It normally took several hours after a battle to attract that amount of carrion birds. A great number wheeled across the sky ahead, the number of murders, flocks and gangs lost in the sheer mass of the formation. They were either too late to make much difference, or the birds were confident in quite the feast afterwards. As bad as it seems, she was truly hoping for the latter.<br/><br/>Turning her eyes away from the grim portent, Daria, the newly named First-Captain of the venerable Heart Guard mercenary company, began trying to judge the distance between herself and the sounds of battle. It had to be no more than a mile. The actual battle itself was concealed from her by a small rise in the terrain, not much more than a bump, but more than enough to prevent her from making an accurate assessment of the flow of combat, which immediately ruled out trying to simply forge into the field on her own intuition. It would be a glorious folly. Instead she aimed the jangling, clattering column of horse, already clad in their full battle-rattle, at the milling crowd of cavalry that she could see clogging the far end of the small camp that served as a staging ground. Perhaps their commander might have some use for the finest shock cavalry unit in the world. Finest in Lebidan at least.<br/><br/>It was not lost on her that most of the horses she could see were riderless and often stamping in terror, signs she had come to associate with a lot of dead cavalrymen on the field beyond. What mystified her the most was that she could clearly see that there were more than enough men to mount each horse there and that almost all were garbed for horseback combat. Had they fled? Were they simply so ill disciplined that they had been left there by the rest of the army? She wouldn't put it past the Lebidani levies, most of them weren't exactly worthy of the description of a warrior, let alone a true soldier. But she could see Knights and what she assumed were Lindenians there too, both of which were hardened and skilled by all accounts. What could have unsettled them so? That was not a thought worth dwelling on.<br/><br/>They were almost inside the forward camp before anyone noticed them, the inhabitant's attention focused entirely southward at where the battle was taking place. Fear was etched onto every face, some young and some old. A Lindenian without his right arm gave them a solemn salute as they passed. A blacksmith, his apprentices huddled around him, simply shook his head at them.<br/><br/>The unordered mass of horsemen ignored the newcomers in favour of trying to settle their mounts, clearly no less frightened than their four-legged allies. The stench of fear was nearly overwhelming. Daria had been in many fights over the years, from bar scraps to full blown armed engagements, but she had never seen this many men this frightened. Leaving her own troops in the more than capable hands of Lance-Captain Keilor, she went about looking for someone to fill her in. Guiding Stepper more so with her knees than her hands, she tried to get the attention of someone, anyone, who could point her in the right direction. They all ignored her. In desperation she grabbed a passing Knight by his armoured gorget.<br/><br/>"You, stop! Where is your commander?" The man's eyes were wide, the skin behind his dark beard pale with shock. She half expected him to sputter about the indignity of being manhandled by a woman, something most of his kind were wont to do, but it never came.<br/><br/>"Lord Knight Resuran. Over there!" He made a vague gesture in the direction of the battle and ran off, dodging through small gaps as they appeared. Stepper followed the man's directions without any prompting from her, the stallion following orders as if this was just a stableyard practice.<br/><br/>"I suppose it's a start." She muttered.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>Lord Knight Resuran proved to be an affable man, somewhat foppish with his braided moustache, but clearly a good officer. And an incredibly infuriating one.<br/><br/>"I cannot state this enough, First-Captain. We will not advance until the word is given." He had said the same thing three times now and had given no rhyme or reason as to why this was so. He simply sat his only slightly nervous horse and watched as his Knights and sergeants worked to whip the levies back into some semblance of military order. Daria was patient, but this was starting to get on the knife edge of her nerves.<br/><br/>"Then perhaps you could explain exactly what is preventing you from advancing then? Or maybe you could try to tell me why I cannot simply march my lancers over that rise?" Her tone was sharp, biting even, leaving an open challenge for him to prove her good sense wrong. The Lord Knight was significantly more level headed than most of his peers, but a Lebi Knight was a Lebi Knight. Some things would not pass. Especially being challenged on a 'man's matter' by a woman, even if said woman had twenty years of experience backing her up.<br/><br/>Resuran's eyes flared. She had him. By the set of his mouth she could see he had reached a decision he disliked. Interesting.<br/><br/>"Very well then, First-Captain. I cannot explain, but I can easily show you." Triumph. Leaning on her helmet, itself balanced on the pommel of her saddle, she allowed herself to be led out of the blot of tents towards the little ridge that denoted the boundary to madness. Resuran's whole body was rigid as they rode, holding the air of a man who did not enjoy what he was doing, but who was determined to do it anyway. In hindsight, the crest came too soon.<br/><br/>"By Makar's hairy ballsack..." Her astonishment was clear, as was the light burr that crept into her voice as the iron self control she prided herself on cracked for just a moment. The field beyond was truly madness. Only a few hundred yards distant she could see the line held by the Allies, bright and thin. A few bright flashes could be seen here and there, as well as shapes moving in impossible ways through the air. Out beyond was a horde, an ocean of Tutar well beyond numbers. But that was not what caught her eye. No, it was the giants that did that. Twice as tall again as anything on the field, their numbers were few. That clearly wasn't stopping them. Resuran followed her eyes, nodding.<br/><br/>"Drorghans. The horses can't stand them. They would be halfway to the mountains by now had we not been ordered back." It was impossible, wasn't it? Things that large. Resuran continued talking, though she was not truly listening.<br/><br/>"We can only make our attack once they are dead. The alternative does not bear thinking about." He was right. The alternative was that the Drorghans would simply crush the lines of Men and let the Tutari horde finish what was left. Hardening her demeanour back to her usual self, Daria could not remove the kernel of fear that was growing in her mind. Fear was natural. This wasn't. The only defence here was to attack. But that was impossible.<br/><br/>"Very well then. Lord Knight, your case has been made. However," she swiftly forestalled the man's next sentence, "I see no reason not to let our comrades know that we are here for them, yes? To be the hammer to their anvil once these... things have been killed." She surveyed the carnage again.<br/><br/>"Yes, I think I will make a stand here. So that me and mine can be seen." And also so they could see. After all, even the best troops won't do well if they cannot see what they are up against. Either way, her peace of mind would be better settled if she could see what was going on only two hundred yards away in the depths of hell.