The Stratigos of Dark Magic

War drums pounded as the battering ram advanced. It had a covering that would protect it from crossbow bolts. Under it, a dozen men were ready to pound the leg into the city's wooden gate. Other warriors, wielding axes, were with them. They would widen any hole the ram made in the gate.

Theotokos stood in silence. His lamellar armor protected him from the arrows, and he kept an eye on the battlefield. The Tourmarchēs' hand was on a trumpet, waiting for the right moment.

Then, the battering ram got within 40 meters. Theotokos blew on the trumpet, and men came running. They pointed their flamethrowers at the siege weapon.

Grekken fire sprayed from the flamethrowers. It set the battering ram ablaze in an instant. The men inside the ram screamed in agony, fleeing as their bodies burned.

One man ran into a snow bank, hoping it would put the fire out. It did nothing. Another made it back to his camp where buckets of water were poured on him. The water did nothing. A third rolled on the ground to get the fire off him. Once more, nothing worked.

Their screams echoed into the air as pain became their entire world. A burning stench wafted from their bodies. The men's flesh sloughed off as it melted. Soon, the men manning the battering ram were nothing more than charred corpses.

Theotokos grimaced.

"After seeing a weapon like that, their morale's got to be shot. But we're not out of the woods yet, despotēs. It'll take much more than that to make them run away," he said.

"I'm surprised you could figure that much out, but you're right. Of course, we have a bigger worry," Demetrius stated.

Confusion crossed Theotokos' face.

"What's that, despotēs?" he asked.

"We can't let them run away before we've captured or killed Tabahn Khan. Send out the cavalry," Demetrius ordered.

Theotokos shook his head.

"Despotēs, sending our cavalry out would be suicide. We don't have enough to counter the Baikals," he said.

Demetrius glared at him.

"Do not question my orders," the magician commanded. "Send the cavalry."

Theotokos fumbled with his trumpet. Then, he grabbed it and blew it three times. The gate opened, and 10 men on horseback charged out. They pointed their lances forward, clad in metal armor and carrying shields.

The enemy archers, already low on morale, scattered when they saw the horsemen coming at them. Lances pierced the bowmen's backs. Blood sprayed out.

Their lances were stuck in enemy bodies. So, the horsemen drew swords and maces. They laid in on the archers. A man's brain splattered on the ground as a mace hit his helmet. Another's head was parted from his neck by a sword strike.

Then, a great horn was blown. Its sound echoed throughout the battlefield. The Baikal horsemen, archers and heavy cavalry alike, charged.

"Call our cavalry back," Demetrius ordered.

Theotokos blew his trumpet, and the Remen cavalry ran back towards the gate. The Baikal horsemen closed the distance, their horse archers catching up quickly.

Just before they could unleash arrows, Demetrius made the magical shield disappear. He pointed his hand at the horse archers.

"Without their archers, they're vulnerable to me. My magic isn't strong enough to break through their armor or kill their horses, but I can break their horses' legs," he thought.

A fissure erupted under a group of five horse archers. Darkness blasted out from it, coming right at the animals' legs. There was a snapping as the creatures' bones were snapped in two. Horses collapsed with their riders falling with them.

Demetrius pointed his hand again. Another fissure erupted, breaking the legs of another five horses. A man fell to the ground and was crushed under his horse. Nothing was left of him but a bloody stain.

More of the cavalry archers unleashed their arrows at the Remen horsemen. Most of these bounced off the metal lamellar; however, one managed to find a weak point. It pierced through, embedding itself in a rider's arm.

With gritted teeth, Demetrius caused another fissure to rise up. Horse archers collapsed once more. The Remen cavalry made it inside their gate. It closed, and the Baikal horsemen found themselves in the open without a target.

A rain of crossbow bolts flew at them. Horses fell dead to the ground, their riders falling with them. The Baikals turned and fled, intending to flee back to their lines.

On one of the wall's towers, a group of Ulvs shot arrows at the Baikal horsemen. One of them was tall and muscular, his body chiseled from years of fighting. There was a long, thin mustache on his face. His body was adorned with metal lamellar.

