The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The skirmishes began just as the sun lifted higher in the frigid sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Brandon's vanguard defended the front line whilst the rest of the King's guards followed behind.

The clash was fierce and chaotic. Spears jabbed over the tops of shields, swords scraped against bronze rims, and the shouts of men and the snarls of beasts filled the air. Brandon's blade rang against an enemy's axe, deflecting the blow before plunging into the attacker's side. The mercenaries held the defensive, only driving forward in waves if the line showed weakness, only to fall back on the first sign of reorganization.

From his position in the fray, Brandon could see the banners of the other kings still trailing behind, their men struggling to form up in time. The enemy wouldn't wait for them to counterattack. As soon as the larger force began to form a decent shape, Connell's fighters melted back into the hills, retreating, confident they wouldn't be followed.

"COWARDS!" Harmond bellowed. Only to get silence in return.

/

This pattern repeated itself again and again as the day wore on.

As the column moved further into the uneven terrain, the enemy struck again, they were spotted by the eagle wargs. Before the army could form up, the enemy charged into them, moving much faster with their small numbers, and this time targeting the centre of the line. Brandon and the vanguard were forced to double back, rushing to aid the Frost and Slate soldiers.

Brandon rushed with his close Kings guard to battle but before Brandon's main force could even reach the enemy, they had already retreated, their light armour much faster than their heavy bronze armour.

Frost quietly walked up beside Brandon; his face betraying little emotion. "They are going to keep torturing us, I know Royce came up with this, he'll want to bleed us dry."

Brandon wiped his sword clean on the edge of his cloak. "It's working." He sighed.

/

Another attack, just before dusk, this time striking the left flank. Brandon barely had time to react before the eagle sounded, and his vanguard wheeled around once more to meet the charge.

The enemy pressed hard, sensing the tiredness in Brandon's men. One of the mercenaries, his face smeared with dirt and blood, hurled himself at Brandon with a snarl. Brandon parried the blow, countering with a precise thrust that ended the man.

When again the enemy retreated, disappearing into the growing night, Brandon leaned heavily on his sword for a moment, his breath visible in the chill air. Around him, his men mimicked the King many falling to the ground getting to sleep instantly, even ignoring the medics when they came around.

"They will break us tomorrow if we keep this up," Halvar said his eagle gliding down to rest on his shoulder. "We can't keep this up."

Brandon stood there in silence, lightly swaying in the breeze.

/

As the night descended, the kings and their forces trudged onward, their progress slow and disorganized. The attacks had scattered their formations and drained their strength, leaving the men on edge and demoralized.

Brandon marched at the front, his eyelids drooping and his arms heavy. All he could do was push forward, one gruelling step at a time, and hope they would find a way to turn the tide before it was too late.

/

The retreat continued into the following day, the allied army moving as quickly as it could manage across the rugged, frostbitten terrain. The crisp air was heavy with the tension of men the night just been men deserted the army and fled into North's unforgiving wilderness, rather than taking the chance with the army. Though they mainly came from the Slate and even a few Frost men the entire army still took the hit.

As they marched on Halvar spotted the first movements.

"My King," he said, his eagle gliding past him sawing into the air. "Royce and Connell are here; their banners are over that way." Pointing towards the north of them.

Brandon turned, following Halvar's gaze toward a distant ridgeline. Imagining the lines of men marching through the snow, kicking up waves of it as they pave their way through the untouched snow. The Red King's crimson sigil rippled in the wind alongside the rough, motley standards of Connell's mercenaries.

"How many?" Brandon asked.

"Most of their force," Halvar replied. "At our current pace, they'll catch up with us mid-day."

The King's face darkened as Brandon relayed the news to them. All remaining silent.

/

The retreat continued.

Though the allied army moved as quickly as it could, the enemy force quickly caught up to them but always instead chose to remain just within sight, close enough to remind them of their presence, but far enough to avoid a confrontation. At intervals, the smaller enemy units would strike, attacking the rear or flanks with sudden attacks before disappearing back into the hills.

