"The recruit's Tale" part 2

A Messenger's Death and a Deadly Encounter

The royal saffron flag fluttered in the wind, its sun emblem staring unblinking, a silent witness to the impossible decision before us. A lone rider approached, his horse kicking up a cloud of dust. The sight of the flag—majestic and undeniable—should have halted us in reverence. Instead, it sent a shiver through the ranks.

Our commander stood tall, his voice like steel as he addressed us. "This is no true messenger. It's a ploy by the enemy to stall us, to sow doubt in our hearts and confusion in our plans. Think of your families. If we don't eliminate this group, your loved ones will drown in the chaos that follows failure."

His words carried a thinly veiled threat. The silent weight of his gaze pressed against me and every man present. I realized then why I, Balram, had been chosen. I was strong, loyal, and willing to do anything for my family. I had a sister's marriage to ensure, a father's pride to uphold, and a future to fight for. But now, I saw it clearly—the nobility we served would not hesitate to use those bonds against us. Around me, a thousand soldiers shared my understanding, their faces etched with grim resignation.

The commander raised his hand. "Archers! Loose your arrows!"

The string of the bow thrummed, and the messenger fell before he could utter a word. A collective silence fell over us, heavier than the midday heat. The saffron flag crumpled to the earth, a symbol now stained by our betrayal.

The Charge and the Flames of Chaos

The tension broke as the commander barked his next order. "Form up! Heavy cavalry, three hundred strong! We ride ahead with swords drawn to crush their archers before they can fire. Archers, prepare to suppress them. Foot soldiers, shields and spears ready! You'll clean up the remnants."

The plan was solid, its logic undeniable. Our cavalry's charge would break their lines, allowing the rest of us to overwhelm them. The enemy, though entrenched on the hill, were few in number. What could they do against our thousand?

The ground trembled as the cavalry surged forward, the sun glinting off their armor. The commander rode at the forefront, his sword raised high. Behind them, archers notched their arrows, and the rest of us tightened our grips on shields and spears, awaiting the call to advance.

The enemy archers released their first volley. Their arrows whistled through the air, covering an astonishing distance. But as they struck, the true horror was revealed.

"The arrows exploded on impact."

Blinding flashes of light and bursts of flame erupted among the cavalry. Horses screamed, their bodies engulfed in fire. Riders were thrown from their mounts, their armor turning into ovens as the flames licked at them. Grass ignited, the flames spreading like a vengeful tide.

Chaos rippled through the ranks.

 "Demons!" someone screamed. "They're using divine weapons!"

I stood frozen, my feet rooted in the soil as fear took hold. Around me, men muttered prayers, their confidence shattered. The commander's voice cut through the panic. "Retreat! Pull back!"

But it was too late. The cavalry's charge faltered, the riders falling in droves. The once-proud formation crumbled into a field of burning men and beasts.

The Counterstrike

Before we could regroup, a new cry rose from the right flank.

"Look!" someone shouted, pointing toward the hills.

A new flag is raised.

A small cavalry unit—no more than 150 men—descended with unearthly precision. Their armor gleamed like polished steel, the saffron cloth tied to their sword hilts marking them as royal soldiers. I heard "saffron cloth tied to swords" is the royal army sign from my village elders. They didn't charge us directly. Instead, they veered to the left flank, their voices raised in fierce battle cries.

I watched as they hurled small jars into our ranks. Some shattered against shields and spears, others landed at our feet. My breath caught as I realized their purpose.

Above us, the enemy archers released another volley. This time, the arrows struck the scattered jars, igniting them in fiery explosions. The blasts tore through our formations, sending men flying, their bodies broken and burning.

The smell of charred flesh filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke. Screams rose around me as chaos consumed our forces. I clutched my spear tighter, my knuckles white as I tried to make sense of the carnage.

A Sudden Twist

Above the carnage, a horn blared. Its deep, resonant note silenced the chaos for a moment. My head snapped toward the east, where the horizon churned with the approach of a massive army.

"Reinforcements?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The commander's face twisted with fear as he stared at the approaching force. "Retreat!" he roared. "Pull back! Save whoever you can!"

Our forces scrambled to obey, the panic palpable. I looked toward the enemy on the hill. They, too, seemed to falter, their archers retreating into the safety of their position.

For a moment, time stood still. our sides, battered and bloodied and there tired and alert, hesitated as the looming shadow of the approaching army grew closer.

In the chaos, I felt a strange calm. I saw 'The saffron flag', once a beacon of power and pride, lay trampled and torn in the dirt. Around me, the screams of the dying filled the air, and yet my mind focused on one question.

Who were these men on the hill, wielding fire and destruction as though they were gods? or the royal army ?

And who was this new army, arriving as both savior and executioner? 

End of Chapter 

To be continued ..