[h2]Andronika and Kreznik[/h2]
[b]Co-Write Between Terrans and @Dyelli Beybi[/b] 

The Journey across the Empire had been largely uneventful.  Kreznik had had more of an opportunity to get to know Vestele over the course of their journey.  The young elga maiden shared Andronika's improper, often risqué sense of humour, which explained why the pair got on so well, though there was also a haughtiness and arrogance to her that could rub people up the wrong way; she seemed to think herself untouchable.

They had cut across country towards Alveby, meeting no resistance along the way.  At a couple of points, horsemen were spotted on the horizon, though they had given the group a wide berth, apparently with no interest in engaging in a fight with a large group of Lancers.  They had managed to find lodging most nights, despite the wariness of the locals.  Andronika did not tell them who she was and most people probably assumed Vestele was the one being escorted.

Several days into the march, as the group entered into the shade of a copse of trees - a welcome respite from the beating of the sun, one of the outriders came galloping back, reigning in at the head of the column, where Captain Gredi, the elgamann in charge of the troop of Lancers was riding, "Captain... villagers up ahead are formed up in front of the town as if expecting trouble.  Fowling pieces and farming implements for the most part."

Gredi nodded, swivelling in his saddle to face Kreznik, "Sir, can you have your men screen this copse while my men don armour?" The Lancers had heavy armour, though they had taken to not wearing it during the march to prevent heat exhaustion, "We should also send a group forward to see if we can get them to disperse."

"I'll go," Andronika volunteered.

"No, your Highness, you will not," Gredi replied firmly, "Though a human emissary is a good idea."

Kreznik lowered the canteen he had been about to drink from. A frown on his face. 

“Bruic!!” The summons yielded a slightly older looking Hound. Worry pulling at his brows as Kreznik jutted a chin at their next path. “Trouble down the road. Have the lads mount up and hold the edge of the trees…. and send me Liam and Shara. ” 

Bruic for his part gave a short salute before bounding off in the direction of the Hound’s horses. The increasing tempo of hooves clomping, neighing and the raised voices of men accompanied the cloud of dirt that signaled the Hounds departure. 

Satisfied, Kreznik turned his attention back to the conversation. “I’ll go see what the problem is. While you… “ An accusatory finger pointed at Andronika. “… Will stay here safely under the eye of your loyal troops.”

Andronika pouted, folding her arms dramatically, though she didn't otherwise protest.

"Hold, a moment," Gredi nodded to one of his troopers, "Hamon, attach something white to your lance and go with him, let them see a flag of truce."

Kreznik mounted his horse, pulling the reigns slightly to reign in Victor as the horse circled in excitement. The troopers were in the processing of making their flag of truce when Liam and Shara arrived; looking the part of young calvary troopers.

“Liam with me. Shara stay with her highness and ensure nothing rash occurs.” The assassin turned spymaster, upon seeing the lance readied, gave a kick of his heels. The party trotting off forwards the forming formation of farmers.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Andronika asked, raising an eyebrow, "I'm not going to come running out and derail your conversation... I don't take uncalculated risks."

Kreznik didn't bother with a verbal response. Figuring a proactive measure couldn't hurt when it came to reigning in her 'calculated risks'. 

The odd party of Kreznik, Liam and the flag bearing lancer eventually breaking from the cover of the trees into the open. Kreznik abreast of the lancer with Liam to the assassin's left.

The group assembled up the path from them didn't look all that well prepared for battle.  A gaggle of farmers with farming tools and hunting implements.  There were a couple of old pikes in the mix, though there weren't enough to form a coherent block.  They were dressed like labourers without much in the way of armour to go around - just the odd rusty helmet.  There were probably around 100 of them. 

"Clubmen," the lancer commented under his breath, "They've become an issue amongst the Mittelvolk.  Clubs of local men form together to protect their villages from the armies.  They spring up like mushrooms."

“Well luckily for them we aren’t here to do battle.” Kreznik replied. His voice barely holding back a yawn; raising a hand from the reigns to greet the militia of Clubmen. 

The traveling band eventually staggering to a halt just outside what they all hoped to be the range of the Clubmen muskets. 

