2,781 Words
Ten days. That's how long it should take to get everything ready. It's day number eight since you've sent the call to mobilize and it's looking like you already might make better time than that. Already, Alfida swells with all fourteen hundred of your sworn men at arms and the irregular levies continue to grow. You've only ordered a thousand peasants to bolster your ranks. That should be all you need. Anymore and they're a logistical strain without providing much benefit. Your army has plenty of meat already besides.
That is because you have purchased the service of a mercenary company. Not just any mercenary company, but a band of orcs. They're called Grum's Boys, presumably named after their leader. When Cristobal wrote to you of them, you knew you had to have them. Your principle advantage in this war is your magic. You need your army to endure while you pick off the enemy heroes with your superior skill. Then a rout will be inevitable. Who is best at holding the line? Heavy infantry? Who is the best heavy infantry? Orcs, of course.
Although this Grum character leaves something to be desired. You hoped that a mercenary captain would add another capable commander to your campaign, but looking at this orc... he does not look bright and you are grading him by orcish standards. Long matted black hair spills out from a full face leather mask. Two beady eyes look out from the slits. A pair of short tusks protrude from his underbite and he has a massive square jaw with a thick neck. He has the characteristic broadness of his kin with shoulders and a chest as wide as a barn and a pair of legs as thick as tree trunks. For armor, he is donned in a suit of scale armor with iron scales woven into a leather jerkin all over a cloth gambeson that stinks to hell. And for a weapon, he wields an impractically large great club with iron spikes protruding from it.
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"War boss. Me Grum," he introduces himself to you in broken Old Imperial. He doesn't speak any dialect of Tartessian.
You nod your head and extend your hand. "King Alonso, pleasure."
The orc takes it and shakes it firmly enough to break your hand if not for a subtle strengthening spell casted upon your gloves.
"Your king. You pay much silver for Grum's boys. We Grum's boys, we hit enemy and kill big death. Yes?" Grum grins, revealing rows of jagged yellow teeth.
"Yes, that is exactly the plan. Hit them hard, and keep them busy," you reply. Gods, you need to find someone who can speak Bogostani. This is going to be a chore.
"Hit hard, kill big death. Big, big death. Many men, many elves. No matter. Grum's boys, we kill and take loot. Fair share," Grum insists.
You paid these simpletons twelve thousands five hundred silver. That was almost half your treasury. Like hell you're going to give them loot rights on top of that. That is not even considering the fact that you don't intend to devastate Saraqusta, the province, with this war. You intend to rule it.
"You will get the loot accorded to you in the contract," you reply, charitably assuming this orc can read.
"Good, good. We like fight. Good fun. We like kill, take loot, and drink grog," Grum answers.
Well, you're not paying him to make friends with the locals.
"Where Grum's boys stay until go kill?" Grum asks.
"There is a keep a day's march from here that has been fortified and equipped. You will camp there until we move out. The men at arms of Alfida will join you shortly," you answer.
Grum nods his head. "Good."
Grum is dismissed and you continue making your preparation. You march to Fernando's office and find him pouring over letters and encrypted messages. He's been gathering a constant stream of information from Saraqusta through paid informants. He has his son here with him helping him sort through this deluge of information. Gathering intelligence can sometimes be the easy part. It's making sense of all that you've gathered that can pose a greater challenge. Fernando has reports on troop movements and armory sizes all across Saraqusta and he has to put that information together into a single estimate. It is a challenging task and you've been lending a hand when you can. Tending to the burgeoning army in your city and disseminating your new corpus of magical laws have not left you with ample time, however.
"Good afternoon, Fernando. Have you finished compiling the latest report?" you ask him as you enter the room.
Fernando is dressed casually. His tunic and breeches are loose fitting and he has a thick fur-lined jacket around his shoulders despite the temperate weather outside. His desk is covered in parchments and inkwells and quills. He looks tired.
"In my head but not yet on paper," he answers.
"Excellent. Then I will hear it now," you reply and sit down on one of the empty chairs.
Fernando rubs his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair before beginning. "Right, well the enemy army has gathered in the city of Saraqusta. My estimation remains the same. They have around twenty three hundred men in a ratio not dissimilar to our own. In addition, they've called upon somewhere between a thousand and fifteen hundred irregulars. The picture is not yet clear. It's difficult to count the militia when they aren't organized in a disciplined formation."