Every clash was the same: the allied forces would rally, and fight the attackers, and before the rest of the Kings could move, they would retreat. Each skirmish left more men dead or wounded, and more morale eroded. One raid even managed to dirty one of the Frost King's supply wagons.

By the time the sun began to set for the second day of retreat, the men's bodies dropped, and the medics complained of tired bodies as everyone's bellies grumbled in unison.

Finally, the kings called for the army to halt and make camp. Fires were lit, and then men stumbled into beds that night. Brandon made sure to check on every one of his men and medics, staying up late into the night to organise and help them before sleeping his worries away.

/

When the sun rose, it brought fresh disaster. As Brandon and the other kings prepared to break camp, the Slate King stormed into the command circle, his face pale with fury.

"More deserters in the night," he growled. "Supplies, too. The tracks lead straight towards Royce and his conniving pet."

"We all have problems Edwyn," Frost said. "A handful of ours are missing as well. Took an Umbar men with them as well."

Harmond turned to Brandon. "You suggested this retreat! Lot of good it has done us, we should have just fought, or at least we would have died with some dignity. Our sons would have carried on our lines, but now we have disgraced them."

Edwyn's voice rose angrily. "Not all of us are brain-dead giants! We would have lost the battle and given Connell the direct rise to power he needed. I refuse to allow Royce or that upstart to get one over on me."

"At least I am a man with some balls, something you and your men seem to have in small supply."

"Is that what you and your men do? Hu, compare each other balls. Cup them to see which is bigger."

Brandon raised a hand before Harmond could square up to Edwyn. "What's done is done, we press on. We have no choice."

Harmond gave Brandon a dismissive look. before he and Edwyn stormed out of the tent. "Forgive Harmond, Brandon. He hates this waiting and dying."

"I know." Brandon smiled. "But I made this mistake, and I'll figure a way out of it." Brandon patted Frost on the shoulder before going to tend to his men.

/

Another Day of Torment. The enemy maintained its constant pursuit, breathing down their necks, close enough to see their proverbial goosebumps. Skirmishes erupted at random intervals, like chronic pain.

When they stopped to make camp that night, the mood was darker than ever. The soldiers spoke in hushed tones, their faces drawn and hollow.

/

Morning brought no relief. Word spread quickly through the ranks that more men had deserted in the night.

"Cowards," Harmond spat. "Every one of them."

Brandon's voice was quiet. "Men who've lost hope. And given up and took the easy way out."

The Slate King, visibly shaken, said nothing. He had lost more men than any of the others, his forces dwindling to a fraction of their original strength.

"Ba, we don't need them, they'll just slow down my good men," Harmond said.

Brandon tilted his head, and then he smiled. "That's it. We split up." 

"Fine by me," Harmond said about to leave the tent only to be grabbed by Frost and dragged back in.

"I mean. We split into three forces, staying close to each other to support but we all move at our speeds. We can support each other if we're attacked but far enough apart that we're harder to track and harass. Smaller groups can move faster, find better routes, and force the enemy to divide their attention."

Edwyn frowned deeply. "Splitting up weakens us further. If they catch one of our forces alone, it'll be a slaughter." He said looking warily at Harmond.

"It's a risk," Brandon acknowledged. "But it's one we have to take. Staying together makes us an easy target. Moving apart makes it harder to corner. We move faster than their main force and if they want to slow us all down their skirmishing force will have to be much smaller."

Harmond started at Brandon for a moment, his finger tapping his cross arms. "If we're careful, we can choose terrain that works in our favour. It's not ideal, but it's better than this slow death march."

Frost nodded along "And what of communication? If one group is attacked, how do we ensure the others can respond in time?"

"Our eagle wargs watched each other, they have no eagle wargs left so we have commands of the sky and can easily watch one another," Brandon said.

The kings fell silent again, before Harmond and Frost warily looked to Edwyn, though not seen by him.

"Edwyn, you marched with me, your men are too small and out of supplies. The rest of us split up, and watch the others, we cover more ground, ditch Royce and Connell, and deal with their skirmishers."

Harmond nodded followed by Forst.

"Then it's decided," Brandon said. "We'll break camp at dawn. Be ready."