“Lo Villagers. “ Kreznik cupped his hands for a makeshift horn. “Is there a headman or mayor I can talk to?”

There seemed to be little understanding.  Some muttering amongst the villagers, "You don't speak their language do you?" the lancer asked.  Clearly he didn't.  He was probably from the far west, "I don't think any of them speak Inburian."

Kreznik gave a sigh as his eyes looked to the sky. Searching his memory for what language they spoke here. 

The Order had taught him well and Kreznik had always appreciated his language training. In another life he might have fancied himself a linguist, 

But alas he was here. 

He tired Quinian first. The accent acceptable but obviously foreign. 

“Greetings.”

There was no sign of them having registered anything.  A few of the firearm armed troops looked edgy.

Calarian came next. Frustration slightly evident in the frontier dialect he affected. 

For good measure he tried again in Low Haltian.

Which was the point where somebody fired a shot.  It was poorly aimed by an inexperienced gunner and the shot went high, thrumming over Kreznik's head.

"Think it's time we head back!" the lancer snatched at his horse's reigns, turning around.  The shot seemed to have enboldened some of the other peasants who were levelling weapons or otherwise preparing to attack.

“So much for flags of truce.” Kreznik sounded non-pleased as he wheeled Victor around. “ I can’t remember what language they speak out here.” 

Liam for his part was silent. Though he did cast a glance back as the trio made their way back to their respective forces.

The lancers meanwhile, had had time to get their armour on and they drew up in front of the copse in a long line, two riders deep, the sun gleaming off polished cuirsses, helmet and spear tips.  The odd panicked shot was let off in their direction with no effect.  They were too far out of range.

As Gredi road out to take charge of his troops, Andronika abruptly hitched up her skirts racing after them, "Captain, one moment!"  He reigned in, letting her catch up, "Remember these are ultimately my people.  I appreciate that it appears fighting is necessary, but try not to commit more slaughter than is necessary."

Gredi paused, his expression inscrutalbe, then nodded, "Aye your Highness, we can avoid too much bloodshed amongst the villagers."

As he rode out, Andronika, thankfully for those actually tasked with her safety, retreated back to the carriage and the foot guards encircling it.

Abruptly a trumpet call split the air and the lancers began to advance forward at a walk, keeping their formation tight and line straight as they advanced on the villagers.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Vestele piped up from where she was seated in the carriage, her tone characteristically dry, "But look North.  There's more of them on the far side of that stone wall,"  She offered Kreznik her spyglass as Andronika fell in beside the carriage, "Anyone might think they had been hiding back there waiting for that trumpet.  Almost like they deliberately lured our lancers away from the train." she remarked casually, "Someone has been teaching the peasants tactics."

Kreznik, haven taken the proffered spyglass, saw more of the same figures. Ragged lines and ill disciplined clubmen attempting to form up. 

“I wonder if that someone is still among them?” Kreznik’s focus returned the glass and signaled for the Hounds.

The Hounds that still surrounded the copse began to form up. Readying their sabres and loading their muskets. Andronika’s forces were equipped as Dragoons for the most part. Though Kreznik had forgone the  musket in favor of a pair of pistols; uncomfortable with the weight of the carbines. 

Their pieces were not the fowling pieces of the clubmen; but there was a glaring problem. 

“We are rather outnumbered here. Don’t fancy a charge.” Kreznik commented as he stuffed his first pistol into its holster and prepped the second.

Andronika looked about to hop down from the carriage but Vestele grabbed her arm, roughly keeping her inside.  Her eyes met Kreznik's for a moment, seeimng to say 'you can thank me later'.

The peasants advanced towards the woods confidently enough, though as the first ragged volley from the guards set them crouching down fearfully as a few of their number fell.  A few shots came back their way.  One guard went down.

One of the lancers did as well, tumbling from his saddle with a cry of pain.  The lancers formed up around the gap.  Another trumpet sounded and they spurred their horses forward, lancers lowering in a neat and deadly row of steel and fluttering penants.  Some of the peasants stood, some fled in the face of what was coming.

