"The way I see it, we have two choices," Phaedra explained. All of the senior commanders, Brasidas, Sayf, Tychon, Eudoxia and Iona were sitting in the cool interior or a pleasant wine shop. Only Zoe was missing, as she was out attending to the scouts. As always in Atvari territory the frenetic work of the army had slowed to a crawl. It was simply too hot to undertake any significant labor and soldiers lounged for their mid day meals, finding what shade they could. Some of the Miravet were even swimming in the river, having enticed a number of the Imperial troops to come down and watch, even if they were unable to swim themselves. Quite a number of the Miravet would find lovers amidst Brasidas' force if they stayed together long enough, that wouldn't be a problem on her end, but it was possible that jealousies might flare from other quarters. It was one of the reasons why Miravet were rarely used as garrison troops, one of several reasons.

"Either we head back along the north bank, take the easier route, or we cross and strike south for Agrah, resupply there and then head back across towards the Silver Lake."

"Why go back at all First?" Iona asked, not disagreeing but simply puzzled.

"I mean we won didn't we, cant we just sit here and wait for reenforcement?" the Tetrarch asked.

"There is no point Arbela isn't defensible and if we are going to fight another pitched battle we are better off further west. A major clash anywhere between here and they sea will determine who controls the land all the way to Sidris. If the Great King is making offers its a good bet the Satrap at least is in the field with his army, maybe thirty thousand, we know from the ambush the other night that there are Atvari at our rear, probably a decent force up at Zoltai. If they haven't marched south to block our retreat yet they will soon." Phaedra took a sip from her wine cup and looked somewhat peevishly west. There should have been more Imperial troops on the horizon by now, another two or three thousand infantry plus Georgicus, but the scouts had not reported anything, not even any camp fires at night.

"We can wait here and find out, there would be time to pull out if the Satraps army shows up, we would spot them two days out," she argued. Phaedra looked a Brasidas and made a shrug.

"If we wait we have to cross the ford and risk the desert, it will give them too much time to block a retreat along the north bank."

"Agra would be at least four days march through the desert sands," Brasidas thought aloud. "We may have enough of a baggage train to collect sufficient water from the river here, but if we are caught in a sandstorm or delayed, it could spell doom for more than a few of us. In those conditions we might want the satrap to catch us. We either die or take their supplies if we push them back."

"I know of a few small places we could camp if we took that road," Sayf added, winking at the women. "There are a few watering holes and some dry riverbeds that catches water if it rains, as unlikely as that is. I doubt the satrap would follow us there unless they are starved for glory."

"He may very well be," Brasidas said.

"My men need rest, Protos Kapetanos," Tychon interjected. He couldn't fit on one of the chairs, so he had taken a bench and carried it in, keeping his head down the entire time until he sat. The giant took two men's spaces even sitting down. "We've been here all but the morning after seven days hard march. They'll need at least a day to sleep and recoup, preferably two... Unless you order it, of course."

As Phaedra said, if they wait then going south was the only option. As round about of a way as it was. Brasidas also had the suspicion that the north wouldn't be as easy of a road as they hoped. If anything, the locals wouldn't be enthused that Georgicus and Tychon spent days there, and then another large force rode in and demanded supplies.

"South it is, or that is my say." Brasidas remarked, his chiseled features grim. He glanced at his men, and then at Phaedra and Eudoxia. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but they all still needed some rest, and Brasidas wasn't too intimidated by the hard march, considering he had been in this country for months already. Plus, if they fled with the satrap at their heels, maybe the Atvari would be a bit too preoccupied to focus on Arbela.

"What say you, Protos Kapetanos?"

"Lets give it a day for Tychon's men to rest, I doubt anyone else will object," Phaedra said after a moment. She took another mouthful of wine and swirled it around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing.

"We can march along the south bank, avoid any troops on the north side and if we have to we can cross over at one of the fords," she concluded.

"And Phaedra is fine, we don't stand much on ceremony..."

"Riders!" came a shout from outside that brought everyone to their feet. Tychon's head thumped on a beam provoking a curse.

"What now?" Phaedra grumbled as they grabbed for armor and weapons.

