Horsemen gathered before the storm, under a curtain of rain and darkness. Varsis was one of them. He cursed as he saw the muddy ground of the farmland. It would make the coming battle all the more difficult.

For that was what this would be. Across the dreary farmland an army of conscripted peasants, trained foot soldiers, and gold-coated Vedil horsemen awaited. They were just barely visible across the darkened field, but Varsis’ scouts had assured them that the soldiers were indeed there, in numbers equaling perhaps two thousand.

This would be a waste of lives. Behind him, Varsis had an army of six thousand. His troops were the vanguard of the Makini army, the first that could be marshaled, and there would be many more after them.

Right now, all Varsis had to do was crush this pathetic thing the Vedil called an army, trapped on the edge of the Makini-Vedil border, utterly surrounded, and unwilling to give up.

This would indeed be a waste of Vedil lives. For if Varsis had planned this right, few, if any, of his men would die this day.

Rain pattered into Varsis’ open mouth, and he spit it out. It annoyed him that his helm did not cover his face.

Varsis then started to ride, rushing across the front of his horsemen ranks. As he did so, his men cheered him, the two thousand horsemen here, along with the foot soldiers behind them.

As Varsis finished his crossing, he wheeled his horse close to a man, standing on the ground on this far side of the formation.

“It’s muddy,” the man complained.

“That shouldn’t prevent you and your partner--” Varsis nodded at another man who stood near the first, “--from doing what needs to be done.”

“You are correct, General,” said the man. “It does not. I and my brother will do exactly what needs to be done. You may distrust us because we are mages, but I can assure you, the alliance between the School of the Valley and the Makini council remains strong.”

“Perhaps because the School of the Valley exists at the Council of the Makini’s discretion?” Varsis shot back. “Those I serve are the ones who keep the farmers in the valley in check. You know, the ones that come to us complaining that their livestock are being born with two heads?”

“That has nothing to do with us,” said the man.

“You know it does, Marsen Tanelbane,” said Varsis. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” came Marsen’s terse reply.

Varsis stared across the farmland at the Vedil, who waited for his army to charge. They had no idea what was about to befall them. He smiled, though he knew none of them would see him.

Varsis’ plan had been carefully set. There was a reason he had waited to attack until night, a very good reason. The darkness and the fog would drastically reduce the strain on the two brothers.

“Do it,” Varsis told the mages.

Marsen and his mute brother clasped a pair of hands together, to link their power. Varsis, looking down on them from his horse, felt a hum in the air. There was no other way to describe it. Marsen and his brother closed their eyes.

Then, suddenly, an exact replica of Varsis’ army appeared on the other side from the huddled Vedil. Varsis could only see the phantom army vaguely, but his adversaries could see the army much better. The Vedil, in their fear, threw themselves into chaos.

Varsis saw officers scream orders, as their troops turned to face this new threat. Or what they thought was a threat. The army was a visual illusion, nothing more, and a poorly defined one at that, due to its sheer size. But through the wind and the rain and the fog, it looked real enough.

And in its own way, it was real enough to kill.

As the phantom army charged at the Vedil positions, Varsis played over in his mind what he was sure the commanders of the Vedil army were thinking.

They hid a second army from us! No, the first army was just a fake, to distract our attention. Look at they just stand there, as this second army charges us. The first army was all an illusion.

Varsis silently applauded himself, as almost all of the Vedil army turned to meet the phantoms. In his strategic planning, he had seized upon a valuable resource. Marsen and his brother had been assigned to his unit. When mages fought in wars, which was rarely, they usually were just integrated with the regular warriors, and sent into the thick of combat to fight to the best of their ability. The illusions were now doing far more damage to the Vedil cause than two more warriors ever could.

Varsis waited just another fraction of a second, and then screamed, “Charge!”

The cry was taken up by his own ranks, and mud splashed as a thousand cavalry suddenly charged. Varsis’ foot soldiers ran as fast as they could after the horsemen, but Varsis doubted that when they reached the fighting, there would be much of an enemy left to fight. His five thousand on foot, more than twice the number of the enemy, would only be needed as part of a mop-up operation.

As Varsis and his real soldiers charged, his two mages, who had gotten out of the way of the army, slowed their phantoms, so the real cavalry would reach the Vedil first.

The closer Varsis got to the enemy, the more disjoined he realized their situation was. Soldiers were in complete chaos, not knowing which army was the illusion, or even if either army was the illusion.

A few moments before Varsis and his men reached the front Vedil line of spearmen, Varsis pulled a small vial from a pouch at his waist, and tossed it at the Vedil positions. There was a sudden explosion, and then the five or so men who had been directly in front of Varsis were reduced to little more than ash, and many beyond that vicinity were burned, wounded and scared.

One of the many reasons soldiers should not bunch together, Varsis remarked to himself. He pulled out another vial with his left hand, and drew his sword with his right, “For the glory of the Council!” he screamed, reflecting that, in truth, the Council was no part of the reason her was fighting here today. As his men shouted the same, all around him, Varsis amended his statement by shouting, “For the glory of the Makini!” just so he himself would have something to fight for. That cry was taken up as well.

