Horizon of War Series

Chapter 83: The Sinews of War

Sinews of War

Daniella

The Nicopolan-born lady huddled in her cloak to keep warm. After days of subsisting on watery gruel, Daniella felt weak. Even water was hard to come by, and her dry lips bled easily.

She had several pieces of dark brown beads on her belt. They looked like poorly lacquered wooden beads but were actually made of highly valued sucrose mixed with hard biscuits and coated with wax.

The small hard candies could give her a burst of stamina if needed. While they wouldn't cure her hunger, they could prove invaluable. Just like another item she had hidden up her sleeve for defense. Both might prove useful if an opportunity arose.

But for now, escape seemed impossible. The wooden cage was built to last, sturdy enough even to contain a beastman. Observing the situation calmly, she stilled her thoughts and conserved her stamina.

Despite days of isolation in the cage, she remained sharp. Many would be depressed, knowing their mission had almost succeeded only to be thwarted in the final stage and thrown into a cage with no hope of rescue. But Daniella remained steadfast.

Her upbringing as a noble had ironically prepared her for this kind of treatment. She remembered the days when she had been confined to her chamber due to disagreements with her family. In that solitude, she found strength and mental resilience.

In fact, the silence empowered her. Since yesterday, she had been replaying her last two battles in her mind: one against Lord Lansius, and the other at his side. On both occasions, she caught a glimpse of her new master’s ingenuity.

That led her to the conviction that help would arrive because Lord Lansius wouldn’t allow Korimor to fall. Not because the city itself was important, but because sooner or later, he needed to solve the Nicopolan problem before it wreaked havoc on west Lowlandia—a region where he had a stake through the construction of the Grand Alliance.

And it was only in Korimor that he had the advantages of a castle, city walls, and a population that would ally themselves with his cause.

A smile momentarily bloomed on Daniella's lips. If her assessment was true, then she would have her justice against this Tarracan man—the charlatan who had fooled people with his rhetoric and false hope. He had led innocents to live and die as brigands, using them as mere stepping stones in his rise to power.

Her stomach groaned again. She clutched her knee, as though trying to stave off both cold and hunger. She carefully tore a small piece from her leather belt and chewed it. She had learned in her youth that the less fortunate resorted to such measures to fend off hunger, but she had never thought she would have to do it herself.

The taste was earthy and bitter, with a strong pungent smell released upon chewing. Yet, somehow, it provided some relief to her stomach.

Just as she was about to mentally shut off and save her alertness for the night, something happened outside. Hurried footsteps, calls, and shouting broke the silence. The noise didn’t fade. Instead, it escalated into a full commotion.

***

The Nicopolan Side

What appeared to be thousands of horses emerged on the southern horizon, casting shock into the Nicopolans who hadn’t expected any large military intervention from outside the region. Smaller groups were also seen reconnoitering the area.

The men keeping watch shouted and clamored for everyone in the camp to take up arms. In a hurry, the Nicopolans haphazardly formed their battle lines.

Tension filled the air as the numerous cavalry from the opposing side advanced, kicking up clouds of dust.

“The attack is coming! The attack is coming!” one man shouted in fear.

Refugees had heard tales from Nicopolan mercenaries—survivors who had escaped the Coalition’s doomed siege in Korelia—and these mercenaries had spread their tragic stories to all.

Now, upon recognizing the familiar Blue and Bronze banner, cries erupted. “It’s him! That’s the banner! The Black Lord is here!”

Many trembled at the sight. Some were so distraught that they left the camp, fleeing toward a distant forest.

Amid the chaos, Sergio led his detachment of men onto the field. “A blue and bronze banner?” he asked the men flanking him.

“There are rumors of a powerful new Lord in Korelia. They call him the Black Lord,” one of them answered.

“Why is he here, so far from Korelia?” another inquired nervously, eyeing the large cavalry force amassing near their flank.

Sergio took a sharp breath. “Isn’t it obvious? He wants the city.” He then spun around to face his men. “Fear not these Lowlandian dogs. I knew they were going to interfere. Luckily, we’re prepared for anti-cavalry warfare.”

His men sported nervous smiles as Sergio instructed, “Move the crossbowmen and the long pikes closer to the front. We’re going to teach these outdated brutes some state-of-the-art warfare.”

Out of eight thousand souls, four thousand men armed with spears, swords, sickles, or spades formed the Nicopolan battle line. Sergio also put enough men in reserve and positioned plenty to cover his other flanks.

With many experienced mercenaries under his command and a cavalry unit ready as a quick reactionary force, he felt well-prepared, confident that the odds were in their favor.

