Anir pushed his thousand cavalry north like a spear, abandoning heavy supply wagons and carrying only essential rations and enough water for the horses to last one more day. The pace was punishing. After forty-eight hours of near-constant, breakneck movement, men began to sway in their saddles, and the dust they kicked up was so fine it choked them, mingling with the sweat and salt in their eyes.
Kael, his face grimed and drawn, pulled up beside him. "Commander, the horses are spent! If we meet resistance now, we won't have the strength for a proper charge. We need two hours, just two hours, to breathe."
"Two hours is exactly the time Hanno needs to crack Thugga's gates," Anir replied, his voice hoarse but steady. "We are the delay, Kael, not the fighting force. We are buying time. We protect the weak point so the strong point—Cirta—can mobilize."
They encountered the first trap near a shallow river crossing—a seemingly abandoned baggage train, guarded by what looked like a small, disorganized patrol. Anir knew General Hanno was smarter than that. He sent a small, fast troop of forty riders in a feigned attack, drawing out the hidden Carthaginian archers and a detachment of heavy infantry meant to slow any relief force. The skirmish was brutal but swift; Anir's main force bypassed the engagement entirely, only pausing to collect the captured Carthaginian water skins. Every drop was precious.
They arrived at the high, rolling hills overlooking Thugga just as the pre-dawn light was staining the sky purple and orange. Below them, the spectacle was terrifying: not just a patrol, but the full might of Hanno's army—nearly twenty thousand men—surrounding the city. Siege engines were being assembled, and massive trenches were already scarring the earth. Thugga was isolated, its walls meager, and its defenders few.
Anir felt the cold dread twist in his gut, but he straightened his spine. This was the place where Ghilas's dream of a kingdom of merchants and engineers would die, or where Anir's sacrifice would save it.
He ordered a swift descent, his cavalry forming a tight wedge, charging straight toward the weakest point of the Carthaginian deployment—a freshly established command post on the eastern flank. The attack was less about killing and more about shock.
The chaos forced General Hanno, a man renowned for his tactical patience, to ride out. Hanno was a massive man, old and scarred, mounted on a war elephant. He stopped fifty yards from Anir's dust-choked line.
"Young General," Hanno boomed, his voice carrying like thunder. "This is not a glorious battle, it is an execution. Your father, King Massin, was an honorable fool who always met me on an open field. His son, Ghilas, is not even here. He is busy marrying a desert princess for her gold. Why do you throw your good life away for such weakness?"
Anir dismounted, dropping his reins. The contrast between the towering Carthaginian General and the young, slender Numidian General was stark.
"You are mistaken, General Hanno," Anir shouted back, his voice surprisingly firm. "You face the vanguard of Numidia. Prince Ghilas is preparing the true answer to your invasion in Cirta. I am here to ensure you pay dearly for every hour you waste on these walls."
Hanno let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed across the field. "Time? Time is the one thing your starved kingdom does not have, boy. I will take this city before sunset. You may have the honor of being the first of your King's sacrifices."
"Then you will find, General," Anir spat, drawing his sword, "that King Ghilas's sacrifices are sharper than his political compromises. Today, you lose a day. Tomorrow, you lose your army. Now, clear your lines. We are taking the walls."
The exchange, short as it was, achieved its purpose: Hanno shifted his focus, diverting his main assault force to eliminate the "vanguard" and secure the eastern flank, buying Anir the critical time he needed to reinforce the desperate garrison inside.