Chapter 100
The second wave hit harder than the first.
The wind had shifted by mid-morning, blowing the snow sideways across the field and into the soldiers’ eyes. From the ridge above, October could see only the rough outlines of the fight—shields slamming, banners swaying, the blur of movement in the storm. But she could hear it all: the clash of steel, the shouts of orders, the cries of the wounded.
“Report!” she called.
A young messenger slid into the tent, his armor clattering. “The southern infantry is pressing the center line. The left flank is holding for now, but—”
“But they’re pushing Baldwin back,” October finished.
The soldier hesitated. “Yes, my lady.”
She didn’t waste time. “Signal the second wave of pikemen to move forward. Tell the left flank to close ranks and watch for cavalry charges. And send word to Baldwin—hold his ground at all costs.”
The messenger saluted and bolted back into the storm.
She turned to her map table, scanning for weaknesses. The southern army was larger, but size alone didn’t win battles. They were overextending in the east, leaning too hard into the push against Baldwin’s position. If she could hold their attention there long enough, the west flank could cut them off.
Another officer entered, his face drawn. “We’ve lost the third catapult on the west wall. Fire’s spreading—”
“Send two water teams. Pull them from the supply guard if you must.”
“My lady, that leaves the food stores—”
“They’ll survive without an escort for an hour. The wall won’t.”
The man nodded and ran.
\---
At the front lines
Baldwin’s sword was slick with blood, his breath steaming in the cold. He barely noticed the cuts along his forearm or the ache in his shoulders. The southern infantry kept coming—men with axes, swords, and spears, all eager to break the line.
“Hold the shield wall!” he bellowed, shoving a soldier back into place. “Do not break!”
The men pressed closer together, shields overlapping. Baldwin stepped forward to fill a gap where a northern soldier had fallen. An enemy spear lunged toward his chest; he caught the shaft in his gauntleted hand and yanked hard, dragging the man forward before driving his blade through him.
A horn sounded to his right—his signal from the ridge. October’s orders.
“Pikemen forward!” he shouted, relaying her command down the line. The second wave surged in behind the shields, long spears stabbing over the wall and driving the enemy back.
He allowed himself a grim smile. “She sees it,” he muttered under his breath. “Good.”
\---
Back at the ridge
The enemy faltered in the east, just as she’d hoped. But the west was buckling faster than she wanted. She called to her aide.
“Send riders to Baldwin. Tell him the west needs breathing room. If he can push forward even twenty yards, the west flank can regroup.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And tell him this—if he can’t push, he must hold. Even one step back will cost us the ridge.”
The rider didn’t hesitate. He mounted and disappeared into the snow.
\---
Front lines
The messenger reached Baldwin mid-strike. “From Lady October—push twenty yards if possible. If not, hold the line.”
Baldwin’s eyes flicked to the west, where the enemy’s black banners loomed closer. “Tell her I’ll do better than hold.”
He barked new orders. “Shift the shield wall forward! Step—by—step! Push them!”
The soldiers obeyed, each shove gaining a few inches. Baldwin fought at the front, clearing space with every swing of his sword.
The southern commander saw the movement and tried to counter, throwing fresh troops into the gap. Baldwin didn’t give them the chance to settle. His sword tore through the first rank, and the men behind him pressed harder.
By the time the horn blew from the ridge again, they had gained not twenty yards, but thirty.
\---
Ridge
“Thirty yards?” October repeated, glancing at the map. She exhaled sharply. “Good. Send to the west flank—now’s their chance.”
She stepped outside the tent, snow swirling around her. From here, she could see the movement clearly—the west pushing forward, the enemy slowing, and Baldwin’s black-cloaked figure cutting through the front like a shadow with a blade.
Her guards shifted uneasily beside her. One of them murmured, “The men fight harder when they see the two of you working together, my lady.”
“They fight harder because they know we won’t waste them,” October said, her tone flat.
\---
The cost
By noon, the snow was red underfoot. The ground was littered with bodies—friend and foe alike.
A breathless runner stumbled into the tent. “Casualties high in the center. We’ve lost two lieutenants and—”
“Names later,” October said sharply. “Tell the healers to set up behind the ridge. Use the grain stores for stretchers if you must.”
Another voice called from the entrance. “My lady—Baldwin’s been wounded!”
Her head snapped up. “How bad?”
“Shoulder cut. Still fighting.”
She forced her voice to stay steady. “Then keep him fighting. Bring him to me when the field is ours.”
\---
Front lines
Baldwin barely felt the cut. The enemy was breaking now, step by bloody step. His men moved as one, their breaths ragged but their pace steady. The constant horn calls from the ridge told him October was still shaping the battle even from afar.
When the southern cavalry made a last desperate charge on the east flank, Baldwin signaled for the trap she had ordered earlier. The front ranks parted just enough for the hidden line of pikemen to step forward. Horses screamed as they hit the wall of spears, the riders toppling.
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Final push
With the cavalry broken, the southern forces finally began to retreat. Baldwin didn’t chase them—October’s orders were clear: hold the ground, don’t overextend.
Snow fell heavier now, covering the fallen. Baldwin stood still for a long moment, sword in hand, watching the enemy fade into the storm.
\---
Ridge
When Baldwin finally came up the slope, the soldiers on the ridge parted without a word. He was spattered with blood and snow, his cloak torn, his shoulder bound with a rough strip of cloth.
October didn’t step forward or smile. She simply looked at him and said, “We held.”
“We held,” he agreed.
They both knew it wasn’t victory. Not yet. The enemy would return. But for today, the North still stood, and their soldiers still believed.