Kreznik barely spared a glance at his charge’s latest attempt. Instead, focusing on the flanking group of clubmen that moved closer despite the second volley he and the Hound sent their way. 

Though his pistol probably hit nothing and Kreznik made a note to train with the longer weapons; to get over his dislike-

The spray of splinters from a near miss forced his mind back into the fight. The off tempo and ragged clubmen return volley going high for the most part. 

Thought the scream of a Hound signaled one round had found it’s mark. 

“Next volley; concentrate left!!!” The clubmen line was off centered. It’s left line closet and slightly out of the way. They would be easier targets if slightly. “Fire!!”

At the front of the formation, the clubmen vanished under the hooves of the lancers... the formation, if it could be called that, ceased to exist.  If there were survivors they were fleeing back into the village with the lancers in hot pursuit.

The clubmen on their flank seemed to be faring better, firing scattered shots as several of their number went down.  There was a growl from the carriage then the crunch of boots hitting the fallen leaf litter on the floor of the copse.  Moments later Andronika was cradling an injured soldier.  It seemed she couldn't help herself if she thought she could do some good.

“Shara!!!” Kreznik barked as the latest round of powder was hurriedly shoved into his appropriated musket. The previous owner’s blood still on the stock and now smearing his cheek. Comfort and familiarity having been eschewed as the second of their number had fallen. 

The Hound, Shara, did her part by more or less bowling over Andronika. Shoving her into the space of the carriage’s wheel as she draped her body over her. 

“Stay down your highness!!!” 

The Hound’s formation had dissolved into individual firing, accurate but not composed the price of them being individual scouts and spies playing the part of soldiers.

"Let me to the injured," Andronika snarled, "I can help!"

There were casualties on their own side, but the clubmen were definitely wavering and, as the lancers began to bring their formation back into coherence they broke.  At first a few men fleeing, which quickly turned into a route.  The elga horsemen were not a unit anyone but the most well disciplined veterans would stand any chance against.

As the fighting stopped Vestele had also hopped down from the carriage, "It's impressive when a man knows how to handle his lance," she commented loudly, though keeping a completely straight face.

Kreznik blinked away the acrid stinging of gunsmoke. Setting down the borrowed musket and turning his attention back to his Hounds; now rallying under the reprieve the lancer’s rout had brought. 

“Gather our wounded here. You three…” A gesture at three Hounds, face still taught with adrenaline, and the flanking Clubmen’s former advance. “… check their fallen. The usual lads.” 

The hasty trio nodded and took a brief second to ensure their muskets were loaded and their Calvary sabres still attached before they made to remount and ride.

Kreznik turning his gaze back to Andronika. Who Shara was now hastily bringing to her feet with an expression of mixed apologies and fear. Though his gaze was on the heir. 

“Was that an uncalculated risk?”

"Whatever the usual is... bring survivors here.  I want to know why we came under attack," Andronika called as Shara helped her to her feet.  She didn't seem overly put out by being tackled... despite the Royal aspirations, Andronika still thought like a farm girl.  Laying hands on her was not the mortal insult it would be to others, "Besides," she added, "It's good for my subjects to meet their future Queen."

She paused, pursing her lips at the second question, raised an eyebrow then shook her head, "My dear Kreznik, I am willing to risk my life for any man or woman willing to risk theirs for me.  This is an essential Chivalric value.  I am a Hasikos and it is my duty to personify them.  This is what I base my right to the Throne on... a name is great on paper, but I promise to embody something better than what we have. For everyone."

“Help as many wounded as you want. [i]After[/i]…..” He jutted a finger towards the field of Clubmen casualty being examined by the trio of Hounds. “…..the shooting is over.” 

A groan as a Hound helped his wounded compatriot stumble towards the carriage. Hands bloody and pressed over a weeping stomach wound. Liam appearing to prop up the casualties other side.

Out on the field, one Hound stuffed a pouch with bloodstained parchment and an almanac. Another pulled a trussed up clubmen onto his horse; the man’s foreign tongue obviously cursing as he kicked out with the leg not shattered by a musket ball. 

Soon, a pair of wounded Clubmen joined the pair of wounded Hounds by the carriage.