A flustered flurry of rapid shots curved and bound for the general’s head. He however dodged and deflected every arrow that was fired by the boy who was a mismatch for his agility. His bowstring did not cease from being plucked and released, its rate of fire relentless. Keeping his comrades near beside him, their battered bodies unable to withdraw as long as the battle continued. having done their duty already, their actions were nowhere near enough. To them, there seemed to have been no advance despite all their efforts and the hope for something as simple as a stalemate began to waver. The battle soon entered a phase that solidified their path to certain defeat. The archer’s quiver was empty but he would not let his comrades fight alone. He slung his bow around his chest and without a second thought, unsheathed his knife, planning to undertake a foolish endeavor. When Károly sought to charge into the melee, those who have tasted the pain of close-quartered battle held onto his shoulder before he could throw himself into tragedy. Once again, the corporal had to bear the shame of being a spectator without an instance of ever being able to provide help. Tied down by their own weakness, they could only watch the offense of Rzhev grow fiercer. Despite that the reservoir of his eifer had been dried and perished, having unleashed its power in the opening act, his rapier was still immeasurably quick. New openings were poked awide in the defense of the remaining two lancers who began to falter in their guard against the general’s erratic attack. Arminius and Colt, they knew of each other’s battle patterns, and perhaps for the first time, their movements were joined together for a common goal. Leaping back, the lancers dashed forward, hoping that it would be the attack that would finally break the general’s assault. But retreating himself into a wider stance, side-facing, Rzhev brought his sword back like a sling, waiting for the right moment to release its tension. His Aelon foes sensed his threat however, knowing that they had to attempt it regardless of the risk, and took the gamble, charging with a cry. The rapier was thrust forward when it was unexpectedly deflected by the surface of a steel fan. Forcing himself into the gap between the general and the lancers, a fourth party had appeared from the frontier. His fan slanted and the tip of the general’s blade was flicked aside, scarring the surface of his face. A saber swung at Rzhev’s neck, narrowly avoiding a fatal cut, and forced the general who had known no defense to retreat and reorientate himself from the quick scare.
Standing before Arminius and Colt was a man not of the squad. However, he was allied, as his colors were shown. He wielded a peculiar choice of weapons: a fan and a saber. Both were simple but had succeeded in defending against the Rus that the lancers had attempted and failed before. The facade of impossibility had been broken and their enemy seemed mortal.
It came to Arminius, that the appearance of their ally seemed familiar. “Colonel?” Sounding half-sure, he was in shock and relief.
His eyes were attentive towards his foe ahead with the lancer appearing only in his periphery. “Is the corporal here?” Florian replied, the safety of the boy firstly on his mind.
When Arminius pointed behind him, the colonel needed not turn his head and accepted his gesture as the believable truth that assured him. To his other flank, there was another lancer whose face had paled and his body ailed. The wound that had struck him during the cavalry’s charge began to split, held by a hand that was stuck to his stomach. He was no doubt in pain but he would refuse to show it in his expression concerned by the enemy rather than his own affliction.
“What is your purpose here, interferer?” The third general interested himself on the disturbance.
Florian returned to the enemy, lowering his saber. “To ensure our retreat.” It would seem they were engaged in civil talk as he spoke truthfully.
A hand was raised and by Rzhev’s command, his Confederates marched closer by five paces. Angling their blades, threateningly, their bodies were primed with a spring waiting to be released, to pounce on the numbered prey.
The powerful asked with a chuckle, “Retreat to where?” Opening his fist, the general drew his arm along the visible front before which a fort, far yet near, lined his horizon. “Your walls will be assailed and your people enslaved.” His plan sounded as if it was the inevitable.
“The sons of Lech shall never be enslaved!” Florian roared, breaking the whistles of the wind.
The general clicked his tongue and shrugged. “Then be killed, I would presume.” Rzhev corrected himself.
Loathing the man who had joked of his and his countrymen’s survival under the whiff of death, the colonel glared, his hands tensing. But he knew his strength was inadequate. If he was to fight a battle against that Rus, it would last seconds and would be feign of effort. His resistance could not stand alone and though Arminius and Colt were two who were most able amongst the nine, for how much longer they were capable of simply standing their ground, he could not assume for the sake of believing a lie. Behind him, the remainder of the lancers and the corporal had been immobilized or disarmed by a lack of strength, blood, and arrows. Many were breathless and they were unsure whether one would ever wake again. Neither could the colonel rely on his retinue who stood still on the boundaries of the grounds named as the gallows of the executor, Rzhev. In truce, for the time being, with the enemy, they stared at their commander praying that he would overcome the evil in their eyes. But he realized, with weakness, success could come in many forms.
Looking down on his saber, its blade was tilted and had captured the muted glint of sunlight. “I propose this, Rus.” The colonel decided to parley.
Rzhev respectfully listened, although his brow was raised by the proposition, he seemed however agreeing to hear out his enemy’s idea.
“If this battle is yours, my men will take my head as proof and your terms of surrender will be met.” Florian set bold terms and raised his saber against the third general. “Otherwise, your head is brought to your general, and a day of respite shall be granted.” Swinging his sword downward, he divided a cloud of powdersmoke that had polluted their vision.
Twirling his mustache, Rzhev considered this opportunity, whilst his ego could have denied him the chance. His victory was in sight and it would have cost perhaps tens of thousands more casualties, yet this price was glad to be paid by he and his officers. However, the thought that he could secure victory with just another three deaths, honorably and through a display of the prowess that he was so proud of, it could not escape his mind. A set of hooves drummed into his presence from behind, and when he looked back, he saw his own colonel appearing out of his army. On his white steed in shining armor, the rider was clad in silver with a scarlet red tint. A decapitated head had been strung onto his saddle, discolored and leaking, many saw its appearance as an omen from the heavens.
Believing in his luck thus far, Rzhev saw it as a sign of good and nodded, consenting to the pact. “Very well, it is agreed.” He signed their treaty by voice as his hand was already tensing around the grip of his rapier.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdwKxaOzjah
