They were all in green. That was the first impression of Geoff, once of the city of LaMut?, as he rode into view of the battlefield.
He reined in his horse, and pulled his tabard, brown with the golden crowned gull of Crydee, into some semblance of order. The pale sun of early spring cast a wan light on the valley, from the entrenched pallisades of the Kingdom fortifications, across a gentle slope to the scrubby forest on the edge of the Grey Towers. The slope had been green with new grass, before the war between the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Tsuranuanni had come. It was a darker green now, where the muddied ground didn't show. Bodies, clad in dark green lacquered armour, lay strewn around the valley like a child's army of toy soldiers.
Geoff whistled low. The war had proved an intense training ground in reading battles and their aftermath, and he could see the approximate shape of what had happened. The green-clad warriors had charged up towards the Kingdom position, and had been balked by Kingdom heavy infantry, under Lord Sanders. Some of his troops, in brown and red livery, were collecting their dead from the field and laying them out. Geoff nudged his horse into motion, and trotted round the edge of the spiked ditch. From this angle, he could see the abandoned and looted dead horse, scattered along the flank of the invaders charge. From where the bodies lay, he could almost see the flow of the battle, how they had climbed, been stopped, and then smashed from the side by a charge of... he frantically looked round for a banner, nervous of being caught short on the details. Duke Borric would not be impressed with an incomplete report. There, the Third Yabon Lancers. The smell of dead flesh, of blood and mud, and the crying of the crows as they swooped in on the field, was starting to turn Geoff's stomach. Being unable to stand the aftermath of battle was a disadvantage for a soldier, but luckily his investigative talents had found him another role.
Lord Sanders looked tired. One of the few Lords who led his men from the front, and often thought of as a reckless fool, he was still wearing sweat-stained armour padding when Geoff found him. "Lord Sanders of LaMut??"
"Yes... who might you be, a messenger from Duke Borric?"
"Yes sir, I have some despatches for you. His Grace also asked me to find out what happened here."
Lord Sanders took the leather wallet with a weary sigh. "It was a bloody hard fight, and we killed the little slanty-eyed buggers. You want more, find someone else."
"Who would you recommend, sir?"
Geoff found himself on the receiving end of a glare that spoke volumes about Lord Sanders' opinion of inquisitive messengers from headquarters. "Sergeant Thatcher. He was with my archers on the hill, he had a good view of it all." Geoff saluted and made a diplomatic retreat.
Sergeant Thatcher was a short wide man, who came up to Geoffs shoulder, but could probably break him across one knee. He was found amongst the battlefield dead, straightening their cold limbs, closing their eyes, and giving them what dignity he could. "Yer want what?"
"His Grace wants to know what happened here."
Thatcher straightened up, and surveyed the crows, pecking at the dead Tsurani. "We won, they lost..." He dusted his hands and squinted at the distant treeline, across a field of corpses. "They lost bloody badly."
"That's the puzzling bit. The Tsurani don't usually screw up this badly. There's what, two thousand dead here?"
"About that. Mostly these guys in green, also some over that way (he waved a hand across the field) in other colours."
"Can you walk me through what happened, step by step?"
"What? Why? What's in it for me?"
"Because one, I'm not your commander, but I'm ordering you to do so. Two, because I'll pay you extra." Geoff dug a silver noble out of a pocket and flipped it to Thatcher, who snatched it out of the air. "For a walk and a story."
"You're on."
They walked across the battlefield, avoiding the clusters of men who had died atop each other. Corpses riddled with arrows lay around them, and the crows took flight, complaining loudly, as they passed by. The field smelt of cold mud, and the tang of blood. Thatcher cleared his throat and began.
"See back there, on the hill, that's where I was." He pointed towards the main hill in the Kingdom fortifications, steep sided and with a spiked barrier to the fore.
"We've got names for these yellow runty buggers, from those who've been captured and checked by the priests."
"Yes," interrupted Geoff. "The green are the Acoma, and those in purple are the Omechkel. Any others here?"
"Yeah," conceded Thatcher, " a bunch in yellow and green, and a big lot in black and orange."
"Chimiriko and Minwanabi. Most of the dead seem to be Acoma."
"Yeah, they turned up first. We saw them mustering in the trees, and got into position. The Minwanabi formed up about there..." Thatcher waved an arm vaguely towards another stretch of the treeline. Geoff orientated himself mentally, and placed them on the Acoma right flank.
