H10

Bardyllis arrived at Lake Orhid with a veritable horde of Illyrian Troops. Ranks of serried spearmen in leather coats formed the bulk of his forces, but there were also axemen in iron chain armor, the elite of his army, alongside slingers in cotton tunics, and the formidable Illyrian Noble Cavalry bedecked in iron breastplates and wielding lance and sword. 37,000 men had come when Bardyllis called, grown fat off victory and plunder. Bardyllis himself commanded from the reserve, but he was not the only king present on the field. Subordinate kings of the Parthini, Penestae, and a half a dozen other smaller tribes that had submitted to Bardyllis had come to march under the banner of their Dardanian overlord. It was a mighty host by any reckoning and outnumbered the forces of the Coalition I'd put together by a good 4,000 troops.

Fortunately, we had quality and a plan going for us. I'd had us draw up in the narrow plain between the mountains, blocking Bardyllis' advance to Bolkospelsos and the shore of Lake Ohrid. I had arranged our lines with my phalangites and hypaspists holding the center, blocky phalanxes linked together by lines of Illyrian spearmen and thureophorai. My flanks were anchored by the mountains and my lines were screened by peltasts. I had placed my cavalry on the extreme edge of the field, between my lines and the mountains under Epulon. Their job was simple, to drive off the enemy cavalry from the pass. Hopefully, once they had done that, they would return to charge the enemy rear instead of stopping to loot the Illyrian baggage. Thankfully, that was not the sole point of failure of the plan. Up in the mountainsides I had placed groups of Illyrian Slingers from allied forces. Sling bullets were already deadly, but with the added elevation, it would hopefully be even worse for Bardyllis. Astios was in command there. I just needed to hold my ground with the infantry until it was over.

The battle began with a ranged duel. Bardyllis' slingers and my peltasts traded sling bullets and javelins as Bardyllis' main force closed with my lines. My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as I watched the screens skirmish. Pyrrhus may have been used to battles and death, but the most I'd been privy to before now were HEMA or martial arts spars, maybe the odd re-enactment battle. I could plan and drill all day, but the actual carnage of war had me breaking out in a cold sweat.

Thankfully, my peltasts seemed to be coming off the better in the duel, their larger shields, and light armor turning deadly sling throws into glancing blows. The Illyrians didn't have the same luxury. I suppressed a wince as I saw one of my peltasts nail an enemy slinger in the chest with a thrown javelin, the man's cloth tunic doing nothing against the deadly missile. The slinger slumped forward in a spray of gore until his body was propped up by the wooden haft of the javelin like some grisly puppet on a stick. I reached for a wineskin at my belt and washed down the lump rising in my throat with the liquid. The wine helped soothe the battle nerves and I was definitely going to have to be careful about becoming dependent on it to get me through battles. I didn't want to become known as a drunk, after all.

The skirmisher duel continued with men on both sides going down. More of theirs than of ours, thankfully. Soon, however, Bardyllis' main force was approaching and both sides' skirmisher screens threw one last volley before fading back to the rear. My thureophorai took a disciplined step apart to let them through before closing ranks. The air was filled with the sound of marching feet for a few more moments before Bardyllis' line stopped in front of us. Silence reigned for a precious few seconds before a war cry went up from the Illyrian line. A shrieking, roaring, undulating thing. If they meant to unnerve us it wasn't working. As someone who'd heard any number of half a hundred monster roars from Hollywood movies in the old world, I wasn't dreading this nearly as much as the actual clash yet to come.

I raised my Falcata and roared out, "They're no monsters! Just men! They'll die all the same!" The verbal reminder put my men's mind at ease as much as it did mine and soon the Illyrian war cry stopped. A brief pause, then the Illyrians charged and there was no more time for mind games.

