The tavern lay close to the docks, and on particularly rowdy nights it was commonplace for sailors to get into brawls while Plutar merchantmen with oiled beards took bets. The onlookers would come from all the corners of the world: swarthy Dominii, sturdy Falormen, Malvernian travellers with golden eyes. This night was quiet, yet the salt-and-tar air of the low-ceilinged room was filled with the hubbub of half a dozen languages.
In one corner, backs habitually secured against the walls, two old men sat mulling over their tankards. They came here often, sitting comfortably by themselves, and rarely spoke to anyone except each other. Sometimes other patrons - too drunk to recall their original companions - would sit down with them and chat awhile, and then move on to the next table. The two men would then exchange one of their quiet glances and resume whatever conversation had been interrupted.
They had been military men, that much was clear by their scarred features, heavy frames and stubbled hair. Even long after their fighting days were over, they still reminesced fondly of such times: the endless marches, the long periods of waiting, of tired watches and - occasionally - desperate battles. They spoke of old campaigns and debated finer points of tactics with relish, and this night, their voices grew heated as they recalled the war which was later called the Shattersun war.
“Certainly,” the darker of the two nodded to his drink, “it was just a small skirmish - relatively speaking - but Marialla was a great triumph for the Republic.”
“The Republic?” snorted the slimmer one. “‘Twas the Dominion that held the day that day. It was Manlia and the Sistorian prince were the ones who won that battle.”
“Pfafh! The Republic marched across the fords the very next day, over the blasted bodies of the Sistorian elite. In the long term, the Dominii didn’t accomplish a thing.”
“Not a thing!” His companion slammed his drink into the tabletop. “They showed them Republicans a thing or two, let me tell you. Their invasion was going all dandy and smooth until Marialla: they thought themselves invincible they did. Too long firing cannons at fishing boats had them thinking their soldiers only needed to have at it and that’d be it. Nah, Marialla was a show of force. Just think of the very first clash...”
~
Sprays of water burst slapping into the sky. Everything had become jagged breath and the crushing of bodies, the jumble of riders before, behind and to the side knee against knee. Their gallop stumbled against rolling stones that lay beneath calm waters, slowing them before men, calling out to their mounts, found purchase across the ford.
Not until midway across the shallows they saw their mistake. The camaraderie of men brought together by common background also sent the ripple of understanding coursing over them swiftly, as the significance of the appearance of enemy magi was matched by the realization of their own defencelessness. From the seemingly haggard lines of enemy infantry now stepped tall-featured men, iron-eyed and gauntleted, limbs bound in sacred cloth. There were no Inquisitors to stop them from pounding the ground with ponderous strength, or from sinking their bright palms into the surf.
The ford shook. Water rushed in sudden rapids, tugging at legs, dragging against bodies, and horses thrashed and toppled, yanking riders spluttering from their saddles. Officers shouted out unheard orders into the cacophony as men sought safe ways past floundering companions, forcing one another into deeper waters even as the river grew stronger-
~
“Oh, sure. The Republican light cavalry didn’t know what they were up against - they were no match against the Wardens of Davaerid. Their numbers were no use to them in all that water. Still, once they did get across, they gave as good as they got and that was one of the bloodiest and bitterest fights of the day, at that. Garek, as he was still known then, had them maul each other good and nasty.”
The slimmer man shook his head, wondering. “I wonder how many of them knew the full story of that Garek. I think it was a few days after the battle that the Triumvirate promoted him and revealed his full story, had heralds announce it in all the towns and that. Gods, how he must have hated them - his old countrymen they were.”
“Aye. The Atoners led the charge that day, and no stopping them. Had not Dominii reinforcements arrived to the ford before the Republican ones did, I’ll bet you they’d have smashed the Wardens and taken the ford by themselves.”
“Well. Be that as it may, after that first clash, the northern ford was never contested again. So that’s one for the Dominion.”