"Then what happened? The Acoma advanced?"
"Who's tellin' this story, me or you? Right, yeah, they came up the slope towards us, straight for the hill, lockstep and shields ready, smart as yer like. We rained arrows on 'em, and they didn't skip a beat." They walked up the slope, past green armoured soldiers, lying dead on the cold mud, yellow skin turned pale and hands still clutching their strange non-metallic weapons. Geoff picked up a few and hefted them.
"These are made from leather, did you know? Strips of leather, placed, glued, resined, hardened..."
"They do the job. They break easier than our metal swords, especially when used a lot. Their armour's the same. But it's light and it's good enough."
"Anyway, continue."
"The Acoma came up the hill towards us, but those black and orange bastards hadn't budged. They just stood there and watched. The lancers decided to try a quick sweep in while the Acoma had an open flank, and came round on that side. We heard some jabbering from the Tsurani, and some of them turned to face."
They came to a line of Acoma warriors, crushed by hooves and spitted on broken lances.
"Ouch."
"Yeah, they haven't learnt how to handle cavalry, and they still haven't got any themselves."
"We've had reports from other fronts of giant bugs, with sharp claws, fast moving and very nasty."
"What? And these runts riding 'em?"
"No, with them fighting as high speed foot troops. Anyway. None here."
"Thank Tith-Onaka for that. Yeah, the lancers hit the Acoma flank, and it got kinda messy. I wouldn't want to be on the nasty end of the lancers myself. Lord Sanders and our heavy lads were holding them on one side, and the lancers were spiking these green lads by the dozen."
"And the Minwanabi?"
"They hadn't budged. They just watched as their mates got butchered. If they'd charged, the lancers would have pulled back, but they just watched."
"Why?"
"I dunno, they hardly came over and explained it all before 'and! Anyway, the Acoma were getting stomped in the centre, and then some more banners came up over there..."
Thatcher pointed to the far side of the field, where a scattering of Tsurani lay dead in yellow and green armour.
"The, uh, Omechki and Chimiriks came stormin' on, and hit our boys as they were trying to come down on the Acoma's other flank. We pulled back, and then I saw that the Minwanabi had finally charged in at the lancers. There were only a few Acoma left at this point." They climbed further up the hill, to where a knot of Acoma warriors several with officers plumes on their helmets, lay dead.
"I'll say this for 'em. They held on and stood their ground. Stubborn beggers."
"Did any of the Acoma get away?"
"Yeah, we saw a cluster of a dozen or so make a run for it. Looked like they were ordered off, not running off, if you see what I mean."
"And then?"
"The Omechiks and Chimiriks pulled back with the few Acoma who got away, the Minwanabi pulled back, and we were left with this lot." Thatcher waved a hairy hand across the battlefield, and stomped over to the fallen Tsurani officers.
"Sod all loot on these guys, but the officers sometimes have something." Geoff leaned in, mentally sorting the strange insignias of the dead. A glint of gold caught his eye, and he leaned in.
"Give me a hand with this one?" Thatcher grabbed the right arm and tugged, pulling a body out of the pile. An older warrior, face lined with life and leathery from years in the sun. His sword, fallen from his hand, had the symbol of a crane-like bird embossed in the green pommel. On his green armour was embossed, in beaten copper, the same bird symbol. His helmet bore a fan of plumes, untouched by the blood and the mud, and had gold trim round the edge. And a ragged wound in his side was black with blood.
"Nice one. Who's 'e then?"
"Their lord. Lord Sezu of House Acoma."
"Brave stubborn bugger. He was leading their charge. I saw him salute us as they climbed the hill." Geoff checked the other bodies, trying to remain distanced from the poor dead men under his hands. From a foreign world, in strange armour, they had died like soldiers, and in death all men are the same. He straightened up with another helmet.
"Here," he said, pointing out the silver trim round this one. "that guy next to him was his second. Probably his heir, maybe his son..."
"So we killed their Lord, his son, and maybe... uh... nineteen out of twenty of the Acoma?"
"Yes. Poor sods. Uphill at a fortified position, with no support, and betrayed by their allies." Thatcher spat on the ground, emphatically.
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe the Duke will be able to put it all together. But I don't know. What're you going to do with them?"
"Can't leave them to rot and spread disease. We've got the wood nearby. Funeral pyres."
Geoff nodded. "Burn them in honour. They did their duty, poor sods." And they walked off the field of the dead, and back to the living.