“Go, go! Move it!”

When Fadelio's scream ran across the clearing and across the fording, another of the older master craftsmen stumbled on the slick rocks of the stream and fell to his knees. At least the ghosts had constructed a rope across the waters for the commoners to pull along on. With their bodies secured, no one had been injured on their path through the shallow name river. However, after all this time the commoners still hadn't crossed the stream. Never before had Fadelio been this annoyed with the mortals. At last, he understood the contempt the lords had always shown towards them.

Weaklings.

Even so, Fadelio wouldn't give up on them. By now their lives weren't the most important issue, and neither was his commitment towards his lord. Now it was a matter of principle. How could he allow Pacha to win, the little idiot? The peacock king had been left to play tyrant for all his life, and it was high time someone finally stood up to him.

“Master, here they come!”

When Fadelio turned to the voice of the ghost warrior, the enemy had appeared from within the woods Though they had shown themselves out in the open, they looked anything but ready. Their enemies were long and gangly in stature, as their armors hung loose off their bony shoulders.

Doable.

Since they had sped up, they had become tough to catch. All Pacha could do was to equip his fast scouts and rush after them. The idiot king's scouts didn't have time to set up any ambushes, which was where their strengths lay. They would also be exhausted from the long march, so central confrontation would be costly for them as well, despite their superior numbers. Even so, now that they were this close, they would pose a constant threat. Fadelio and his ghosts would have to stand on defense and get themselves ready if they wanted to protect the commoners.

“All men to me!” Fadelio's deep voice ran across the shoreline, and the ghosts followed his command. While their ghost troop was also comprised of many scouts, almost half of them were good, proper warriors. And they had one more advantage: Pacha's troops looked loose, collected from various Pluritac territories and possibly the estates of the king's various allies. The ghosts, however, had been trained as one unit for years. At once their numbers collected into a solid formation, to bolster their strength. Only seconds after the enemy had appeared, they had taken a half-moon shape, to protect the crossing behind them.

Of course, the scouts on the other side did what scouts would do best: skirmish.

Once they had made their presence felt and saw that the ghosts wouldn't abandon the commoners to the waters, about ten of them marched out of the formation. Although they presented a crude mix of bows and spears, Fadelio would never underestimate them. This was the sort of weapon the scouts would be most experienced with, so the ghosts had done their own preparations.

“Shields!” the master shouted, and his warriors closed the gaps between them. About twenty of them raised their shields to form a solid wall of wood and metal between the two armies. The central shields had been reinforced with parts of their wagons. Though their size and instability would make them useless in open combat, they needed to deal with the skirmishing first and foremost. After all, they couldn't just charge the ranged enemy troops and leave the craftsmen unguarded.

To no avail, the arrows and spears struck the wood before them. At the same time, the cries of donkeys proved the fate of the animals who had carried the wood to this spot. While the loyal beasts made the ultimate sacrifice, the warriors pressed their bodies behind the shields and hoped they wouldn't get unlucky with a stray hit. As they waited, Fadelio looked behind. Within the stream, some of the commoners were frozen in shock, as they looked upon the horrors of war for the first time in their lives. At the same time, arrows rained down between the warriors and commoners, and splashed into the waters.

Useless, he thought, of both commoners and scouts. While the commoners were trying their hardest to get killed, the scouts did nothing but waste arrows. There was a reason for their half-moon formation after all. With their short-bows and throwing spears, the scouts would never get enough distance to reach the commoners. Not unless they wanted to get within charging distance of the warriors before them. Like this, they only wasted ammunition, and it would bring them ever closer to their doom.

Just like Fadelio thought, the hail of spears soon stopped, to only leave the rain of arrows behind. Since they had been on a forced march just to catch up to them, the scouts couldn't carry enough ammunition for a serious attack. If Pacha's troops wanted to make any sort of trouble for them, they would have to-

“Attack from the right!” he heard a shout from behind.

“Damn,” Fadelio cursed, and put aside his shield. Although he would be more vulnerable like this, he needed to see this for himself. While the sight of the ghosts had been blocked by their own shields, the enemy melee troops had used the chance to march around to their right flank. This was exactly what he had been worried about. Since they had to defend the entire ford with only a few dozen men, their formation was stretched thin as a twig, easy to break. All the enemy had to do was to mass on one spot and break through their ranks. This was just about the worst case scenario.

Just as he moved his shield back into position, he could feel a heavy object slam into it, and push him half a step back. His soles dug deep into the muddy sand.

“Damn again.” They hadn't run out of spears, they were only waiting for a good chance to use them. As soon as their center would turn to support their flank, the enemy would rain spears and arrows into their sides. Whoever was in charge of Pacha's scouts, they were a capable commander.

Annoyed, Fadelio holstered his axe and picked up the megaphone below his feet.

“Left flank! Charge! Center, after me!” As soon as his words had rang over the battlefield, the ghost formation sprang to life. While the center turned to support the enemy, he could hear screams of war from behind him, as their left flank rushed towards the skirmishers. Of course they wouldn't be able to catch specialized scout cultivators, but they didn't have to. All they needed was some time to drive them away until they could stabilize the flank.

