Hope Sundered

Major Ardat scanned the surrounding terrain with the scrutiny of an experienced eye. He’d heard the rumors of the Avelirians’ cunning and fearlessness, which seemed true since Morlo, Parcivon, and most of their men had been killed.

In spite of his concern, Ardat felt secure with six hundred soldiers behind him. No matter how clever or fearless these peasants were, there were only a couple hundred of them. No amount of bravery or talent could overcome the advantage of sheer numbers. It was the simple truth of cold, hard mathematics.

Ardat’s force moved east along the merchant’s highway toward Riverton, near the last known sighting of the Avelirian militia. Word had spread throughout the Azrahteran camp about the man who led them, a fierce warrior known as Sollin.

He was the one who’d killed Morlo and now carried his prized axe. Some said he was a giant—as big as General Zordecai—while others said he was half the height of a normal man. Some claimed he had one arm, and most swore he fought as if he had three.

Ardat didn’t know which of the stories, if any, were true, nor did he care. He just wanted to see the look on Sollin’s face when he crushed the man’s pretend army and took his life.

It was midday when he and his men were passing a large field of tall grass to the left. Rolling hills stretched out to the right. The perfect place for an ambush, he thought to himself.

He looked closer, and something distinctive caught his eye: armed men, crouched and waiting. He smiled to himself; apparently these Avelirians were not as clever as everyone believed.

“Over here!” came a cry to Ardat’s right. He turned to see a short, stocky fellow—presumably Sollin, for he was hefting Morlo’s unmistakable axe. He was flanked by a pair of archers.

“Death to the Azrahterans!” the man shouted. The archers fired into Ardat’s ranks, killing two men instantly. The rest of his men drew their weapons, ready and willing to run the annoying man into the ground and pursue the rest of his puny force.

“Hold!” Ardat yelled. “It’s a ruse! His men are in the field! Turn and attack! Kill them all!” Ardat led the way, dashing into the grass and routing the surprised militiamen, who turned and fled, seemingly unprepared to face the Azrahteran horde.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Sollin watched as the enemy disappeared into the grass, hoping his one hundred brave volunteers would maintain their part of the plan. A moment later Iraden approached him from behind.

“I told him we were over here,” Sollin said with mock innocence as he tucked a fresh piece of greyfur bark between his teeth.

Iraden clapped him on the back and bobbed his head. “Not bad for a miller.”

Sollin grinned back at the captain. “To tell you the truth, I never really enjoyed the trade.”

Iraden issued a low whistle. A man who’d been lying flat on his stomach about ten paces behind them jumped to his feet, picked up a pole with Seagate’s banner and waved it back and forth.

Two thousand Segatian soldiers rose from the earth and charged into the wheat field. As instructed, they made no sound, though the collective pounding of their boots rumbled like the harbinger of a coming storm.

It took little time for the Azrahterans to realize their peril. They also discovered, much to their horror, there was nothing they could do about it as they were now surrounded by the very men they were warned not to underestimate. Not one of them escaped.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Major Ardat lay on his back, fighting hard for every shallow breath through the agony of his wounds, made even more complicated by the panic of knowing his end was imminent. His men lay strewn around him; all he could see were the slain bodies of his countrymen in a sea of crushed grass.

How had it all gone wrong? How had he failed to rise above the mistakes of those before him? How had he been outsmarted by a lowly peasant? And why was Sollin’s force so much larger than had been reported?

A shadow loomed over him then, blocking the sun. The expression of the man standing before him was hard, unforgiving. Ardat recognized the bloody axe in his hand and knew who was facing him. “How…how…” he wheezed, barely abl to push the sound past the blood filling his lungs.

“You’re not welcome here; simple as that,” Sollin replied.

The last thing Major Ardat saw was Morlo’s marvelous axe flash before his eyes.