Dame Ariadne, Knight Commander (Medieval Fantasy)

“Hold the line! Hold the line!”

The voice of the commander spread across the ranks as the soldiers awaited the coming charge of the orc barbarians. The men in the first line locked their shields together, pointing their spears into the green mass. A volley of projectiles hit the wave of orcs, slowing them down but not stopping them.

Protected by wood and steel, the soldiers held their breath and kept themselves close to one another, maintaining formation.

The mass of barbarians clashed with the ranks of humans in a storm of screaming, clashing metal, and breaking bones. Orcs swung their massive swords, axes, and hammers to break the shield wall. Each strike shook the men holding the shields; they gripped them harder, lowered their heads, and stabbed their spears blindly into the mass of orcs. The greenskins fought like beasts, not caring for wounds or ****, their only desire to kill as many as possible.

“Hold the line! Hold the line!”

The commander’s scream vanished in the noise of combat, but the battle drums managed to keep the men in ranks and formation. When one soldier fell, another replaced him in the line, keeping the shield wall from breaking. When someone broke his spear, he pulled out a short sword and kept stabbing into the green mass of orcs. It was becoming more dire and exhausting to keep fighting against such powerful foes. But the ranks of humans were filled with veterans and professionals; they knew their task and performed it like a well-oiled machine.

Suddenly, the orcs stopped attacking—not all at once. At first, someone shouted in their harsh language from deep within the mass. Someone screamed back, and disorientation spread among the orcs.

Then, before the eyes of the humans, appeared the sight they had been waiting for.

A massive cavalry charge — the best knights of the Kingdom — attacked from the flank, striking the rear of the orc army. In the first line, with the banner-men of the Kingdom of Green-Cliff on the right and Sir Raymond on the left, rode a woman armed with lance and shield upon a white steed.

“Dame Ariadne! Dame Ariadne with us!” the soldiers cheered as the leading knight charged forward, protected by blue plate armor.

Ariadne rode into the enemy army, stabbing two orcs with her lance before it broke. She dropped the shattered shaft and drew her war hammer, fearlessly attacking the orcs, smashing them from atop her horse. The knights behind her, inspired by her courage, followed closely, spreading fear and panic among the orcs.

The soldiers in the ranks pushed forward, the orcs now completely broken by one of the oldest tactics in the world: hammer and anvil. The foot soldiers as the anvil, and Dame Ariadne and her knights as the hammer.

“Dame Ariadne! Dame Ariadne!”

…

Ariadne picked up a ring from the defeated orc chief. He had been a strong and brave foe — that she had to admit. He hadn’t run like the rest of his forces; he had charged bravely against her and, in the heat of battle, had almost gained the upper hand. But she had managed to outsmart him and win the fight. Now he lay on the ground, defeated and dead.

“Dame Ariadne, the lords are asking you to join them,” Sir Raymond called to her, offering his horse.

Ariadne nodded and mounted with the elegance and skill of someone who had done it hundreds of times.

“They are awaiting you in the camp, in the commander’s tent. I mean… your commander’s tent,” Sir Raymond corrected himself.

“Yes, I know where the war council is gathered, Raymond. No need to remind me,” Ariadne said with a smile as she removed her helmet. She had short brown hair to make wearing a helmet easier.

Ariadne rode with Raymond and her elite bodyguard back to the camp, acknowledging the salutes of her soldiers and the cheers of the freed prisoners they had rescued from orc captivity. Soon they left the battlefield and entered the war camp, secured by trenches and a wooden palisade.

The commander’s tent was located in the center of the massive camp, guarded by a squad of soldiers in plate armor armed with halberds. One of them called for squires to take their horses, while another announced them.

“Dame Ariadne, Commander of the Western Army of the Kingdom of Green-Cliff! And Sir Raymond, leader of the vanguard!”

Lord McRound and Lord Precee stood up from their seats as Ariadne entered the tent. In the middle stood a large table covered with tactical maps and documents. Ariadne handed her helmet to a squire, running her gloved hands through her sweat-dampened hair.

Lord McRound spoke first.

“Dame Ariadne, my deepest respect for winning this battle. Orcs are dangerous foes; it is a great achievement that you managed to break them.”

Before Ariadne could reply, Lord Precee added:

“Yes, good work, Dame Ariadne. We must press on and destroy the orc settlements, so they will not raid us again in the future.”

Lord McRound looked at him as if he were mad.

“We can’t do that. Our supply lines are stretched, and we are deep in enemy territory. We should retreat, replenish our ranks, rearm the army, and return next season.”

“If we do that, we will give our enemy time to regroup and strike again. We must destroy their towns and cities now, while their army is broken. Otherwise, future sieges may not succeed.”

“We can’t stay here, or we risk losing the whole army. Soldiers need to eat, and the longer we remain here, the scarcer food becomes. We have a large number of freed subjects of the Kingdom and captured orc prisoners. We don’t have enough supplies for more than a month.”

“If we manage to destroy the orcs now, we will secure the border for many years! It is worth sacrificing some men to save many more across the Kingdom!”

Ariadne stepped between the arguing lords before their anger turned violent. She opened her mouth to speak — and then she heard voices in her head.