However, they would have to work hard for it. When Fadelio rushed towards the shouts in his right ear, he could see the chaos of war he had been so far away from for the past year. Already the armored enemy had pushed back his own troops. The half-moon formation had been dented, about to break apart. While the enemy warriors lacked the physical strength to break through in their first charge, their superior numbers and the momentum from their speed were enough to buckle the defense of the ghosts. Already, the attack had left its traces. As he watched, another ghost was pushed to the ground by an enemy's shoulder. Before he could get back up, the scout's axe had lodged itself in his torso. This ghost had been the last to connect their lines. Another two steps for the enemy and their formation would be split.

“Chaaarge!”

With the heart of the desperate, Fadelio stormed into the gap. His mass shoved the enemy scout out of the way, back into several of his comrades. For a second, the raging waves of war turned gentle, as all focused on the giant beast that had arrived to tip the balance.

Space, for now.

“Don't let them break through! Support is on the way!” he shouted. Even though he said so, he really didn't know. Rather than look beyond the stream and hope for help from Nasica, he would take matters into his own hands, like he had done so many times before.

His axe held in both hands, he rushed towards a cluster of Pacha scouts. Mighty swings forced the soldiers back. Whenever they had to use their shields, the scouts were thrown around like children. Even though he had no shield to protect himself, Fadelio's reach and power alone were enough to make him invincible. Soon the breach had been closed, stopped up for the moment by the ghosts from their center. His muscles burned and pulsed, as Fadelio stepped back from the front line of battle. By now the remaining ghosts, the ones with proper shields, had already caught up. They had stabilized the flank. By now, all of their troops were committed.

However, as Fadelio stepped into the second row to catch his breath, he realized the enemy's strategy at last, realized that he had been maneuvered into their trap. Now all the ghosts were balled up on their right flank, with no one left to hold the center. Their left flank had disappeared into the woods, nowhere to be seen. They couldn't just turn or their backs could expect the enemy arrows and spears, so they wouldn't be of help anymore.

All that free space left behind by their right and center had been taken up. By now the ghosts' formation was balled together, to form a compact circle. The shouts of enemy troops could be heard on three sides, while the stream was still in their back. Even though the enemy now had a clear path into the fording, the craftsmen should have already crossed. Even if they hadn't, the scouts didn't make any attempts to pursue.

Crap, they're going for us.

This should have been obvious from the start, and Fadelio felt stupid for his mistake. Pacha had never really been interested in the commoners. He just needed an excuse to kill Corco's warriors. Worse, the annoying official who had made Pacha's life so hard during the Triumvirate Meetings would probably be the main goal of this operation. Worst case, the scouts would have been asked to catch him alive.

Thus the fighting slowed. No longer did the enemy show the urge to overrun them. Instead, they kept constant, low pressure on their formation, to force them into submission. As the enemy troops took turns to poke and prod at their turtle shell, the breath of the ghosts turned labored. As they lost precious water, the stream below their feet began to mirror the stream behind them.

Safety was so close, yet so far. Already he had noticed the final part of their enemy's plan: Along both sides of their formation, along the stream, the scouts had positioned bola and net throwers. Any warrior stupid or desperate enough to entrust himself to the waters would be bound, to die in the most humiliating way. There was no escape, no way out.

Desperate, Fadelio swung his axe again. Once more, an enemy jumped back, to make some temporary room. But at the same time, he could see the scouts in the corner of his eye pressure forward, to isolate him from the rest of his men. If he tried to break their formation and create more room to improve their position, they would surround and capture him. Never would he let Pacha succeed! Even if he had underestimated the peacock this time, an idiot was still an idiot.

So they fought on, and turned a battle into a tug of war. As Fadelio's legs grew heavy in the mud, his mouth opened ever further. By now his clean robes were drenched in blood, a sight to no doubt command respect from all the officials in Arguna. Even so, Fadelio could gain no measure of comfort from the thought. Another cry of fear and pain told him of another fallen comrade, another man of his father's and master's he had lost to his own hubris.

His head shot over, to count the numbers they had left, and guess how much longer they could hold out. But then it happened: Exhausted and distracted, he could hear fleet steps rush in from his front. When he turned, the enemy had already achieved his goal, and Fadelio could see the net fly towards him.

Useless, he thought as he let go of his axe. Melee weapons would only get in the way now, and he aimed to make things as hard as possible on his enemies.

“Save the master!” he heard from behind.

“I got him!” he heard from the front.

“Hold the line!” he shouted at his men.

Soon he could see the one who had celebrated his capture. A self-satisfied little beast, half his size and weight. With clever little tricks, the rats had maneuvered him all the way here, but he also wasn't out of tricks just yet.

With a massive boom, the wheel lock pistol unloaded in the enemy's chest and threw him back into the enemy ranks. At the same time, Fadelio used the recoil to force his bound body back, into the safety of his men. He didn't know what had happened to the enemy commander, but it didn't matter, not now.

As his face splashed into the mud, His eyes turned across the stream.

So close!

Already, the troops of Lord Nasica had reached the shorelines, the commoners safe behind them.

“Here they come! Retreat!” one of Pacha's scouts called. Like the rats they were, the enemy troops disappeared into the forest within moments. At last, the nightmare was over. At least for now, they would be safe.

Exhausted, Fadelio's face dropped into the mud, and the world went dark.