And then Varsis was upon his enemy. With his left hand, he threw the second vial as far as he could, creating a second explosion, put his left hand back on the reins, and started hacking with his right. The whole his explosion had created in the Vedil front lines was quickly being filled in. Varsis knew he had to prevent that from happening.

Varsis’ horse trampled over a Vedil soldier. Varsis’ sword, formerly swinging wildly in the air, to build momentum, hacked away the trampled soldier’s spear, so his horse would not be skewered. One down.

As Varsis looked around, he saw his cavalry crash into the Vedil lines, and he heard the screams of men. It was far more than one down now. But still, Varsis’ section had made the biggest progress. The explosive powder had done the trick. This day, there was only enough for Varsis, because no one else had thought it would work as well as it did.

Varsis momentarily sheathed his sword, then pulled out his last two vials, aware that he was at the very front of the charge, and that in another moment a horde of regrouped Vedil would be upon him. But he was waiting for something far more important.

Varsis saw that the phantom army was about to strike, and he had to make it seem as if they did. Varsis threw his vials over the majority of the Vedil, hurling them at the part of the army waiting for the phantom charge. A gratifying explosion reached his ears, even as the illusion, upon reaching the Vedil army, completely and utterly disappeared. The explosion would confuse them for a little while longer.

As Vedil charged him, Varsis redrew his sword. Cutting and chopping, using the same techniques to slay every soldier in his path, Varsis became a killing machine. Through the break in the lines he had created, many of Varsis’ horsemen rushed past him, attacking the Vedil soldiers from the side, as they compatriots attacked in a more conventional way.

From what Varsis could see, it looked as if the Vedil army was breaking apart. But Varsis knew the truth. He wheeled his horse around, just in time to see all the cavalry the Vedil had descend upon him.

And since Varsis knew the truth, he had prepared for it. At about this time, his foot soldiers had caught up with their mounted brethren, and his archers sent out a hail of arrows. As his cavalry decimated the Vedil foot soldiers, Varsis watched as the Vedil cavalry were being destroyed by his archers.

He integrated himself into his foot soldiers’ front lines, preparing for when the remnants of the Vedil cavalry would slam themselves against his positions. Varsis looked around his formations, to see if his captains had done what they were supposed to. And they had. Spearmen in the front, swordsmen in the middle, archers in the back, raining a deadly hail on all enemies.

Varsis watched horseman after horseman fall in their doomed offensive. One out of two seemed to have fallen by the time they reached his lines.

And once the horsemen reached his lines, they were impaled. A line of fortified, ready spearmen, with their weapons lowered, was the ultimate counter against calvary, especially calvary as frightened as the Vedil were.

Varsis had to wince as an entire line of Vedil horsemen, in their fear unable to think of a better tactic, impaled themselves against the waiting spears.

A pair of calvary came at Varsis, seeing the lone horseman in the front line to be a commander, but Varsis welcomed the attention. This might be my first real fight all day.

Varsis waited for them to come for him. The one heading to his left side came into striking distance a fraction of time before the one on his left. In a quick, deft motion, Varsis batted his opponent’s sword away, then plunged his own downwards into the horseman’s chest. Good thing metal armor never caught on. Studded leather might be good for glancing blows, but it could not withstand a direct attack of Varsis’ ferocity. He yanked his sword out from the man, who fell to the ground, as he turned to block a strike from the other horseman’s sword.

The other horseman seemed to be better. Even as the horse who’s rider Varsis had just impaled was downed by spearmen, the other horsemen maneuvered his own so it was not cut down by spear strikes from behind.

As Varsis and the Vedil horseman exchanged a series of blows, Varsis found new respect for his adversary. This was the kind of fight he had been wanting. He shifted his sword to his left hand, something he did not like to do. He did not want to feel as if he had won a battle by cheating. But Varsis, realizing this was no game, and the enemy had to be downed so that he could help his troops, used his left hand to slam the pommel of his sword into the Vedil horseman’s face. That blow alone came with it a crack of breaking bone. Varsis shifted his sword to his right hand again, and then, watched as his opponent fell to the ground, a worth adversary dispatched in an instant.

Then Varsis turned to the remaining cavalry. His sword now very much in his metal left hand, Varsis, one man charged his enemies ranks, for he saw that he would have support soon enough, as his swordsmen were closing in from both sides.

Varsis’ left hand struck with frightening strength. Every blow it gave subdued another opponent. Varsis switched his sword back to his right hand, and then simply began using his left to drag enemies off their horses, onto the ground where they would quickly be trampled.

And then, suddenly, it was over. Among the Vedil horsemen, and the few foot soldiers that had charged with them, a white flag was raised. The Vedil bunched together, dropping their weapons, as Makini surrounded them.

Varsis smiled. One of his captains ran up to him on horseback, and asked what should be done.

“Take their weapons,” said Varsis. “And treat them as prisoners of war.”

“But sir,” said the captain. “They will only slow us down.”

Varsis looked at him. “You do not know me well, Captain Sari,” said Varsis. “I will not kill those under a white flag.”