The riders turned out to be Atvari. They made an impressive sight. Fifty men in blackened armor with gold highlights trotted arrogantly towards Arbela. Each man held a lance erect with white pennons of truce fluttering from their shining points. They trotted forward towards the village, giving every impression of being on a royal inspection rather than approaching an enemy held city. At the center of the line was a puddgy man in white linen with gold cloth wrapped around his head. He sat upon a shaded palanquin which was held aloft by four slaves, remarkable men with shockingly black skin that shone in the sun. Two more slaves stood to either side waving fans to keep the applicant cool.

Phadedra and Brasidas, each with a pair of guards, trotted forward on their own horses to meet the new comers. Phaedra was wearing only half armor, though both of her companions were in their full panoply. The scouts had reported the approach of these riders, but were certain that they were not part of some cunning ambush. That was good enough for Phaedra not to wear her whole sweltering battle dress.

"Imperial Invaders!" the puddgy man called out. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a small man. His short beard bristled as he spoke, giving his voice a strange animation.

"I bring greetings from the Most Righteous Hand of the Great King of Atvari, The Shield of His People, The Lord of the High Reaches, The Sun and Moon, The Emperor of all Paredea, The King of Kings..."

"Yes yes I think we have quite established the Emperors Eminence," Phaedra interrupted. Both of her cataphracts snickered and the envoy fell silent for a moment.

"Imperial Invaders currently defiling the Land of Holy Atvar, rejoice for your King has abased himself before the King of Kings, the so called Emperor Alpharius, possesed of the wisdom which only the King of Kings can inspire, has renounced his false claim upon these lands. You and all your ilk are now trespassing, simple bandits abroad in the land. Fortunately the King of Kings is merciful. Pledge your loyalty to him and accept service in his great army as slaves. Surrender yourselves and find purpose in your service."

Brasidas, flanked by his two most trusted Cataphracts, showed open disdain for the manner the envoy carried himself. Slavery was not unknown to the Empire, but it was more of what one might call indentured servitude, and it had been outlawed in most provinces for decades. No one, slave or citizen, would be subject to such abasement as what they saw there. However, the news itself was what shocked Brasidas more. He barked a harsh laugh.

"If you want to negotiate, take my advice and keep with reality, Atvari." He scoffed, smirking. "Alpharius does not sit on any throne, much less the throne in Sidris. We serve his Imperial Majesty Andronikas, sixth of his name."

The envoy did not seem perturbed at Brasidas's words. In fact he looked a bit smug, though it was hard to tell behind his beard and regalia. All the Imperials gave looks to one another as he next spoke. "You and your men have been away from the capital for many months, Imperial. Much has changed you will find, had you ever returned. Unfortunately, that will not happen for you or your women soldiers." He pulled the reins of his mount as the horse whinnied and stomped forward, as if it had the arrogance of its master. "Now, I say again. You and your armies can find salvation in servitude for our Great King, or you can find your doom amongst the desert sands. It would be a shame to waste so many fighting men, and your women will serve us well in other ways don't doubt. Now, will you make the wise decision? You Imperials pride yourself on your logic, I suggest you employ it while you still breathe."

Brasidas's visage did not seem to change, but somehow it grew into a black look. His men beside him grew restless, and Brasidas could see Phaedra was about as pleased as he was with these claims.

"Well, you give us much to think on." Brasidas remarked dryly, and had the envoy had any sense, he would have ridden away right then and yelled apologies the entire ride back. But it seems he was not used to either Brasidas or Phaedra.

"Use us in other ways?" Phaedra asked innocently, controling her restive warhorse with practiced ease. Mounts bred for combat were not always ideal for such formal tasks. The smell of steel and leather made the horse brace itself for battle. What the beast made of the envoys perfume she had no idea. The envoy glared at the Miravet commander with beady hatefilled eyes. In Atvari society women lived highly proscribed lives undert the control of fathers and husband all of their lives. Even a widow would find herself under the thumb of an adult son.

"You debased Imperial women are suitable only for Atvari recreation," he sneered.

"Right but you have some plans for us after that first thirty seconds right?" Phaedra asked with an angelic smile. Both of her cataphracts snickered and Brasidas' pair made choking sounds as they tried to stifle their own laughter. The envoys pudgy face went white with fury and he lifted his fly whisk and struck at her. Things started to move very fast. A spatha, and the huntress knew how Thalia had drawn it so quickly, flashed down and intersected the envoys wrist. The overhanded blow lopped the hand from the envoy with the delicacy of a pairing knife cutting away an apple core. The envoy shrank back, his eyes wide and flicking from the bleeding stump to the severed hand that lay in the dust, still clutching the fly whisk.

