Diarmaid's M5: The Battle of Aix-au-Sud, p1

Part 1: Burning around the Mountains 




The sky reddens. Wood rise like smoke, which carry with it the scent of fear and death, which carry with them Pokemon. Wood rose erected by the Pokemon to protect against the fear and death, and cower behind it a slew of peasants, and crying children, all either in prayer or hard at work for the sake of their lives. 

All knew the Gailamiri threat, all knew, all did, all could do nothing. 

Diarmaid, with in tow a small band of arms, make their way to shore up their grave--excuse me, their 'fortress'. Most 'mon were to think that Gailamir focus on the luminous city, Aether capital, far north. But lo, what is the blood of soldiers to that of the cowering farmers, such that the former is more likely to protest. A thirsty many disembark in the wilds to the south of the capital, hungry for glory, for resistless plunder. 

Attacks come, but little way of help. Pray, pray, for the swift death of the Gailamir king, but though that rage the kind of which is unstoppable by but one death had already cast its shadow.

In this small village, a meager defense. The village of Aix-au-Sud, deep in the wilds of the French-speaking countryside to the south near to Artiphron, was the only such village for miles with a sort of wall. Wall, more a palisade. Perhaps not even, but a fence of logs. 

Indeed so poor was the palisade that it even looked as sorry. The logs were of uneven size and spacing-- passably enough so that there were no true gaps in the walls, but sorry none the less. Some of the stakes looked so that they could be rooted from the ground by a strong enough Pokemon. Thankfully, this was not truly the case, but only just. The battlements were even so pitifully small that only the smallest Pokemon could stand to fight atop it. But then, perhaps that was best? 

"Lay the dirts higher!" shouted Diarmaid as he dig, him and his 'mon filling the makeshift wall's two layers with earth. "To the top, faster, to support the crenelations!" As he and some of his 'mon dug with their own paws and a few pieces of farming equipment that could be commandeered from the peasantry; others came away with the dirt, hauling it, in and around the double palisade, and pouring it in the crevice between the two rows of logs. Lay they planks over the dirt here for use as ramparts of some kind. Simple sounding, yes, but difficult to do in such time, that the black paws of Gailamir be there in possibly simple hours. Over the wailing of the bemoaned women and children, and the encroaching smells of death, it was difficult to work. Many of his 'mon were very visibly shaken as they went about their tasks; half of them dead in the eyes, either from having lost loved ones in flight, or from the sleepless effort that it was getting there.

"Good thinking here, Irish." Diarmaid's Raichu captain, a Sir Reynald of Eveegnon, said, digging along with his Minccino subject. "A sod filing in the walls. I would say, marvelous! You belong in university!" he asked, a little discontentment in his voice, despite the incredulity, for getting some dirt in his harness. Reynald wore his full harness of partial plate and thick chained mail for joints, emblazoned marvelously with the markings of Aether nobility. The only one 'was here. Just the one Knight. "Books, sire." Diarmaid replies, digging with only his bare paws but at a better rate, thanks Dig. "Be what the Old Voluntan Empire 'd do when they needed a fortress up quick. For, there were reasons that they conquered the world." "You but further prove my point, lector." 

That small compliment served very little purpose towards his, or anyone's comfort. Diarmaid had heard these screams and smelled these smells before. It welled up in him the memories of his home which he thought himself to have stifled years ago-- same the faces of the Veethfolnir as they burned his home. 

Never again, would tragedy of that scale happen to those in his protection. 

...yet, he was not sure whether he could make to the contrary. Barbarians in the thousands, scouts say, disorganized but moving as a hoard, and armed in quality. Diarmaid looks up from his trench, hiding the hopelessness of his companions behind his eyes. Against the throngs, what had he? The Irish-styled militia he'd trained, he mustered some two-hundred, with perhaps one-hundred of the local French peasant-militia he found here. The professional Guard (the Pike Bearers) his Raichu master could bring numbered perhaps twenty-five. Three-hundred-and-twenty-five to be called to the defense of this farm town. Beyond that were the one or two thousand peasants that cowered in fear behind the wall they built, but most had little more than farming plows and their own Moves, and any experience in the military they had likely seen, was handed down to them at the end of a blade in the past days. Reasonably, they were a worthless lot, defense-concerning.

