Re: Of Destiny and Duty: A Galatian AAR
Chapter XXVIII - The Day's End
Bagacos watched intently as the battle unfolded before his eyes.
Although his heavy troops on the Pontic left had been slowed by incoming cavalry, his men were making steady progress toward the enemy rear.
“If the center would but hold for a few minutes more! The day may be ours.”
Then he spied movement in the forest behind the Pontic line.
“Look there! Messenger! Find out the nature of that disturbance there. By Teutatis! What is this monstrosity?”
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Kyros ducked just in time; a spear point snaked just over his head. With a grunt he severed the head from the shaft. Adroitly snatching the fallen spike, he rammed it into his third victim that day. He had expected combat to be different; this was no simple matter of jabbing people with swords and spears. He was constantly shoved this way and that in the mass of struggling men. Most of the time he found himself parrying one thrust after another as the enemy slashed at him and his comrades.
Kyros heard a terrific noise; a deep, rumbling sound. A clattering noise like he had never heard. Then he heard shouts above the din of battle.
“CHARIOTS! Those devils have chariots!”
The Galatians began running erratically, trying to escape the horrible spikes protruding from the great Pontic chariots. Kyros steeled himself; this was not time to take flight. He would stand his ground. In the back of his mind, he felt determined to show his brother that he was as much a man as any.
The noise came closer. Kyros looked over his shoulder just in time to see the blur of the chariot rush past him. He was sent flying through the air, and smashed into the ground.
For a moment he could not see; he tried to get up, but this was impossible as well. As his head began to clear, his breath was taken away by such pain as he had never felt before. One of the chariot spikes had crashed into his leg, cutting straight into the bone.
He gritted his teeth, trying to comprehend where he was and what had happened. His vision slowly melted away.
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Artan, meanwhile was back up and moving about. He was strong and well-built; he recovered his wits quickly. He sat up for a few moments, and got up. He found himself a shield, which was not hard to find amongst the dead.
He wished desperately to find his father’s sword, but there was no time. He grabbed up a hand axe and headed toward the fighting.
He found his troops still struggling on. As he ran toward them, he saw that they had successfully caught the Pontics from behind! However, he could also see droves of men fleeing from the center. What could have broken them up so quickly? For a moment, his mind flashed to Artan. He quickly put that aside, setting his mind on the task at hand.
A man lunged toward him. Artan’s quick eye and strong arm worked as quickly as ever. He caught the man’s thrust with his shield and sent the Pontic’s sword flying out of his hand with a downward blow of his axe.
Swinging his axe back up, he knocked the man cold with the blunt end of his axe head. He pushed the unconscious form aside with his shield and moved on.
As he moved toward the large cluster of fighting men, he came from behind and buried his axe into some poor fool’s back.
Another man came toward him; he wore the fittings of a captain. Another one, Artan thought to himself smugly.
But truly, this captain had not come to his rank through connections, but through hard work and sweat. He was a strong, skilled fighter. Artan’s eyes fixed upon him. The knave had his father’s sword! He was a dead man now, for sure.
Artan threw his axe quickly at him. It sliced into the captain’s shield, splintering it from top to bottom. The Pontic threw his shield aside.
The captain rushed toward Artan as he picked up a spear, closing the distance and leaving no room to maneuver. He beat on Artan with his sword, but Artan shoved him off and sent him whirling with a blow from his shield.
The captain rolled quickly as Artan plunged his spear just past his waist. He savagely kicked Artan’s leg, bringing him down to the ground. Now the two wrestled, each trying to get above the other.
Artan slammed his fist into the captain’s jaw, then drew his hunting knife. The captain acted quickly, trying to block Artan’s swipe. He succeeded only in directing the knife into his shoulder rather into his heart. The captain growled in pain.
With the captain now struggling to remove the knife from his shoulder, Artan grabbed a rock from the ground and was finally ready to end the fight. The captain looked up with an expression of hatred and disdain.
Artan smashed the stone into his enemy’s head. But it was not finished, he readied himself to strike again.
But before he could finish, he was bowled over by Mithridates’ cavalry, which hammered into the Galatian troops from behind. Artan was sent rolling several feet.
Getting up, he realized that he had failed to notice what was going on around him. They were surrounded by phalangites and horsemen now.
Artan cursed the day that the first horse had been brought onto the battlefield, and thought to himself that he would never ride one of the horrid creatures again.
Artan spotted his father’s sword. I may die, but at least I may die with my family’s sacred heritage in my own two hands. He crawled quickly to the sword and grasped it firmly in his hands.
But that was as far as he got. His hand was pinned as one of those devilish Pontics stomped it under foot.
Artan looked up, and realized that the fight was over. He was surrounded by Pontic troops, and now they apparently expected his surrender.
Artan hated the notion of surrender. Instead, he elected to bite his would-be captor’s leg.
Howling with pain and anger, the soldier flinched back. Artan suddenly beheld the soldier’s other foot, as it flew directly into his nose.
“BY THE GODS! These savages don’t know when they’re beaten! Stubborn swine!
The fight is over, you fool. Your countrymen run like whipped curs from the field. But you; you have some spirit. Perhaps you would amuse the King.
Tie him up, and by Nike don’t let his head near your legs!”
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Kyros awoke to see a face hovering above him; a Pontic face.
“This one’s no good. His leg is badly damaged. We’ll just have to…”
Kyros sat up, grimaced through the pain, and spat on the ground.
“Kill me and be cursed!” Kyros spoke in the Pontic tongue.
The soldiers looked at him in surprise.
“A Galatian who knows our language! He may be worthwhile after all. Call a litter here immediately.
You, my boy, are now property of Mithridates the Great.”
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Bagacos felt sick. The enemy cavalry had snatched victory from out of his very fingertips!
“Let no man falter; this narrow loss will be repaid SEVENFOLD! Form up a line here, to keep those devils from running down our fleeing troops. Once all those left alive have returned, we shall repair to the hills and make plans for the future.
Such a vast land, with such great men, cannot be undone in one day. They have not seen the last of Galatian steel!
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Originally Posted by Ariovistus Maximus
ottomans? I have a feeling that John is somehow gonna be related to Kyros and Artan.
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