5,125 Words
The battle winds down quickly. All in all, it consisted of maybe an hour of fighting. Twelve hundred men have surrendered to your custody and you haven't bothered giving an order to hunt down the routed levies. Slaughtering human peasants is pointless bloodletting. As for the Amir's four hundred knights, they've fled to the Toothpick and will hole up in there. You're now stuck with a choice. Do you lay siege to the Toothpick before advancing on Saraqusta? Do you split your army and lay siege to both? Ignore the Toothpick and dedicate all your forces to Saraqusta?
It is a tricky situation...
One of your household knights breaks from the cavalry and rides over to you. You're busy taking stock of the situation and don't even notice him until he's ridden up to you. "My liege. Don Luis and Prince Ramon were wounded in the fighting."
"WHAT?!" you break composure for the first time today. Your brother is wounded?!
"Sir Luis received an lance along his hip, my liege. He will live and be fine in a few weeks time, but the prince has taken a serious leg wound," the knights continues to explain. You don't even wait for him to finish before you fly away at your top speed toward your company of cavalry about two hundred yards away.
When you spot Ramon, you can tell immediately that he's in pain. The color has drained from his face and his teeth are clenched in a grimace. His horse has an arrow stuck in the front left shoulder and a spear stuck in the right hind. It's a wonder the beast is still standing. You land before him and see his leg has been cut deeply. The white specs of fat cells are visible through the gash in his flesh. A makeshift leather tourniquet is tied tightly above it. He will need stitches and soon.
"Brother," Ramon greets you through gritted teeth, "I think I would prefer not to be bait once more."
"No, you would not," you shake your head and place a hand on his knee, "Let us go back to camp. We must get your wounds looked after."
"The enemy camp... loot..." he grunts. You gawk is disbelief at where his priorities lie.
"Do not be a fool, Ramon," you shake your head. "You cannot risk a leg wound becoming infected. I will make sure you receive a share."
With that, you cast the fly spell and take him by the hands, dragging him as you fly him back to camp. Once there, the medics are quick to rush out and begin treating him. Each one is a trained Brother or Sister of Life with extensive training in the medical arts.
Ramon groans as they start carting him off. He grabs your wrist before they can take him, "Alonso. Be sure our bastard brother receives help too. The man held off Kulayb for the whole battle."
Luis held off Kulayb? Very few men could boast of such an achievement. Kulayb is a Blademaster and that it not a title the elfbloods hand out lightly. He is fortunate to have survived the encounter.
"I will see to it," Yyou nod and rush off to do as he asks, flying right back to your cavalry.
You land before the company and approach your bastard brother. The man has a lacerated hip and is covered in blood, but little of it seems to be his own. He is still standing on his own two feet and looks alert, which is a good sign.
"How do you feel, Luis?" you ask, keeping your tone friendly and casual.
"Sore. My sword arm may be dislocated. But otherwise, I'm doing just fine, my king," Luis replies with a grin.
"You look like you need some stitches too," you point out as you motion toward his bleeding hip.
"Aye, my liege, that would be most welcome," Luis chuckles. "And Prince Ramon? How does he fare?"
"He will be well, thank the Gods. I shall see to it that you are both given a share of the plunder we seize from the enemy. Do not risk your life to share in the looting," you declare.
"That is... generous, my king. Thank you," Luis nods his head respectfully and offers you a polite salute.
"It is only what is right. Come now," you cast a fly spell on him and his face turns a sickly shade of green. He did not enjoy the last time you made him take flight.
...
With the battle finished and the enemy defeated, you have your men loot the bodies and gather any surviving horses, and then you make the trek to their camp. Your men have already secured the perimeter and made sure that the token force left to guard their camp hasn't absconded with the loot.
And by the Gods is there plenty to steal. Hundreds of rich elfbloods brought much with them on campaign, and the command tent of the Amir contains a sizably fraction of Saraqusta's royal treasury— ten thousand silver in all. That will be going into your treasury. The rest such as the horses, the gold and jewelry, weapons, and other loose money or artifacts is pool together and then divided fairly.
