Chapter 58

Laying a Trap

 

Morton shouted in defiance and dashed to intercept the charging horseman. The lance was aimed directly at him, and he parried it with all his might. The mage knight’s amplified strength enabled him to fend off the full force of the lance thrust, but he lost his footing in the process.

His built-up momentum wasn’t enough to stand against the warhorse and its rider. The unbroken lance and the warhorse passed by just inches away, with the knight reacting too late.

Morton had created an opening. He planted his foot on the ground, advanced one step further, and swung his broadsword. His target was the rider, but the warhorse was too tall, so he aimed at the horse’s neck instead.

The horse’s barding protected the beast’s neck, but the impact was more than it could handle. The horse reared, panicking wildly, and luckily veered off instead of trampling Morton. He knew he had won this gamble.

His arms and shoulder felt like they were about to burst, but that was only to be expected. Such an impact would’ve ripped muscle from bone and dislocated joints in a normal human. But he survived with only a nasty cramp.

The second pair of warhorse and rider had found Morton. Morton readied his stance once more as the first rider crashed to the ground.

The incoming rider was without a lance but had brandished his sword. Instead of attacking the rider directly, Morton crouched low at the last moment and dashed forward, swinging his sword at the horse’s front leg.

Seeing Morton move low, the rider instinctively swung his sword at Morton’s head. The blow landed squarely, causing the top of Morton’s helmet to cave in.

Reeling from the impact, Morton lost his balance and narrowly avoided the panicked horse. Dazed, he discarded his helmet and the padding within. Blood started to drip onto his face.

He glanced towards the rider who had struck him, only to find the person had crashed to the ground, his leg trapped beneath his own bloodied horse.

The mage knight took a step back and surveyed his surroundings. With blood streaming down his face, he observed the last of his comrades either falling or retreating. The situation was beyond hopeless. He alone couldn’t hold off ten cavalrymen, let alone several dozen.

The next wave had spotted him. Initially, they approached cautiously, having seen several riders fall without a clear cause, but now they were out for blood.

Morton knew his only way out was to retreat to the forest. As the next riders charged and tried to trample him, Morton jumped, and rolled in the dirt. His hair became disheveled and covered in dirt and leaves.

Clutching his sword tightly, he ran to the forest.

“You’re not going anywhere!” a cold voice came from behind.

Morton glanced back and immediately raised both of his arms to block the stones thrown at him. His gauntlets protected his hands, but dirt got into his eyes. A moment of carelessness had blinded him.

A knight charged at Morton and lashed out with a blindingly fast horizontal slash.

The Mage knight used magic to force his eyes open. He reacted just in time to block the sword aimed at him, but the force was so great that even with his enhanced strength, the blade slammed into his left elbow.

Morton groaned as he was thrown to the side. The knight gave him no time to breathe, relentlessly lashing out with consecutive slashes and thrusts.

The mage knight was hard-pressed; the man fought like a bear and was almost equal in strength. Almost. After parrying the attacks, Morton blasted a concentrated jet of wind into the knight’s helmet. The knight protected his face with his left hand while swinging his broadsword.

“Hrrah!” Morton slammed his opponent’s blade hard, trying to create an opening, but the knight reacted by taking several steps back. Like a whirlwind, the knight charged again with a thrust.

Morton blocked the thrust, but Harold followed up with a left punch that grazed the mage knight’s cheek. Instead of keeping their distance, Morton used his enhanced physique and head-butted the knight’s helmet with his bare forehead.

The knight staggered but only a little before letting out a chuckle. “What a fun fight, against a freak, that is.”

“You’re doing not bad either, for a nameless Midlandian amateur,” he replied viciously.

“It’s Harold, you piece of elven shit!” And just like that, the two ramped up their tempo. They traded blows, grappled, and landed heavy smashes.

Harold landed a solid left-handed hammer fist against Morton’s jaw. But the mage knight smashed his pommel hard on Harold’s hip.

The knight staggered back. There was no penetration through the plate, but his entire left leg was numb.

For the first time, Morton looked at his surroundings, saw more Korelians closing in, and decided to flee.

“Oi, woman, I’m not finished!” Harold taunted.

“You’re too drunk, amateurs should drink in moderation,” Morton quipped as he trekked south. Soon, the dense trees shielded him from sight. He regretted pulling out his head’s padding, as he could have used the linen to bandage the wound on his head.

Watching the mage knight disappear from sight, Harold just dropped to the mossy ground, opened his visor, and took in a big breath of fresh air. He had just fought toe to toe with a mage knight and his entire body was exhausted. However, his heart was full of pride.

To fight against a Mage Knight and survive was such a rare feat, and he just added that to his repertoire.

As for the mage knight. he continued south and started to encounter some of his wounded comrades, including his lieutenant and the squire. Without saying a word, he helped carry the lieutenant, and they retreated deeper into the forest.

