The Flowers in Boreal Twilight:Volume 1 Chapter 1: Difference between revisions

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===Chapter 1 - The White Lily===


''"From Attachment, forms Desire,''
''From Desire, arises Anger,''
''From Anger, Delusion begins,''
''From Delusion, Memory Forgets,''
''From Forgetfulness, Judgment is lost,''
''As Judgment is destroyed, the Soul perishes."''
''- Samaran Scripture: The Song of the Lord, Chapter 2, Verses 62-63''
Lydia stayed despondent in bed for two days and two nights after receiving the dreadful news, hugging Aleksei's favorite jacket stuffed with his pillow. She ate nothing and spoke to no one, her blank gaze unmoving even when her own crying mother begged in a heartbroken voice:
"Lydia, please... you have to eat."
''What's the point?'' The thought barely passed her conscious mind.
Everything seemed so drab, as though the whole world had been dyed a monotonous gray. It felt like everything that had made her life worth living had also died with him.
The lack of food and water slowly drove her towards delirium, yet the grieving girl did not mind, for only in dreams and delusions could she see Aleksei once more. There, she could smile again as they ate another meal together, or walked arm-in-arm through the snow together, or feel his fingers absentmindedly play with her hair as they sat studying together...
Those moments, those memories... they were all she had left now, images and feelings that she treasured more than anything.
On the third day though, her father-in-law had enough.
"Yes! He's ''gone''! Now pull yourself together!" Radomir plucked the jacket-wearing-pillow from her arms and tossed it aside. It was the only thing that could make her react.
Lydia glared back with bloodshot eyes. She barely even registered the face of her father-in-law. His hair had gone completely gray in just a few nights. Meanwhile his gaze -- the same emerald-green as Aleksei -- was filled by pain and anguish.
They betrayed the bottomless agony that only a father who had just lost all three of his sons could experience.
He was also in uniform, the same white-and-azure design that Aleksei wore before he rode off to war. Radomir was just over ninety, which for a mage puts him in the final years of his adult prime. He was a veteran of the last war fought nearly thirty years ago, which showed as a Major's insignia on his shoulders. The only reason he hadn't left for the front already was because he had been on a diplomatic mission to the Inner Sea Imperium, returning only earlier this week.
"My son did not wed a ''useless woman'' capable of only weeping in bed!" He growled at her before slamming a piece of paper upon her comforter-covered lap. "If you cannot accept the fact that he is gone, then at least do ''something'' about it! Take up arms! Take revenge! See that my son did not fight and die in vain!"
With her fingers shaking, Lydia picked up the paper and glanced over it.
It was a recruiting poster, calling upon the people to take revenge for the bloody atrocities committed by the invaders in this invasion. Extravagant, bellicose cries filled its contents. And below that, there was an unusual mention that instantly sucked in her attention:
'Priority assignment offered to war widows and orphans between the ages of eighteen and thirty.'
''Aleksei is gone, our life is gone'', the thought pass through Lydia’s mind. ''What do I... still have left to lose?''
Her fingers twitched as they began to squeeze together once more. Beneath them, the paper slowly crumbled as they clenched into fists of newfound resolve.
''I will NOT allow his memory pass 'in vain'!''
In less than two hours' time, Lydia would ride into the city and sign her name at the garrison barracks.
She had attended two years of higher learning alongside Aleksei at the Ilmen Academy. Her focus had been in 'Infrastructure Engineering' -- fancy terminology for a cross-disciplinary studies aimed at training engineering project aides and coordinators. She had hoped that it would help Aleksei's dream of becoming a master civil engineer. Now, after his death, she would put it to a new use, as her educational background qualified her enrollment directly into the officer corps.
<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>
Lydia watched from the assembly's front line as the gruff-looking, square-jawed Major with salt-and-pepper hair huffed to his superior:
"We don't even have enough of these wagons for the boys, and you want me to teach ''girls'' how to use them?"
"I should remind you that when the Hyperboreans first arrived to govern our lands, they brought along not just male warriors, but ''Shieldmaidens'' as well," the doubly-promoted Colonel Radomir Lisitsyn contended. "I see no reason why we should not revive the old traditions in these troubled times."
The Major, however, sighed with a clear scowl of disapproval:
"The noblewomen, I can understand. They have their houses' honor to defend and magic to arm themselves. Even the yeomen at least have some magical heritage, even if their affinity is weaker. But these girls... they're mostly just ''commoners''--!"
"They're also the most qualified we have. All of them passed the basic tests with flying colors," Lydia's father-in-law interjected stiffly.
"But--!"
"Enough, ''Major''! You have your orders, and they come straight from Coalition Central. I suggest you take action instead of standing here waxing excuses!"
Radomir didn't even wait for a response before striding off. He left the disgruntled Major with no choice but to return and face the new company of recruits, assembled into formation on the snowy training field.
"What are those of you smirking about!?" the old veteran growled as he strode along the front ranks. "So you scored well on a physical and a test of common sense. Well wipe those sorry smiles off your faces because I couldn't give a shit! Your scores say nothing about your ability to cope on the battlefield. When the Eastlings' arrows whistle past your heads and plunge into your comrades' pretty faces. When their dying screams reach your ears and you realize that you were two hairs short of being killed yourself! What will you do!? You will cower! You will run! Then as soon as you turn away from the enemy, their arrows will drill into your backs and murder you!"
Anger flashed in his eyes as the Major continued to huff out clouds in the cold. He stared across ranks of new recruits as though daring them to say otherwise.