Alfonso elects to take for his share the things looted from the mage Caballo's tent. For your brother, you acquire a hauberk made of feathersteel. For Luis, a battleax made from dwarfsteel. Sir Juan ends up acquiring enough that, along with his savings and some other valuables he brought, he is able to trade for his shield back from Sir Roberto. You hope the two men can put the incident past them and become friends. Sir Joao and the knights of Asturias get a nice cut and you even award him with a splendid bejeweled ceremonial short sword taken from the Amir's tent in recognition of his contribution to slaying the archer.
Grum and his boys didn't want any pretty or fancy stuff. They wanted money and horses and you gave them both. The rest of your army is equally rewarded with the spoils.
The Amir's personal banner and colors are captured. You've taken the lion symbol from the war tent. It will make a good trophy.
"Uncle Ansur," you call out to your uncle who is standing with you in the Amir's command tent with all your other officers.
"Hm?" he grunts. He is unhappy with you because you haven't given anything special from the loot. He got his share, but his contributions as a commander demand something unique and valuable.
"Your plan worked splendidly. Hiding the cavalry was brilliant decision that resulted in a complete rout for the enemy," you compliment, importantly you do so in front of the most important people in your army. It is not enough to reward someone. Public rewards serve to show royal favor.
Uncle Ansur's demeanor lightens and his sour expression is replaced with his lips flattening. The man so very rarely smiles. "It is a known tactic first deployed by Count Charles of Vordiria at the Battle of Delebourg. This is why it is important to read the classics, nephew," he says and gives your shoulder a firm clap.
"Ah, so you have. Regardless, your contribution won us the day. For this, I present you this," you unsheathe a brilliant reddened steel blade from an ornate scabbard carved from the ivory of a massive demonic beast. The sword bears the mark of the First Man laying bare its status as a divine artifact. This is a very valuable sword. "This sword."
"What is this?" Uncle Ansur's eyes widen in surprise. "They left this in their camp?"
"Nay. It was taken from one of the prisoners. Behold, the finest of our bounty today for you Prince Ansur de Alfida. I am proud to call you my uncle," you raise the sword in your hands and offer it to him.
Uncle Ansur takes it from you and runs his fingers along the flat of the blade. The red steel reflects the candlelight in a manner reminiscent of a burning fire. "This... is a divine sword."
"It is. It belongs to a man named Zawan, a Blademaster. It was bequeathed to him by his father who received it from his father, the elf Blademaster Chikat who received it from the Gods themselves five hundred years ago," you explain. "I believe it is only right that you bear such a fine weapon."
Uncle Ansur's mouth twists into a grin, his teeth bared in an almost feral display of triumph. He lifts the blade up high and examines it with a discerning eye. "I thank you, nephew. This is a worthy gift. I shall make good use of it."
"Good," you smile and pat him on the shoulder, "Come, we must discuss what is next for the campaign. I need your wise council."
You oversee the transport of all the goods from the Saraqustan camp back to your camp and then gather together your best knights and commanders into your tent to discuss your next move.
"Excellent work today, my friends. We've shattered the elfblood's army. All that is left is the grueling task of sieging the city. If it falls, all the outlying towns will surrender to our governance," you announce to the room.
"Well said, but what shall be done about the Toothpick?" Lord Jaime Padron asks. He's one of your wealthier large landowners but he does not enjoy a seat on the council.
"We should ignore it. We need all the men we can spare to lay siege to Saraqusta. Especially with twelve hundred captives in our midst. The matter may be simpler were we to dispose of them," another Lord, Lord Pero complains. Not all are happy about your decision to give quarter to so many enemies.
"Four hundred knights will be a dagger to our throat throughout the siege. We must siege the Toothpick first," Lord Esteban declares. The man is a veteran soldier, having served your father for many years.
