THE BATTLE OF THE WASTELANDS.

The sounds of hundreds and hundreds of hooves beating upon the soil rumbled across the barren
wasteland. Massive armies of orcs, Karzonic warriors, mercenaries, trolls, goblins and many other followers
of the dark wizard Selevast marched onwards, on their quest to take over the world. They marched and
marched, first lazily and raggedly, then their formation tightened up as they began to hear the rumbling of
hooves. It was the sound of Conoilithian and Mekohedian horsemen making their way towards the invading
army.
Then, the cavalry rode over the crest of a hill, and then the invaders were caught by surprise.
Hundreds and hundreds of horsemen uniformed in blue, red, white, green and other colours trotted their
way towards the evil forces. Their armour and their weapons glimmered in the morning sunlight, their
lances, swords and axes at the ready. Behind them thousands of foot soldiers marched in neat fashion. The
massive sea of blue, silver, green and red then came to a halt, as the first five ranks of horsemen came to
halfway down the slope.
Marshal Wulfrick sat astride his horse, his lance in his hand and his shield on his forearm. The
massive ovoid shield protected his upper body, and the chain mail, cuirass, helmet and shoulder-guards was
sure to protect him from most enemy weapons. He scanned the enemy lines below him, who were quickly
forming up to make a shield wall.
'Damn,' Wulfrick thought to himself. The shield wall would protect the invaders from the arrow storm
the Mekohedian and Conoilithian archers were ready to unleash upon them. They would have to resort to a
different tactic at a different position. It had occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of the other soldiers
in the Conoilithian-Mekohedian alliance, that sending them to fight on this harsh terrain, which was littered
by pitfalls, brambles, thorn-bushes, mud fields and slippery salt lakes was far from ideal for the cavalry.
Nevertheless, orders were orders, and they would have to ride across the salt lake which separated them from
Selevast's forces. Now he had realised how cunning the enemy leader was. They had set up camp in the
middle of the salt lake, making an artificial island as their headquarters, surrounded by the expanse of
slippery material, which would hinder cavalry movements. The force in front of them was in fact just one of
the lines of defence, and he realised that to get to the enemy headquarters, they would have to break through,
cross the lake and fight all at the same time.
He beckoned the officer in charge of the archers forward, a burly Mekohedian knight named
Ianulke.
'Tell your men to increase the range of their fire. Trajectory shots. We'll direct a plunging fire so that
our arrows land well behind the shield wall, and thus would lessen the amount of reinforcements. They
underestimate the range of our longbows. Make sure every one of your archers go for maximum range;
otherwise we will risk friendly fire.'
'You mean your going to charge at the shield wall at the same time when we open fire?' Ianulke
asked.
Wulfrick nodded. 'That's correct. My mounted archers will let loose shots as well. Once we get to that
point,' he said, indicating a position twenty rows away from the first row of enemy troops, 'I want you to
cease fire; immediately. Now go.'
Ianulke nodded, gave a salute, and went away. Wulfrick turned his gaze back at the enemy lines. 'This
will be one tough fight. Five-sixths of us may not even make it out alive,' the marshal thought. He then picked up the
horn next to him, and blew out three staccato notes. The cavalrymen around him instantly stirred, and the
jingling of weapons and harnesses being readied filled the air.
He himself checked his own harnesses, and made sure his sword could swing out of its scabbard
freely. He made sure his horses' armour was sufficiently tight enough, and tightened his helmet's improvised
chinstrap. After all that, he then took out the enamel horn again, and this time blew two long notes. The all
of the horsemen lowered their lances so that they would point towards Selevast's troops below them. The
mounted archers readied their bows. He knew that there was one disadvantage with a 'tortoise' shield wall
(the shield technique the enemy were deploying right now): it would limit their vision, and therefore the shock
of a cavalry attack would seem a lot more powerful, as most them wouldn't expect it, as they would expect
the rattling of arrows instead. Wulfrick made sure his gear was all ready one more time, lowered his lance.
