4,443 Words
The rest of the day goes by entirely uneventfully. Your men stand in formation bored to tears until the sun begins to set. At which point, you order them back to camp and you all make the short trek back. The men are happy to finally get some rest and entertainment. Here is where the camp followers really come in handy. You make sure the men are paid their wages and that coin immediately goes into services of the various whores, bards, and dice games that are cropping up throughout the camp.
Some of them have to be pulled away to stand guard. You can't let the camp fall into complete disarray, but if you prevented everyone from engaging in some leisure, you'd have a mutiny on your hands.
"Well, it is as we suspected," Ramon says as he walks to your side. He has just finished putting up his horse. His squire is now feeding and watering it. "The elfbloods aren't foolish enough to march into us. Nor we to them. I intend to gather a hundred knights and harass their foraging party. Alfonso is suggesting a night raid to start a fire in their camp. He believes he and his mageling apprentice can pull it off with only perhaps a dozen knights riding with them."
"Without me?" you ask. You're mildly offended by that.
Ramon raises an eyebrow, "You're the king, Alonso. You can't risk your life on such a dangerous raid."
"Hardly a risk if we attack at night. Their archer might have eagle eyes, but invisibility is a difficult spell to see through at night," you reply.
"I would not put the entire operation on such an assumption. There are ways to see in the dark. Night vision spells, for example," Ramon argues.
***
The next few days are filled with the same monotony as the first. Once the armies leave and return to camp, however. That is when the fun starts.
Ramon leads a daily harassment campaign against the Saraqustan's foragers, supply train, and rear. The engagements are never decisive but they keep your knights sharp. They are forced to dedicate men to defending their supplies. Your men win many accolades for themselves in these skirmishes. Ramon defeats an elfblood blademaster in a joust, unhorsing him and then stealing that horse. Luis cleaves a man in twain with a broadsword and is almost killed by an arrow for his trouble as it just barely glances off his mail aventail.
Of course, you are forced to do the same as the enemy sends just as many knights to harass your own supply wagons and foragers. Uncle Ansur is tasked with the defense of your supplies and performs admirably, fighting off the elfbloods and making sure you are stocked with adequate food and water for the standoff. Once again, your men earn great valor and accolades here. Sir Roberto, the knights with the magical shield he acquired on a raid, puts that shield to good use by blocking a lightning bolt with it fired from the enemy mage. It bought them enough time for you to show up and cause the enemy mage to flee.
All of this is very exciting, but it does not move the needle of the battle.
No, the only true decisive action happens at night...
You ride silently with a literal bubble of silence erected around you, Alfonso, his mageling apprentice. Two of your household knights ride at your flank, ready to sell their lives for yours if the worst should happen. That is all your raiding party consists of. It is all you need. Anymore would only attract unwanted attention.
Each night, you have been switching it up with your approach. The first night, you zipped overhead of the camp and expended a valuable specimen of noxious gas producing moss to cast a cloudkill spell. A cloud of toxic fumes burst into life in their camp, choking the life out of all who were unfortunate enough to get caught in its radius.
It is a shame the spell is limited in scope and cannot be sustained. It could have wiped out the entire army if it were possible to create a sufficiently large enough area of effect. That sent the enemy mage scrambling to dispel it before it ran roughshod over the whole camp.
Then after that, you launched a single fireball at some very flammable-looking tents to cause a fire and add additional confusion to their camp. An arrow nearly took your head after that and you flew away to rejoin Alfonso who was launching his own fireballs to cause more fires.
The enemies wizened up after that first night. On the second night, they had more sentries posted and Nuño the archer was poised and ready for your raid. They dug fire breaks throughout their camp and had their mage dampen their tents to prevent them from catching fire. For the second night, you harassed them with illusions. You and the others rode from place to place working together to create deafening bangs, the shouts of a large crowd, and the clanging of armor. This worked well enough to disrupt their sleep, but it didn't cause any real damage.