You put your foot down to prevent this argument from spiraling any further. "We will be splitting our forces. Three hundred knights, including Sir Joao's plus two hundred infantry and three hundred levies. The wounded will remain here as well. That should suffice."
The lords and knights within the tent begin murmuring between one another. Uncle Ansur speaks up, his voice commanding. "The siege will be long and bitter. Saraqusta is an ancient fortress and the city walls are well fortified. The city was founded by the Son himself."
Ancient does not mean good. Magic has come a long way in a thousand years. You're confident your siege magic rituals will be up to the task so long as you have Alfonso and a few magelings helping you. Cities are also hungry beasts. Deny them the autumn harvest and the city will starve.
"I am confident I can overcome it or break the morale of their defenders," you declare.
"And how, pray tell my king, do you intend to do that?" Lord Esteban asks.
You lick your chapped lips and clear your throat. You can't wait for this meeting to be over so you can relax. The battle frayed your nerves to such an extent you've never experienced before. The whole ordeal was exhausting. Now you must justify the obvious to your subjects. Tiresome.
"I will attack the palace directly," you state plainly.
"What?!" Uncle Ansur gasps. His face pales. He is aghast. "Are you mad, boy?"
"Hardly. Their finest heroes were slain or captured here in the battle. No one remaining should be able to stop me. If the Queen is wise, she will hide deep within her dungeons, but if she is not... then I know where she sleeps," you reply.
"A foolish gambit, my king. Apologies for my directness," Lord Jaime says. He's not wrong. You're gambling on being able to capture the queen. You have get in through a deluge of enemy resistance, subdue the queen, and get out.
"No, the king is wise," Uncle Ansur's voice booms throughout the tent, "If the elfblood bitch is slain, her subjects will not have the will to continue their resistance."
"Slain?" you almost scoff. What a notion. You're not a wanton murderer. Especially when it concerns such a... fetching young lady. Damn it, several nights at the Life temple has not cleared your mind of the image of Aiza's hips in that bath. "In any case, my mind is made up. The men will have tonight to celebrate and then on the morrow we march to Saraqusta."
"What of the captives?" Uncle Ansur asks.
"They will be escorted with us to the siege. I think the sight of twelve hundred of her countrymen at my mercy will be... motivating for the queen," you reply.
...
The journey to Saraqusta is... interesting. It is a five day march from the toothpick to the city, Along the way, you pass through half a dozen villages and small towns. Each and every one of them is filled with the sons and daughters of Tartessia. Human men and women who keep to the faith of their forefathers. Even the most humble settlement has at least a chapel to all three Gods. All of them proudly display their belief in their prophet, the Son.
They are wary, of course. An invading army often means a ruinous looting of their granaries to feed their hungry army. You, however, brought enough to last for the journey to the city in your baggage train. It's made easier by the river barges on the Estrella being carefully pulled by pack horses at a much more efficient rate than carts.
The Saraqustans watch as you pass through their lands, and yet... you see their spirits are buoyed. The elfbloods were not particular harsh landlords, but they were, in the end, foreigners. And seeing an army led by a human king of the true faith proclaiming their liberation without pilfering from them has given many of them hope that their lives may be better once the war is over.
They cheer you when you ride by. Some throw flowers.
When you reach the city, however, the mood changes. The gates are sealed shut. Archers man the wall having long anticipated your arrival. The sound of trumpets is heard blaring from atop the battlements.
Saraqusta is indeed an ancient and venerable fortress. A deep moat surrounds the entire city and the bridges have been drawn up. The walls are thirty feet tall and perhaps half as much thick with rounded curtain wall towers every fifty feet atop which archers are perched ready to rain death upon those who dare approach. Catapults occupy the center of the towers to return fire on siege engines. Ancient magical enchantments are woven into the masonry of the wall offering magical protection against all forms of manipulation and even funneling teleportations to a receiving matrix. They also protect against sapping efforts from below by fortifying the dirt and rock.
It is formidable. Not impregnable, but formidable.