 He looked towards the company's bagpiper next to him, and gave orders to him. 'Play the The
Maiden's Saviour-edition 1012.' The bagpiper nodded, and put his lips to the mouthpiece. Then, Wulfrick blew
the horn again, one, loud, long note. Immediately, the The Maiden's Saviour sliced through the air, and, with a
massive roar, all the horsemen surged forward, gathering speed, trotting at first, then cantering, and then
went forward at full gallop. The rumbling of hooves filled the air, accompanied by the notes of The Maiden's
Saviour, war-cries, and then, after a few seconds, the hissing of arrows flying through the air. Then came the
surprised cries of shock and pain, as the arrows hit their targets, causing havoc and devastation on the enemy
lines. The shooting was, wisely, directed at the ranks twenty-three and beyond, Wulfrick noted.
Then the enemy began returning fire. Several troopers went down, but other than that there weren't
many casualties. A few dozen or so more went down, either due to the enemy's arrows, or, as was in the most
cases, due to the terrain, which quite a few cavalrymen's mounts stumbled and tripped over. It was lucky for
the alliance that the Orcs and mercenaries weren't very good archers, and had very few of them in their
ranks. Only in the Karzonic army out of all the enemy forces would you find massed archers, and these
mainly preferred crossbows, which didn't have as much range as the Mekohedian and Conoilithian longbows.
Then, the cavalrymen made contact with the shield wall. At first, there was a brief stop in the
movements of the horsemen as the shield wall momentarily blocked their path. Then, thanks to the force of
the oncoming troops and a few jabs and stabs from spears and lances, the shield wall rapidly gave way. Many
of the cavalrymen in the rearward ranks discarded their lances, and drew their close-combat weapons, an
assortment of swords, axes and maces. This was done so that survivors left from the lancers would be dealt
with more easily, as the force rushed onwards.
The effect of the lightning-fast cavalry strike was as desired. The speed, force and numbers of the
charge smashed through the unsuspecting enemy shield wall. An enemy who did not know what their
opponents' were up to were more likely to be defeated quickly. Mounted cavalry poured shot after shot, along
with the supporting fire from the archers behind the line of infantry troops. The enemy were cut down
relatively easily, thanks to the lightning speed of the attack. The plan was to strike so quickly that the enemy
had no time to realise they were under attack. It worked. The old Mekohedian tactic of 'Lightning Warfare',
which was first designed by a certain General Wulf more than several hundred years ago never ceased to
succeed in penetrating enemy defences. The fast moving horsemen made it hard for the Karzonic and orc
archers to register the correct range, and within minutes the cavalry force had rumbled away, leaving a trail
of destruction behind them. Barely more than a few dozen of the mounted troops were wounded or killed,
and the force rumbled onwards.
Up on the hilltop, General Alberdath of the Conoilithian infantry forces surveyed the scene below
them. The massed cavalry assault had trashed much of Selevast's defences, and the arrow storm began to
move over to further range, as Ianulfe took over, slightly ignoring Wulfrick's orders. The general gave a wry
smile, and nodded towards the officers near him, who were all mounted, with the massive army of foot
soldiers behind them.
'Let’s dismount, and we'll continue the battle on foot,' he commanded. He knew that horse riding
wasn't the best skill of Conoilithian soldiers, but they revelled in close-quarters ground combat. He then
beckoned Ianulfe forward.
'As for your archers, move them in to closer range. I have a feeling we'll need the most supporting fire
that we possibly can muster.'
Ianulfe saluted in response, and gave an order for his men to start marching. Alberdath then turned
towards his soldiers, who had quickly formed a 'fence formation' shield wall. Some of them tried to match his
easiness by giving him a few nervous smiles, and then the general gave his speech.
'Men! Today we will show these monsters what happens to those who dare invade our homeland!
Though some of us may go down, let's try taking as many of them with us! Spears down!' With that, the
spears of the first three ranks lowered. 'All shields ready!' Then every single one of the foot soldiers lowered
their shields, to protect them from enemy swords, axes, maces and spears.