"Freedom is that way!" Phaera shouted to the bearers of the envoys palanquin. By now the occupant had begun to scream and the Khareeds whose reactions seemed slow but in truth had taken less than a second, were drawing their own weapons. The slaves stared at her with wide eyes, then one of the great black men dropped his pole and bolted across the dirt. The others hesitated for a second but the fleeing man shouted something in his own tongue. Whatever it was the remaining slaves dropped their poles and joined him in flight, spilling the envoy to the ground.

"Charge!" Phaedra shouted, knowing there was no way they would outrun the cavalry bows of fifty Khareeds. Suiting action to word she whipped out her own spatha and kicked her horse forward. Not that she needed to have bothered, the warhorse knew the smell of blood even better than that of leather and steel. The stallion rode over the squealing envoy, seeming to take a murderous pleasure in trampling him under hoof as it leaped forward. Thalia, the cataphract who had started the fracas already had her sword out and followed at Phaedra's side, Alkmini, her second bodyguard, was only a second behind, taking position on Phaedra's right. As she had hoped the sudden charge through the Khareeds into disorder. She stabbed her spatha down into the neck of one of the great stallions and then yanked it free, turning the momentum into a back hand cut which knocked another rider from his mount. At nearly five to one odds, their only chance was to drive through the enemy and confuse them long enough that the rest of the army could even the odds. Fortunately horns were already blowing back at the village and armed riders were already beginning to race across the three hundred yards towards the one sided fracas.

Brasidas had no helmet on unlike his guards, but the Protos Kapetanos had donned his cuirass for the meeting just in case. Phaedra did not do anything he wasn't going to do, but seeing her doing it made him realize then and there that they were going to work well together. His two cataphracts reached for their weapons as the envoy's hand hit the sand, staining the ground with his blood. One grabbed a paramerion as the other grabbed their mace. Brasidas reached for his shield and axe, kicking Menelaus forward, the warhorse intuitively moving so its master could get into melee range, kicking and shoving at the other horses with abandon. Brasidas kept his head and upper torso protected with his shield, an arrow punching into it as another bounced off from a glancing shot. His two guards charged forward to join him, fighting for the life of their trusted commander and wading in the ever breaking formation of the envoy's guards, none of the kahreeds expecting to fight much less die this day.

Brasidas felt a cut from a sabre on his leg to his left, the Protos Kapetanos raised his shield and used it to block the view of his swinging axe until the last moment, burying it in the neck of a kahreed mamluk, before bashing another with an open face helm by the butt of his shield, cracking the man's nose. All around them, the combat deteriorated with the cries of the dying and the demoralization of almost a dozen dead Atvari men on the ground, not to mention a few dead horses. Phaedra blocked, parried, and stabbed with the best of them, her and her guardswomen dancing around the kahreed horses with their own mares.

Brasidas swung his axe upwards, splitting the chin of a rider like a melon; blood pouring out to cover the man's mail armor as he toppled out of his horse like so much dead weight.

"Forward!" Brasidas roared to the Imperials, little mercy in his voice.

That was the last straw, and the handful of Imperial soldiers watched as thrice their number tucked tail and called for their steeds to move, retreating from the melee with little thought to dignity or honor. One of Phaedra's escorts drew a slim bow like she was born to the weapon, aiming and firing in one breath. Her arrow struck the neck of a fleeing kahreed, felling the man; the group watching him slide from his saddle to die in the dirt.

Brasidas rode Menelaus up to Phaedra, eyeing her with intensity. Unexpectedly, he grinned widely and held his hand out. "We leave in the morning?"

"That's right! Run you sorry bastards!" Thalia shouted, fitting another arrow to her bow and sending it after the fleeing foe. The arrow struck the rump of one of the fleeing horses. The horse screamed and staggered but didn't spill its fleeing rider. Phaedra leaned far over out of the saddle and pulled a cloak from a dead Khareed. With quick economical motions she cleaned her spatha and slipped it back into her leather sheath.

"That would probably be for the best," Phaedra agreed dryly.

It took most of the rest of the day to ready the army to march. The general plan was to move west rapidly till they encountered other Imperial forces and figure out exactly what in the name of the Huntress was going on back in Komnnea. They spent the day performing the hundred minor tasks required to move an army. Fortunately Brasidas appeared to be an excellent logistician. Phaedra had seen the more aristocratic Imperial units take days or weeks to get ready to march, but Tychon particularly was a terror when it came to motivating troops to load wagons.