"What of their heroes?"
"That we know much more about. These sorts rarely exist quietly," Fernando replies more confidently this time, "Queen Aiza is a mage as you know. It is still unknown whether she intends to take the field. Of course, that is according to your report. Apologies, my mind is a mess."
"Think nothing of it," I assure him, "It is a tremendous task I have placed upon you. What of the others?"
Fernando scratches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long sigh, "Well, Amir Walid, of course, is leading the army. He is a formidable warrior. Then there is their court mage who I am told is an Adept. He goes by the name Caballo, a nickname surely. Most worrying is a quarter elf archer they call Nuño. He wields an elven bow made from a variety of magically enhanced materials said to require a draw weight of almost four hundreds pounds. He requires custom arrows because regular ones will explode from the force of the bow string acting upon it. Most frighteningly, it is said he can fire ten of these a minute if need be. Thankfully, they are expensive."
You lean back and think on the matter. A heroic archer of that caliber is... troublesome. Your best defenses would be tested by steel shafted arrows shot from such a monstrous bow... and they may be found wanting. You could be shot out of the sky like a bird if you dared to fly.
It isn't as if you're facing him alone, however. Alfonso is an Adept himself and you are not lacking in capable warriors. Your bastard brother Luis is as tough as they come.
"What of their fortifications?" you ask.
"The keep near the border is only designed to hold out for a season at most. It is simply to buy time. The city of Saraqusta itself did not fall to a six month siege by your father fifteen years ago. I do not think its defenses would have gotten weaker since then," Fernando replies. "If they do not meet us in the open field... I am not sure the treasury can sustain the sieges."
"They will," you reply confidently.
"How are you so sure, my king?" Fernando asks.
"To avoid an open engagement with the Devil of the Central Plateau is simply wisdom. To avoid an open engagement with his untested son is cowardice. Amir Walid knows the value of his own reputation and what the people will think of him for failing to take the field against me," you reply. No one would ever take Queen Aiza's rule seriously again. She would lose the support of the powerful landowning families of her land if she hid behind her walls while their lands were ransacked and looted.
The enemy must meet you in an open battle. And you have confirmation that they intend to thanks to your scrying efforts.
You and the rest of the kingdom have been preparing for this day. Now it has arrived.
Tomorrow you leave for war.
...
Three thousand men and several hundred horsemen form a line a half mile long as you march down the road along the Estrella. Behind you, another thousand or so camp followers and merchants follow at a distance, carrying with them wagons and carts full of supplies, tents, and tools. A majority of the royal treasury sits in the baggage train being carefully guarded by your most trusted knights.
You are marching to war. You don't know when you will be back. You'll need the money to pay your soldiers, but you had to leave a little bit behind so Uncle Enrique could maintain the functioning of the royal keep. He's been appointed Mayor of the Palace while you're gone. With Ramon and Uncle Ansur with you, Uncle Enrique is the only man you could trust to carry it out.
Well, there's your sister Maria, but it might look poorly to entrust the upkeep of the royal court to a woman. In any case, you trust Uncle Enrique to heed her advice.
It feels good to be marching at your brother's side. The prospect of war has been more excited than you've ever seen him. You've appointed your brother your second in command and you're proud to say that this decision was made on merit alone. And given his lofty position as both your brother and the commander of the army when you're busy doing mage things, he expects you will reward him well from the spoils of your conquest. This is an opportunity for him to seize a bountiful grant of land that will elevate him to a nobiles in his own right and he trusts you to grant it to him.
As he should.
Uncle Ansur is a more complicated matter. He wants a cut of the spoils but has also announced his intention to leave his possessions to the Temple of the First Man when he dies. It may seem a bit greedy, but you were hoping they would go to you and Ramon. You and your brother are his legal heirs since he has no children of his own. As king, you could seize it upon his death or force him to change his will, but then you'll seem like a tyrant.
And unfortunately you really do have to reward Uncle Ansur. He is one of the chief commanders in your army and he is technically a prince of Alfida. It would reflect poorly on you if you were stingy toward him.
The only other commander you have of any note worthy aptitude is Grum, the mercenary orc. Needless to say, you are hesitant to entrust any serious responsibility to him.
