A host of sparrows gathered upon an imperial road that ran across soundless currents. One fledgling was perched on an iron cross, preening its feathers, when it took flight, scared by his siblings who fought over half a worm. The stones beneath their beaks were centuries old, quarried and joined together in the middle ages, from the days of the first Zhermanner kingdom. But its borders were long gone, erased from the map like the sixth kingdom that took up its mantle to continue the royal line. Engraved on a cornerstone were a few eroded words, forgotten of its language and forgotten of its meaning. But it likely signified the purpose of this bridge. The crossing served as the boundary between two lands, separating one kingdom from another in the north. For whatever reason, the men who had camped on the southern bank had been told it was forbidden to cross that bridge, yet they did not bother to ask why. They simply trusted the word of their commander as the people who once lived in the vicinity trusted the words of the eroded engraving.
The field which they camped on sat behind a ridge and the sparse woods which overlooked the virgin soil, untouched for thousands of years by the sprawl of civilization. Slowly sloping into the waterline, the land was fertile from the river that flowed beside like a glacier’s stream, cold still running, and on the other bank, the terrain was mirrored but its earth was untainted by soldiers. From what began as an army headed by a brigadier, their numbers had dwindled to no larger than that of a cohort of a thousand men. Its able drew water from nature’s reserves as the weak and veterans mingled, forming a protruding bridgehead that was hastily put together by low walls of logs, carts, and anything that could stop a bullet or an arrow. The camp had many wounded and those suffering from ailments and were of a greater age perished sooner. Mostly the young remained, withstanding the weather, and surviving the harshness of winter. Sat around fires, their faces were shriveled of hope, hugging their swords and rifles. The only thing which sheltered them from the snow and winds were tattered canvases and flipped-over wagons. They had marched for nearly a week and had held out in their positions for a day, but the whole endeavor felt like a month. The cold breezed through their skin and pierced their bones. Their coats did no comfort in such temperatures and shivering, they failed to find the energy to move, especially not with a poor diet of quarter rations and rare game despite the cooks doing what they could to brew stews served with biscuits in place of bread. However, they were slightly thankful for the abandoned villages which they had passed by that provided them forsaken livestock and crumbs of food, and by the grace of the gods they were given deers and hares to hunt. How much longer they had to bear the torment, of angst and pain, they did not know, and wished that their commander could provide them with an answer, but like them, all he could do was to conserve his strength, tucked away beside a fire, cuddling his knees as he was squeezed in between two friends preserving whatever warmth they had.
The snow had stopped. Under an open sky, Arminius sat waiting, wary of the open field around him that spelled troubling battle if it came. He contemplated with the growing voices that seemed more sensible than how they were only a few months ago, losing their complacency for battle for they knew they would not last.
“Did the general ever mention why we aren’t to cross?” asked Arnau, sharpening his blade with a whetstone.
The one and only, among soldiers, unbothered by the weather, a corporal freely laid in the snow with his legs stretched out. “No.” said Julien, noticing that the youngest of the nine huddled around their fire was shivering, he wrapped his jacket around him. “But I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Holding his head by his temple, the Danner tried to remember whether the general ever did mention anything more he could have missed.
“Then perhaps we ought to cross.” Arnau, fearing that they have waited for as long as they safely could, spoke his worry.
Sighing, the Rus shuffled closer to the fire. “What good is there to set foot on land we are unfamiliar with?” Lev countered, reaching outward for the flames, as he gave them a reason to be deterred from the thought. “It could be enemy territory by now.”
His comrades stared into the fire with uneasy expressions, their eyes squinting from the pestering wind that plastered their faces like pins. Fidgeting with anything that was in their hands, their thoughts had dried. No matter how they weaved around their questions, every path they took was destined for a dead end. It was best, then, to leave their lives up to fate, but one, as always, was in denial. As typical of his thoughtlessness, the brute leapt up and those around the fire turned their heads towards him. Knowing that he had nothing productive to say, the giant beside him sat still, ignoring his sudden outburst of energy with a grunt. Although all of them thought that nothing fruitful would come from his words, they gave him a chance to speak his mind at least.
The air was like ice on his face, furthest from the flames, however his pride denied himself from sitting again. “T’hell wit’ dis, crossin’ or not crossin’, y’all doin’ my head in.” Gin voiced. “We stand and fight, dat’s all there is to it.” Hoping that it would restore their morale, he suggested as much as head was capable of thinking.
“That’s all and well, Gin, but we’re at a tenth of our strength, probably less.” Arber looked around him and judged, upon seeing the dozens wounded, and the hundreds of sickly, young, and inexperienced men and women. “If an army even twice ours appears, we’re done.” The usual pessimist minded in a flat tone.
Snorting from a fake laughter, one flapped his hand in dismissal. “Have y’all never studied the histories?” Colt pointed a twig at his comrades, though not all were present. “I could name a couple of battles when armies outnumbered tenfold have caused an upset.” Resting his cheek on his fist, he seemed to agree with the brute for once.
“Yeah…” Julien sounded tentative. “But more often than not, it was down to luck more than anything else.” He could have chose to continue but he did not entertain them that day, lest too much hope and reliance on luck begin to fester in their minds that could soon breed overconfidence, when his podium to speak was hijacked by the sergeant he had tried to discourage.
“Luck, rationality, and hope, the trinity of defeating a larger foe.” Colt held his hand up with three fingers pointed at the heavens. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve already fulfilled one of those three things, ain’t that right?” The sergeant reached over Arnau and nudged his friend by his knee.
Intending for him to hear, Colt bothered him unrelentingly, but the lieutenant-elect had long been dispatched from reality. He stared into the fire and his eyes were not focused on the present. It took a stronger, bullying nudge familiar to a shove that woke him from his thoughts trapped in the abyss.
Sitting upright, light returned to his pupils, and startled, his eyes widened as if he had been dragged off his bed in the morning. “I can’t say…” Arminius replied, and determining that he was safe, he slouched over again.
Unnerved by his half-responsive answer, Colt withdrew himself, his hands holding his knees. He sighed, his disappointment representing much of the squad, but from the quiet often came good. Running out of the thin frosty mist, they must have thought it was a deer or the enemy, however this figure was familiar. From the forest grounds and down the soft ridge, a boy raced, his hair brushed back by the wind and his arrows rattling in his quiver. However cheery he was, he had unkindly forgotten about the girl who gave chase behind, and even with her agility, she could not keep up with the spirited pup. Avoiding the squads of soldiers camped about, the archer carelessly dodged the fires and wagons, clumsily tripping over himself. Upon reaching his own band, he kicked his own heel, and at speed, he was toppled off balance and crashed into the snow. Out of instinct, his helpless comrades stood up and moved away as he slid across the white earth with a trail of ice shaven from the frozen grass. It was only when Arminius caught onto his collar in time that he was brought to an abrupt stop before his head would have been swiftly delivered into the fire. Alexandria followed his path of destruction and mindfully saw to her destination safely, unlike the archer. When Julien came beside him, worriedly, Károly opened his eyes which was suddenly attacked by the heat of the nearby flames.
Arminius released him from his grasp and Károly’s face was planted in the snow. “That would’ve been an embarrassing ending.” Breathing again from the brief scare, the lieutenant said, messing with the archer’s hair. “Anyways, what’s the hurry?” Crouching down beside him, he asked in anticipation of good news.
Károly lifted himself from the snow with dirt rubbed on his face. “We bumped into a friendly scout on the way.” He could not contain himself with excitement, his breaths were solid white. “They’re a few hours out.” The archer reported.35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG9hXoN6iQ1