“Pfft. One small battle is all. The real meat of the action was the cavalry charge at the south ford, and there the Dominion had another thing coming…”
~
Their lines dissolved into a swirling, murderous dance. Voices boomed war cries, orders, everywhere figures grappled and hacked. The elite of Sistorian, kinsmen squadrons, disappeared in the tumult as Inquisitors lanced the battlefield in hunt for prey. Piercing the din were the cries of the Prince of the Twin Star, calling his men to order, as the momentum of their charge twisted and turned on itself. Entire companies of archers found themselves forced into the front lines, and recoiled at the sight of the enemy infantry approaching.
Even as their flank retreated, stumbling and crawling towards a moment of respite, many of the Archonian knights roared voicelessly and cast themselves heedlessly against their hated counterparts, the Inquisitors. Through the madness of zealotry and loss - their spirit companions disappeared forever - they overcame the defences and drove hundreds into the river to drown.
~
“Hold on, I thought you said the Republic won that one? An entire Inquisitor company was destroyed down to the last man!”
“Aye, and the finest knights of the Dominion were all but destroyed while at it. Those were the companion cavalry of one of the great Houses at the time - and they barely held their own against equal numbers, and eventually had to retreat. And then what happened afterwards put the seal on the whole deal...”
~
Fresh divisions arrived to the south ford, sent by the High Palatine himself. Everywhere on the plain milled the silken standards of the Dominion, bearing the insignia of a dozen Houses and Spirits, forming lines - making ready to charge. Across the river grim-faced Republican infantry rushed to close the gap, the banner of the First Citizen fluttering in their midst.
Drums, unearthly, pounded out the rhythm of advance. Howling, the masses of the Dominion made ready, descending the slopes towards the ford. Wheeling bands of horse archers sent flights of arrows into the defenceless infantry opposite, sending them reeling. The Hand of Radiance, golden-caparisoned and glistening with holiness, set their hooves to the stream.
Then, suddenly, thunder cracked and a distant hilltop erupted with plumes of smoke.
Blood sprayed. Dozens of men exploded, a god’s lazy flick of a finger tearing long grooves into the masses. Again the thunder of distant artillery, and with ruler-like efficiency, entire columns of men were scythed down from afar. Bloodied men recoiled with panicked screams from where the cannonade struck, commanders looked on with dumbfounded dismay. Horses, frothing, broke ranks and careened into each other to escape.
~
“That was Corso’s artillery, who’d gotten up on one of the hilltops. I’ll tell you true - that man won the battle right there and then.”
“Pfft! First of all, Manlia would have never charged the enemy infantry head-on! That would have been madness-”
“But Manlia wasn’t there, was he?”
“Be that as it may, the artillery was much too far away to have any real effect. Most of the Dominii troops retreated in good order and then scattered into the countryside to fight a guerilla war, just as Manlia had intended. I don’t buy that horsecrap about a charge for an instant.”
The dark man massaged his temples, groaning softly. “And such a good idea that was! Did you know, the Atoners eventually got so fed up with the harassment that they chained together villagers and used them as shields? Manlia’s little gambit might have bought the Dominion some time, but in the end probably killed more innocents than it ever saved.”
“Well, that was all much later. As far as Marialla is concerned, the Dominion had one objective, and that was to hold the fords. That much they did, so that’s a win in my book.”
“Pfafh. They held on to those fords for not even a full day after that, before the Republic main force arrived and marched over without a fight.”
“Hmmh...”
“Hmmh,” he agreed.
The two men fell silent for a while, studying their forgotten tankards. The barkeep was sweeping the floor, the room empty and quiet apart from the two old soldiers.
“Well,” said the one, “I suppose it’s about time I went home to the missus.”
“Aye. Catch you around.”
Nodding farewell, the man walked off into the night. The remaining man stood up, groaning.
“Still… who won at Marialla, then?” he muttered sleepily to himself.
Leaning on his broom, the barkeep eyed the man.
“You’ve got to look at the bigger picture, y’see?”
“Hmm?”
“I mean, Marialla was really just the first skirmish in the battle for Falor. So if you want to know who won at Marialla, what you should be asking yourself is who
really won at Falor.”
“Hmmh,” the man frowned with drunken concentration. “So… what you’re saying is…” and he looked up at the barkeep, wide-eyed.
Laughing, the barkeep carried on with his sweeping.
“Now he gets it!”
Stepping outside, breathing in the fresh night air, the man shrugged to himself.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