'Forward march!'
All the soldiers marched forward, their officers leading the charge. The signifiers blew their horns
and trumpets, and then the company musicians played their chosen songs. A massive cloud of spear and
halberd tips hung above the marching troops, and the sunlight shined upon their armour and their weapons.
They moved, in a massive, solid pack, twenty-five ranks deep and five hundred men wide. An enemy
breakthrough would be met with solid resistance, and, if a small gap was made, it would be easily pushed
back the sheer force of numbers. It was one of the largest Mekohedian/Conoilithian joint infantry groups to
be deployed in one single move yet. The colourful banners of different regiments flapped in the wind,
amongst the polished and sharp heads of spears, pikes, halberds and more. A comparatively small contingent
of Conoilithian musketeers moved into position onto one of the hills directly next to their fellow infantrymen
make their way down the slope. They stood their, waiting, preparing shot and bringing out wheeled palisades,
while their comrades filed past right next to them.
The ordinary men-at-arms followed their generals and standard bearers down into the muddy,
cratered and uneven terrain from the taller hills, marching in the wake of the cavalry. Crows had started
gathering above the battlefield, and a light snow was beginning to fall.

***

Selevast frowned as he saw the massive pack of infantrymen bearing down on his lines. The
Conoilithian generals were smart enough to keep some reserves at the back, although these were relatively
small. He stood atop a hill, surveying the progress of the battle. The enemy cavalry had forced a massive
bulge in Selevast’s first line of defence, decimating the foot-soldiers there. They were now on their way
towards the palisade he had ordered his troops to construct at the edge of the salt-lake, and now orcs,
Karzonic warriors, mercenary musketeers and supporters he had gathered from the nations he conquered
were moving into position behind the roughly constructed barricade made of upturned carts, logs, barrels,
crates and stakes driven into the ground. The land around the edge of the lake was comparatively flatter than
the waste further away from the salt lake, although it was by no means comfortable terrain. Craters littered
the ground, dead trees lay silent and gnarled all over the dark brown terrain, and thorn-bush littered the
place. The ground had been turned to mud from the autumn rain, and now, despite it not being winter yet,
here in the wastelands there was snowfall all year round. The was dark and clouded, as it always was, and
hung over the battlefield along with carrion birds like a bad omen.
Now, the cavalry were plodding a mass charge at the palisade, and Selevast knew he had to do
something.
‘Direct all our archers’ fire at the cavalry. Same with the artillery and musketeers.’ Selevast knew he
didn’t have as many archers as his opposition, but he certainly had more cannons and firearms. Throughout
his campaign, he had discovered the combat effectiveness of artillery pieces and used them to great effect
against Karzonic strongholds. Indeed, the Karzonic warriors he had currently at his disposal were either
conscripts or supporters of his new regime. He looked up at the sky. Small flurries of snow were drifting
down onto the barren earth. The wind was relatively strong, so they would have to aim their weapons to their
left of the targets. He was confident his artillery and gunmen would blast the cavalry to obliteration, even if it
meant some friendly fire. As for the archers, he would also direct them at the cavalry.
A series of twelve cannons were now being wheeled up the hills on the other side of the lake. Some
of the small and few yet effective mortars Selevast had developed with help of mercenary expertise remained
behind the mounds, and an observer for each mortar stood on top of the natural trench they were placed in.
Archers ran up the hill, and formed a ragged line. Musketeers stood where they were, halfway down the
mounds.
The cavalry were now cresting the last hills that stood in their way of getting to the lake. Some went
down, crashing as horses stepped into potholes and slipped on mud. Others stopped suddenly, riders being
jerked out of their seats as their mounts reared in pain as hidden masses of thorn-bush clipped and snagged
on their hide. The ‘Field of Thorns’ that Selevast had set out, which would be the name given to the site of
the charge thereafter, was showing its effectiveness. Nevertheless, the horsemen rumbled on, across the
cratered ground, into the range of the artillery.