All together, Diarmaid surmised, perhaps one-hundred of them could be counted upon. One-hundred plus two-hundred-twenty-five of peasants against two- or three-thousand of 'professional'(?) soldiers. Three-hundred-twenty-five and the wall. Gailamir training, Diarmaid thinks, is worthless. Such a hateful, miserable, violent rabble with propensity for doing none but robbing the weak. But a mob of size like that would easily match all the training Aix had.

He did have one advantage in the wall, besides being a wall; scouts spoke of no engines. With no engines, the barbarians would have to climb it, or break it, both of which comforted Diarmaid into a laugh. For truly, the thought of a Gailamiri engineer seemed ridiculous to him.  

As for the threat from Fire-types, he worried none. Most Pokemon would wonder at the idea of burning the palisade, but that would not likely happen here, for they forget what age that they live in. No longer were Pokemon Moves supreme over nature, for nature had adapted, Diarmaid reminds himself that many forget. Steel, not the Type, and cold Iron broke flesh indiscriminate, and trees and stone had adapted over time to resist the use of Moves. Why, then, would Pokemon build walls of rock and stone when Rock Smash or Fighting moves in general would break it? Because Rock Smash would not work on such refined earth any longer. 

So too was it for these palisades; a small comfort but a needed one that they wouldn't need worry about the barbarians simply pushing the walls over or burning them. Besides, Diarmaid ordered the walls wet with Water-type Moves and the dirt behind them would insulate enough. 


Still he wished he had more with to work. A wall, but a wall, was not simply going to keep them out, and not did he think, but know he that his own 'mon would break. He wait for that final element of his company to arrive. Shining steel and professional soldiers begotten in the distance before they arrived by the smell of sweet, sweet sulfur-- sweet to him, sweet to his friends. Hopeful, despair among the invaders. He dug with frustration, at both their tardiness and the piercing wails of the terrified peasants which would not stop. 


"Capitaine! Capitaine Diarmaid!" call a voice to him. Lift his head, up from the trench, and beheld a Watchog, dressed in the wear of the local militia, buckled to his knees and gasping for air. Diarmaid turn and look up to him, climbing from the work to meet the soldier. "Étrangers, avec de l'acier et lance. De les routes..." he stops mid-sentence to draw air, "...de l'est." Diarmaid recoiled at the French he was thrown. He didn't speak much of it. Their difference in language had no time to be reconciled. The Francs spoke quickly enough for him, as it was without the urgency of war quickening it beyond his ability to understand. He hesitated. "...vous ne parle pas anglais?" he ask, hoping that his speech was correct, or at least so to be understood. Panting, paws on his knees, the scout shook his head tiredly. "Non." he said. "...ne parle pas gaélique?" Diarmaid asked. The scout again shakes 'no'. 

The Minccino wipes the exasperation from his brow. "Does of our number speakst French?" he ask among his worker-soldiers. "I do, some!" Says a young Shinx, one of Diarmaid's own militia from the capital, whom looks up from his dig. "So come here and speak for me, then." the Irish captain replies. Clanking through his meager armor, the Shinx rushed over, scrambling out of the dry moat and making his way. He gave attention to the Watchog. "Vous avez des nouvelles pour mon capitaine?" he ask. "Oui." the scout replies, and from there a flight of tongues so foreign to Diarmaid that he could not follow them.

After a moment, the Shinx soldier turned back to his captain. "Says there are strangers coming from the roads, from east of the town." he said. "And they do not appear to be from Gailamir." 