"I am not sure we should have left so many men behind, my king," Lord Jaime repeats his complaint for the hundredth time since you left the toothpick. You have half a mind to have him whipped.
"We did what we must," you declare. "Uncle, Alfonso, Santiago... Grum. Join me as I offer terms to the enemy."
"Are terms even necessary? She isn't going to give up her throne," Alfonso states flatly.
"Perhaps, but they ought to have an opportunity to surrender first. Especially since it is my strongest desire to avoid a sack of the city. I intend to rule Saraqusta, not a looted wreck," you reply.
"I come talk to queen? Grum?" Grum asks. What can you say? Orcs have a fearsome and rapacious reputation. You are calculating that his presence will remind the queen that the fate of her people is entirely within your hands and it could be get very ugly indeed.
"Yes, Grum. Your presence is important. Come now. Let us speak with the enemy and find out if they are ready to surrender," you motion forward. Uncle Ansur joins you without complaint. He considers it only right as a Prince of Alfida that he be part of these negotiations. Alfonso is the second best (by quite a margin) mage in your kingdom and thus an asset should they start loosing arrows at you or some other such nonsense. And Santiago is a trusted knight who will sell his life for yours if need be.
First, you have all twelve hundred prisoners lined up nice and orderly so they can be easily seen from the battlements. Their presence will hopefully make the queen reconsider her stance. The fact that not a single prisoner has been killed is a testament to your mercy. And that could quickly change if you are displeased by your talks.
"Excellent. Now follow me. Santiago, wave the flag of parley," you order.
Your company crosses the open field, keeping a safe distance of about one hundred and fifty yards away from the walls. At this distance, you can casually block arrows from any mundane bow and the weaker heroic ones. You can see the elves atop the battlements staring down at you with disdain. Some look anxious at the sight of Grum and his band of orcs, but a majority simply look angry. You have paraded their comrades in chains.
"I wish to speak with your queen!" you shout as loud as you can to be heard from atop the walls.
A herald appears on the battlements and shouts back. "Her Majesty refuses to parley with you. Take your men and flee. You cannot besiege the city. Even now, she mobilizes her sisters and brothers in across the peninsula to throw you back from whence you came!"
You're not going to allow them to bait you into anger. You're too smart for that. "That is fine. I did not come to parley, I came to issue my ultimatum. It concerns the fate of those dozen hundred brave men lined up before you. I will only issue it to your queen and I believe she would prefer to hear it rather than behold the consequences of not doing so."
You issue a vague threat. They must be thinking you intend to kill your captives if they refuse. If push came to shove... you may have to. Idle threats present a systemic hazard that the next fortification that you threaten won't believe you.
The herald vanishes and then reappears after a few moments. "Her Majesty will parley. A gate will be opened and a boat will take her across the moat. Send two of your party and the others must wait."
"Santiago, with me. The rest of you... look imposing for me, please," you command them and then head toward the gates. They swing open with a loud and terrible groaning noise, like metal scraping against stone. Inside the gatehouse, the mechanism is visible as an elaborate and complicated mess of cogs, chains, and pulleys. Santiago dutifully sticks to your side with his shield strapped to his arm and his body poised and ready to leap in front of you at a moment's notice.
A familiar head pops out from the battlement and peers down at you. It is Aiza, the elfblooded beauty who has so haunted your dreams for the past several weeks. Her eyes are red and she appears as if she has been crying. She scowls when she sees you and begins chanting a spell to gently levitate herself down to the boat being prepared on the moat.
When she lands on the wooden platform, a rower in chainmail armor with a conical helmet takes hold of the oars and begins to row the boat across the water. She is dressed in an ornate blue dress much like you saw her in before except this one does not bare her shoulders. Her face is covered by the same ultramarine silk veil you saw in your scrying window. It is a very conservative outfit for an elfblood. All you can really see is her long platinum blonde locks and her puffy purple eyes staring out from above her veil and the anger smoldering behind them.