On the third night, you got creative. Instead of harassing their camp directly, you spent the night laying trap along the path they would take to reach their entrenched position on the battlefield. You dig deeply into your supply of magical materials and burn through much of your incendiary stone powder to construct exploding rune mines etched into spare wrought iron pots and pans. Dig a little bit, put in the ground, and then have them activate when stepped over.
You scryed the results on the fourth morning. They were spectacular at demoralizing the enemy even if only a dozen men were killed. They had to waste a tremendous amount of time scanning the ground and clearing the mines before they could advance.
And every single day, the two armies stood across from one another in a stalemate. The cracks, you think, are beginning to show from your efforts, however. The elfbloods seem uneasy. They have tried to initiate their own night times raids against you, but they have not been nearly so effective.
So this fifth night, you've decided to mix it up a little bit. You and Alfonso work together to create illusions of yourself and have it fly over their camp over and over and over again. Each time, the illusion is shot by Nuño the heroic archer. Every time, it passes through the illusion harmlessly, revealing the ruse. Then... comes the dangerous part. Instead of sending an illusion, you actually fly over the camp this time and launch a fireball before throwing up a wall of force as swiftly as you can to block Nuño's arrow. The steel shafted arrow slams into the flat plane of force and flattens. It creates so much heat that the steel liquifies and slides the plane for several feet before it cools enough to harden and fall off. Two more arrows follow with the same result and cracks begin to form in the plane. You swiftly fly back, dodging more arrows that zip by your head sounding like the buzzing of wasps.
"Gods above, that was fucking mad," Alfonso whispers once you've retreated to their position.
"It went perfectly," you reply trying to pretend like your heart isn't beating so loudly that it's thundering in your ears. It was vital you actually fly over at least once to put the doubt in his mind that the illusions could be real. It gives you latitude to move around and do other things with Nuño properly distracted.
Now, the next phase of the plan. You cast a spell to transmute the ground beneath a section of their camp walls into mud causing it to sink and then fall over creating an opening. Finally, the interesting part. You burned a significant amount of silver summoning your homunculi helpers and outfitting them in cheap gambesons and spears. You would be surprised if they killed a single enemy, but in the dark they look more like an advancing raiding force than an illusion ever could. They leave impressions on the ground, they make noise realistically, and they can engage with the enemy.
Your goal is merely to have them create as much panic as possible. They need to think if only for a bit that a serious incursion is happening.
Alfonso finishes the illusion for a simulated battle cry and then you send the summons into the breach. The enemy camp explodes into action with trumpets blaring signaling a general call for all men to wake up and suit up. Within moments, arrows loose from the battlements sticking into the gambesons of your summons but not penetrating deep enough to interrupt their spell matrices.
For the next phase, you're a bit clever. You keep sending illusions overhead and Nuño keeps shooting them. But his reaction time slows. He catches on that this is merely a distraction. And what else could you be up to while he's wasting time shooting illusions in the sky?
Finally. he lets an illusion pass and Alfonso gives you the signal.
"No. Watch this," you shake your head and direct him to create another illusion. Exactly as you suspected, he shoots this one right through the eye and it passes through the illusion harmlessly. "Clever, but not clever enough."
You send a handful more illusions and he lets them go. Three in a row before randomly deciding to shoot the fourth. It passes through.
"Now."
You take to the skies this time while Alfonso wheels around to the opposite end of their camp from the breach and opens up a new one, repeating the maneuver with the simulated war cry and sending more summons at them.
As you fly overhead, you unleash a devastating cone of cold on their stables, freezing their horses solid and killing them. With all the chaos, they hardly even notice the state of the horses and your method of culling them is quiet enough to not be heard over the raucous of battle. Dozens of horses are frozen to death. Then you pass by again and dozens more are frozen. Then again. Then you begin flagging on energy. Your vision swims and your muscles seize.
Your magic has reached its limits.
You fly back to your raiding party and they all gather together. Alfonso takes you by the hand and helps you mount your horse. From there, you gallop back toward your camp, leaving the chaos behind.