‘Artillery!’ one of the officers which stood by his side yelled. The gunners were now frantically
loading shot into barrels of the cannons, and rammed them down with large rods. A nearby gunnery officer
estimated the range, and gave the order. The elevation of the field guns rose by the slightest, and the gunners
moved quickly behind the weapons.
‘Fire!’
The gunners set their matches to their fuses, and, in a great flurry of smoke and fire, the cannons
spat their shot at the speeding cavalrymen. The archers had their bows nocked and ready, raised to the
correct elevation for range. The musketeers moved down the hill to get to closer range. They too, had fired
their shots. As the musketeers reached the edge of the lake, a massive hail of arrows arced up into the air and
back down, plunging straight down on the horsemen.
Massive explosions blasted horses and men to pieces, hurling the ones unlucky enough to be within
the blast radius in all directions. At least three dozen units had been lost in that first volley of cannon-fire, and
many more badly wounded. The shots from the musketeers soon followed after, ripping through their ranks,
toppling men out of their horses, punching right through their armour, and knocking down their mounts.
The once dazzling and menacing charge was now reduced to a rabble of badly scarred riders, psychologically
and physically, limping nervously across the battlefield, the wounded and dead strewn across the battlefield.
Many banners of the land’s best knights went down in fire, blood and smoke that day, for even the elite
horsemen stood no chance against cannons and guns. The hail of arrows came down, putting the wounded
and unhorsed riders out of their misery.
Wulfrick had somehow survived the onslaught, despite being at the very front. He was now in
command of a badly damaged force of three-hundred remaining cavalrymen, having lost at least ten dozen
men in the first wave. His standard-bearer was dead, killed by a Karzonic crossbow bolt, and he had taken
the liberty of ripping the bloodstained red, white, gold and green cloth from its pole, and placed it upon his
own lance. Wulfrick now continued to lead the charge, with only twenty other knights to support his
command over the cavalrymen. He cast a glance backwards, seeing the scattered bodies on the ground, both
of horses and men, huge craters blemishing the dirt. Hundreds of arrow shafts stuck out of the ground and
their victims, and the once proud and colourful banners of the knights marked the graves of their bearers.
He was covered in dirt and smog from the explosions, and his cheek bore a scar where a ball from a
musket had scraped past. Wulfrick saw the barricade loom up towards him, the hated enemy crouched
behind the palisade, pikes up and swords drawn. It was the first time he saw the enemy face to face; this was
his first battle in which he conducted command among the combat himself. It was then that he saw the
masks, white and smeared with mud, covering the faces of some humanoid warriors he assumed were orcs.
These orcs looked different. These ones were special. As he had noted earlier, their faces were covered by a
leather and fabric mask, which hang down like a cloth from the helmets they were attached to. The orc
warriors bore long, curved sabres as opposed to the wild and unwieldy variety of daggers, dirks, spears,
halberds, axes, pikes and swords that the ordinary orcs carried. These ones were also protected by more
armour, and they seemed more uniform and ‘clean’, perhaps, than their normal counterparts.
Whilst he was mulling over these new, strange orcs, the hills erupted in explosions and cannon-fire
again. Wulfrick turned his head just in time to see the massive clouds of smoke waft out from the barrels of
guns. The ground around him exploded, tossing dirt, rock and shrapnel high into the air, taking down much
of the horsemen. The general manoeuvred his horse between the clouds of smoke and dust thrown up into
the air, dodging cannon shots and musket fire.
Yet no shots hit him. The last remnants of the cavalry were now thundering into the palisade, horses
impaled by pikes and troops toppling out of saddles, others hacking madly at spear shafts and orcs. Over-
eager orcs were swarming out from behind the cover of the protective barricade, and were unwisely facing
the cavalry in the open field. Wulfrick looked back. The massive contingent of infantrymen were now slowly
making their way towards the barricade, their shields raised in a defensive formation to protect them from
arrows, and every now and then one small section would explode as cannons hit their targets.
