The plain stretched wide beneath a pale sky, the sun red on the horizon, long green grass rippled in the breeze, dispersing the remaining patches of morning mist. To the north, a low rise of ground gave Lord Conrad de Meron's army a slight advantage, though not enough to comfort him as he stared across the field at the advancing Sanskatian force.

Consul Vespasianus rode at the centre of the legion, the Golden Chicken standard at his side. Around him marched the Praetorian Guard in polished armour, their black cloaks stirring behind them. Legionaries tramped forward in disciplined ranks while cavalry spread across the left wing. Behind the infantry rolled the siege ballista, its crew straining to position the great machine. And just out of site two grey shapes stirred, though they were screened by the cavalry forces.

Conrad watched the enemy deploy.

"They are fewer than they appear," one of his captains said.

Conrad shook his head. "We are fewer than hoped, the Margrave hasn’t arrived, let us hope we are still here when he does!"

A crack like thunder sounded from the Sanskratian lines, drawing the look to the two men. A shaft as thick as a man's arm tore through the air and struck the crest of the hill. 

A second bolt followed. Two men appeared to vanish in a cloud of blood as the bolt ripped through surcoat, mail and body.

Then a third. The missile ripped through Conrad's infantry, leaving another body bloody and crying out for help.

“If we just sit here we will be shot to death” Muttered Conrad, “Forward! Close the distance!”

His army surged downhill. Vespasianus welcomed the charge. Legionaries locked shields and loosed pilum while archers sent arrows into the advancing mass. The ballista fell silent, unable to lower its trajectory further.

Still the forces of Conrad came. The impact shook the field. Conrad's infantry crashed against the Sanskrat line. Men screamed. Steel rang on steel. The neat order of battle dissolved into dozens of desperate struggles.

A legionary thrust his gladius into a charging spearman's throat, moment later another buried an axe in the legionaries helmet. Nearby, a Praetorian cut down two opponents before disappearing beneath a swarm of lighter infantry.

The fighting thickened as Vespasianus remained mounted behind the line, his standard bearer close beside him.

"Hold," the consul shouted. "Hold."

The legionaries obeyed. They gave ground slowly but never broke. Every pace Conrad's men gained cost them blood.

The battle became a slaughter.

The Sanskratian legionaries fought as a wall. The attackers fought more as individuals. Their courage alone could not overcome discipline.

Conrad realised the truth too late, his army was shrinking, the Sanskrat line remained intact and there was still no sign of the Margrave, he cursed under his breath and shouted for his household warriors to gather on him.

He plunged into the thickest fighting, hoping a bold attack might shatter the enemy centre. For a few moments it seemed possible. His banner pushed forward. The wall of shields buckled. Sanskrat legionaries fell.

Then Praetorians appeared.

They struck like hammer blows. Conrad killed one, another slashed his horse, a third dragged him from the saddle.

The lord fought on foot, sword red with blood, until a legionary smashed a shield rim into his face. The world spun and when his vision cleared he was staring up at Sanskrat helmets.

Lord Conrad de Meron was a prisoner.

Trumpets sounded across the field the battle did not end.

Across the field new banners appeared. “Reinforements!” shouted one captain, “The Margrave has arrived!”

The surviving leavy of Lord Conrad rallied and managed to stage a withdrawal long enough to regroup with the newcomers.

Massed infantry marched beneath the Horse Knight's flags. Rangers spread through the grasslands while archers formed behind them. Most dangerous of all were the cavalry, mounted warriors thundering onto the battlefield, more than a match for anything the Sanskratians could field.

At almost the same moment Sanskrat reinforcements appeared from the south. Fresh legionaries marched onto the field while archers hurried into position.

Marshal von Grauert, Field Commander of the margravial forces and leading the infantry, saw Conrad's banner fallen among the bodies near the Sanskrat line.

"He lives?" he asked a captain.

"I saw him fall Marshal, but it was a shield blow not a sword strike, so I have hope,"

Grauert replied, "then we will free him."

The marshal ordered a general advance. Arrows darkened the sky raining down upon both sides causing men to hide behind their shield. Others dropped screaming onto the already bloody ground as both armies closed once more.