It is not until the sun rises the next day and the bodies of their horses are found frozen to death that the elfbloods are made aware that this was the purpose of the night's incursion. Their knights are noticeably depleted come the next day. For your part, however, you sleep through the morning. Last night's raid exhausted you. You sleep until it is just about time to sally out of camp and form up.
Your eyelids feel as if they're weighted down by lead. They crack open and you see Ramon standing over you.
"Rise and shine, brother. I've prepared you a bowl of porridge," Ramon declares with a smile, gesturing to a steaming wooden bowl on a little table near your bedside.
"Why thank you, my dear brother," you grumble as you pull yourself up from the comfort of your cot. "Did I really sleep all morning?"
"You did," Ramon answers.
"... did I miss anything?"
"Scouts say the enemy is in a total panic. There is a rumor that the Saraqustans may pack up and retreat to the Toothpick. Whatever it was that you inflicted upon them last night has taken a heavy toll on their morale," Ramon explains.
"Indeed. It was rather thrilling."
"Thrilling," Ramon snorts and shakes his head. "That is an understatement, I believe. The enemy will be on the brink. The time is now, brother. I urge you to give the order. Let us engage the foe."
You shovel the porridge down your throat. It is flavored with wild onion and bits of pork. Delicious. You wipe your mouth on the sleeve of your night shirt and stand up to reach for a bottle of diluted wine. You open the bottle and chug it all down before setting the bottle down on the table. "Ahhhhh," you let out a loud groan of contentment. Your throat was so parched it felt like sandpaper. Magic exhaustion is nothing to scoff at. The results, however, aren't either.
"The time is indeed now, Ramon. Prepare your cavalry for the charge. We will break the enemy," you command.
Your brother's eyes light up with excitement. "I shall. Be swift, brother."
"You as well."
After he leaves, you summon one of the servants and have him bring you your armor. You are dressed fully for battle now in a complete mail hauberk and wearing a steel helmet.
You exit the tent and are greeted by the sight of soldiers marching around, preparing for war. Spirits are high after word spread of the raid's success last night. Grum's boys are beating their chest and roaring. Sir João is speaking with some of his knights. When he sees you, he walks over to greet you and salutes.
"King Alonso. We are ready," he says.
You give him a polite nod and clap him on the shoulder, "Good. We shall need you."
With that, the man goes about his business and you walk through the camp toward the stables. One of the stable boys hands you your horse and you climb atop him. This is a different one than you rode last night, of course. A king has many horses. Although you've been using your favorite for the night time raids so you're stuck with your second favorite for this battle.
You ride out to the army as they form up into their formation. The sun is high overhead and the clouds have parted, giving way to bright blue sky. This is the day of reckoning.
...
You elect to follow your original plan. Ramon will command your three hundred knights and engage the enemy's cavalry. He will keep them occupied as they jockey for space trying to outflank one another. Uncle Ansur will lead the infantry along with Grum. Your crossbowmen will slowly advance with their shield and once they are within range, they will slam them down into the ground as makeshift cover and then form a screen of missile attacks to shield your infantry advance.
And you are sequestered away hidden behind a hill on the other side of the river with Sir Joao and his knights. When the time comes, Alfonso will give you the signal and then you will advance. Upon reaching the Estrella behind their lines, you will use your magic to summon a temporary bridge to allow you to cross and then you will execute a devastating flank on their archers.
Your heart races and you can barely hold yourself back from flying away. The anticipation is killing you. The only thing keeping you calm is the fact that the enemy has been so badly demoralized by your repeated night raids. This is your first real pitched battle. It's something you've trained for but never engaged in. You'll be surrounded by thousands of enemies and all it takes is one unlucky shot to end your life.
The battle starts. The sound of trumpets is carried by the wind. It's faint at first and then louder and louder. You hear the sounds of hundreds of horses charging. The ground shakes with the thunderous pounding of their hooves and the clash of their iron shoes against the hardened earth. Next, the loud war cry of Grum's boys echoes throughout the field. They're going to be the tip of the spear for your infantry advance.