As night fell Phaedra felt reasonalby confident they were ready to march out and settled down for the first sleep she had been able to enjoy in several days. Seemingly thirty seconds later Zoe shook her awake. Phaedra's hand flashed towards her sword before she realized it was her Tetrach. Even in the dark she could see that the scout was concerned.

"Enemy?" she asked, as she clambered to her feet. Zoe shook her head, then nodded it, then shrugged her shoulders. Phaedra arched a tired eyebrow.

"Its easier if I just show you," Zoe said wearily. Zoe lead Phaedra through the town to a small inn which had been commandeered by the Miravet. Several worried looking riders were at the door, all of them were armed and all of them were casting worried glances towards the buildings controlled by Brasidas and his men. Phaedra opened the door and froze.

"Go get Brasidas," she said without turning to Zoe.

"First... should we..." the scout commander began.

"Right now Zoe. Bring him alone, but right now."

Fifteen minutes later Brasidas was escorted through the door, looking none to pleased to have been brought here under the Huntress knew what pretenses. Phaedra was sitting with a dark skinned girl in dusty but extremely expensive clothing. A pair of well dressed servant girls, all but wringing their hands in fear.

"This is Tachmeena Al'Suren Daeva," Phaedra said without preamble.

"She is the daughter of the the Satrap of Sidris, the niece of the Great King," Phaedra said grimly.

"And she says she has come to enlist."

Brasidas was found attempting to get a few hours of sleep before the column rose at the first light of the sun. He dreamed about a buxom boreas woman he knew back at home, though why she was on his mind he couldn't fathom. She was with child from another man, and Brasidas had not seen her in seven years. He grumbled irritably when his sentry shook his shoulder, but at the man's insistence and relaying the information that a Miravet had come to summon him, he got to his feet with a growl. He might have dreamed of a woman, but unlike most of his soldiers, he didn't see Miravet as women. Just slim soldiers; people he was responsible for, at least in part.

Donning his cloak, he followed zoe back to the tent and striding in, listening to Phaedra's pronouncement and looking at the newcomer. He stared at them both, stony faced. It was a stark echo of when they looked him after he had reprimanded Eudoxia. Zoe walked past him again to stand with her commander, glancing Brasidas's way, curious too on how he might react.

"His daughter," he said, weighing the words. There were various implications for good or bad with that acknowledgement. Truthfully, if Phaedra wanted her, he wouldn't be able to stop her if he felt it the wrong choice taking her in. The Gods seemed to be testing them, or giving a boon. Either way, he wished they would stop. He would rather simply fight a war and be done with it. "You can take on whatever recruit you want, Protos Kapetanos. Though the Satrap will be on our heels far more doggedly if you take her with you. I've got a feeling the Ashvari people feel a bit more strongly against women warriors than the Empire, particularly their daughters."

He gave Tachmeena Al'Suren Daeva a grave look, raising an eyebrow when he looked at her two servants. "And you, lady Daeva, you know how to ride and fight, and you're willing to die for those who came to conquer your country?" He inquired, crossing his muscled arms. Indicating the servants, he shook his head. "You'll have to get rid of these, unless you think you're owed an officer's rank."

"We need a well bred soft eastern noblewoman about as much as we need to be dragged behind our horses for a day," Phaedra snarled. The whole idea was preposterous, under normal circumstances the Satrap might or might not have moved energetically against them, but with his daughter missing he would come at them with everything he had. The sensible thing to do would have been to ransom the girl for safe passage back to the coast. Unfortunately in war, as in life, the sensible thing often wasn't what happened. The faces of the Miravet guarding the woman were already hardening. Phaedra held up her hands in supplication. It was an item of custom, almost religious tradition that any woman could approach a Saleri and enlist. Not infrequently the lure of escaping jealous husbands or controlling fathers was a much a motivator as marshal zeal. The Saleri would not react well if word got out that Phaedra had denied a woman a chance to serve, even this woman.

"Phoebe, your Syndi is short a member is it not?" she demanded. The woman's face, previously hard went blank. It was one thing to advocate for a tradition, it was quite another to have it come back and bite you in the ass. A Syndi was responsible for a girls training as well as for seeing to her funeral rites and the distribution of her property.

"Fine she is your problem, get rid of her finery and find her some armor. I expect you to work her as hard as any recruit, harder you hear me?" Phaedra snapped.