Wulfrick swayed to his left to dodge a pike thrust from one of the specialised orcs he had noticed
earlier. He cut down the pike head, and spun his horse around so that it knocked the enemy warrior to the
ground. Then, Wulfrick brought down the head of butt of his lance onto the orc’s head, knocking him
senseless. He then spun his horse around again, to face a more unkempt and grotesque orc, one of the
original types described in the legends. He quickly stabbed the axe-wielding monster, and then brought his
horse to leap over the rough wall of carts, crates, barrels and scrap wood. As Wulfrick’s mount jumped, he
thrust his lance into a crowd of orcs and Karzonic warriors swarming to meet him in combat. A few jumped
out the way; the others were wounded and stabbed by his lance, moving back and forth in a mad killing
frenzy.
One of the ‘special’ orc warriors brought his sabre up and down, cutting off the head of Wulfrick’s
lance. Wulfrick used the splintered pole to knock down the orc, and then switched the now headless lance into
his left hand, where he held the shield. The ruined banner still flew, on its now splintered war-lance. Now
with his lance useless other than a signal to show other units he was alive, he drew his long cavalry sword
from its scabbard, and swung it in menacing arcs to ward of the enemies swarming in. All of this was done
whilst Wulfrick was still on his horse, galloping at full speed.
Behind, the massive blocks of infantrymen had finally reached the enemy fortifications. As the orcs
and Karzonic warriors were very badly equipped when it came to shields, forming a shield wall would be
impossible. On the other hand, the huge, mass march of Conoilithian and Mekohedian foot soldiers, all their
shields raised as a single, giant walking shield wall, made short work of the orcs and Karzonic warriors who
had strayed out from the palisade. Spears thrust forward, short-swords hacked and stabbed, and axes rose
and fell. The overwhelming numbers of the solid pack of troops was extremely efficient at close range,
breaking formation once the troops began to climb up and over the barricade. Then, the soldiers either
fought individually or in small units and teams, clearing out the remaining orcs, Karzonic warriors and
mercenaries from the palisade. Soon, the enemy began to beat a hasty retreat. The foot soldiers generally
took a relatively small number of casualties during the fight at the palisade, though the cavalry had taken a
deadly toll. Luckily, the second group of reserve horsemen began to make their way towards the lake, to
reinforce their comrades.

***

Selevast frowned, as he saw his defence works buckle and break under rolling tide of cavalrymen and
foot soldiers. A group of around ten dozen musketeers was making their way towards his left flank, with a
group of three hundred Conoilithian infantrymen marching up behind to support them. The massive army
of men-at-arms and unmounted knights was marching their way onto the edge of the salt lake, and began to
‘dig in’, constructing rough regrouping areas and small defensive pockets. Another contingent of cavalrymen
were rushing across the hilly ground towards the salt lake, and two groups of light cavalry, or hussars, were
wheeling their way to flank Selevast’s left and right in a ‘horn’ formation.
Now, what remained of the solid block of troops at the palisade were retreating across the lake, being
cut down by the cavalrymen and infantry troops. He would have to do something about that. He called up
the general in charge of pretty much his entire orc army, a special, well trained and magically enhanced orc
named Gorbag.
‘Gorbag, I have a task for you.’
‘What will it be?’ the orc general grunted. He was a massively built figure, his appearance even more
menacing with his heavy armour. At his waist, a sabre hung loosely in its scabbard, and he brandished a
mace in his right hand.
‘I want you to stop the retreat and destroy the enemy,’ Selevast ordered, pointing at the force of
infantrymen and cavalry swarming across the lake with his staff.
‘Of course,’ Gorbag responded, mounting up onto his Hwiarg, a creature which seemed like a
mutated cross-breed between a bear and a wolf. He rode along the full length of his legions, shouting orders,
and back again to the middle. A group of Karzonic cavalry rode up to follow his orders. And with a wave of
his mace, Gorbag led Selevast’s armies down to the salt lake.