Your heart beats as fast as the tempo of the thundering hooves in the distance. You sit on your horse and grip your reigns tight, holding your breath as you wait for the signal. Off in the distance, you can hear the cracking sound of hundreds of crossbows loosing their bolts. You consider opening a scrying window to witness the battle but decide against it. It would be a wasteful use of your power. Alfonso will give the signal when it is time.
Your nerves are a wreck and your imagination begins running wild. You're suddenly gripped with the fear that you've misinterpreted everything and you are about to commit an act of folly. The enemy has lulled you into a false sense of security and will counter your move perfectly, crushing the left and center.
...No. That's madness. The enemy's camp has been in complete disarray the last five days. They are worn and bruised. This is your killing blow. Walid should have retreated to the toothpick instead of facing you in the field today. You would've been forced to lay siege and commit to months or even a year of bitter grinding sieges to capture it and Saraqusta. You could ill afford such a war.
You wait patiently for the signal. Your horse's ears are perked forward and her body is tense and alert. She senses your agitation and it is causing her to act on it. Grum's boys issue another war cry. They must be about to meet the elfbloods in a melee. You recall seeing that the elfbloods had purposefully structure their line to accept the orcish heavy infantry with their own heavy infantry, not trusting their levies not to break under the pressure.
A minute goes by. Then two.
Your heart sinks. What is Alfonso waiting for? Did the elfbloods somehow figure out his role and capture him or kill him? Did Nuño snipe him? Are you going to be waiting here all day like an imbecile waiting for a signal that will never come?
"King Alonso, we cannot wait any longer. Should we ride to join the battle?" Sir Joao suggests.
"We await the signal," you reply firmly.
"If the signal never comes, we shall lose the day," Sir Joao argues, his tone firm and uncompromising.
"We await the signal," you repeat more firmly this time.
Sir Joao is silent for a moment. Then he nods his head and turns his horse. He rides back to his men to explain the situation. You can hear him explaining that you're waiting on the signal.
More minutes pass. More time spent waiting. Grum's boys issue another loud roar as their spears clash with the elves.
"My king. Prince Ramon has successfully baited the enemy knights. Perhaps too successfully. His first two bouts with the enemy went poorly. They are sorely outmatched. You should attack now. Our infantry are gaining ground with each step. Your appearance could cause a rout."
It is time.
You look at the knight and nod your head. "Have the men form up for a charge. We ride."
Sir Joao salutes and whoops with joy. "We shall ride for the Gods and for the king!" he cries as he whips his horse into action.
The rest of the men are just as quick to get moving. In short order, the company of knights has formed up behind you in a column three horses wide. Sir João takes position to your left while his trusted lieutenant Sir Jose takes a place to your right. You ride at a full gallop while channeling your magical energy for a wall of stone spell. It only needs to last until all your cavalry have cleared the river.
"Hail King Alonso! Hail the Devil of the Central Plateau! Death to the Elfblood Scum!" the knights shout as they ride behind you.
You crest the hill and the battle comes fully into view. Elfblood archers rain death upon your men from their vantage point on the hill. Their expertly crafted recurve bows possess immense power, able to penetrate mail at a range of one hundred yards. Your crossbowmen fire back at them, but most of their shots fail to reach or don't penetrate their armor. The actual battle lines look favorable at least. Grum and his boys keep pushing the elfbloods back forcing them further and further up a hill. Meanwhile, you have heavy infantry of your own up against levies. The disparity is striking. Spears carve through their weak poorly trained formation like butter.
Alfonso engages in a mage duel with Caballo. Each of them fling spells at the other, dodging or blocking with a magic shield. Alfonso looks to be taking the worse end of it but it isn't decisive either way. Many men are caught in the crossfire being roasted alive by fire, electrocuted by lightning, or melted by acid as they unload their repertoire of spells into the other. The archer Nuño is clearly looking for you but also contenting himself with sniping knights all the way where the cavalry are fighting. A whip crack follows each one of his arrows being loosed and far away you see your valuable knights being stuck by his arrows, some of them even fully going through them or their horse.