Diarmaid nodded and hid a grin. "Thank you, you may return to your work." he said to the Shinx. The Shinx nodded too and slid back into the trench. "Rejeté." Diarmaid say to the scout. The scout look to him, puzzled. "..r-rejeté, dismissed. Dismissed! " he repeated, waving the scout away. The Frenchmon but barely understood, trudge to his post, towards the forest. The knightly Raichu pull from the pit. 

"What news, Diarmaid?" Ask he. "What arrive?" "Captain, my captain," smiles our Minccino, wide as he can, "It is your salvation, and it is mine." 




Within the half hour did appear from the east-facing road, produced from the forest, a glimmer of sun on well-polished harness, and the faint, familiar drawl of highs and lows that made the language of this free company as they spoke casually amongst each other-- a company familiar to him. And what sweet songs of sound they were, the language of the Italians, as if St. Peter and his angels had allowed him pass into Paradise. A company of armed 'mon, dazzlingly fitted with the finest of munitions, marched in perfect traveling form into the view of the gate facing east. 

It was the White Band of Captain Bonaventure; the servants of the great merchant-'mon from Genova, whose master had saved Diarmaid from the flames as his home country burned. The bodyguards of the very same rich sailor family, marching so perfectly and in such an order like the heroes to Diarmaid they were, riding in to save his life one more time. He could not see him, but he saw from the device that it was led by the one Crocifisso Bonaventure himself, that precious Spinda.

It was curious, though, their number here. There were very few. Perhaps it was but a forward party? 

But what sad detail could bother him now? Diarmaid's eyes lit brightly as they had not in years when they stopped scanning, having found their target in the familiar shape of a Spinda with this marvelous armor, whom smiled back as wide. Diarmaid charged, arms thrown open, as if a woman to greet her returning campaigner love. "Crocifisso!" he almost yells. The Spinda named Crocifisso chuckles for a moment and opens his arms as well to welcome his comrade. "Diarmaid." he says, not a moment before the Minccino crash into him and they embrace in a fervent hug. They exchange a bise (that is, kiss each other on the left cheek then right), and break from their embrace like good old friends. "So what has become of you, my friend?" says Crocifisso in his pronounced Italian speak, as he looks his old friend over. "A captain, now, in the new king Alaric's army?" he ask. Diarmaid lifts his shoulders. "Fight more than on one of your piddled, woman-less ships. Still peddling smoke and thunder?" he ask in turn in his own Irish drogue. "By my eyes, I've missed you!" he goes on as Crocifisso nods. "But where is your brother?" Minccino asks. "Arrigo!" the Spinda says, almost exasperated at the mention of the name. "That pompous, were-to-be knight is off chasing fairy tales and maidens in towers. We needs him as I needs another go with the Plague."  

This was a shame, for Arrigo, the older brother of Crocifisso, was a daring mercenary and a noble 'mon with as well his own merry band of crossbowmen. He was known far and wide; having his herald over the door would be to strike the deepest sort of fear into many an unchivalrous heart.

Diarmaid looked behind his friend and saw the smoke rising in the distance. The Band had come from the east; the smoke had begun rising there. The Gailamir were beginning to surround them and perhaps had not yet made it up the mountain. But how had the company come through? 

"Had you trouble with the barbarians? Look, their fires still burn behind you!" he asks. The Spinda peered behind, through the pikes of his men, to see the black smokes rising some distance away, reacting none. "Those are new." says he, "We had come quickly enough that we had passed them by. We hauled our supplies on the backs of our strongest 'mon and so had no supply trains to worry for, and trust me as I say that I had no interest in endangering my fleet by unloading at length a full wagon train. Nor did I wish to fight these creatures," and he said this disdainfully and with a sort of hatred, "in their wild forest home."

