chapter fifteen, or 'The Battle of Marcheton'

Kiera ordered her men to form ranks on a ridge overlooking the Ga-Vok encampment. It wasn't at a perfect angle, but the incline was steep enough that most of the enemy warriors would grow tired attempting to charge their position. The archers would not have that problem.
"Don't fret princess; I'll handle the archers."
Dame Allistari strode off toward the right flank, furthest from the enemy forces.

Kiera moved to a hillock on the left flank. Magic; it made you all-powerfull, until you ran into another magic-user. That's why there was a siege at all, wan't it? Well, She had the furry little pup outnumbered. With Dame Allistari dedicated to combat wards, a considerable reserve of energy amassed from months of raiding, and what she hoped to be superior combat skill; Kiera prepared to open the battle with a confident spirit.

She drew upon the energies she'd stored in the blood-stone vials. She could think of but one way to properly start a battle of this sort; with a bang!
She cast a flurry of bolts at the nearest Ga-Vok camp; killing several and causing the rest to flee in a panic. No commander, no Nieldic cmmander anyways, would ignore the presence of a mage at his flank. And the search for the offending mage would make him aware of her troops,to which he would doubtless respond in force.

She readied her sword, she would have to defend herself until their mage revealed himself.
Or herself, Kiera thought, although I don't think I've ever seen a she-wolf among them. I bet they have as hard a time telling the difference between us as we do them. Not that it matters, I plan to kill the cursed whelp either way, and I rather suspect they feel the same way.
She brushed her thoughts aside as she saw them assembling at the base of the ridge. They must have been overestimating her numbers, there were at least four, no six hundred of them. It was a risk that was taken when you arranged your men in a double line. If you spaced thickly the enemy might not know how deep your ranks were.

She raised her sword, bracing herself.
"Remember men, just like we practiced."
They were as nervous as she was, most more. And rightly so, for all she knew this was the first time a Nieldic military force had stood against anyone in a real battle for over a thousand years. And she knew that most of the swords carried by her men had been forged in those days, including her own; and most of the armor and crossbows too. She knew they'd work; they'd used them before. But never against so many, or against a mage backed force.

"Ready!"
Her men pumped their crossbows, those in the first row droped to their knees. The Ga-Vok didn't stop to listen, or flinch at the sight an enemy ready for battle. Many of the younger, bolder warriors began to rush the hill; the rest followed them blindly.
"Aim!"
Two hundred crossbows were leveled against the enemy, months of training coming to fruition. The strongest, most endurant enemies began surging ahead of their bretheren, as gravity began to defeat them.
"Fire!"
She leveled her sword, and two hundred darts flew out from the ridge. She watched with satisfaction as the most eager, driven warriors toppled backwards, pierced by her men's fire.

"Ready!"
The enemies moral was not broken, they continued to drag themselves upwards. They were weakened by months of siege and overconfident from scores of unfought victories. They had only hunted the weak and defenseless; they had never seen an enemy who would stand against them, save the one they had cornered within the fortress.
"Aim!"
Her men did not need the orders, theirs was a lust for blood and for vengance. They had lost families, homes, everything to these ungrateful wretches. Yet they obeyed; for they were soldiers, and their commander desired that they have order. And she would give them victory, or she would die beside them.
"Fire!"
Another volley of sharp steel darts bit into the enemy ranks, this time joined by a red bolt. Both bore death upon them, and this time the enemy faltered. They were no more fools than the Nielda, a mage could devour ordinary warriors like them.

They had seen it, the older Ga-Vok fled along the base of the ridge. Heading not to their camp as the younger ones did in fear, but to the fields. They had seen magic before, in the wars before the Nielda came. Where two seers met in battle, no man was safe. Better to flee and return to their own war torn homes than to die for a dream of living in the land of the fire-bloods. Their seer was not his predecessor, had Traonih been in command their would have been no siege of the fortress, and they would be facing this new foe from within it's safe, spell-warded walls. But Narle was not Traonih, he was to young to have seen war. That fool was no more powerful than his fleas.

Kiera watched as her enemies fled in every direction, then a bolt of lightning flew from the base of the ridge. She threw herself to the ground to avoid it, then looked for her rival on the fields. There!
She grabbed her sword and charged him with the warcry of her noble forfathers.
"Atlai!" She cried, "Attack men, drive them from the field! Let us teach these mangy pups who rules the empire."
Her men put aside their crossbows and drawing swords joined in her charge. They were not many, but the enemy was weak of heart. Many of them fled on sight, tails between their legs. Others cowered, petrified at the thought of death. Only a few stood ready, and they were to few to break the charge.

The seer flung bolts of lightning in an attempt to stop Kiera, but she dodged, absorbed, and deflected them as she came. As she reached him he brought his staff across to block her blow; But her feint left him unguarded.
As quickly as it had beagun, the battle was over. What Ga-Vok remained were still fighting across the fields and streets. But their fate had been decided.

Soon the embattled defenders rushed out and joined the fray. By the sixth hour of daylight, no Ga-Vok lived within the County Marche. And the Nieldic dead numbered only thirty-eight. It had been a good day, and Kiera knew it would be but the first of many.