His quiver was still filled with arrows. Not once had his bow been shot. However, none of the other Ulvs said anything about that. The man's eyes, from the start of the battle, were focused on the Baikal heavy cavalry.

"Where are you, you bastard?" he muttered.

Then, the man's eyes narrowed. He noticed that one of the heavy cavalry wore slightly more ornate armor than the others.

"There you are."

The man observed further. His target was in the center of a tight formation, surrounded by the heavy cavalry.

"I can't get a good shot at his eyeslit. At this range, my bow can't pierce his armor. I need to hurry, or he'll get out of range," he thought.

Then, the man saw his opportunity. A small part of his target's horse was visible in the formation. It was just barely enough for an arrow to fit through it. If the man shot even a quarter of a millimeter off, he'd miss his target.

He took the shot without hesitation. Then, he turned away and started shooting other targets. The man didn't even look to see if his arrow hit its mark.

On the ground, Tabahn Khan rode with his best warriors. He grimaced as he took a glance behind him.

"The Remenes are as strong as they're said to be," he said. "I underestimated them."

"What now, Khan?" one of his men asked.

"We must..."

Before Tabahn Khan could give orders, his horse was struck with an arrow. Its heart was pierced. The animal died instantly, and Tabahn Khan tumbled to the ground with it.

His leg snapped as his horse's body fell on it. Because of the tight formation Tabahn was in, his own heavy cavalry trampled over him when he was on the ground. He'd have died instantly if he wasn't wearing heavy armor. Instead, he felt his ribs shatter, his arms snap, and a crack form in his skull.

The heavy cavalry stopped the moment they got past him. They turned around, running over to their Khan.

On the walls, Demetrius and Theotokos noticed the heavy cavalry's actions.

"One man fell, and they're breaking the order to retreat to go back to him," Theotokos noted. "He must be someone important."

"Yes," Demetrius nodded.

The dark magician pointed his hand. A fissure formed under several of the heavy cavalry. Darkness blasted under it, slamming into their horses' legs. There was a snapping sound, and a number of the heavy cavalry fell off their collapsed horses.

Fear took the hearts of the other Baikals. They saw all this and scattered. Those on horseback rode like the wind, and the Baikals on foot ran to their horses as fast as they could.

Demetrius didn't show it, but his body filled with relief.

"Thank the gods, they're fleeing. No one else has to die," he thought, not realizing how wrong he was.

The grass and melting snow were stained with blood. Arrows and crossbow bolts stuck out of the ground. Corpses lay all over the place, red liquid pooling under them.

Demetrius and Theotokos rode out of the town, a group of theme warriors and Ulvs accompanying them. Every man was armed with a spear and a shield. They had swords and axes at their hips with the cavalry also having maces. They surveyed the area.

"Look for survivors," Theotokos ordered. "Heavy cavalry, with me."

The other warriors scattered across the field. A theme warrior saw a Baikal lying on the ground, an arrow in his knee.

"Hey! I found one!" he called out.

A few other theme warriors walked over. The Baikal gazed up at them with stoic eyes. They pointed their spears at him.

"Bastards. What are you going to do to me?" he asked.

"You'll be our prisoner until your family can ransom you, or we can get a prisoner exchange," a theme warrior explained.

"Hah! You'd be better off selling me into slavery or killing me! The moment I'm free, I will take my revenge on you lot!"

The theme warriors laughed. One of them pointed at his knee.

"With a wound like that, you'll never be able to fight again," he pointed out.

Another theme warrior grabbed the Baikal and forced him up, supporting his body while the others kept their spears trained on him.

"You don't need to worry about your friends. Unlike you barbarians, we don't kill prisoners of war," the theme warrior said.

Nearby, several Ulv warriors were looking through the various bodies. There were grimaces on their faces. Then, one of them noticed a man crawling away. His leg was crushed.

"A Baikal!" one of the Ulvs shouted.

They surrounded the Baikal and rammed their spear into him over and over. The Ulvs kept going long after he was dead.

"Bastard! This is for my brother!" one Ulv declared.

"And this is for my sister!" another said.

"Do you really think you can get away with massacring our tribe?"

The theme warriors avoided the Ulvs, leaving them to their actions as they took as many injured men prisoner as they could. Demetrius looked at the Ulvs with utter disdain. He stopped his horse.