"I want the servants kept underguard, she is no bloody officer in this Saleri," the commander concluded. Tachmeena came to her feet with the insulted dignity of royalty.

"These servants are under my protection they..." The noble Atvari spun to the ground as Phoebe clouted her across the jaw. The blow was open palmed but it had been no theatrical tap. One of the servants tried to rush to her mistress' side but another Miravet, Khloe, punched her in the chest then kicked her feet from under her.

"Shut your mouth when First is speaking Tac," Phoebe admonished, grabbing the girl by the arm and hauling her to her feet.

"Tac," Phaedra replied, turning the word over in her mouth, "I like it."

"Any time you want to quit Tac, you just say the word and we will be happy to return you to your father," Phaedra told the noblewoman. Tachmeena was wiping tears from her eyes with the hand that Phoebe wasn't holding.

"Yes... First?" the Atvari mumbled. Phaedra nodded then turned her back on the girl.

"Work her hard Phoebe, hard as the Huntress' hand, and cut her some wood."

The following day, clouds lingered overhead. Early that morn they spat out rain, but as the men assembled they fled to the distance of the horizon like watchful gods. Grand amounts of supplies were escorted out with the help of the populace at large, just as much to get rid of them as help out their 'saviors' Brasidas guessed. Luckily for them, the majority of the food and equipment was already on the backs of the protostates. For the Atvarian army, that was unheard of. Most militaries, particularly large ones, had extensive baggage trains, giving the troops large amounts of food, water, and even entertainment in exchange for having a costly stream of cargo to protect. Larger Atvari armies were veritable moving cities. While the Imperial military had re-adopted the extensive baggage train in some small capacity over the last century, many still held the tradition that there should be five men for every donkey carrying supplies. It made for a lighter, faster, and more efficient force. The only real downside was the grumbling of the men.

They left in full battle march as opposed to the travel lines they would normally traverse the land with, the troops stepping in drilled formation with practiced speed. Perhaps it slowed them down a hair, but it paid to keep themselves organized as if they were walking into an engagement. Brasidas thought so anyway, and he made sure he and Tychon kept their noses out of Miravet business. He had the feeling they would agree with him, however. It was going to be an annoying week, but as long as they continued moving forward and guarded their flanks, it would be a relatively safe one.

Brasidas rode at the head of his Cataphracts, Menelaus cantering proudly at the head. By midday they were already miles away, the town of Arbela a monument in the background, now only visible from its high elevation, dominating the countryside they were now vacating. As Brasidas glanced back, Syf galloped his swift steed up to him, a smile on his face as always.

"What is it, Syf?" Brasidas asked, deinging to not even address the nomad properly. Tychon was checking with Archonan and the other Protos Lochias' moving up and down the contingent like a lumbering golem. Any of the new recruits, and some of the men who hadn't seen him in weeks, would still look at the size of the man with awe. Some of the others would snicker at their slack jawed stares, as a few Boreas men had seen true giants before. If Tychon was impressive, they would shit their trousers if they saw a full blooded titan.

"Atvari approaching Arbela. Five miles away from the town. Looks like their Kahreed scouts watched us like Aubelon Three-eye," He said, referring to one of the local gods. Mystery cults popped up around the greater region every few years, but Brasidas was no expert.

"Good," He replied, meaning it was good he was told. If they were five miles away from Arbela, it would take them an hour or two to muster the courage to find out if the army had left, and another hour or so to gather their strength and pursue, if they even wanted to chase them today. Perhaps they wouldn't have, but with the Satrap's daughter, it seemed a foregone conclusion now. Still, they could be twenty miles into the desert by the time the Kahreeds rode out in pursuit. "You do remember where we need to find the next watering hole, yes?"

"I know of three, though no promises all of them are not dried up." Syf said with a shrug. "I hope they are filled with water. The miravets would start to swim again."

"I look forward to meeting your future miravet wife, Syf," Brasidas said. "I would enjoy seeing just how she would put you in her place."

"We may have a problem," Phaedra announced as she pulled her horse in beside Brasidas' great warhorse. Her mare nickered at the beast as they drew close. Syf looked like he had been caught with his hand in the pay chest but didn't otherwise comment. The Miravet were spread out in a broad half circle, forming the fore and rear guards as well as protecting the northen flank. Brasidas' own scouts were out in front with his cataphracts in the center to provide a striking force to counterattack anywhere they were hit. The river provided the anchor of their southern flank, and would do for another two or three leagues before it turned away south and they had to strike out across the desert for the safety of the distant coast.