A dozen archers draw their bows and train them on you as their queen approaches the other edge of the moat.
The boat runs up against the ground and she lurches forward without falling. Beyond that, she does not make any further moves to approach. It appears she is content staying on the boat about a dozen feet away from you.
"Invader," her voice is firm, strong, and proud. Her eyes glare at you, "You dare approach Saraqusta with an army. You defile our land with your presence."
"Queen Aiza, a pleasure to meet you. My name is King Alonso of Alfida and I have come to take the city and annex it as part of my realm," you declare and bow politely.
"Never," the queen snarls.
"Ah, ah. I encourage you not to be rash. I have terms you may find agreeable."
"I very much doubt that, human," she hisses.
"My terms are simple. When I return to my men, I will begin executing prisoners. One every hour. It will be not be quick and you and your men will be forced to watch and hear their screams. In addition, your uncle is in my clutches and poised to be captured soon. When he is, I will bring him hear and he will be executed before your walls."
"You wouldn't dare," the queen seethes. Her lips quiver and her jaw is set, "You are a barbarian. An animal. You know nothing of honor."
"Of course, this is all bloody and gruesome work that I would rather not do. These men surrendered to me and I would prefer to send them home to their families. Your uncle fought honorably and admirably and lost yet I bear him no ill will. Your city, I have no desire to see sacked. You, I have no desire to harm. Everything can be settled bloodlessly if you only surrender. My sole enmity is reserved for the perpetrators of my father's murder."
"... my uncle is truly alive?" Aiza's ire calms and she shows a hint of vulnerability. Her purple eyes glisten with reluctant hope as her expression softens.
"He is," you answer simply, not willing to give more information away. Information is vital in a negotiation. Let her worry you have him in chains right now being dragged to the city.
Queen Aiza glances up toward the battlements at her archers. The bowmen remain steadfast in their posture, arrows trained on you. They are thin bloods. One eighth at most. Just about every man of any importance within the queendom is either captured or missing. If you executed them, even if a relief army came, she would be ruined. Her nobiles would be devastated for a generation or more during which time, the vultures would pick her territory clean.
She takes a deep breath and steels herself. Her next words come out calm and focused, "I did not kill your father."
"I believe you," you reply bluntly with such assuredness that even Aiza is taken aback. Her expression shifts in surprise, her brows rising and her mouth parting slightly, the motion barely visible through the sheer veil. "If you did, I would not be guaranteeing your safety if you surrender. I will conduct an investigation and the parties responsible will be executed. Of course, if you surrender and cooperate with this investigation, I will surely find the culprits quickly and see justice meted out. I may even be grateful."
She takes a moment to ponder your words and then shakes her head. "I... have terms."
"This is an ultimatum, Queen Aiza," you reply sternly.
"You will not hear them?" she asks, surprised.
"You may lay out your demands and I will judge their worthiness," you reply.
The queen stares at you, her purple eyes locked on yours and her expression unreadable. "Very well... I ask that, if the city surrenders, you release my men from custody and allow myself, my uncle and his men, and my men inside the city to gather up our belongings and safely leave the queendom."
"So you can raise an army against me in the future? Unacceptable. You will remain in my custody," you shoot down her terms immediately.
"And the others?" she asks, her voice desperate.
"To be clear, you are willing to enter my custody for the lives of your countrymen and women?"
"Yes, yes, I am," the queen's shoulders slump, and she nods.
How... interesting. And unexpected. "Why?"
"I... what do you mean why?" Aiza frowns and stares at you.
"Why are you so committed to their lives and not your own?" you ask. You want a full explanation behind her motivations. Selfishness can be disguised as selflessness so easily.
Aiza's lips quiver and her gaze falls to the floor. "They are my people. I am their queen. I was entrusted with their lives by my mother who worked her entire life to build this kingdom and its people up. To see it crumble to dust, my people raped or killed, and my city destroyed... if the price is only myself, then it is what I will pay."
How... unexpectedly noble.