"Caspi, Astra, and now Terek! We should have the advantage in both men and materiel. We should be attacking and punishing this so-called 'Imperium of the Great Khan' for their transgressions and barbarism! Yet we're the ones losing! One defeat after another! Nearly three hundred thousand dead in battle to an invasion force of less than fifty thousand! It's a disaster! An absolute, ''fucking'' disgrace!"
He pulled off the wool cap with his only hand -- his left forearm was missing altogether -- and crumbled it before throwing it against the ground.
"--And if you don't do better, you'll just become the next pile of meat strewn across the battlefield!"
No one else dared to make a sound. The snowy training ground was plunged into an almost eerie silence. Meanwhile the Major closed his eyes and had to take several breaths to calm himself down.
As his shoulders steadied, he waved towards five small wagons sitting around thirty steps before the formation. Four of them were horseless, elevated wooden platforms with hand cranks replacing the rear wheels. A fifth was still attached behind two resting war steeds. Mounted on the back of each carriage was a light ballista atop a swivel turret.
"Those," he pointed out, "are what they sent you girls here to learn and practice on." His breath still fumed as he paced before the recruits. "The Tachanka is our Principalities' finest weapon of war. They're expensive, complex, and time-consuming to build. Our best weaponsmiths toil day and night to give us only a few dozens per month, so I assure you all," his dark eyes narrowed, "not one of them will be wasted by incompetent weaklings who fail to meet my every expectation!"
"You, girl," the Major stopped before Lydia, whose snowy hair stuck out like a sore thumb among the hundred-fifty-ish new recruits. He jabbed two fingers hard into her lower shoulder, and she winced as her clenched jaw stifled a pained yelp.
"What can you tell me about them?"
"Sir!" Lydia straighten her chest. Her tension manifested as she began in voice that bordered on yelling: "the Tachanka bolt-repeater carriage is a light war wagon armed with a repeating scorpion torsion-spring ballista! When in motion, the rear axle transmits torque to an inner shaft, which drives a windlass chain beneath the ballista stock to crank back the drawstring and automatically reload. The scorpion has an maximum, parabolic shot range of six hundred paces and is fed by two ten-bolt magazines in a 'V'-shaped loadout. Together, the wagon requires a crew of three and can maintain an effective shooting rate of fifteen bolts per minute!"
"Exactly as the manual," the Major acknowledged with a sour slant on his lips. "Now hop on and show me if you can shoot as well as you can memorize."
"Yes, Sir!"
Lydia stepped out from the front rank and strode towards the center, elevated carriage. She felt a hundred pairs of eyes fall upon her and briefly closed her own to release a deep exhale. But even this moment of self-composure was disrupted when the Major called out once more:
"This one," he went to the vehicle behind the horses. "I'll drive."
''But the training manual says to use a immobile platform at the start...'' Lydia scowled. Nevertheless, she walked over and climbed onto the wagon bed.
"YA!"
She was barely aboard when he took the reins and drove the horses into motion. A sharp turn almost sent her tumbling back off. The instructor turned the wagon perpendicular to the row of targets -- rudimentary scarecrows consisting of just bundles of hay, each tied to a single pole.
"Range at hundred paces. Load and shoot!"
"Yes, Sir!" Lydia acknowledged as she griped the handlebars at the back of the scorpion's metal stock, trying to stay steady as the wagon bounced across the field of frozen earth covered by light snow. She braced her feet against the wagon-bed's sides before reaching to the front to grab a wooden magazine's handle. A quick shake told her that the messenger-bag-sized box was loaded. She then released the scorpion's handlebar to lift the heavy magazine with both hands, attempting to shove it into its slot.
"W-woah," she swayed in the back, almost falling off as the instructor forced the horses into a sudden weave. Unlike the Gulyay-Gorod heavy battle wagons, The Tachanka sacrificed armor for a surprising degree of agility on its four wheels. Now, he made the most of it in trying to rattle her.
Lydia wasn't sure if the Major picked on her for being a Samaran -- with their conflict-averse reputation -- or if it was because of her Lisitsyna surname, which would make her failure an indirect slap against his superior. She could only grit her teeth and pull herself back to a steady footing. Leaning against the ballista, she twice rammed the magazine until it clicked into its slot.
Her hands then returned to the handlbars, and she relaxed the tension built across her body with another deep breath.
Ever since she was a child, Lydia had realized that she was easily agitated by her surroundings. While other kids craved attention or sought thrills, Lydia felt the heat of every stare and overreacted to every surprise. Her 'hysteria' -- as other parents unkindly named it -- made her the favored target of every childish prank. As a result, her parents began teaching her how to keep calm at an early age.
Now, she constructed another protective bubble around herself, to briefly isolate herself from the world for a moment of idyllic peace. The warmth of Aleksei's chest came to mind as her inner self snugged into her oasis, and a tear fell from her closed eyes as waves of bittersweet nostalgia drowned out every other feeling.
The respite lasted only seconds, but to her it felt like precious minutes of recovery. Her eyes reopened as she heard the repetitive clicking from beneath the stock. The bow's limbs were already cocked and the windlass now snapped against its safety.
With renewed focus, she swiveled the scorpion towards its target and pulled the double trigger on the handlebars. The limbs released their tension and hurled a steel bolt longer than her forearm out of its flight groove. The first shot was always for rangefinding, and she took note as the projectile overflew the scarecrow by a good eight paces.
''Right. I'm the one moving fast this time.''
Memories of snowball fights with her playful little brother came to mind, and Lydia intuitively adjusted her aim. This time, it would be for real.
