Hanne
patreon
Chapter 83 Sinews of War (Book 3)
🕑 Added 2023-10-03 12:12:39 +0000 UTCWelcome to Book 3. 😍
This marks the beginning of Book III.
Before you read: I want to remind you that this is the free web version. So don't expect professionally edited chapter; misspells, typos, or errors are common.
⚠️ Attention: Book III is going to be stubbed early January 2025
⚠️ Chapter 83 - 124 will be affected (taken down)
Chapter 83 - Sinews of War
Plains of Korimor, Daniella
It was noon outside, but the sun couldn’t penetrate the thick canvas of the tent. There were no ventilation openings, only several small gaps in the ground or loose stitching, making the inside hot and humid. There, a Nicopolan-born lady sat upon a mat of dried grass inside a wooden cage, her clothes sticking to her sweaty skin. Her mission to secure alliances with the cooperative Nicopolans had been discovered, and she had been captured.
Looking back, she had been too hopeful to think that the majority of refugees from Nicopola could be dissuaded from waging war with Korimor and her forces. These so-called refugees were, in reality, deeply influenced by the manipulative and ambitious Tarracan man, who was also ruthlessly competent.
The price for this misplaced optimism was the death of her accompanying guard—a smart, loyal, and resourceful man. He had died defending her, and Daniella blamed herself.
She licked her cracked lips and exhaled deeply, unbothered by the putrid stench emanating from the cage that had certainly kept many more victims before her. After days of subsisting on watery gruel, she felt weak. Even water was hard to come by, and her dry lips bled easily. In her boredom, her fingers absently played with the dark brown beads attached to her belt. They looked like poorly lacquered wooden beads, but they were made of highly valued sucrose and hard biscuits, coated in beeswax.
These small, hard candies could give her a burst of stamina if needed. They wouldn’t cure her hunger, but they could prove invaluable in certain situations.
However, for now, escape seemed like a farfetched dream. The wooden cage that surrounded her was built to last, sturdy enough even to possibly hold a beastman.
Despite days of isolation inside the cage, poor sanitation, itchiness from lack of hygiene, and debilitating boredom, her mind remained sharp. Many would succumb to despair, especially knowing their mission had almost succeeded only to be thwarted at the final stage. But even though thrown into a cage with little hope of rescue, Daniella remained steadfast.
Ironically, her upbringing as a noble had prepared her for this kind of treatment. She remembered days when she had been confined to her chamber over disagreements with her family. In that solitude, she found strength and mental resilience.
Without her knowing it, the silence of her current confinement had empowered her further. Since yesterday, she had been replaying her last two battles in her mind: one against Lord Lansius, and the other as his ally. On both occasions, she had caught glimpses of her new lord’s ingenuity.
She came to realize what made Lansius unique was his ability to understand the entire battlefield as a whole, to see the big picture.
That understanding sparked an undying conviction that rescue would eventually arrive. Lord Lansius wouldn’t allow Korimor to fall. Not because the city itself was valuable, but because sooner or later, he needed to solve the Nicopolan problem before it ruined the entire western Lowlandia—a region he and his Grand Alliance certainly had a stake in.
And in this regard, Korimor offered him a great advantage: a castle, city walls, and a population that would gladly fight against the invading Nicopolans.
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 thousands with his rhetoric and false hope. The ruthless man had led innocents to live and die as brigands, had used 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 did this to mask their hunger, but she had never imagined herself resorting to such measures.
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 down 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
Thousands of horses emerged on the southern horizon, casting shock through the Nicopolans ranks, who hadn’t expected any large military intervention from outside the region. Smaller advance groups also appeared separately, seemingly 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 quickly filled the air as the cavalry from the opposing side advanced closer, 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 anyone who wished to listen.
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 of the Black Lord’s banner. Some were so distraught that they fled the camp, seeking refuge in a distant forest.
Amid the chaos, Sergio, the Tarracan man, 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 trained in anti-cavalry techniques.”
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 the 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, each night traveling from the
In record-breaking time, Lansius and his riders, along with a few hundred tribesmen, arrived on the outskirts of Korimor. Yet, even when joined with the elderly and children already stationed around Korimor, their numbers didn’t exceed five hundred.