***

Korelia Side

After having rendezvoused with Sir Harold and Batu, who had completed their preparations, the relief force led by Lansius had undertaken a grueling three-day marathon ride to Korimor, traveling from the waning sun until the morning sun.

In record-breaking time, Lansius and his riders, along with hundreds of tribesmen, arrived on the outskirts of Korimor. Even when joined with the elderly and children already stationed around Korimor, their numbers didn’t exceed five hundred.

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Their numbers appeared larger due to the way they tied their sleeping carpets, armor, and other baggage upward on the saddle, making them resemble riders atop their thousands of spare horses. The nomads aptly named this creation the mirage warriors.

They saw Korimor city and its castle situated on a verdant hill, beside a flowing river. A large but crude encampment was also visible not far from the river.

Lansius removed his cloak and mouth covering, shaking the dust from his hair and face. "Is that the encampment?"

"Yes, My Lord, the scout confirmed it," said Sir Harold.

"I need to see it closer," Lansius stated.

"My Lord, we're not in armor," the knight reminded him. Most of them were wearing padded jacks.

"Just a bit closer," Lansius replied.

"Riders, prepare for escort," Sir Harold shouted, readying them for contact.

Batu rode closer and suggested, "Noyan, let me take my riders closer. I want our presence to be felt."

Lansius quickly agreed. "Don't engage, and make sure not to get caught."

Batu smirked. “I’ll be sure to maintain the illusion. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I still can’t believe you’re familiar with nomadic tactics like this.”

Lansius grinned at the compliment and saw Batu gallop off to lead his brethren toward the enemy camp’s right side. “Dietrich,” he called.

“Yes, My Lord,” an equally dusty man with a covered head and mouth rode forward.

“Get twenty riders and participate. Do not engage, but try to provoke the Nicopolans and see how many cavalry they’ve got,” Lansius instructed.

“At once,” Dietrich prepared his group and sallied forth.

Without saying a word, Lansius spurred his horse forward for closer reconnaissance. Audrey and the rest of the retinue followed.

Stopping at a safe distance, they observed the large Nicopolan encampment. Although they had no wooden fence or palisade, they used the river and carts of fallen trees as makeshift obstacles.

There were a series of large tents in the center, heavily guarded. “That’s where they keep the supplies. Not bad,” mumbled Lansius.

Audrey chimed in, “These aren’t refugees. Better not to underestimate them.”

“The lady is correct. A simple cavalry assault wouldn’t work, not with our real numbers,” advised Sir Harold.

Not a moment too soon, the enemy reacted to the Korelian and nomadic presence by sending thousands of men to form a circular battle line. The waning sun reflected off their metal weapons—spears, swords, and scythes—as if challenging the newcomers to attack.

Lansius also noticed a group of crossbowmen taking positions behind men armored with pikes. “They’re competent, alright.”

“Look, the city gate is open,” Audrey pointed out.

“Our banner and White Lake. Must be Hugo and Sir Michael,” said Sir Harold.

“Be on guard. No matter what the scouts say, don’t get complacent,” warned Lansius. Before he could say more, he coughed and tasted iron. Dizziness overcame him, and he saw red on his hand as he tried to cover his mouth. Before he understood what had happened, Audrey and Harold rushed toward him.

***

Nicopolan Side

The sun finally went down, and despite some cavalry activity, no follow-up action occurred. Nervousness and anticipation ran high, but for many, burdened by hunger and fatigue, they clamored to return to their camp.

By now, even Sergio’s closest aide was certain there would be no battle that day. In contrast, Sergio, recently briefed about the Black Lord by the survivors of the Siege of Korelia, remained concerned and insisted that his men stay on the lines despite the falling light.

It was only after complete darkness had settled that Sergio allowed a majority of his force to break formation. The thousands of men returned to their families and began to cook whatever meager food they had.

Anticipating a night attack, Sergio worked hard to convince his men to allocate as many soldiers as possible for the night watch. Many were skeptical, believing that the fear of a night attack was unfounded.

“The enemy just arrived after a long journey; they should be wary of an attack from us, not the other way around,” said one outspoken captain among his ranks.

“We’re not only facing the newcomers. Don’t forget the garrison in Korimor city,” Sergio retorted.

“The commoners are already starving on the few rations they have. Asking them to perform under these conditions might incite rebellion,” another captain warned.

“We’ll give extra rations this morning to those who take the night watch,” Sergio conceded.

Finally, they agreed to assign a third of their force to night watch. To maintain discipline, Sergio and his staff made random patrols along the lines.