The wagon continued to sway and jerk as the instructor intended, but Lydia kept her calm and focused on her target. Her fingers pulled the trigger as soon as she heard the first click, and with each shot her bolts soared closer to her target.
Her fourth bolt became the first that violently punched through the scarecrow, shattering its central shaft as the armor-piercing tip made direct contact. The power was more than enough to smash through a wooden shield and kill the man behind it.
Lydia made no expression as her intense focus switched to the next target and pulled as she heard the first click. This time, it took only three shots to destroy the scarecrow. By the time her magazine emptied after the tenth shot, she had destroyed a third and was about to reload.
"Enough!" The Major drove the wagon back to the platoon before hopping off the driver's seat. "Have you operated a ballista or crossbow before?"
"No, Sir. Though I learned the function of torsion engines at the Ilmen Academy -- I studied Infrastructure Engineering there," Lydia answered straight, still standing on the wagon as she wiped the single tear trail by pretending to rub her eyes. "Maintenance is the hard part, but operation is easy. Just point, shoot, and re-adjust for projectile fall and momentum. The target is immobile and the wind is negligible, which makes it considerably easier."
His eyebrows went up before his lips twisted with begrudging acceptance:
"No wonder why they made you an officer despite your total inability to use magic..."
In other words, the Major knew that despite her marriage into an aristocratic family, Lydia was not even yeomen, but came from the mercantile class with a pure commoner birth. Knowledge of spellcraft was an art that could be learned and mastered. However, an individual's capacity to refine ether and shape mana was predetermined by the magic-conductivity of their nerve pathways. Lydia could study all she wanted about sorcery and spellcraft, but she would never be able to manipulate the spiritual forces herself.
"--You're a natural shot though, and with practice you'll only grow better," her instructor gave the slightest, encouraging nod. "Now, back in formation with you."
"Yes, Sir!" She saluted before leaping off the wagon-bed, gladly leaving the spotlight of attention. Upon returning to the crowd, she once more closed her eyes and took a deep exhale.
Meanwhile, the Major returned to facing the recruits and began shouting with a disdainful glare once again:
"Every Tachanka requires the perfect teamwork between three individuals -- driver, loader, and marksman. The driver must keep eyes on both where they are going and where the enemies are. The loader is charged with both the warding runestones and constantly feeding fresh ammo to keep the scorpion shooting. But the most demanding role is the marksman, who doubles as the vehicle commander! Therefore, they ''must'' have not only good dexterity and spatial awareness, but also the composure and clarity of mind to accurately assess the battlefield at all times!"
''So that was just part of his usual test,'' Lydia realized at last.
The Major did expect her to fail; there was no doubt about that. But he also wasn't strict just because she was a commoner woman. Even if she had been a magic-blessed ''nobleman'', she doubted that he would have made it any easier. In the end, his prejudice stemmed from his pride as a professional soldier. He was afraid that such 'substandard recruits' would not be able to meet his high expectations, which would only further shame his identity with another dismal failure on the battlefield.
"Now! We'll begin by assessing which of you are fit to both lead and shoot, and which of you are better served to focus on one task!" He shouted before calling the first squad forward.
Lydia examined the girls as they took their positions, all of whom were grim-faced with eyes hardened by resolve. Every woman here had lost someone dear to them in the war. There would be no one better to prove to the Major just how wrong his presumptions were.
<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>
Lydia leaned against a cabin wall as she took a long break in the shadows.
Her nerves had felt overwhelmed by the time their first training session finished. The noise and activities of crowds always exhausted her, which left her wanting nothing more than a long rest in solitude and peace. However at the moment, she wasn't even sure which cottage to use out of the dozens before her. Most of the crews have settled into their rudimentary dwellings already: small, single-room log cabins with either sloped earth or a stone exterior wall for warmth. But despite ten minutes of looking around, she had yet to find the other two girls on her own wagon team.
Her eyes were still closed when she heard a feminine voice in foreigned baritone:
"In war, there is no gender! Everyone dies equally!"
The speaker then dropped to a youthful pitch: "No wonder why Major Genderless still isn't married."
Spinning around on her heels, Lydia instantly recognized the two girls as the ones she was looking for. They had just passed the fence zoning off the women's living areas, having arrived much later than everybody else.
"He thinks a little blood might scare us, when we spend several days bleeding every month," the second, taller girl retorted with a snort. "And if he believes the pained cry of a wounded soldier is terrible, then I ought to introduce him to a mother at childbirth."
"Maybe the highborn ladies he meets are too delicate for the battlefield, seeing as they never do their own chores and have magic to help with everything," the first girl added in annoyance. "But we common folk know what it's like to endure and toil for our lives every day!"
Taking a shortcut, Lydia dashed across a dry drainage ditch between two cabins and emerged almost directly before the two girls. Judging by their wide-eyed expressions, neither of them paid any attention to her approach.
"If I were the enemy, you'd be dead already."
The two of them promptly dropped their bundles and saluted.
"We don't mean you, Milady," the first girl hastily added. She was a petite and rather cute brunette, with wavy hair and an immature face that still held baby fat on both cheeks. "Everyone already knows that you were one of us who married into the nobility."
"Gossip sure travels fast around here..."
Lydia tried to look stern, though her expression came out more dour than anything else. The girl had meant it in a positive way, yet Lydia couldn't help but remember the countless whispers behind her back over the years, when other aristocrats in Aleksei's social circles called her everything from 'bedservant' to 'wallflower'.
The more she heard such negative prejudice, the more she retreated behind his protective shadow when meeting anyone except his trusted friends. It only made the sun more glaring now that he was gone.