"Looks like three or four thousand Khareeds are bypassing the town all together," she reported, relaying news that her own scouts had passed to her minutes before. It wouldn't have been politic to say so, but they almost certainly were following up with such unseemly haste because of Tachmeena's reckless defection.

"We can take them," Syf boasted, unconciously puffing out his chest. Phaedra nodded, though there was no agreement in the guesture.

"Likely, but even if we massacre them it will delay us long enough for the rest of them to catch up," she explained. According to Eudoxia the force behind them had perhaps twenty thousand Khareeds and as many infantry at least, though the foot elements were lagging somewhat behind. According to Phaedra's conversation with Tac, that was because the Satrap had already been in the field, marching west before Arbela had fallen to Brasidas and his men. She had been in camp with him and had ridden off in the night.

"One of my spies also told me that the Satrap believes the Emperor is dead, or has been deposed, and that Primate Alpharius is in control back in Kommenia," Phaedra continued. Syf did a slight double take.

"What do you mean spies?" he demanded. Phaedra grinned and winked at him.

"A woman may go where a man may not scout master," she told him. The fact that the information came from an Atvari Princess wasn't something she wanted generally known. The Miravet might be traditionalists about such things, but even they would be tempted to sell the girl back to her father rather than train her. Delays over such negotiations would doubtlessly prove fatal.

"I don't know if the direct route to the coast will be safe, if the Satrap follows up, and he wouldn't have mobilized most of his army if he weren't planning on it, we might not find any saftey along the coast." She paused, the next part was pure suposition on her part, not verified information.

"I think that it is true there has been a coup, Alpharius sent our troops out into the desert to feed the Satrap, and pulled Gregorious and his other loyalists back, probably all the way back to Komennia to crush any counter coup attempt."

The regiment moved double time, the ground unable to decide between sand and shrubland. Sandals, hooves, and armored boots made a thudding chant as Brasidas moved them forward, having consulted with Sayf on the ground ahead. Phaedra galloped to her column after their brief war council, her sword raised in the air as she screamed in her language to her officers. He had to give it to her, she moved as quick as Sayf on her steed and that was saying something. No wonder the nomad chased after her.

Brasidas had felt a sinking feeling in his gut ever since the boasting of the envoy, fearing the fool had been honest, even with his forked tongue. The Atvari were a noble people, but their political dealings and circles of diplomats and petty barons were known for being a veritable den of snakes. He had tried to push it in the back of his mind to concentrate on commanding his men, but if that were true, there would be anarchy at the capital. His entire command and the lives of his men would be in question, and certainly not in that order. At the moment he didn't know where else to lead his men save for the coast, even if he would have to besiege the cities or negotiate with them himself. As it was, all he wanted to do was paint the ground in Atvari blood.

It looked like he was going to get his chance this day.

The sky was clear blue, save small mounds of clouds that lazily passed overhead. The miles went bu quickly, but always they looked over their shoulder. It was not long before a mass of darkly clad horsemen appeared, streaming in from the distance. Even so far away, Brasidas was impressed at their cohesion. It was nearly as good as his cataphract contingent. Unfortunately, it outnumbered his Cataphracts five to one, and though the full imperial army they rode at the head of was still slightly larger than the Kahreeds, it would be bogged down until the greater army arrived to swallow them up and butcher every last one of them.

Over the next mile, the army found the large, dried river bed Sayf had told him of. This would be the battleground. Behind them the ground was relatively flat, sloping lightly upwards in small rifts of earth, echoes of what might have once been dunes. Across the way, a few trees and shrubs sprouted up in small copses, likely gaining access to whatever moisture gathered in the riverbed whenever the rain decided to fall. As the Protostates and Cataphracts approached, Brasidas called for the men to move ahead toward what was once a ford, and he sent his cavalry across the deeper section, leading them towards the Protostate's left flank. As the Kahreeds approached, it all rode on keeping them occupied until the main army arrived, not to destroy them. Not yet.

It was going to be easy. The Kahreeds would want to fight with their main force regardless, at least in a concerted attack. They continued their gallope toward the line, eager for at least some bloodshed to gain loot and glory.