"I know what you're thinking," Theotokos said. "Don't do it, despotēs."

Demetrius glared at him.

"Do you really think that I'll let these barbarians massacre our prisoners?" he asked.

Theotokos' face was grim. He clenched the reigns of his horse so hard that his hands turned white.

"The Ulvs were almost wiped out by the Baikals. If we don't let them get some revenge, they'll come after us next," Theotokos explained.

Demetrius suppressed a sigh.

"And fighting people who are on our side right now to save the lives of our enemies isn't worth it," he thought.

The boy kept moving his horse forward.

"What's the difference between a Baikal and an Ulv anyway?" Demetrius asked.

Shock covered Theotokos' face.

"I'm surprised you care," he said.

"Of course I do, you idiot. Barbarians squabble about all sorts of nonsense, but there's always a logic to why they fight. To me, the Baikals and Ulvs seem the same. But there's probably a big difference to the barbarians of the Steppe. And learning those differences is key to dealing with them," Demetrius replied.

Theotokos nodded.

"That's true. Though, you might be disappointed. The Baikals and Ulvs are about as different as the Blues and the Greens. They're the same people, just two different factions of them," he stated.

Demetrius pondered that.

"So, the Steppe tribes are based around political differences?"

"No. The people of the Steppe are organized into various clans or tribes or whatever you want to call them. These tribes, when put together, make up the various Steppe peoples or kingdoms or khanates. They aren't all organized the same way. The Ulvs and Baikals are part of the Hövsgöl people," Theotokos explained.

Demetrius grimaced.

"And even though they're the same people, these barbarians massacre each other?" he asked.

"Yes," Theotokos answered. "Life on the Steppe is harsh, and it breeds harsh men."

"They remind me of the Varangians," Demetrius noted.

Then, the two and their horsemen slowed their horses' paces. In front of them was a pile of Baikal horses. Two heavy cavalrymen were standing on foot in front of a group of injured men. They had lances in their hands, aimed at the newcomers.

"Stand down! If you surrender, we won't kill you," Theotokos promised.

"Stay away from our Khan!" one of the men shouted.

Demetrius shot a blast of darkness past the men with lances. They and the injured turned pale with fear.

"I am Stratigos Demetrius Kallergis," he introduced himself. "The dark magician who stopped you from taking this village. I also broke your horses' legs."

A status screen appeared.

Named Entities that Fear You: 180.

The injured man in the most ornate armor held up his hands.

"Drop your weapons!" he ordered.

His warriors did as much. Then, he looked at the Remens with a pained expression.

"I am Tabahn Khan, and I surrender. The Remens have won this day," the khan said. "I only ask that you treat me as you would a king."

Demetrius shot a blast of darkness past the Khan. Tabahn's men moved closer to their leader.

"We're already going to let you live. Don't push your luck," the dark magician spoke before thinking. "Please don't do anything stupid. Enough people have died already."

A horseman rode over to them, a bow in his hands. Laughter erupted from his mouth. Everyone turned their heads to face him.

"Tabahn Khan! I have you now!" the newcomer declared. "If you're wondering who killed your horse, it was me!"

The Khan glared.

"I was hoping you'd been killed, Ganzaya," he said.

"Hope as much as you want, Tabahn Khan, but it won't matter," Ganzaya replied. "I am the greatest warrior of the Ulvs, the champion of Altan Khan! None of you Baikals could kill me, and none of you ever will!"

Tabahn Khan laughed before screaming in pain as his lungs hit his broken ribs. He entered a coughing fit before calming down.

"Altan Khan's head decorates my tent! The Ulvs are done for! You're the greatest warrior of a group of dead men, and yet you brag to me?" Tabahn Khan scoffed.

Ganzaya shrugged.

"Without your leadership, the Baikals will end up the same as us. The Khotans and Khar-Us want your lands. And after you lost so badly to the Remens, they will see you Baikals as weak. They will strike soon," he said.

"And I will be back with my people soon enough. They will give a ransom for me greater than any other," Tabahn Khan replied.

Ganzaya pulled out an arrow.

"You will return to your people. Or, rather, I will make sure your headless corpse gets to them."