"Sorry, Milady," Lydia's reverie broke as the taller girl spoke. She was in her early twenties with brown hair, a modest height, and two pimple-laden cheeks beneath her dim, sleep-deprived eyes. "It wasn't her intention to remind you of your loss."
"We've all lost dear family members. Isn't that why we're here?" The younger girl added as emerald embers flickered in her gaze. "Loss and revenge are feelings that we all share and understand. Don't you agree, Milady?"
Her frankness, voiced without a trace of dejection, brought a faint scowl to Lydia's lips.
''No. We clearly don't feel the same...''
"Excuse me, Milady," miss pimples rushed to change the topic. "But do you need us for something? The officers' cabins are over that way," she pointed towards the setting sun.
With a deep breath that exhaled like a sigh, Lydia softened her expression. She began by speaking the words that she had practiced in her own mind:
"Just call me Lydia. If we're to be sharing a wagon together like family, then there's no reason for the extra formalities or distance. Every other wagon's crew in our platoon shares the same lodging. Why shouldn't we?"
The truth was actually more complicated: talking with strangers was a tiring task for Lydia. But she wouldn't feel that way if she could close the distance through circumstance and come to trust them. It was a technique she had adopted with many of Aleksei's closest family and friends, so they wouldn't equate her introversion as being distant and cold.
"And this is why you're one of us, none of that stiff holier-than-thou," the petite brunette stepped up and offered her hand with an almost-infectious smile. "I'm Kaleriya. 'Kalya' for short. Pa taught me the reins since I was seven. You can rely on me as your driver for sure!"
"And I'm Aleksandra, or just 'Sasha'," the tired-looking older girl added with a polite smile and a bow. "Always wondered why my parents gave me a name so lofty, when they were both in service and I grew up to become a kitchen maid. Feels like fate that I'm here."
"Old friends?" Lydia surmised as she shook Kalya's hand. The girl had a firm, forceful grip; no doubt about that.
"Since she found me poaching on the estate as a child and offered me food instead," Kalya grinned.
"Lucky to have you two then..."
Lydia's attempt to sound enthusiastic came out as stiff as her face. She even tried to conjure a smile, but her facial muscles just weren't cooperating.
"Just remember: every officer is a 'Sir' in the military. With an instructor like ours, the other ladies might not take kindly to being addressed differently."
"Yessir!" Kalya finished with an exaggerated salute. It wouldn't surprise Lydia that the two had arrived late because the petite girl incurred disciplinary troubles already.
As Lydia helped the two with their luggage, she noticed that the girls had managed to circumvent the 'personal belongings' limitation of two bags per person. They had packed four cloth-wrapped bundles that were almost as wide as their shoulders. Lydia barely managed to pick up just one by straining both arms. How the two managed to carry a bundle in each hand was beyond her.
"Just what in the world did you two pack!?" She huffed as Kalya led the trio to their lodgings.
It was only two dozen paces away, but even that left Lydia winded. Her tired arms dropped the package as soon as she made it across the threshold. Without the support she was used to squeezing her waist, she thought for a moment that her back was going to break.
''I truly have been a 'lady' for too long...''
The two friends glanced at each other before simply smiling back.
"The one thing our village's veterans claimed to always lack when they were serving."
It didn't take long before Lydia stopped complaining. A good half of the luggage turned out to be quality food -- everything from fine cheeses to gourmet bread. Lydia wasn't sure about how ''lawful'' their origins were. But one thing was for certain: Sasha certainly made sure that she didn't work in the kitchen for nothing.
As for the rest? Well, both of the girls had also packed their best dress, shoes, and even a stuffed animal.
It made Lydia wonder if the two truly understood just what the military was for.
...
"Oh devil, I forgot soap," Lydia cursed as she finished organizing her belongings.
"Don't they have some?" Kalya asked from her bed. The petite girl had haphazardly strewn her stuff about before sitting down to chitchat.
"They have the usual, which always burned my skin since I was little," Lydia sighed regretfully as she sat down, smoothing out her knee-length field skirt as she did.
"Wow, you ''are'' a lady."
Lydia scowled a hint as she stared back. But Kalya's earnest smile showed no sign of mockery, only teasing.
"It's not that uncommon for girls, nor something that costs too much money..."
"Not me! Well, maybe a few rashes as a baby. What did you sleep on, silk?"
Lydia blushed. Her father had bought imported cotton linen for her when younger, and Alek always thought that her skin was too nice to waste and had added silk sheets on top.
"We could... just go fetch some from the nearby town," a mumble came from Sasha, her head still buried into her pillow.
The girl had collapsed into bed the moment she filed away all her belongings. Lydia thought that she fell asleep at first, but that proved wrong as Sasha kept shifting from time to time.
"That's right. We did see it on the trip here," Kalya clasped her hands with a joyful grin. "Probably only two hours by horse."
"A round trip would consume the whole morning," Lydia frowned. "Major Balykin would never allow that."
"Just sneak out at night then," another mumble emerged from Sasha's pillow.
"That's in direct violation of the rules!"
"So?" Sasha rolled her pimpled cheeks back up. "Kalya can pick a store's lock. We can leave the money. Major Buttface can't patronize us over what he doesn't know."
"Pffft," Kalya cracked up. "Buttface! His butt must be a real square to match his face then!"
"A perfect bench cushion, in fact," Sasha declared straight as she sat up, which promptly sent the petite Kalya into fits of laughter.
Even Lydia almost smiled. Almost. Her mouth had twitched into an alien shape instead. And the brief sensation of humor -- made at the expense of someone who wasn't even present to defend himself -- left an acerbic taste.