Although, you have been surprised to find out he's more intelligent than he looks. Which, frankly, is not a high bar clear, but he has cleared it nonetheless. When you visited the Orcish camp last night, you were surprised to find it relatively well organized, clean, and abuzz with actually productive activity like the maintenance of equipment or cooking. The Orcs who were goofing off seemed to have been engaged in some kind of communal poetry recital activity with Grum leading them and composing new poems on the spot.
So far, it is a promising sign. If the orcs are capable of discipline in their camp making, then they're capable of discipline on the battlefield.
Your scouts and scrying efforts have confirmed what you already knew to be true. The army of Saraqusta has mobilized and camps near "the Toothpick" as your father called it— a tall and thin keep built along the Estrella on the Saraqustan side of the border. Twelve hundred heavy infantry, five hundred archers, four hundred heavy cavalry, and twelve hundred irregulars. Your numbers are roughly evenly matched.
A few trumpets blast signaling the approach of unknown forces. You're still within Alfidan territory so it couldn't possibly be the elfbloods, could it? Are they really so bold as to strike at you when you're so close to Almanzor?
About a hundred men on horseback trot toward you waving banners unfamiliar to you. They're certainly not Saraqustans. There isn't a single elfblood among them. These are human riders.
You wait patiently and soon they're close enough for you to get a good look at the leader. He is a man in his mid forties with tan white skin and curly black hair. His beard is neatly trimmed and he wears an arming doublet dyed red with a gold brocade pattern along the chest and a fur capelet on his shoulders.
He stops his horse and waves a hand to his men and they all stop in unison.
"Hail! I am João de Valduna. We were told by your heralds that King Alonso, the rightful King of Alfida, marched to war to avenge his father and we could not stand idly by while our brothers in the faith face the elfbloods," the man declares loudly, his voice echoing across the road, "So I have come with other faithful knights of Asturias to lend my aid. It seems I have scarcely made it in time."
You grin and extend your hand. "Hail, Sir João. I am grateful for your timely arrival. You have brought with you the strength of a hundred horsemen?"
"We have indeed. My cousin Andrea spoke well of you. Her tale of the injustice perpetrated upon your father stirred the hearts of many in Asturias. Our king would not allow us to send a larger force but he did not forbid the sons of Asturias to follow their faith. May the Gods bless our endeavor," Sir João proclaims.
Andrea's cousin, hm? So this is a gesture of good will from the Asturias-Leon faction. You enjoyed a pleasant evening with Princess Andrea and her brother appears to have taken that as a sign that deeper relations can be built. Nothing in life ever comes for free, after all.
"Blessed is this crusade and blessed will be its fruit. I am honored by your gesture, Sir João. You are welcome in Alfida. I am glad to have the strength of a hundred Asturian knights bolster my ranks," you declare. Zealots are a chore to deal with but as long as you play your cards right, they're easy to manipulate so long as you possess a deep understanding of their underlying doctrine. And you do. Lucky, that.
The number of knights is a savvy political calculation by the Asturians. It is few enough to legitimately pass as mere volunteers. It costs them very little. And it helps you very much. Your cavalry was outnumber three hundred to four hundred prior to their arrival. Now you've evened the odds. It is difficult to understate the significance of closing that gap.
This is a debt that will have to be repaid at some point. Is this your play, Andrea? Begin a slowly escalating exchange of favors until we are unwittingly dragged into the succession war to support your brother's claim? Or is it your brother's plan?
These are political considerations for later. For now, you have a campaign to win, and if you do not win then all these politics do not matter for you will surely be destroyed.
No pressure.
Another few hours of marching and you have crossed into the frontier between Almanzor and the Toothpick. This is a no man's land where only the bravest herders come to graze their flocks and no peasant dares cultivate.
Your army begins to set up camp and the scouts are dispatched.
The scouts report nothing amiss. They find the enemy encamped and preparing. Their camp is well defended and fortified stationed beyond the Toothpick a few hundred yeard up the Estrella. There is little doubt they've received word of your own movements. For tonight, you will simply fortify your own camp. Then tomorrow, you will sally out with the vast majority of your forces and set up in formation across from the Saraqustans. Whether anyone will actually attack... will be determined then.
You could be here for a while.