Von Grauert directed his infantry against the Sanskrat centre – straight at the Consul and the captive Conrad. Again and again they attacked. Again and again they were repulsed. Legionaries fought shoulder to shoulder while Praetorians reinforced weak points. The centre held.

Then horns sounded from the Marshals right flank. The cavalry charge had begun. Heavily armoured men and horse accelerated across the grass, the thunder of hooves joined a roar from the throats of the riders drowning out all other sound. Their lances lowered toward the Sanskratians left wing. Von Grauert knew that the Margrave was riding in that mass of iron, men and horses, well protected by his bodyguards.

Vespasianus reacted instantly. "Release the elephants, cavalry to the left!"

A trumpet unlike any the forces of the Horse Knights had heard before sounded, while the great beasts were known to the northmen, few if any had seen one first hand, huge shadows lumbered across the field, armour gleaming on their heads. Sanskrat cavalry rode to either side. The collision was terrible.

Horses screamed. Men fell beneath trampling feet. One elephant drove straight through a cluster of riders, scattering them in panic. The other suffered wounds from multiple spears but continued fighting, crushing horse and rider alike on both sides, its driver slumped dead on its back, an arrow stuck in their chest.

The cavalry battle raged far from the infantry fighting before eventually the Sanskrat cavalry withdrew back towards the infantry line, the two Elephants driven mad fled south off the field of battle.

It was a northern victory. Yet it achieved not enough. The cavalry were scattered across the field in pursuit. By the time they regrouped, the infantry battle had not been resolved.

A third set of standards had appeared on the horizon. Both armies receiving fresh reinforcements.

From the North East came Ser Brendel Blackwood and Seargent at Arms Wulfred, bringing heavy infantry, fresh archers, and a formidable body of heavy horse.

From the South East came additional legionaries, heavy legionaries, auxiliary infantry, cavalry auxiliaries and two scorpion ballistae.

The commanders of the newcomers stared at a battlefield already carpeted with dead, waiting for signals to advance.

Vespasianus studied the situation carefully. His officers expected to push forward the infantry and attack. Instead the consul frowned, the rout of his cavalry and the loss of the war elephants left his flanks exposed. They had won every infantry engagement, they held Lord Conrad prisoner. Yet the enemy kept growing and Sanskrat casualties were mounting. The odds had turned.

"Sound the withdrawal," Vespasianus ordered.

His officers stared in surprise.

"The army withdraws in good order now or we don’t withdraw at all Centrurion," the Consul growled.

Reluctantly the cornus sounded the call for withdrawal.

The Sanskrat line began to disengage. Not a rout but a measured retreat, ranks withdrew carefully, shields facing the enemy.

Von Grauert watched the movement of new troops entering the field and the main forces withdrawal.

"They are leaving," one captain said.

The Marshal nodded, "let them, but follow at a distance, they still hold the good Lord Conrad." His soldiers were exhausted, many lives had already been wagered upon the field. Pursuing disciplined legionaries risked turning partial success into disaster.

Neither army desired another bloodbath and the distance between them slowly widened until at last both forces halted.

The battlefield fell strangely quiet only the cries of wounded men and horse disturbed the hazy afternoon air.

Near the river that marked the frontier, commanders from both sides rode forward beneath flags of truce.

Vespasianus arrived with two Praetorian guards, between them stood the captured Lord Conrad, bruised but alive.

Margrave Philip came accompanied by Ser Brendel and Wulfred. His immaculate white robes stood in stark contrast to the blood-soaked battlefield.

For a time nobody spoke, each looking into the eyes of the other. Then Vespasianus broke the silence, "you want the release of Lord Conrad?"

"We do," answered the Margrave.

The Consul glanced south toward the river before saying, “then we shall make peace, we have both lost too many men this day."

Negotiations lasted until sunset. In the end both sides gained something.

Conrad was released to his army and Vespasianus gave his oath that no Sanskratian would enter Rydonius bearing arms, upon pain of death.

In return, all lands south of the river, Myyvetar and Tython would remain under undisputed Sanskratian control.

No cheer greeted the agreement.

Too many men lay dead behind them.

Yet as darkness settled across the plain, both armies turned away from battle.

For that day, survival itself was victory enough.

The battle for rydonius