"Are they idiots?" Eudoxia asked as the Khareeds thundered across the intervening terrain, the hooves of their great chargers throwing up a pall of dust. Phaedra shook her head. The Khareeds weren't idiots, but they were used to their way of war, the frontal charge of heavy cavalry, producing results. Those results had been good for close to a thousand years, dating back to when Atvari princes had carved their homeland out of the bloated corpse of decadent Urdesh. They were reckless though, spurred on by the notion of rescuing a princess and under the eyes of their Satrap to boot. A more logical response would have been to menace the Imperial troops without actually attacking, stalling their march so the remainder of their field army could move into position.

"Close enough," Phaedra agreed with her sub-commander. Imperial forces had their traditions too, but those traditions were borne out of desperation. Imperial armies tended to be bastard conglomerates of various semi-barbarians, they were almost invariabley outnumbered and survived only through discipline, cunning and using every advantage of tactics and terrain they could beg borrow or steel.

"Want us to feather them with arrows as they approach?" Eudoxia asked. Phaedra looked back over her shoulder, as though measuring the distance back to the coast, hundreds of leagues off.

"One volley, just before they hit the creekbed," she said after a moment.

"Its a long way back to Kestos and I think we are going to need our arrows before too long, its a shame we cant just..." she trailed off as an idea occured to her.

"Cant just what?" Eudoxia asked. Phaedra shook her head. It was something she would need to discuss with Brasidas, and anyway no one would have the option to do anything if they didn't pay attention in the next few seconds.

"One volley only, spread the word, then its blades and the Huntress take the hindmost."

The khareeds hit the creek bed at full charge, the hooves of their great destriers kicking up great clods of dirt and the low shrubs which lined the slight declivity. Eudoxia slashed down with the point of her spear and a six hundred arrows snapped across the intervening distance like a flight of spiteful birds. The enemy horsemen seemed to leap to meet the arrows and suddenly men and beasts were screaming and falling in an avalanche of horseflesh. Beasts went down, tumbling over the corpses of the fallen, or yanked off their feet by heavily armored riders falling and yanking on the stirrups. The noise and explosion of dust was tremendous as the ranks behind rode over the fallen, horses leaping and skipping to keep their footing.

"Go, go!" Phaedra shouted, spurring her steed forward into the stream bed. She lowered her spear, aiming the point of the ten foot length of timber at a khareed in red and black livery who was struggling to maintain control of his mount as it swerved to avoid the thrashing corpses that now filled the creek bead. There was a shattering crash as the Miravet and the Khareeds smashed together in a collision that could be heard for miles. Thousands of pounds of horse and armor impacting withing a front of a few hundred feet. Phaedra's spear punched through the chainmail at the waist of her target as he desperately tried to pull his shield into place, blood fountained from the mans helmet as he flew from his saddle. Dozens of Khareeds went down in the instant of contact, horses and men both spitted on cavalry spears. Out of the corner of her eye Phaedra saw a Miravette go down, as a lance punched through the breast of her warhorse. The horsewoman stood up in her stirrups and leaped free, hitting the ground in a roll before being lost in the swirling dust that now obscured everything more than a few feet away. Phaedra could only hope the luckless trooper could get back out of the killing zone in the next few moments or she would certainly be trampled by one side or the other.

"Back! Back!" Phaedra shouted, pulling her cavalry saber free and slashing overhand at a Khareed who emerged from the dust with a spiked mace raised. Her stroke took his hand of with the wrist a moment before their horses crashed together and rebounded away. Horns were blaring and the Miravet wheeled and raced back the way they had come, the enemy momentum checked. The Khareeds pursed, flogging their mounts with their spurs till blood ran down their flanks, but their horses had already charging hard and the fresher Miravette mounts opened the distance. They came up over the creek bank and plunged through the ranks of Brasadis' infantry who were formed up in squares with open channels to allow the women to pass, closing ranks as they did so to present a wall of spears to the bloodied Khareeds that came up over the bank in a ragged line of pursuit.

"Lower spears!" Brasidas cried, his voice carrying across the ranks of sweat and dirt-caked men. The same cry echoes from the Domestikos, and the order was further passed from turmcarch to turmarch, ten foot spears lowering century by century like blades of grass in the high wind. Dust kicked along the sparse landscape, stripping the ground to a reddish hue, as if the very earth was wounded. In the distance, drums beat in a rhythmic pattern, signalling the protostates to hold their positions.