Both he and his inner circle understood that the risk was too high; they would rather exhaust their men than risk defeat. The more they conversed with the survivors of the doomed campaign to Korelia, the more they came to understand that the Black Lord was cunning and unorthodox in battle.

That night, the Nicopolans were restless, gossiping about the new threat and growing fearful of the Black Lord. Every distant neighing horse and every unusual nocturnal animal sound spooked them. Sergio himself couldn’t sleep and chose to keep watch, accompanied by a guard with a loaded crossbow at his side.

***

Fortified Camp outside Korimor's Gate

Lansius awakened around the third watch. He saw unfamiliar ceilings and surroundings and woke up abruptly. A damp piece of cloth dropped onto his lap once he managed to sit on the bed.

“A fever?” he muttered to himself.

He checked his forehead but found it normal. Then the slight headache returned.

There was no door in the wooden cabin, only a heavy canvas, which was pushed aside as someone entered. “My Lord, you’re awake.”

“Sigmund?” Lansius asked, recognizing the skald’s clear voice.

Sigmund scrambled for something before returning with a jug of water and a cup. He approached and knelt before the bed, offering a cup of water. “Please, have some water, O Lord. Shall I furnish you with anything or anyone?”

Lansius took the cup but didn’t drink. “Where are we?”

“We’re inside a camp just outside Korimor city. The place was built by Hugo when he arrived in Korimor. It’s fortified, and Sir Harold has arranged his men on defense.”

Lansius breathed a sigh of relief. “How’s Batu and his tribes?”

“He has pulled out and is camping further away from the city.”

“And the castle?”

“The city is ours, My Lord. The House didn’t even demand to see Lord Omin.”

Lansius furrowed his brows. “So, where is Omin now?”

“Sir Harold has kept him in a separate cabin. He seems calm and hasn’t caused trouble.”

Lansius nodded approvingly and drank from his cup. The water felt good on his parched throat, although hints of a strong metallic smell still lingered in his nostrils.

“My Lord, try to get more rest. The night is still long, and I’ll remain at your side,” urged Sigmund.

Acting on his suggestion, Lansius lay down again. Indeed, his head felt light. “What happened to me? Last I remember, I was reconnoitering the Nicopolan encampment.”

“You either coughed up blood or had a nosebleed and almost fell from the horse.”

“Ah...” Lansius remembered feeling dizzy and coughing. “Must be the heat.”

“That’s what the physician told us.”

“I hope he didn’t recommend a duck egg as a remedy,” he mused.

The skald smiled. “Just some cold water and vinegar.”

“That is surprisingly mild.”

Sigmund chuckled at Lansius’ comment. “Fear not, My Lord, as I will keep you from the duck egg broth. Let music be the cure for your malady.”

Lansius smiled, amused at the archaic words he used. Unexpectedly, drowsiness came easily. “Where’s Lady Audrey?”

“The Baroness is sleeping with Carla next door. She insisted on being at your side, but we convinced her not to.”

“Excellent work, Sigmund.”

The skald bowed his head graciously. “Put more trust in us, O Lord. Let us take some of your burden.”

“I shall if I can give it to you,” Lansius drew a deep breath. “Prepare your shoulders. By tomorrow, I think we’ll have an act to play.”

“Then I’ll gladly play my part to the fullest.”

Lansius was impressed. “Then lend me your ears before the dream takes them away from me.”

Sigmund’s eyes turned sharp, his face serious.

“Tomorrow morning, the Nicopolans will likely send an envoy. They’ll either try to curry favor, offer a deal, or intimidate us. When that happens, I want you to prepare everyone in my vicinity to play along with my act. If I say: let’s make a party, then let’s make one.”

The skald nodded his head, and Lansius continued, “If I say: let’s bring a big cauldron and boil a person..."

Sigmund raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting.

“I want you and the rest to not hesitate at my command. We can’t afford to be seen making empty threats. If they try to intimidate us, then we will counter with an equal measure.”

Sigmund quickly understood the intention.

Lansius drew a sharp breath and reflected, “When we are weak, we cannot afford to appear so.”

The words piqued Sigmund. “Sir Michael said similar things when I met him. He feared that after the famine, hunger, and conflicts the Nicopolans have endured, right now, the only language they truly understand is strong action and violence.”

“He’s wise to come to that conclusion,” Lansius said with renewed interest. “Sigmund, please arrange a meeting with Sir Michael and Hugo at dawn. I need all the intel I can get.”

“Certainly, My Lord.”

"Unsavory as it must be, we must try to talk it out, because the only other option is the ultima ratio," said Lansius grimly, thinking about just how many lives would perish from both sides if they resorted to battle.

***