Drachenwald/Battle of Tarasac
The Battle of Tarasac
As told by Gilead Occam, The Last Dictator of Drachenwald
Just inside the border of Sauvia, a hooded man walked down the center of the main road. Flanked by trees on both sides, dark shadows fell across the man’s scared face. While the man was only 30 years old, matters of state had added ten years to his appearance. The heavy pack he carried sat hunched over his shoulders, keeping his pace slow, and his back hunched.
After several hours of walking through small villages and sparse orchards, the man came to the border of Alaise. Across the road lay a short wooden barrier, painted with the seal of The Cagilan Empire. Slowly approaching the border, the man, with some exertion, climbed over the barrier, and began to continue walking, only to find his way blocked by the a Cagilan border guard.
“Stop! Identify yourself, in the name of the Empire!” The guard’s epilates identified him as a Lieutenant, fresh from whatever academy trained Cagil’s border militia. The hooded man said nothing, and began walking once again.
“I will not ask again!” the guard purposefully moved his hand to his sword.
Quickly, the man threw off his cloak. Revealed beneath were cloths of a noble, and, hanging at the man’s belt, a long rapier. In one smooth motion, the man drew the rapier, and pointed it at the ground. “There is no need for weapons; as you can see, my rapier is broken,” the man said. And it was true; just above the hilt, the rapier’s blade was neatly broken. “I broke it defending my palace, and now return to Drachenwald’s lands in peace.”
The guard moved his hand away from his sword as the man sheathed his broken rapier. He stared at the man. Defending his palace? Surly this man was a raving lunatic… but… could it be? The guard knew that face; he had seen it in the Tara Times! “You are Gilead Occam! The last Dictator of Drachenwald?”
“Yes,” replied Gilead, “I return to Drachenwald on bureaucratic business, carrying papers and historical records. I am not carrying anything of military value, and mean you no harm.”
The guard practically fainted. “How is it that you go from being the Dictator of an enemy to a single man carrying forms and papers?”
Gilead said nothing for a second, then replied, “Well, it is a long story; allow me to sit down for a minute, and I shall tell you my tale; the tale of the Battle of Tarasac, and the fall of Gilead Occam.
“It all started two weeks ago. The armies of CE and Darka had taken Sauvia, and cut us off from our mountain realm. Your allies planned to starve us out; it was the smart thing to do; what they had tried to do months ago when we had slaughtered CE’s army with little more than rocks and sharpened sticks!” I paused for a minute, recalling our singular (but rather grand) victory. “But I digress. What they didn’t know was that I had prepared for that contingency after they had tried it the first time; we had weeks, no, months of food stockpiled in Tarasac, with a group of traders being mobilized to shore up this supply. We could have held the siege for the rest of my days. But that was not to be.
Falasan’s army had been helping us guard our capitol’s walls. They had been allies of the most dedicated sort. But Tara’s army moved on their territory, and, just as I’m sure your General expected, they could not help us when we needed them most. On December 1st, the armies of Tara, Darka, and Cagil marched on Tarasac.
Our defenses were strong. The walls of Tarasac are of Taran design, and are as close to impenetrable as a wall can be. And attacker must first scale the outside wall. The wall is almost vertical; ladders are required. It is practically impossible to break this wall; it consists of two layers of solid rock, each seven hands thick. All the while the outer ramparts would be manned by archers raining down arrows, swordsman tossing rocks at unarmored opponents, and peasants splashing scalding oil on those who got too close to any breach. On that day, I ordered all our infantry and our archers to man the outer parapets. We would not budge one inch!
On that day, your forces stood in a single line that stretched as far as the eye could see. Your infantry and your archers had interspersed themselves, so your archers could provide covering fire for your infantry as they advanced together. Your infantry! Something was wrong with your Infantry! Squinting, I could see concealed beneath the shields of your soldiers, ladders enough to climb to the very realm of the Dragon! You had come prepared.
‘Stand ready!’ I yelled! ‘Today is the day we show them that we can defend ourselves! For the DRAGON!’ A thunderous roar was taken up by the Army of Drachenwald, and the armies of CE, Darka and Tara began to advance.
‘Archers, at the ready!’ I called. Captains and Sergeants relayed the order up and down the walls, and in unison, our archers drew their bowstrings taught.