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Known information about Aiza of House Nasrid
Personality: Stubborn, Arbitrary, Shy
Genetic Traits: Pretty, Delicate
Mage Level 4
Stats: 7 DIP, 8 MAR, 9 STE, 6 INTR, 18 LEA
Age: 32
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And her terms are very agreeable. What a splendid end to this campaign. A quick battle with few casualties and a swift surrender of their government. You feel strange. Almost... happy. By the Gods, you aren't going to be trapped besieging this city for months on end fearing for your life that a relief army is coming!
You keep up the stern and serious demeanor despite the bubbly feeling in your chest. You square your shoulders and keep your head held high. "I accept your terms, but your uncle will also remain in my custody. Rest assured, no harm shall come to him either. I swear it on my life. In return, you men shall be allowed to return to their homes. Be warned, however, that none will be permitted to flee the kingdom until my investigation has concluded. It wouldn't do for the perpetrators to slip away, would it?"
The queen squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath to steady her nerves. The terms she's agreeing to are fair but bitter to swallow. Her queendom will come to an end. She will be in a foreign ruler's custody with nothing keep her safe beyond a barbarian's word (from her perspective). The temptation to throw caution to the wind and bet everything on just one more gambit must be strong.
You are unsure how you would react if placed in her situation. Would you be elated to be freed from the burden of rule? Free to pursue your magical arts, you may even find yourself happier. Would you curse the Gods for their capricious cruelty?
You think... you would miss it. You haven't been king for long, but Alfida is yours. It leaves a wound in one's soul to have something precious taken from them. Aiza must be dealing with that very dilemma. To draw a knife and cut through one's own spirit for the greater good of the thing she cares for, that she has been entrusted with.
Aiza wipes a tear from her eye and nods her head, her expression still hidden behind the veil, but her tone is firm and resolute, "It is a deal, King Alonso. I agree to your terms."
"Good," you grin as you feel a massive weight lift from your shoulders. "Good... A relief, even. I made the threat so I would've been forced to follow through with it, but executing those men after I'd given them quarter... it would have left a black mark on my soul I fear could never be erased."
"So..." the queen pauses, "What happens next?"
"You will go back into your city, order your men to stand down and then lower the bridge and open the gates so that my army may enter the city. You will then wait for me in your royal palace with your treasury and I will assume ownership of both. I will have my trusted men garrison your palace and then my army will be stationed outside the city so they do not cause any problems. I meant what I said. I seek no harm to come to this city. I do wish to rule it, after all," you explain.
"I see," the queen's head falls, and she lowers her arms, the energy drained from her. She looks very small and frail at the moment, and very human. The way her hair falls over her shoulders and obscures her face. How the silk veil billows in the gentle breeze. She's a few years older than you, and yet, her posture makes her appear to be younger. Like a lost girl. Half-elves do age slower than humans so that could be a factor.
"Aiza," you clear your throat and she turns her attention back to you, "You have made a noble decision. I know that will not mean much coming from its beneficiary, but I do respect it."
"Thank you," the queen replies curtly before turning around, "I must be going now to execute this... business."
She orders her guards to row her back to the other side of the moat and the meeting is concluded. You are left with Santiago and your mind filled with all manner of thoughts.
You're glad this ended so well.
"My king... what came of the negotiations?" Sir Santiago asks after Queen Aiza has departed.
"Hm? You didn't hear them? You were right there," you respond with a puzzled expression. Santiago was literally standing directly next to you. How could he not hear the negotiations?
Sir Santiago politely clears his throat, "Ahem. You were speaking the elfblood tongue, my king. I do not understand it."
You were? Huh. You had not realized. Aiza began the conversation in Mezweshi and you followed suited unthinkingly. You've held so many conversations in the language with peers at the Grand University, it's almost second nature.
Although this means...
DAMN IT. You committed a diplomatic faux pas! The language that negotiations are conducted in shows strength! By having it in her language, you put your language and people in the inferior position!
Politics is so complicated.