“But--“

“And I don’t care what my record shows,” said Varsis. “This is not the Eastern Range. Those are not barbarians. And there are some levels I will no longer stoop to.”

Without another word to his captain, he rode off. There were still plenty of fighting Vedil to kill. Those, he had no qualms about.

When Varsis reached the main group of Vedil, however, he found a slaughter. Those here had simply not been given the time to surrender. He surveyed the ground, where here, prisoners of war had already been taken. They numbered perhaps only two dozen.

The battle was over.

“Order a count of the prisoners,” said Varsis to Sari, who had found him again. “Then order a count of the dead.”

Captain Sari seemed much more compliant now. “Yes, sir,” he said, and rode off.

Varsis dismounted. He sheathed his sword, held for so long, and walked through the farmland, that had been once a battlefield.

Here, Makini medics tended to the wounded, both of their own, and of the Vedil. Those that had surrendered deserved to be cared for, and Varsis was glad to see that as much was being done.

Varsis, satisfied that he had succeeded, gazed into the mists, as his mind calculated. Six thousand troops he had here, for he was sure the battle had only garnered negligible Makini losses. There were another four thousand troops behind him, but they were the occupying force, those whose job it was to hold onto the land Varsis conquered for them. Those four thousand would be no help.

But Varsis only led the vanguard. There were another thirty thousand troops being marshaled in Makini lands, and that was only the standing army. New recruits would add another sixty thousand soldiers to the mix, and that was not counting the conscription, that was sure to occur, soon enough.

Varsis thought. He led his six thousand. The next ten thousand that came along would be under the direct command of a General Brasko is Areveli, the supreme commander of the Makini armed forces. Varsis knew little of Brasko, and as such, did not know if the man would be a hinder, or a help. There was no doubt he was competent, for unlike in other Houses, only those truly qualified rose to high positions in the Makini army. But he could be Hisa’s man, and that would be a problem.

For once his mother learned of this great success Varsis had given the Makini at this first great battle, she would try to downplay his success. All Varsis wanted to do was win the war, and he would be better able to do that without his mother’s intrigues.

“Help…” a voice came, and Varsis turned to it. A man in a Vedil uniform, covered in blood, and twisted at an awkward angle was the speaker. It was no surprise to Varsis that the soldier had been neglected by the medics. His voice was so faint, and his body was so bloody, that they had thought him dead.

Varsis headed to the man, and knelt beside him. “Do you think you can live?” he asked. Oddly, when soldiers on a battlefield were asked that question, they tended to have startlingly accurate answers.

“No,” the man gasped.

“Medic!” Varsis shouted anyway, on the off chance the man was wrong. He ripped clothing off the nearest dead man, to help stanch this one’s bleeding.

“Hey…” said the man. “I know you. You’re Strong Hand, the general of the Makini.”

Varsis was surprised, not that the Vedil had came up with a nickname for him, but that it was such a positive one. Perhaps his time serving in the court of Emperor Mentis had made him seem more noble to his enemies.

“That I am,” he said, seeing no reason to lie to the dying man.

“I…saw…you on the front lines,” said the Vedil soldier. “You fought with your men, instead of keeping yourself safe, like most generals. Why?”

“Others may be different,” said Varsis. “But I cannot ask a man to do something I would not.”

“That’s…noble,” said the soldier.

Varsis glanced away from the Vedil, as he saw a medic racing over.

Then the dying soldier, who seemed so weak a moment before, had a fit of strength. With a scream of pain, the bloody man drew a knife from his belt, and threw himself at Varsis.

It was like a corpse was trying to kill him.

But a corpse couldn’t win. Varsis easily dodged, and the man fell flat on the ground, face down.

“I’m…sorry,” the Vedil soldier mumbled, with his face in the dirt. “But you were so important, I had to try. You…understand…”

His last sentence trickled off, and Varsis rolled him over. The Vedil’s eyes were glazed. Varsis checked for a pulse. None. The man was dead.

Suddenly, the medic arrived. There was no need to explain anything, for the new arrival had seen what had happened on his way over.

“He tried to kill you, sir?” the medic asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Varsis.

The general stood, as the medic checked for a pulse one more time. Varsis walked away. He had neglected his officers for long enough. It was time to meet with them, and get reports.

Varsis quickly found a runner, a soldier whose job it was to convey messages. “Tell all the captains you can find that I want them to report to me in the command tent,” he said, and the runner went on his way.

Varsis took his time walking through the farmland. Morning was coming, and light was on the horizon. The day would dawn with a thousand bodies on the ground. It was a sobering thought.

Not that Varsis needed sobering. When he was conflicted, he retreated into his discipline, into his honor.

Finding his horse again, Varsis mounted, and rode from the battlefield. The command tent, along with the army camp, was located on top of a lightly sloping hill, and all around it, Varsis could see Makini soldiers running on missions.

Varsis smiled. He was home. He had been fighting in wars for so long, that he had no true place to return to. Though the villa in the capital might be his in name, in truth, it was Oneako’s. He had no true place to return to.

None except this.