They made their numbers appear larger by tying 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 the Korimor city proper 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 mouth covering and cloak, then shook the dust from his hair and face. “Is that the encampment?”
“Yes, my lord, the scout confirmed it,” said Sir Harold, riding beside him.
“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 but instructed, “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.” He then added, “I still can’t believe you’re familiar with nomadic tactics like this.”
Lansius offered a faint grin 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 the camp had no wooden fence or palisade, they used their carts and fallen trees as makeshift obstacles.
There was 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 common refugees. Better not to underestimate them.”
“The lady is correct,” Sir Harold said, sharing her concern. “A simple cavalry assault wouldn’t work, not with our real numbers.”
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,” Sir Harold observed. “Must be Hugo and Sir Michael.”
“Be on guard. No matter what the scouts say, don’t get complacent,” Lansius warned. Before he could say more, the heat seemed to suddenly overcome him. He coughed and tasted iron. Dizziness flooded 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 had finally down, and despite some cavalry activity, no follow-up action had 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.
Only when complete darkness had settled did Sergio allow 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.
However, Sergio remained vigilant. Anticipating a night attack, he worked hard to convince his officers to allocate as many soldiers as possible for the night watch, but many believed his fear 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 the city of Korimor” Sergio countered.
“The commoners are already starving on the few rations they have. Asking them to perform under these conditions might incite rebellion,” another captain warned somberly.
“We’ll give extra to those who take the night watch,” Sergio conceded.
With such incentive on the line, they finally agreed to assign a third of their force to night watch. To ensure participation and maintain discipline, Sergio and his staff planned for random patrols along the lines.
Many among his inner circle understood that the stakes were too high; they would rather exhaust their men than risk defeat. This perspective was increasingly validated as they learned more from the survivors of the doomed campaign to Korelia about the Black Lord’s cunning and unorthodox tactics.
That night, restlessness pervaded the camp, with everyone gossiping about the new threat and growing fearful of the Black Lord. Every distant neighing horse and every unusual sound from nocturnal animal spooked them. Sergio himself couldn’t sleep, choosing instead 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 sat up abruptly. A damp piece of cloth dropped onto his lap.
“A fever?” he muttered to himself.
He checked his forehead but found it normal. However, a slight headache lingered.
The wooden cabin had no door, 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. “Please, have some water, oh 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. The place was built by Hugo when he arrived several weeks ago. 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 camped farther from the city to allow his horses to graze.”
“And the castle?”
“The city is ours, my lord. The current House didn’t even demand to see Lord Omin.”
Lansius furrowed his brow. “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,” Sigmund explained.
“Ah...” Lansius remembered feeling dizzy and coughing. “Must be the heat.”
The skald smiled and said softly, “That’s exactly what the physician has told us.”
“I hope he didn’t recommend a duck egg as a remedy,” Lansius joked.
The skald chuckled. “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. And 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, oh 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 by his eagerness. “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, 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,” Lansius explained. “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 noted. "He feared that after enduring famine, hunger, and conflicts, the Nicopolans, right now, understand only the language of strong action or violence.”
“He’s wise to come to that conclusion,” Lansius said with renewed interest. “Sigmund, could you 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,” Lansius muttered grimly, thinking about just how many lives would perish from both sides if they resorted to battle.
***
⠀
PS: Nose bleed or coughing blood, either from heat, dust, or excessive marathon riding. I hope our MC is okay. 😨
The Picture is free images, curated by Joseph Daniel from Unsplash.
As always thank you for reading my story and for your awesome support! ❤️
Comments
stellar101
Cancer 💔😞
Kuo Yang Ho
Cool that our hero has a nickname..or is it nom de guerre.." the Black Lord" "the Black Lord is coming" . Also the Nicopilan side and let's show them modern warfare.. lol
Juy.grece
Obrigado pelo capítulo 😁
Kalidans2
Thanks for the chapter.
Hanne
nobody is dressed in plate while marching, but even with comfortable clothes, marathon riding is hard on the body
Marian Ch
Power marching in harsh weather while dressed in plated armor and unused to such is one way to get a headache.