The formation was spread thin, only nine men deep, and only four of them with spears at the ready. A whistle was blown, and the five men behind the front ranks shifted into a looser formation and drew their composite bows, nocking arrows in one motion. The whistle rang again even as they settled their aim, and the twang of bows were followed by the shade of two thousand arrows arcing into the men still stuck in the riverbed. Another whistle, signalling to retrieve another arrow. Even as they loosed, the mass of the enemy army had arrived on the opposite bank, holding up wicker shields and singing in a wailing dirge to their gods as they began to step down the slope. Four volleys had been sent by the time the Khareeds had the opportunity to hit the imperial army, and they thundered toward the obvious opening Brasidas had left.

The Protos Kapetanos and his Cataphracti had dismounted, leaving their horses in the rear and forming a rough wall at the center of their formation, flanged maces and heavy shields held aloft. Brasidas screamed a warcry, and the men met it with a roar of their own, stomping their feet in unison as the khareeds lowered their lances, intent on the charge. A cloud passed over the sun, leaving a small lingering glint on one of the steel weapons, the last warning before the cataphracts performed their favorite tactic. The light horse and whooping men atop them were met by the maces, thrown from ten meters away, clashing into armor or causing disarray amongst their horses. Cataphracts were expert mace throwers, and though it caused little casualities, the khareeds hit with less surety and force, and the heavily armored men met them with staunch resistance.

The clang of lances on shields and scalemail rang, terrible screams erupting and brutal warcries mingled with the whimpering of the dying as another flight of arrows arced over them, stinging the approaching mass of infantry. Brasidas was nearly knocked off his feet by fifteen hundred pounds of horseflesh, but he caught himself, driving his spatha through the leg of another horse. The beast screeched and the rider tumbled off, stuck by a small spear before he could rise to take stock. If all went to plan, Phaedra would wheel right and hit the infantry before they could envelope the imperial infantry. Brasidas would hold the center, stepping back and allowing the enemy to drive a wedge to let the jaws of their trap fall.

The center had turned into a melee, not a route, like the khareeds wanted. Brasidas and his men began to decimate them like an alchemist's acid, slowly but inexorably, as if it was a foregone law of nature. He had planned to backstep and let them get a false sense of security in their initial charge, but the bloodlust was up, and the cataphracts had held a bit too well. He hoped this small victory would not cause a greater defeat.

Like all cavalry soldiers Phaedra had a deeply ingrained sense of superiority to foot sloggers. Who could imagine that lumbering along carrying all that heavy armor could ever compete with the speed and power of a horse at full gallop. As she reigned in her horse on the small rise north of the main action she had to grudgingly admit that they seemed to be doing alright. The Khareed's main advantage had always been the weight of their charge, thousands of pounds of horses and armor smashing through the enemy in a decisive attack. With that advantage robbed they were flailing wildly at the wall of shields. Spears and swords stabbed out with the regular pace as regular as a stroke oar. The Atvari horsemen were beginning to foul each other, the crush of horses against the shield wall making it impossible for them to press home. Phaedra saw a horse go down, smashing a momentary hole in the wall. The Khareeds tried to push in but the barricade of dead horses and men made it impossible. Soldiers stepped forward to close the gap, presenting a solid wall. With their advance stopped the horsemen attempted to flank the Imperials, but the Miravette stung them with spears before dodging back. Despite Phaedra's orders a flight of arrows cut into a particularly determined knot of the enemy, emptying saddles and sending horses screaming to the ground. It was better to allow a degree of flexibility rather than see her troops overrun due to over literal obedience, but her worries about the shortage of arrows deepened.

Frustrated, bloodied and exhausted, the Khareeds finally managed to wheel around and spur away from the wall of spears. Horns blasted as the Miravette trumpeters played the stand fast, forbidding a pursuit which might lead to a bloody running battle on the plain, or worse, a series of meeting engagements with elements of the enemy as they rushed back towards the city. Even though she had given the order, she felt a surge of frustration at not pressing home the attack. Cheers erupted from the infantry as they raised their spears and shook them in the air.

"Victory," Phaedra agreed, pulling a waterskin from her saddle and sluicing the dust free.

"Give them five minutes head start then get a skirmish screen out, two out of every tet get out there and recover as many arrows as we can, theirs and ours," she instructed. Eudoxia scowled.

"Stopping the girls from looting wont be popular," Eudoxia suggested. Phaedra made a vague gesture back towards the captured baggage train.

"We have more loot than we can carry already, arrows and food are more important to us now."