The Illyrian line struck my linked row of phalanxes and the weight of the numbers pushed into shields even as Illyrians were gored by sarissa or hacked down by Falcata. My line was pushed back a few steps before firming up. Phalangites stabbed out with their pikes and reaped a bloody toll of Illyrians, even as Illyrians thrust out their shorter spears to do the same. I saw an Illyrian spearman take the steel tip of a sarissa through the open face of his helmet, even as he threw his shorter spear into the thigh of one of my phalangites. Men died on both sides as I exhorted my troops to keep going.

"Hold your ground! Let them break on your spears!" I shouted, riding along the line to keep morale going.

My phalangites and hypaspists held on with little trouble, their large shields, and heavy armor rendering them the biggest, baddest, troops on the field. It was my thureophorai and allied Illyrian spearmen that needed the encouragement. My thureophorai had smaller shields and were greener than my phalangites, having been just raised this last year, and the allied Illyrian spearmen were tribal troops, with all that entailed. They needed encouragement the most.

"Stand fast! They may rise like a wave, but the wave always breaks on the rocks!" I shouted, swallowing my own fear to inspire the men.

As I said that, an Illyrian spearman thrust forward with his spear at me, trying to take out the general while he was trying to keep his forces fighting. The iron spear tip came in at my steel-clad torso and skidded off my chest piece. In response, I let Pyrrhus' muscle memory guide my actions as I grabbed the man's spear under the head with my left arm, using my knees to guide my horse, and pulled. The man stumbled forward into the descending arc of my falcata, the steel edge of which cut through the leather coat, through his shoulder, and down into his upper torso. Finishing the move, I kicked out and a spray of gore released my falcata. The enemy spearman dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

The whole thing played out in moments and my throat felt suddenly dry. Pyrrhus' instincts had me spurring my horseback behind the lines as a cheer went up from the men on seeing their king deal with the enemy. I reached for my wineskin and took another long pull to steady my nerves. Pyrrhus may have been good with killing, but it was clearly affecting me. It took a few more moments and deep breaths interspersed with pulls from my wineskin before I calmed down enough to re-engage my brain. When I did, I saw my plan being put into motion.

Epulon and the cavalry crashed into their Illyrian counterparts and wreaked a deadly slaughter on them. The combination of hard tree saddle and stirrup allowed my cavalry to deliver a bigger punch. Epirote cavalry tore a giant, wedge-shaped, gap in Bardyllis' cavalry force, allowing Byllones and Taulantii cavalry to stream in behind and utterly rout Bardyllis cavalry force from the field, chasing them back out of the mountain pass and out the other side. Meanwhile, Bardyllis' entire infantry line was engaging with our own. We just had to hold a bit longer for Astios to get into position on the mountainside.

Back under control, I once more rode out to help inspire the men. By this point, Bardyllis had brought up his reserve of elite Illyrian axemen to face my phalangites and hypaspists. I rode to the center to help inspire them to hold. As I did, I spied a lone rider among the throng of armored axemen. He bore an iron breastplate worked in the shape of a muscular torso, his corinthian helmet was chased in silver and bore a purple horsehair crest, and he carried a spear that he used to thrust between the linothorax and helmet of one of my hypaspists. That had to be either Bardyllis or one of his sub-kings trying to do the same thing I was. I spurred my horse forward before I even consciously realized what I was doing.

Aa axemen and phalangites clashed around me, I beelined for the opposing officer, letting Pyrrhus' reflexes take over. An axeman tried to stop me from reaching my target, but I struck out with my Falcata, catching him across the face and knocking him away. I didn't have time to check if his helmet had prevented my sword from cutting his face open and I wasn't sure I would look if I did. Another axeman tried to stop me only to be knocked away by my horse. I caught a glimpse of his arm bent unnaturally as I passed by and swallowed reflexively before suppressing the image. I neared my target and a duel began.

