The Battle of Lake Town [1]

"March for the Gahkar! We strike with the judgment of the Heartrender! For death will not stop us—we carry the blessing of Drema on our souls!" Reman's voice thundered over the marching column, his words an unyielding promise to his men.

The army marched along a treacherous road, squeezed between a rocky cliff face on one side and a yawning abyss on the other. Sand and gravel shifted underfoot, tumbling down into the void below with every step. The descent to the bottom was slow, each step tedious but necessary.

Daenys and her troops were likely already locked in battle on the landbridge ahead. The thought struck Reman like a hammer, his jaw tightening as he muttered under his breath, "You are not allowed to die, Daenys."

A scout galloped back to the main column, his horse kicking up loose gravel as he approached. He wore the red circle of Daenys on his armor, a proud sign of allegiance. "Deathless," he called out, "there's a small town ahead, surrounded by a lake."

Reman, astride his warhorse, narrowed his eyes. "How many Astad soldiers?"

"I couldn't get a precise headcount," the scout replied. "But there are wooden walls and archers."

The town came into view as the column advanced—a meager settlement with a handful of buildings huddled together behind wooden walls. Smoke coiled lazily into the air, a testament to the soldiers stationed within. The defenses were unimpressive: the walls were chipped, and there were no sentries patrolling them. A single structure, slightly taller than the walls, dominated the town. Pipes from the Pickette wound around the lake, feeding into the settlement like veins into a heart.

"Halt," Reman commanded, pulling his horse to a stop.

The scout leaned closer. "What are your orders?"

"We take the town," Reman said simply, his expression unreadable.

The scout hesitated. "Should we deploy the Reavers? They'd be ideal for stalking through the town. The Outsiders of Light would be another option, but…" He trailed off, visibly unsure.

Reman understood the suggestion. A surprise attack by the Reavers would undoubtedly give them the advantage. But Reman was neither Daenys nor Tasha. He would not strike from the shadows. To attack from behind felt dishonorable, a stain on the principles he clung to as a Deathless.

He had earned the right to face his enemies head-on, to prove himself in the crucible of battle. He craved the clash of steel and the cries of warriors—it burned in his blood, a legacy of his Estil heritage. His people were forged for war by Totallis himself, their bodies and spirits hardened against the trials of combat.

"No," Reman said firmly. "We take it with force."

The scout nodded, though his hesitation lingered. "Orders for the Warband?"

"Hold against archer fire. I'll ride in front with the Chalicebreakers to break down the gates. The Ironbloods and Dorme will advance on foot afterward," Reman commanded.

"As you say, Deathless."

Reman's gaze sharpened, and he raised a hand. "I am no longer a Deathless," he corrected. "My name is Reman Eversworn, second-in-command to our Gahkar. Inform the men that the old divisions between the Gahkar warbands no longer stand. I want the best riders with me—the rest will march on foot."

"Yes, Reman," the scout sputtered, rushing off to deliver the message.

Reman watched him go, his grip tightening on the reins. The warbands of the Gahkar had to become one unified force. To persist with old distinctions would breed confusion and weaken their command structure. He would see this change through, starting with their victory at the Pickette.

His horse galloped to the front of the column, the Chalicebreakers rallying around him. They sat atop their warhorses—magnificent beasts bred in Estil, faster than the wind and stronger than iron. A Cyradis mount would have been a welcome addition to this fight, with its claws and fangs capable of shredding through defenders. But they had no Cyradis here.

It would not matter. They would take this town with what they had.

The sun hung high in the sky, the heat bearing down on the warriors as they readied themselves. The skirmish needed to be swift. If they lingered too long, the Lunar Storms would descend and consume them all.

The Drome and Ironbloods moved into position as Reman steadied his mount. His heart thrummed in anticipation, the steady beat of blood coursing through his ears. This battle would be sung about for years to come—the battle of Laketown.

He raised his spear high, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Hear me, enemies of Estil! You are lambs sent to the slaughter! We are the Warband of the Heartrender, and we are invincible! Our swords shall cut you down, and Daenys Godren's cavalry shall crush you beneath their hooves!"

Turning to his men, he roared, "Men of Estil! You were broken beneath the harsh terrain of our homeland, yet you stand here, unbroken! Conquer, or die! If victorious, rewards shall rain upon you—rewards even the gods themselves would envy!"

A snap of the reins, and his warhorse surged forward, hooves pounding against the ground. Behind him, the Chalicebreakers roared as their own mounts followed, the thunder of their charge echoing across the battlefield.

The wooden gates of the town splintered like kindling beneath the combined weight of horses and steel. Shouts and screams erupted as the Astad soldiers scrambled to meet the attack. Reman's spear struck true, piercing through the chest of a defender. His horse trampled another, the crunch of chainmail sickening but satisfying.

Yet, the initial strike failed to break Astad's formation. The defenders rallied, pushing back against the Chalicebreakers. Wooden shields clashed with steel as soldiers dragged riders from their horses, killing them before they could rise.

Reman leapt from his horse, his spear driving into a soldier's gut before he raised his shield to block an incoming blade. His voice rang out, unyielding. "Come! Meet your fate with your swords and shields raised!"

The defenders charged him, their weapons glinting in the midday sun. Reman roared in defiance, his spear carving through flesh as he fought alongside his men. The Chalicebreakers regrouped, holding their ground as Astad's forces clashed against them.

Astad's strategy was clear—grind the enemy into stalemates, wear them down until they broke. It was a tactic as slow as it was brutal, like plucking a rose while avoiding its thorns. But it lacked adaptability.

Reman drove his spear into the thigh of one soldier, then reached for the dagger at his hip to slash through the man's unarmored neck. Blood sprayed, and the Astad line wavered.

The Dorme and Ironbloods surged through the broken gate, their numbers overwhelming the defenders. Victory was near.

"Cavalry, fall back!" Reman commanded. "Surround the exits—none shall escape!"

The Chalicebreakers rode to seal off the town, while Reman pushed forward into the thick of the fighting. His spear struck again and again, each thrust precise and deadly. His shield absorbed blows that would have felled lesser men.

This was what he lived for. The roar of battle. The clash of steel. The blood of his enemies staining the earth. It was his purpose, his calling.

He met four defenders head-on, their swords raised. His spear swept in a wide arc, forcing them back. One lunged too far and fell, another slipped on the mud and lost his head to Reman's blade. A third raised his shield, but Reman's spear found his neck.

The last defender stood trembling, his shield raised in desperation. Reman stalked toward him, each step deliberate. His spear slammed into the wooden shield, again and again, until the wood splintered under the force.

The defender fell to his knees, his broken shield clattering to the ground.

Reman towered over him, his bloodied armor glinting in the sun. He felt the weight of his purpose pressing against him. He would not fail Daenys. He would not fail Estil. He would be more than a Deathless. He would be a force to be reckoned with—a warrior forged for war, unyielding and eternal.

As the sounds of battle faded and victory drew near, Reman raised his spear high once more. For this was what he had been born to do.