Failure
It had been a surprise to catch up with the army in time for the arrival at Grodno. It should have taken a few hours more, after the first engagement with the hostile forces within the region, but here they were. So unexpected was it that the men, Nicholas not withstanding, were shifting uncomfortably on their saddles; they had had little time to become accustomed to their new role as cavalrymen - the men were entirely inexperienced, and the Knight himself was not used to commanding them as such. It had not helped that in their rush to make up for lost time in travelling, the select orders from Lord Cador had been lost by the quartermaster. It was already proving to be a fiasco, but his pride dictated that he keep the matter to himself - surely it could not end that badly. Sir Matthew's forces were astride steeds too, he would follow their lead.
Then, after what was only a few minutes of preparation, the horn sounded for the battle to begin and Nicholas ushered his men to the head of the vanguard; they would need room to charge, no doubt, and the shock of their clash against the undead hordes would give the array of archers ample opportunity to loose their arrows. He looked to both sides of him; the captain to one side, his personal guard to the other. He gave them both firm nods, before raising his voice to address the Swords,
"Men, ride with me. For Luria!"They roared their enthusiasm; if nothing else, their exuberance could not be dampened. They were good men, and they would prove their valour once again, here and now. Nicholas hold his sword aloft and with a bellowed,
"CHARGE!", they hurtled forwards. Hooves beat against the ground, arrows launched overhead and their lances were drawn, ready to smash through the defences of the array of monstrosities before them. But... it was too quiet. Where was Sir Matthew? He looked to his left, and then to his right. He was not there. There was no one else there. Something had gone terribly wrong, and then with a crash of steel, of bone and flesh, their charge met the horde. Steadfast crumpled under spear, sword and claw and his rider was thrown to the floor. Everything went dark.
...
Nicholas staggered from the battlefield. He was drenched in blood, most of it not his own. Sir Matthew and his men, or those left, retreated beside him. But he saw no Archival banners; he saw none of the Swords. Through error and foolhardy idiocy he had led them to their deaths. It was all he could do to stand on his own feet as the healers rushed to his aid.
