to mount their horses. Chased out by their officers stammering, squadrons of horsemen hurtled past their gates towards the Aelon. But their appearance had been too swift. Delivered by the declining terrain, they accelerated and soon arrived at the center’s rear. The thunderous gallop broke the Confederates before even reaching their lines, and on arrival, their infantry’s spirits had already been shattered. The crushing twenty thousand hussars rode, pillaging hearts and dispossessing naked souls.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX781RLHxG8