For a second, just a second, your formation broke. Charging ahead, your cavalry and a few units of over-eager infantry arrived at the wall, without siege equipment in position. ‘Release the arrows!’ In the first volley, practically every man in all 9 foolhardy units was killed. A cheer went up through the defenders! There was hope! Perhaps we could turn them back!
But then, the main formation of Tara moved into position. The noise of 5000 arrows, fired at once, is a terrible noise. The sound that 10000 arrows made that day is a sound I will never forget. The first attacker volley blotted out the sun like a plague of locusts. One hundred, nay, a thousand of our men died in that single volley.
‘Hold your positions! FIGHT!’ I shouted. And everyone did.
Then, the ladders came.
‘Draw your swords! Push them back!’ I yelled, drawing my rapier. Foolishly leaving my unit, I ran to the closest ladder, and with all my strength, pushed it backwards, off the ramparts. But there were too many ladders, we could not hold the wall. We had to fall back!
I whirled around, looking for a way our forces could return to the inner gate. But then, our folly was apparent. To fall back meant opening the inner gate. Opening the inner gate meant letting our enemies into the city without a fight. Letting our enemies into the city meant losing the city. But I could not leave all our men to die here!
I was about to give the order to fall back, when a group of Cagilan infantry came running down the parapets towards me. I have my whole life been a bureaucrat, a Judge, a political operative. I am far more lethal with a pen than a sword. But with a scream, I charged the unit. Catching the first man off guard, I buried my point deep within his chest. With a gurgle, he tipped off the ramparts into a group of archers below. Whipping my blade to right, I neatly drew a red line across another soldier’s neck. But, as I said, I am not a solider, and a third man delivered a sword slash and kick to my back, and I tumbled ignobly off the wall into the inner moat 30 feet below.
Had the wound been deeper, or if I had not learned to swim as a child, that would have been the end of me. As it was, I could not move enough to fight further. Pulling myself out of the dirty water, I ran, nay, hobbled, to the inner gate ordering whoever I came across to rally at the palace. We would make our final stand in the streets of Tarasac!
For some time, I did not think I would even make it back to my palace. Tarasac is a large city, and the Palace lies nearly a mile inside the walls. At the time, it seemed like 100 miles. Ever step brought agony to the gaping cut on my backside. However, as I do stand before you now, I did make it not only to my Palace, but also up the hundred marble stairs that raise the structure above the roofs of the surrounding buildings.
At the top of those stairs stood four men I recognized; three infantry and one noble who I did not want to see.
‘Caliber! You traitor!’ Even in my present condition, I recognized the rebel leader (and the entire rebel force of 3 Infantry). Without gloating, without a word, they attacked.
Already wounded, if they had rushed me all together I would have had little chance of escaping alive or with my throne. But they had not seen the cut on my back, and were wary of my ability. So instead, they attacked one at a time. My rapier was still in my hand, and I deftly stabbed the first man through the eye. My blade caught in his skull, and his falling body dragged me off guard. Seeing his moment, the second man attacked with a great axe. With all my remaining strength (and a sickening crack), I wrenched my rapier from my first victim, and brought it above my head to block the axe.
As you might expect, a rapier does not have the thickness to block an axe. The great axe simply sheared my blade, and nearly took my head. But thinking quickly, I twisted out of the way, and took a step back.
My retreating foot did not find resistance, however, as I had stepped off the top of the grand stairs! Off balance, I tumbled backwards and felt sharp marble against my back, my arms, my neck, my head. Everything after this was rather blurry, but I recall both the sound of my own ribs fracturing, and the sound of Caliber declaring himself the new ruler. To this day, I do not know which was worse.”
The guard looked thoughtful as Gilead Occam ended his tale. “So we have taken your capitol. I imagine that means the end to this war. What will Drachenwald do now?”
“Since then, we have had, by the Dragon, at least 3 revolutions in hardly a week. I now serve as the Royal Treasurer, as we are now ruled by Divine Right.
For many years, the seat of Drachenwald’s power rested in Nazia. We have long since converted our old governmental buildings into museums and shrines to The Dragon. But with a little ingenuity, and our old records, we will reactivate them. We will return to our mountains, and start anew.”
Gilead knew he had tarried too long. Without another word, Gilead Occam stood up, and continued walking into Drachenwald lands, carrying with him the forms and record they needed to reform their government on its historic throne. The guard made no move to stop him.
