were just hunted down by the barbarians. Slaughtered left and right, by arrows in the back and sword slashes to the neck. Or simply trampled under; and, if not killed in the process, murdered later by barbarians picking over the dead and wounded for booty. An already mangled army left a trail of blood and brains and entrails for miles behind it, as it crawled off, harried every step of the way until nightfall.
It was the worst military disaster in the history of the Confederation, suffered by the greatest army it had ever fielded. Five thousand or so dead that day; another five, within a month, from wounds; perhaps a thousand or so captured—the Southrons were not much given to taking prisoners—and several thousand more simply vanished, in the way that defeated soldiers will.
When the six brigades which Tomsien had led out finally returned to the provincial capital of Harrat from whence he'd led them, their effective force was not more than a third what it had been. At best. This was an army which had suffered a terrible defeat as well as massive casualties. It would take months—a year, more like—for its leadership to restore the formations, and the discipline, and bring in the new recruits desperately needed to flesh out horribly thinned ranks.
* * *
Tomsien would not be there to do it. His body was found, late in the day, lying among the corpses of most of his staff and personal troops. With an assegai still clenched in his fist, and his shield beaten into splinters. In this, too, Tomsien had been true to his traditions.
Just as a long-dead general had known he would, and a still-living one had so calculated.
* * *
It would be said later, and grow into legend, that when the news of Ion Jeschonyk's death and the manner of it was brought to Verice Demansk
It was the worst military disaster in the history of the Confederation, suffered by the greatest army it had ever fielded. Five thousand or so dead that day; another five, within a month, from wounds; perhaps a thousand or so captured—the Southrons were not much given to taking prisoners—and several thousand more simply vanished, in the way that defeated soldiers will.
When the six brigades which Tomsien had led out finally returned to the provincial capital of Harrat from whence he'd led them, their effective force was not more than a third what it had been. At best. This was an army which had suffered a terrible defeat as well as massive casualties. It would take months—a year, more like—for its leadership to restore the formations, and the discipline, and bring in the new recruits desperately needed to flesh out horribly thinned ranks.
* * *
Tomsien would not be there to do it. His body was found, late in the day, lying among the corpses of most of his staff and personal troops. With an assegai still clenched in his fist, and his shield beaten into splinters. In this, too, Tomsien had been true to his traditions.
Just as a long-dead general had known he would, and a still-living one had so calculated.
* * *
It would be said later, and grow into legend, that when the news of Ion Jeschonyk's death and the manner of it was brought to Verice Demansk