Seeing his old friend fill him with pleasure like he were seeing a lover. Crocifisso Bonaventure, the Spinda merchant that had rescued him from his existence in Ireland, had arrived with a hearty company of Genoese soldiers. Soldiers! Not armed farmers, but professional soldiers that each seen war at least twice before! The Gailamir hordes cast their evil shadow down onto the cowering peasants below, but to the thirsty swords and hungry wallets of the wily Genoese they were nothing. Crocifisso, the 'mon himself, wore a cuirass of steel of good make, steel gauntlets, steel boots, thick cloth mail on his person, and a beautiful sword by his side. A helmet like Diarmaid's but shown like the gleaming sun and undoubtedly of a better temper than his own. Those in his company were armed similarly-- thick cuirass, cloth mail, steel armings, and good swords. But these swords were hardly any sort of weapon to them! Half the company carry Pikes-- proper 19-foot pikes, not the long spears of the Pike Bearers!-- which loom forebodingly overhead as their wielders stand in their strict formation. The other half...well the other half carry with them some weapons of a most joyous smell. A joyous smell the Captain had missed dearly in his years serving in Aether. A smell that he knew his enemy today would not know, and that they would learn to fear.

The smells of sulfur and of saltpeter filled the air, wafting defiantly among the smells of innocents' death such as to cast it away, and were to promise soon that it would replace it with the pained screams of the wrongdoers. A smell of death should not be so joyous, but it is an evil which must be done, and a welcome lift to his spirits.

This was the smell of the Company's arquebuses. Difficult to use, but not so for the well-trained mercenaries, and such a terrible weapon that when their pans are brought to a spark they produce explosions of great magnitude, which would fling missiles of horrible kinds of metal, which puncture the flesh and splinter the bone of the strongest Pokemon. These, were weapons that Diarmaid had missed using in his days as a wandering mercenary and that none of which were yet in Aether in good number. Perhaps this would be their inception to the kingdom. 


"Diarmaid? What is this?" Out come from the trench the Raichu knight, with tone condescending and suspicion, clamoring from the ditch to see the arriving Pokemon. Diarmaid turn to face his master. "Sire, here be the White Company of the Bonaventure! A...number of them, at best..." he says, as he look over his friend's small crowd. "...but a number of them, at best!" "White Company. Voluntans?" Reynald ask in his same tone. "Not Voluntans, sire." Crocifisso say, leaning on his peculiar weapon. "But Genoese!" He brought his breast up proudly, as if holding himself above the Voluntans. "A Company of Adventure is what we are, simply in the service of my friend in his hour of need." There was a certain insincerity in Crocifisso's voice. Of course he could not simply be there for the goodness of his heart; Diarmaid knew this and accepted it well. 

"Certainly, good lord, one so versed in the world must have recognized our standard, of my noble house." Crocifisso said with an aside gesture to the standard his pall-bearer had with him, a Vulpix if it must be known, whom stood silently by his master and was looking about with a boredom about him. Above them flew a plain flag, with but a single white chevron emblazoned as if it were on an escutcheon , against a simple grey background. 

"A Genoese company of adventure." Reynald says, in his thought. "A free company..." he says as he looks gravely over to Diarmaid, whose ears lower both inquisitively and out of fear, and was not sure what to make of his master's thoughts. "A free company!" he bellows at Mag Carthaigh, whom recoils. "You have no authority to call these mercenaries here! How will you pay them before they turn and plunder us for their wages!?" he yell angrily. The knight's anger was just to a point; for as always a worry when working with such Pokemon, the free companies. It was worse then that there was barely a garrison to speak of here, that the White Band could wipe them away without a second thought. But Diarmaid had faith in this one. "Sire, I-!" "Captain Mag Carthaigh," Crocifisso interrupt, "Has promised to pay us in plunder." he look to the weak palisade. Even with Diarmaid's reinforcements, he curls his lips subtly in disgust at the conditions. "Should we survive the attacks, then me and my men get the first pick of the corpses and take what we can carry. And besides." he says, looking with an almost malicious grin to Diarmaid. "No honest 'mon should simply leave his friends die." Diarmaid did not know what to think of this, either. 

"The plunder is ours." Sir Reynald say, "It was to make good the poverty of the families whose homes would burn here! It is a sin to deny this from them!"

