Spears kept turning over the heap of bodies. If anyone still had a breath left, a quick thrust finished him. Usable weapons were collected. Only the worthless corpses and green surcoats were thrown on the ground like rubbish. Now and then, someone used the cloth to wipe blood from a blade.
"My lord, these men want to surrender... There are 32 left."
Tesolys turned his head expressionlessly and looked at the 32 Hols trembling on their knees. Their clothes were in tatters, and all their weapons had been confiscated. Although they appeared largely unhurt, great patches of blood stained them. It was not their own, but blood spilled by their comrades, who had been slaughtered almost to the last man.
They were utterly terrified, unable to muster the slightest will to resist. With their heads pressed to the ground, they begged for mercy and forgiveness in a chorus. Shaking like leaves from head to foot, they desperately flattered this "lord," hoping to win a chance to live.
Seeing their wretched state, a trace of pity crept into his heart. But he crushed it at once... These very men begging for mercy had brazenly massacred a village just last night. He knew that was normal for soldiers of this age, but there was still no value in letting these men live.
"Hang them all from the trees on either side. Turn their heads toward the way they came."
He gave the bloody order with a casual expression. The Hols immediately began screaming in terror, as though the nooses were already around their necks.
"My lord, we don't have that much good rope to waste..."
Marcus spoke helplessly beside him. The middle-aged man was twirling his goatee between his fingers, unaware that the blood on his hands had already dyed his beard red.
"Then cut off all their heads. Face them toward the way they came."
"As you command."
Marcus nodded, drew his blade, and walked into the midst of the routed soldiers. The other cavalrymen with sabers followed his example. Amid brief screams and desperate curses, blades struck flesh with dull thuds. Head after head fell to the ground.
Hot blood spurted from the open necks, staining the surrounding ground and the cavalrymen's iron armor red. It slid slowly down the greased armor and soaked the dust around them.
One head after another was lifted by the hair and piled in the middle of the road as the general had ordered, faces turned toward the direction they had come from. Their terrified, twisted expressions were frozen as the heads were stacked in neat rows.
"Urgh! ..."
Talina came to his side, clamping a hand over her mouth. Tesolys turned toward her, looking rather amused.
"You can throw up. Do it another couple of times and you'll get used to it."
Feeling certain there was a great deal of malice in that remark, Talina fought down the urge to roll her eyes.
"I won't throw up. I saw plenty last night... I didn't throw up then..."
There was a hint of a sob in the girl's voice, but she did not cry. Her eyes only reddened a little.
"I saw the Bolis family's child with my own eyes... The child I delivered myself, impaled on one of their spears... Such a tiny child... Still moving, even... They all deserve to die. They shouldn't be allowed to live, because the ones who truly deserved to live were destroyed by their hands..."
She sniffed hard, the tip of her nose turning bright red. Not daring to look again at the dreadful pile of heads, she turned stubbornly to leave. But a severed hand sticking out at her feet tripped her, and she stumbled forward two steps. Tesolys reached straight out and caught her skirt, keeping her from falling into the bodies.
Talina went pale with fright. Especially with those bloody, mangled corpses right beneath her feet, she dared not imagine how dreadful it would have been to fall into them...
"Marcus, find our doctor a gentler horse. Preferably a young one less than two years old."
The man turned toward her.
"You'll be facing some hard days with us for a while. You'd better learn to ride as soon as you can, or you won't be able to keep up..."
The girl sniffed back the mucus in her nose, suddenly filled with a bad feeling...
* * *
This was a force that moved extremely fast. Every man rode a horse. Not all of them were warhorses; many were cheap packhorses. But they were still faster than men on foot, greatly increasing the whole unit's speed.
There were not many of them, but almost every man wore heavy mail. Some officers wore an additional layer of finely made scale armor.
It was a Hols force, well equipped and well trained, marching swiftly along the broad road. The deep, rolling sound of their horses' hooves striking the ground was enough to make a listener's heart race and breathing grow difficult.
A Hols general with narrow eyes sat on his warhorse. The horse was snow-white, with only its mane a golden color. Plenty of dust and mud stained its white coat. It had clearly been traveling for a long time, yet was still full of spirit, showing its exceptional quality.
The column was moving so fast that it would reach the end of the road in moments. But an order suddenly passed down the line. With a slight stir, the army slowly halted there to await further instructions.
The Hols general, who looked well advanced in years, narrowed his eyes at the distance. His vanguard had not sent word back in a long time. What on earth were those fools doing...?
They truly were a pack of idiots. Merely raiding a village had led to dozens of fools falling into a bog and drowning themselves... They had suffered heavy losses before even catching up with their real enemy.
Such a sorry lot should never have been used as a vanguard. But he had no light cavalry fit for the job... After the great battle, almost all the army's elite light cavalry had been lost. As for the exact reason... Every Hols general knew, but none of them would speak of it...
Worried about the task ahead, Ka Toris Ponte wore a face as dark as a storm cloud. His officers took the utmost care, afraid of angering their general at a time like this.
A scout who had been searching the way ahead suddenly came galloping back, panic all over his face. He was shaking from head to foot, his face as pale as a dead man's and his lips trembling without pause. When he reached Toris, he could not speak for a long while. His eyes were full of terror.
Toris frowned and lashed his face several times with his whip. Only then did the man come to his senses, and a shrill scream burst from his mouth.
"Dead!! ... They're all dead!"
"What?"
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