"And here I thought you were the more responsible one," she slowly shook her head in disapproval.
It made Lydia wonder about the real reason why Sasha looked so sleep-deprived.
"If ''Milady'' is afraid of dirtying her dress, then your humble servants shall quest for your soap instead," Kalya bounced up to give an exaggerated bow.
"I need some more sheep wool myself," Sasha raised her hand. "My period is coming and I always run too heavy for rags alone."
Seeing as the two girls were already decided, Lydia pursed her lips and exhaled a deep, ''it-can't-be-helped'' sigh. Night time excursions were honestly the last thing she wanted after a day's training. But she also couldn't just let the two go by themselves...
"Fine." Her response began terse. "I'll go with you. What kind of team would we be, if I let you two get into trouble while I kept my own hands clean?"
"Thought you'd say that," Kalya grinned, so bright and candid that Lydia instinctively looked away with a faint blush.
"But on one condition," the 'Wallflower' muttered. "Let me plan it out first."
...
Over the next two days, Lydia planned and prepared every detail of the trip: which horses they would use, which roads in camp were least likely to alert the officers, which individual on watch they could appease, what equipment to bring in case their wagon broke down in the dark, and et cetera. Their night escapade later that week completed without a hitch. It became the first of their weekly, night-time outings to fetch goods that their comrades at camp lacked: often herbal and hygiene supplies that the men deemed ''unnecessary'' but the women felt were needed.
Kalya had begun calling their group the 'Fragrant Trio' because of this -- a name that soon became known by all the women in camp. It earned them much respect from female soldiers as the months grew and everybody's initial supplies ran out.
Lydia also continued to display her natural, intuitive shooting prowess in marksmanship training. Her schooled knowledge in team organization and mechanical maintenance was leaps ahead of the other officer candidates. Meanwhile, the inner calm that she carefully groomed and managed consistently kept her a top performer in combat drills. Only in aerobic endurance did she lag behind the others, and there her newfound friends were always keen to lend a helping hand.
By the time came for the newly organized 4th Velikaya Cavalry Division to march, Major Balykin called Lydia in to name her the company's commander. For as much as the maimed Major would like to, he was not allowed to lead the girls into combat.
"Don't think that I don't know about your night-time mischief," the gruff veteran added as he passed Lydia her new captain-rank epaulets.
"Sir?"
"The best officers are not just obedient, but also know when to ignore rules and take initiative into their own hands," his weathered countenance returned a knowing smirk. "Remember that."
"Yes, Sir," Lydia saluted. "Thank you, Sir."
Their night-time escapades hadn't been her idea. She didn't even approve of it at first. But she went along because... as the team leader, it was her 'duty' to. She couldn't just let Kalya and Sasha risk trouble without her sharing it with them.
She never expected that this was the outcome. Nor would she have guessed that the Major had this side to him.
Then, as Lydia spun her heels and was just about to march out...
"And Captain -- I know the rumors about me, but just so you know..."
Major Balykin unbuckled his collar and reached in. His remaining hand pulled out a thin, silvery chain threaded through two golden wedding rings.
"In war, everyone dies equally," he declared once more in a somber voice. "Focus on your duty, and not just your girls. Only by knowing when to be callous, can you save the most lives in the end."
There was a cold, regretful light in his eyes, and for a brief moment Lydia felt nothing but immense sympathy and understanding for this man. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever learn what had truly occurred.
She certainly did not anticipate just how soon his advice would come to use.
<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
"We have to help them!" Kalya was almost begging as she watched the massacre continue just four hundred paces away.
"No!" Lydia reached forward to stop her driver, even as she strived to keep her own hands from shaking. "If we ride out now, then we're just as ''dead'' as they are!"
Their newly trained 4th Velikaya Cavalry Division was one of six divisions -- over fifty-four thousand men and women -- sent to relieve the besieged principality/city of Seym. However, instead of arriving as the rescuers, the entire corp had been surrounded by Eastlings not long after they crossed onto the Desna River's east banks.
The Polisians had assembled a massive wagon circle in defense using the infantry's Gulyay-Gorods. These were eight-wheeled, heavy battle wagons with timberclad bulwarks built like battlements. With shooting embrasures and ballistas mounted front and back, they formed an outer defense line with gaps left in between for the cavalry to use.
However, every attempt to sally out thus far had been defeated. After three days beneath the sweltering summer sun, the army was running out of water. Meanwhile, swarms of nomadic horse archers rode around the trapped Polisian force, raining fire arrows and slung incendiaries in to add to their torment.
Twelve hundred Polisian Demi-Lancers had charged out from the porous ring of Gulyay-Gorods just minutes ago. Lydia's divisional commander, General Obolensky, had believed that the enemy horse archers approached too close and thus presented an opportunity. However, the Eastlings' small, nimble mounts easily retreated to sidestep the charge. Hundreds of nomadic horsemen poured into the area from each flank in response, enveloping the lancers on the open plains as though they trapped herds of prey.
Then, with an echoing cry in the eastern tongue, the slaughter began.
The warriors of the Great Khanate emptied their quivers at a jaw-dropping rate, each composite bowman hurling ten arrows per minute into the air. Thousands of arrowheads fell upon the Polisian counterattack like a summer storm, collapsing the demi-lancers' charge as scores of horses died by the second. Spell-infused arrowheads churned the earth and blew gaping holes through the formations' wards, clearing the way for wind blades that sliced through man and horse alike. Riders toppled and spilled onto the ground in hundreds, as the entire assault force unraveled like a breaking tide.