Crocifisso's grin faded. "Good sire, know what you ask of me," Says he sternly, "is to die--me, and my men--on land that may as well be frontier to us, for 'mon whom do not share our culture, or know our names.

"Your 'families' will make no good from below the earth. Your company waver, already, in the shadow of a foe they have yet to even see; left to alone, they will falter and die. This, you must know." Crocifisso said, look he down on the powerless noble. "It is much to ask of the mere kindness of our hearts. We are paid, else I wish you good luck and mine take their leave." Reynald looked on the Spinda incredulously, and then to Diarmaid hoping that such cruel words had swayed him from their help. Diarmaid met him only with glares. "To turn them away is to kill us." he says. 

The pressure of those around him must have been much on poor Raichu's mind; and the looming pressure of the horde drawing ever closer. "Curse you. Curse you both." Reynald spit their way. "Should we survive: only the plunder you can take on your backs." The smile returned to Crocifisso's face, as behind him shifted in his harness a Machamp and other such large Pokemon of his party that were near enough to hear. "These terms are generous, and we would accept." the Spinda said with a wry smile, as if he had just sold a shipment of spice.




The Company drew relief from the crowd as entered they the city. Not cheers, neither happiness, simply relief. The sight of these confident 'mon in their glimmering armor gave some sort a welcome certainty than the sickly militia. They spoke excitedly among themselves in any number of tongues, and certain some of them speak French. The contrast was thick in the air between these cosmopolitan urban types and the makeshift, motley buildings they were now between. "Crocifisso, my friend," Diarmaid ask of him as they move, "How many do you bring?" "I brings from my company a fourty 'mon." The Spinda says, "Twenty pike, twenty more handgunners; that and myself." 

Such news made the Minccino's heart fall to his belly, and he was glad that Reynald hadn't been near enough to hear. "You bring fourty!" he says, "I'd asked three-hundred!" "I give you fourty." Crocifisso sayth back. "Fourty I spare, plus myself, and I more than count for five." Diarmaid now suppressed his shaking, for had he released, he would appear as one of the cowering peasants. Feared he but some of the Gailamiri for knowledge that this company would show, now much more for his company's smallness. He wished to have a kernel of soldiers--professional ones--merely flanked by piddling militia as an auxiliary force. Instead, a kernel of soldiers, granted, but of number enough to only provide support to the piddling militia. This smelled of disaster, and Diarmaid feared for his life. 
 
Crocifisso looked to Diarmaid as the Minccino had stopped speaking and had turned to face the ground as they walked. "My Diarmaid, you of so little faith!" said he as they enter the tent. "We appear to reached your command center. Tell me what you have, and all will be well." 

The two old friends press into the town's largest house, commandeered on the part of the King to serve as command post, as the White Company set its materiel down outside and settle in to rest from their journey. Diarmaid feared this would harm morale, to see them lounge and chatter carelessly, but they had come long and were to offer him much. Much, but maybe not enough? Most other lieutenants and their like were about the outside at their tasks, and the table where the two Pokemon came upon a map of the town was empty. Diarmaid was first to lean over the map and check it seriously once and over again to find for any changes. Crocifisso casually lean one arm on the table. Much of the planning had been left to Diarmaid, as Reynald needed to plead to his own superiors for more supplies, though he had disapproved of Diarmaid's plans as he noticed many holes in the lines. The White Company, were it to be in expected number, were to fill these holes. But, things being as they were, it need be revised. 