Things look dicey. The cavalry engagement is going very poorly and yet your infantry push is yielding serious results. Were you not to arrive, you are unsure who would come out as victor, but if you were forced to bet, it would be your own side. Good thing, then, that you are about to completely tip the scales.
"MEN OF ALFIDA. YOUR KING IS HERE!" you shout at the top of your lungs and the men behind you roar. The men in the back ranks turns to look and see you riding on the opposite side of the river. Almost immediately, their archers switch fire to you and your men. You erect a huge billowing wall of wind between you and the archers, deflecting all mundane arrows. Beside you, Sir Jose is skewered through the neck by an arrow from Nuño. The arrow carries so much force, he is unhorsed from it and is trampled by his companions behind him. Not that he wasn't already dead from the arrow in his throat.
The enemy archers are confused by what they see, unable to penetrate your wind. Their eyes widen as they see the spectacle of an entire unit of cavalry on the opposite bank and then their mouths open in shock when the wall of stone rises to form a bridge.
Your knights roar and you charge over the bridge, "FOR THE SON!"
They leap over the cavalry spikes placed on their right flank. They were not as tall or as dense since the enemy never expected to get flanked from this angle.
Within a moment, the entire course of the battle changes. The levies that makes up roughly half of the elfblood infantry line completely shatter and rout. About half of the archers do the same. The other half are ridden down in short order by your charging knights. Elfbloods are skewered on spears with such speed that the shafts snap. Then your men draw their swords and cut them down from horseback.
A steel shafted arrow strikes your horse in the neck and goes right through it, out its backside and sticks into another knight's horse behind you, killing it too. Your horse, of course, dies, forcing you to cast a hasty fly spell lest you be crushed under it in its dying throes.
"Nuño! Surrender and I will show mercy!" you shout while preparing a lightning bolt to shoot at him. He declines your generous offer by taking another shot at you. You feel your ring of protection heat up on your finger and the arrow merely clips your arming doublet worn over your mail. Your lightning bolt is much better aimed. It zips to his quiver of steel arrows like they're a lightning rod. His eyes almost bulge out of his skull as the electricity then flows into him.
He is blasted from his vantage point on the hill and thrown onto his back, his smoking and charred body twitching with residual electricity. You know that isn't enough to kill him and are already prearing another spell. Lo and behold, he stands up with a manic and furious expression. Blood leaks from the cracked and blackened burn wounds on his back, but he is still alive. He grabs one of his arrows and draws his bow, determined to take you out with him.
Sir Joao runs him through with a spear. "FOR THE SON!"
Nuño tries to block the spear with his bow and succeeds for a split second before the spear tip skids along the magical enchanted ashwood and then stabs him straight in the chest. It punctures through his mail and passes clean through his ribcage. He is going to die... but he isn't dead yet. With his last moment, he tries to punch Sir Joao's horse which with his monstrous strength may indeed kill it.
You put an end to him with a lance of burning flame straight into his skull. It is just enough to rattle him and buy the critical time needed for him to bleed out. Nuño, the greatest archer in the central plateau, dies.
With him taken care of, you fly over to Caballo, the court mage of Saraqusta who is engaged with Alfonso is a roughly even exchange of magic. Your friend is being pushed to the edge of his ability to defend. One of the elfblood's fire bolts manages to hit him in the leg, searing through the chainmail and leaving a nasty charred wound that causes him to limp.
"Caballo!" you shout at the elfblood, "Nuño is dead and your archers are fleeing. If you surrender now, I will be merciful and not slaughter your army to the last man."
The elfblood gives a glance around and sees the state of the battle. His face pales. The levies have scattered and the archers are in a full on rout. All that's left is his own heavy infantry and a battle of knights happening two hundred yards away.
He lowers his staff and his shoulders slump. "You would give us quarter?" he asks, his voice weak.
"I would," you reply, "This, I swear."
"Then I surrender," Caballo replies. He is visibly distraught, his cheeks red with tears. The commander of the enemy infantry, Manuel Sanchez, does the same, ordering his flagging infantry to surrender. The cavalry battle then ends as Amir Walid orders his knights to retreat to the Toothpick.