My target turned to see me coming and thrust out his spear to try and skewer me, but Pyrrhus' reflexes let me twist aside in the saddle to avoid the deadly spearhead. My falcata struck out for his head but he parried with the haft of his spear. My falcata cut through the spear haft, steel winning out over wood, but he simply dropped the useless weapon and drew his own sword, a single-edged sica-style blade. He struck out with his own weapon and I just barely leaned away from a cut that would have taken out my eye. I riposted and caught him in the meat of the arm as he was pulling his sica back from his failed attack on my face. A bloody gash carved into his triceps and he fell off his horse with a strangled cry. Immediately, a group of axemen broke off their attack on my phalanx to carry him back to the rear.

The victory in the duel caused my phalanx to surge forth with renewed vigor as I wheeled back behind the lines on my own mount. The lump was back in my throat and the pit in my stomach had returned. I took another pull of wine from my wineskin to banish the feelings and looked back out across the field. Both sides were fully engaged, but now I could see Astios on the mountainside, his armor glinting in the light of the afternoon sun. Phase 2 of my plan was beginning.

From the mountainside, a hail of sling bullets and stones thundered down into the flank of Bardyllis' forces. Illyrians fell from sling stones or were distracted enough for my infantry to score a kill. Almost immediately, they began to give ground, trying to withdraw back out of the pass. My forces pressed them back, causing mass casualties as the fight began to leave our opponents. A withdrawal slowly turned into a retreat, which turned into a rout, as Bardyllis' force tried to leave the only way they could, back through the pass. Unfortunately, that was when our cavalry returned, shutting that door closed on them.

The rout became a slaughter as Bardyllis' force was squeezed between my infantry in front and cavalry in the rear, all the while taking fire from slingers on the mountainside. Bereft any other option, they fought on for another hour, trying to break out, until a flag of truce was raised. King Pleuratus of the Penestae begged for a truce to discuss terms of surrender. I gave it and the battle was over, terms discussed there on the field.

The battle of Bolkospelsos ended with 18,000 dead Illyrians of Bardyllis' Kingdom, 10,000 Dardanii and Parthini enslaved, the submission of the Penestae as an Epirote Client, and King Bardyllis of the Dardanii and King Agron of the Parthini slain on the field. Most of their casualties came in the final phase of the battle, once they had been routed and trapped. In exchange, I lost 800 thureophorai, 400 phalangites, 200 peltasts, 150 hypaspists, and 100 cavalry. My allies lost 1,600 Illyrian Spearmen, 200 cavalry, and 1,600 thureophorai. A ratio of roughly 3.56 enemy casualties to every 1 of ours.

Once everything was over I retired to my tent and let the adrenalin leave me. I took a few deep breaths as the enormity of what I had just done hit me. Then I immediately threw up. I could feel Pyrrhus laughing in the back of my mind as I retched up the wine I had drunk to keep from going to pieces during the battle itself. Smug remnant of an asshole was probably used to all this shit by now, unlike me. And there was more of this to come yet. Hopefully, it wouldn't be this bad every time. As I straightened up, I forced myself to look at the positives. I had just cemented my control over all territory from the Gulf of Ambracia to Cape Rodon, that had to count for something, right?

I sighed as I realized I still had to march north to Lissos and subdue the Labatae before I could head back south to Epirus. Then I was already committed to a war with Macedon after that. Hopefully, the Labatae hadn't sold off Agathocles' heir when they heard I had marched north. If they had, that part of the campaign would be for nothing. Sighing at the remainder of the task ahead of me, I reached for another bottle of wine.

It seemed I might become a drunk after all. . .

XXXX

AN: There you have it. The battle of Bolkospelsos ends in a victory, though our SI is having a case of battle nerves. Self-medication with booze is certainly one way to handle that, though whether it's a good way or not is questionable.

If anyone is wondering about the remaining 10,000 enemy Illyrians, those are Penestae troops. With the Penestae submitting to Epirus, their forces are effectively switching sides. Epirus can now call on a further 6,000 Illyrian Spearmen, 2,000 Illyrian Slingers, and 1,000 Illyrian Cavalry from the Penestae, though it's going to take some time for those cavalry to hear about the deal. They scattered after being driven from the field by the allied cavalry.