"Those that are not to fight shall be herded to the church." Diarmaid say as he finishes his scouring of the map, pointing to the depiction of the church at the center of the map. "They are to be boarded inside and not leave 'til the fighting has done. We wished to build a palisade proper, but could only manage some barricading around the town's square." Surrounding the village's square was a large rounded-square; the small inner wall which were erected with haste, which serve also as the army camp. The 'army' camp. "The outer wall we had reinforced in the Old Voluntan style, doubling them and pack tight with earth in between. Ramparts along the tops with some minor crenelations in the wood." Surrounding the rest of the village was the palisade. "There are three gates to the village, with the roads leading East, Northwest, and South. Of course, we expect them from the South, but they may surround us with such their number." He point to the gates on the drawing; as he said, to the northwest, to the east, and to the South. "I would have had each of these gates manned by your pike squares, but as you only have one--" "It will not do, Diarmaid." Crocifisso, interrupting in a tone almost that implied disregard. "Have the doors to the Northwest and East destroyed. Pull them down, then reinforce them such that they are thicker than the walls themselves." Says he, as Diarmaid listen. He had much respect for Crocifisso and wished to listen to him, though quietly seethed over the change of his plans. Was he not a competent commander as his friend? "Then," he continue, "Weaken the Southern gates such that they look decrepit, and indeed make them so." Crocifisso gesture to the sides of the field behind the doors. "Have yours pile earth in two large mounds on the sides here such that only twenty 'mon may stand abreast of another, and that the mounds cannot be climbed. Or build a sturdy fence, whichever you prefer." "But you jest!" Diarmaid says. "My workers tire themselves already more than any 'mon was meant to work, heaven forbid they be the same ones that need fight within the day." 

Crocifisso looked at Diarmaid with a weariness in his eyes. A weariness-- truly he had walked several days, but did not but expend his energy as the Pokemon working here did! "All's well. My men will do it." he said with a boredom about him. "We will build your fence."


-------


So it was then decided what the revised plan would be, with the hearty but minuscule addition of the White Company. Diarmaid's 'mon on the walls, Pike Bearers included, with weakened gate as if it had been blasted by a culverin and patched with poor wood. It was such that the disorganized and wild Gailamir would be lured into breaking the weak door, where they would fall to the waiting arms of the Italians. A hungry mouth with many spiked teeth, and a breath that could slay 'mon in moments in the discharges of the handgunners. All this preceded by a small dart-throwing Kern company, which Diarmaid would lead, as an attack on the Gailamir horde while they still climbed the mountain the village rested on, so that word would spread in their number of a village and they would all attack the town rather than simply avoid it and stab into Southern Aether. They would bring with them the flags of a few well-known merchant houses in the area, such that the Gailamir would believe this a stronghold of theirs laden with defended treasure. All that would remain now, until the scouts bring their news, was to wait and to pray to Heaven and the saints for their guidance. 

Pray and make peace with Heaven that they should all die tonight as was likely. 

Diarmaid watched from the makeshift walls and peered into the falling night. The sun was very near set, and a dark shadow fell onto the land where the mountains early hid the sun's dimming light. His heart sank with it, as he thought that this would be the last time he would see it, or feel the warmth of its glow on his face. For Diarmaid had not seen combat of this scale in many years, and even when he did then he was young and saw but a skirmish or two. He would happily give command back to Reynald, or by his oath even to fair Crocifisso, not that they were like to change the outcome any more than he was. No, but this was his task and his own, and he wouldn't shame himself even by abdicating his position so as to die at a lower station. 

"Mon capitaine." A voice pull the Minccino from his dreadful thoughts, another of the local French scouts; a young-faced Buneary with fear in his eyes. Diarmaid looked to him as he seemed to stumble about his words. He spoke in Diarmaid's English language-- by Heaven it was nearly disgusting that he ever think he would think of English as 'his'-- through a thick French drogue he could barely understand. "The foreigners...they come, to village...at foot of montagne. En, ah, soixante-di- seventy, seventy minuit!" 

The Captain sighs perhaps the first breath of one of his last. "Right then, we should be to our jobs." he said, laying a paw on the scout's shoulder. He looked as if he were going to say something, but did not, and the scout left him after a moment of staring agape. He turn to a number of his motley band behind him and near to the gate, ready to deploy. They look up at their captain, whom stood upon the wall, with fear in their eyes as they knew what news the scout had brought him. 

"Those fifty of you I have chosen for the sallying force, make ready." Diarmaid said, "The Gailamiri are here."