The nomads aimed for the mounts first, to thwart any chance of retreat back to the main group. Stranded and disorganized, the dismounted riders who picked themselves off the ground never stood a chance.
Lydia could only watch as the invaders began turning her countrymen into pincushions. Arrows pierced the chests and faces of grounded cavalrymen until their morale shattered. Officers sank onto their knees in death as wooden shafts protruded from their body armor like porcupines. Blood spurted into the air as the nomadic light cavalry charged into the mayhem. They rode down the fleeing soldiers with flashing sabers and thrusting lances, while isolated squads and platoons that tried to stand their ground were cut down by criss-crossing showers of steel.
As a witness to their final destruction, Lydia could feel the hopeless terror that seized the minds of those doomed men. She struggled to keep her nausea under control as the scent of blood permeated every breath of air. The screams of the dying formed a nonstop cacophony of death that left her in a constant cringe. It took her every bit of willpower to not tremble as she watched yet another man's chest shatter under a cold, steely edge; his life departed as just another splatter upon his assailant's mount.
There was no amount of training that could have prepared them for this.
"Captain!" Lydia's signal officer -- a mage dedicated to maintaining the ''Farspeak'' communication spell with regimental command -- yelled from a light ammunition wagon that followed the Tachankas into combat. "Major Stroganov has been killed. Colonel Lisitsyn promotes you to battalion command!"
Lydia didn't even need to ask for details. Her direct superior -- Major Stroganov -- had been attached to her sister company when the battle began. An impetuous cadet still in his teens, he had led the 17th Tachanka company out from the wagon circle in an attempt to help the cavalry when their charge buckled. However, a dense arrow barrage killed a third of his wagon crews before he even made it a hundred paces, causing the rest to retreat in disarray.
Looking over her segment of the wagon circle, Lydia could see that the infantry guarding the armored battle wagons were visibly shaken. The visceral bloodbath that they were witnessing left them stunned and quaking. It would only take one massed charge to send these common conscripts into panic and death.
...And with the slaughter almost complete, the barbarian cavalry turned to advance on the wagon ring once more. Even from the distance, she could tell that their foes' eyes held no mercy, no quarter. The Polisians must hold the line or die.
Lydia took a deep gulp and a deeper breath. She had to do something to stop another slaughter. She could not bear to see it happen all over again, even less than she could face the prospect of her own impending death.
"Kalya, turn southeast -- parallel and just behind the Gulyay-Gorods!" She directed her driver. "We must support the infantry or those barbarians will overwhelm this line!"
"Y-yes Sir! Ya!" Kalya reined the horses straight into a canter.
"TACHANKA!" Lydia stood straight and bellowed with every bit of strength that her parched throat could muster. "SINGLE COLUMN! FOLLOW ME!"
The greatest flaw with of the Tachanka bolt-repeater wagon was that unless its wheels were turning, its mechanical reload mechanism did not function. Its secondary hand-crank could, at best, sustain shooting at one-third the full speed. But to move out from the huge ring of Gulyay-Gorods was suicide. They had to stay behind the protection of those heavy wagons' thick armor and wards.
Swiveling her scorpion-ballista towards the enemy, Lydia squeezed both triggers just as a gap between the heavy wagons left her view open. An armor-piercing bolt bearing the ''Inferno'' rune flew out towards a squad of enemy horsemen. By the time the next wagon passed and she saw them again, three of the horses had collapsed onto the ground in flames.
"POLISIANS!" She cried out, exerting every strength to hold her voice steady and confident. "STAND AND FIGHT! SHOW THE GODS NOT YOUR BACKS, BUT YOUR BRAVERY AND YOUR MIGHT!"
Each of the Gulyay-Gorod wagons had either two ballistas or springals of its own, backed up by at least one squad of crossbows and another of spears. The sound of scorpion bolts soaring past their heads woke the stunned troops from their stupor. A deadly exchange began between Lydia's Tachanka battalion and the Eastling cavalry archers, and the Polisian infantry caught in between had no choice other than to fight or to die.
"TO YOUR POSITIONS!" The infantry officers added their own cries. "CROSSBOWS SHOOT AT WILL!"
Lydia pulled the trigger as soon as she heard the telltale 'click' from the windlass. Another bolt launched from the flight groove and arced into a horse-archer squad. But this time, the projectile struck an invisible ward and its rune detonated prematurely, enshrouding the air in a cloud of flames but leaving the horsemen untouched.
They were no longer facing light harassing cavalry that lacked magical support. These were the Eastlings' veteran troops.
"Penetrator next!"
"Penetrator magazine," Sasha, her loader, replied before shoving a new box into the ballista. "Loaded!"
The faintly-blue bubble protecting Lydia's Tachanka flared as an incoming arrow discharged its anti-magic. But their ''Aegis'' ward held on, and two trailing arrows bounced harmlessly aside. Sasha then slammed her fist on the next runestone installed on the wagon's front rail, refreshing the arcane bubble that protected them all.
The Tachanka behind them, however, was not so lucky. An arrow crashed through the wards and into the driver, leaving the girl regurgitating blood with a shaft through her neck. The vehicle veered off course and rammed into one of the armored battle wagons, upending the smaller Tachanka and crushing its marksman against the wooden bulwark.
Further behind, an entire Gulyay-Gorod blew apart as an explosive arrow struck its ward-stripped, timberclad armor with a thunderous boom. The resulting thunderclap shattered the wooden bulwark and sprayed jagged splinters all over its screaming crew, and the carnage left Lydia trembling in a daze.
"I said: LOADED!" Sasha yelled again, this time into Lydia's face.
With her attention refocused back on her weapon, Lydia's eyes burned with the need for retaliation. She pulled the triggers again and again, launching out one bolt after another into the roaming swarms of barbaric horsemen.
Sasha had filled each magazine to her specification, and the 'penetrator' configuration featured enchanted rangefinder bolts interspersed through the cartridge. Glowing red with a ''Dispel'' rune-pebble installed behind the steel penetrator tip, the rangefinder bolts traced its airborne trajectory and released its magic upon impact -- a blast of unstable mana that destabilized any defensive wards to clear the way for follow up shots.
It took but forty seconds for the magazine to empty again, its contents soaring out to pluck lives with their deadly steel tips.
"Full turn! Double back!" Lydia cried while Sasha loaded yet another cartridge.
She gripped the Tachanka's side as the vehicle took a sharp bank, then settled on a reciprocal heading to avoid collision as the ammunition wagon rode up.
"Their attack is shifting north, Sir!" The signal officer yelled from its back while a logistical trooper tossed Sasha a bundle of bolts. "The enemy has broken through our defenses in the southwest! Colonel Lisitsyn requests us to ride north and join General Kurakin's breakout!"
"North!?" Lydia spun around, her expression aghast. "What about ''these men'' holding our eastern front?"
Even as she said this, Lydia could spot tendrils of smoke rising from the tent city inside the wagon circle. Clashing metal and the screams of supply troops began to resound from within the camp. Their position was growing more untenable by the minute.
Meanwhile, the female signal officer made a grimace. Only the mounted troops held the necessary mobility to escape. It was clear that the infantry had already been written off as a lost cause.
"Lilya! Look! East-by-southeast!"
Kalya's cry summoned Lydia's attention back to the dry grasslands outside the wagon ring. Then, as they passed another gap between the heavy wagons, she saw the unusual sight:
There was a small grassy knoll just over a kilopace to their east, and upon its peak stood a few dozen dismounted troops. She watched as several soldiers there lowered billowing grass-green flags and raised red banners with unknown symbols in their stead.
"That's an enemy forward command post!"
Military formations of company-level and above usually had their own signal officer to link with regimental and divisional commands. But aside from platoons which exclusively used visual and audio orders, even the larger military units used flags and blowing horns as supplementary forms of communication.
"Then why is their cavalry leaving?" Kalya added.
The three-hundred-some cavalry kept in reserve at the bottom of the hill were heading north as they spoke. The enemy commanders must have learned of General Kurakin's breakout and were redeploying forces in response.
Lydia immediately recognized the danger. If the Eastlings could pull enough horsemen together, then General Kurakin would meet the same fate as the twelve-hundred Polisian lancers from earlier. They would be encircled and destroyed in the open once they left the wagon circle's 'fortifications'.
However, General Kurakin was no mere division commander. He was the leader of this entire army. His failure would doom any chance of escaping the trap, leading to the death of every man and woman, including her own father-in-law.
"The General will never succeed if this keeps up! Those Eastlings must assume we're too demoralized by that last sally to pose a threat."
Lydia squeezed her fist to her side. Tactically speaking, she knew what should be done, what ''needed'' to be done. It was her one chance to truly make an impact: to unbalance the invaders and throw them off the battle's flow; to stab them in the most painful spot just as her vengeful desires had hoped...
''I will not allow Alek to have died 'in vain'!''
She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, remembering once more the warmth of Aleksei's embrace. Now, she had the opportunity to repay his family for their generosity, ''one last time''.
"We have to attack their command and draw their attention away from the main breakout." Her decision emerged in an almost monotone. "If our main cavalry strength is destroyed, then there is no hope left for anyone!"
She exchanged looks with both Sasha and Kalya, both knowing just what her demand would entail. To draw the nomads' attention after leaving the wagon ring was tantamount to leaping into flames. It was very likely that none of them would come back out of it alive.
"Dead or alive Lilya, we're with you till the end," declared Kalya, the youngest of them at barely eighteen.
"For our father, brothers, and husband -- let's show these Eastlings what we're made of!" Sasha nodded firmly in response.
With her eyes glistening, Lydia bit down on her lip and nodded back in appreciation. If this was truly the road to their demise, then she couldn't have picked better traveling companions.
"TACHANKA!" Lydia bellowed to those behind her as Kalya slowed their vehicle in preparation.
"REMEMBER YOUR OATHS! REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING! AND REMEMBER YOUR ''HATRED''!" She drew her arming sword and slashed it towards the hill, as bittersweet flashbacks scrolled through her mind's eye for one final time. "''THE DEAD DEMAND VENGEANCE!'' AND THERE THEY SHALL HAVE IT!"
"FORM UP FOR ATTACK!"
Then, with a sharp turn, Kalya swerved their Tachanka out from the porous ring of Gulyay-Gorods. Dozens of ballista wagons followed all along the front, pouring out from the wagon circle like angry wolfpack.
"THIS IS CAPTAIN LISITSYNA TO ALL BRAVE POLISIANS! MOUNT EVERY HORSE! AND FOLLOW ME!"
They were soon joined by mounted crossbow infantry as they took the reins of the remaining draft horses and followed suit. Even the ammunition wagons stopped briefly to take infantrymen aboard.
The men did not betray Lydia's expectations, as few of them could bear the shame of cowardice when a young girl led the attack.
Looking ahead, she noticed that the Eastlings' cavalry was completely out of position now. Only a few squads of harassing horse-archers stood between them and the grassy hill.
"FOR OUR FAMILIES! FOR OUR HOMELANDS!" Lydia brandished her sword in the air. "CHARGE!"
<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
"The ''Farspeak'' link is still active, Sir! There's just been no reply!"
"Devil be damned, Lydia. Respond!" Colonel Radomir Lisitsyn cursed. Riding near the front of nearly eight thousand light and heavy cavalry, he could only squeeze the handle of his five-pace long lance to relieve his stress.
"Ask again! Keep asking until she ''damn'' replies!"
For the next minute, Radomir's signal officer simply rode beside him in silence. The aged Lisitsyn -- first in line of succession to the barony -- could only think about the earful of screams he received before leaving home:
''"--Oh shut up! You don't care about her! You don't care if she lives or dies at all! All you care about is taking revenge for your sons, and you would throw anyone -- even their own beloved -- into the fire to exact your vengeance!"''
Those words from Lydia's mother echoed in his mind again and again. He could not even deny it, because he knew they were right. Lydia's well-being had not concerned him at all when he provoked his daughter-in-law into enlisting. And now, when her life hung on the precipice between life and death, it was far too late to reverse what he had done.
After all, Lydia wasn't like the rest of the family. She was a Samaran, not a devotee of the Stormlord whose brave souls were bound for the Golden Halls. Radomir couldn't pretend to understand how the Samarans' 'spiritual reincarnation' functioned, but he had heard that there were ''consequences'' for them should they take the lives of others.
"Sir!" His signal officer responded at last. "Captain Lisitsyna wishes you the best of luck and... and she..."
"Spit it out!" Radomir growled at the reluctant and stuttering young yeoman.
"S-she asks you to tell your son -- when you do see him in the Golden Halls -- that she'll always love him."
Radomir felt as though a boulder had just crushed into his chest.
How could he face his son with those words? When he and his wife would never meet again? Aleksei would never forgive him for this, not even in the abundance of the afterlife!
"We're almost there!" He heard a hopeful cry erupt from the soldiers ahead.
"Once over that ridge, we'll be on our way!"
The Polisian light cavalry screening both flanks were still exchanging shots with the Eastling horse archers. But General Kurakin's attempt to break out of the encirclement seemed to have caught the enemy off-guard. Only two thousand or so enemy horsemen could be found in the area, and they could hardly stop the massive formation that was plowing its way out. Hostile reinforcements were rushing in from all across the front lines, but they would not arrive in time to plug the gap before the escape.
Unfortunately, that also meant that anyone who remained behind -- including Lydia -- was doomed.
Then, as Radomir led his lancers over the hill crest and saw the next gentle 'hill' before them vanish, his jaw dropped.
"''Fucking bottom''."
The illusion cleared to reveal ten solid blocks of fresh cavalry reserves, all readied in formation with the Great Khan's banners flying. Dozens of giant golden eagles took off into the air with hunters upon their backs. Behind them rose a faint mirage of the Eastlings' holy mountain -- a telling sign of their ''Burkhan Kahldun'' ritual army blessing.
The Polisian commanders had thought that the northern perimeter was the weak point in the encirclement. They had even confirmed by examining the area with scrying spells. But instead, they had enthusiastically flung themselves into yet another Eastling trap.
The nomads' reinforcements weren't there to stop them from escaping. No, those men would form the anvil while this massive hammer of ten thousand cavalry crashed down upon the front.
<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
Clenching her right arm with an arrow shaft still in it, Lydia bit down on a gag as she sat against the side of the bouncing ammunition wagon. Her posture was both awkward and uncomfortable, yet she wasn't allowed to move, as there was a second arrow lodged through her left thigh.
"GAAHHHHHH!" Her gag fell out when she screamed in excruciating pain. The healers had run out of both drugs and magic. They could only sever the arrowhead and pull the shaft out of her thigh, without anesthesia.
"''I told you'' we shouldn't have waited this long," the white-haired Healer Dasha reprimanded. "We Samarans heal too quickly. Your wound had already closed around the shaft. I had to tear it back open again."
"Y-yes... yes you did," Lydia's breath came ragged. "B-but we... Samarans... don' bleed out... They do."
She did not meet the healer's gaze. Most Samarans have a keen sense of intuition. And while her response wasn't exactly dishonest, it wasn't the whole truth either.
With her weary, faded eyes hidden behind a veil of pained tears, Lydia glanced about at what remained of her makeshift assault force. Her 'battalion' had swelled to nearly a thousand by the time she destroyed the hilltop command post. But now, as they rode through the prairie painted orange by the dusk light, less than four hundred remained.
Yet somehow, they had fought their way out when the main breakout failed.
Three hundred some... out of an army of ''fifty-four thousand''.
Lydia stared in a daze at her hand, drenched by the blood of her sisters-at-arms. Tears fell down her cheeks as she thought of what she had just lost, for a second time.
Once again, the Eastlings had stripped away her family, her shelter, and her role. Her greatest wish lay shattered, destroyed alongside the rest of the Polisian force.
How many times must she endure this, before death would reclaim her from this painful existence?
"AHHHHHHhhh--!"
The healer pulled the last arrow from Lydia's arm, and the bliss of unconsciousness claimed her at last.
Lydia would never have imagined that she would be called the ''White Lily of Desna'' by tomorrow, or that her achievement -- the killing of an Eastling general -- was the ''only'' 'success' in the field that the Polisians would attain during their first three years of total war.
...A war that virtually destroyed the Federated Principalities of Polisia and forever changed their way of life.
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Latest revision as of 04:27, 24 December 2017

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