⠀

***

⠀

Lansius

The Korelian cavalry came to a halt as the last of the Coalition around the barricade surrendered. Unwilling to allow their enemy time to regroup, Lansius ordered his cavalry to dismount and quickly form a hunting net.

Lansius had started the day with a brilliant charge, but now his meticulously planned ambush was costing him dearly. So many were wounded, so many were lost.

The nature of war is unpredictable.

He lamented, but instead of hardening his heart, Lansius simply turned off his emotions. A mechanism he had subconsciously learned. Yet that didn’t numb the throbbing pain in his left wrist from the fall.

“The men are ready,” reported Sir Harold, kneeling as his Lord was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree. The knight had volunteered to lead the hunt, as no one else in command was in shape.

“Fan out, form a hunting net, but don’t spread too thin. Approach carefully,” Lansius emphasized the last part.

“Understood,” the knight responded, and then in a lower voice, “But what do you wish to do with the Lord of the Three Hills?”

“I’ll accompany you. We’ll play this by ear,” Lansius said as another knight’s squire brought him a piece of cloth for an arm sling.

Harold nodded while watching his Lord attempt to wear the arm sling.

“Do I need to wear this?” asked Lansius.

“You’ll have to, My Lord. The gauntlet will hold the bones, but it’ll get painful once you start moving around and riding.” Harold couldn’t suppress a smile.

His smile piqued Lansius’ interest, and he asked bluntly, “Have I done well as a leader?”

“You’ve fought bravely, My Lord. For someone with little experience, you’ve made us proud. Just a little unfortunate to stumble into a mage knight.”

Lansius nodded, trying to decipher if the praise was genuine or simply flattery.

“You asked for me, My Lord?” The standard bearer arrived.

“Indeed, I need a herald to convince Lord Jorge,” said Lansius.

“Of course. What will be your message?” the standard bearer asked.

 

***

 

The Coalition

Quietly, the remaining Coalition knights and squires watched and waited from afar as the Korelians fanned out and moved inside the forest.

Fate seemed to conspire against the Coalition, as their scouts couldn’t find any alternative route out. After all, it had been many years since Lord Jorge last hunted in this forest. His loyal retinue from that era had all perished in the ensuing power struggle.

At this moment, Lord Jorge was taking shelter deep within the forest, with Morton at his side, attempting to organize a final stand. Their numbers had dwindled to less than thirty as the rest of their forces had scattered. Meanwhile, the Korelians probably had a hundred.

They could see Lansius’ men drawing near, but oddly, there was no longer any hesitation. The Coalition patiently awaited the finale.

The upcoming fight was destined to be brutal, and everyone was determined to give their best. For many, their determination stemmed from a lack of trust in the new Lord of Korelia, an unknown foreigner. No knight would gamble on this man’s benevolence or mercy.

For others, it was a matter of logic. The Coalition still had six thousand men just outside the forest. If they survived this forest ambush, then the war was still within their grasp. Even without the cavalry, the Coalition only needed to wait for the catapults to be completed. This thought kept them spirited.

Time passed, and the rustling noise grew closer. Everyone hunkered down on the ground to reduce their silhouette. The stench of decomposing leaves filled their nostrils. Humidity and heat were everywhere.

By now, many knights clung to their daggers, having lost their primary and secondary weapons. Yet, fear was absent from their faces. As the old saying goes: a cornered beast is the most dangerous.

This time, the Coalition was prepared. Many even covered their noses and mouths with cloth against possible green fog attacks. However, just as they steeled their resolve, a shout came from the Korelians’ side.

“We’ve come to parley.” The Korelian herald repeated twice as their advance halted.

Immediately, the faces of the Coalition men softened. Even full of suspicion, the word ‘parley’ had its intended effect.

Morton looked at his Lord, whose brown eyes were lost in thought. Catching Morton’s glance, Jorge nodded approvingly.

The Black Knight captain donned a helmet his squire had found for him. It wasn’t a fit, but it would cover his bandaged head. He then stood up and shouted, “We will neither yield nor be taken hostage!”

Morton’s voice was clear and powerful, surprising both friends and foes.

“We do not intend to, Sir, unless forced,” came the reply.

“What’s your offer?” Morton asked.

“Cease fighting. My Lord declares that he has no quarrel with the Lord of Three Hills. He believes that Lord Jorge was provoked to attack Korelia... The two Houses can still make amends.”

“... There will be amends if you let us return to our camp unharmed,” Morton responded without consulting anyone. Politics be damned, he thought. This was a good opportunity to save his Lord’s skin.

“Swear an oath,” the herald retorted after a brief hesitation.

Morton glanced at his Lord, who took a deep breath. Without needing a signal, Morton chanted his verses and a barrier of air and water vapor took shape. It was transparent, akin to looking through solid glass.

Lord Jorge finally stepped forward, his squire ready with a shield in front, Morton by his side.

“I, Viscount Jorge of Three Hills, Protector of Korimor and South Hills, hereby pledge my neutrality in this conflict,” he announced formally with a voice amplified by magic. “Let there be amends between our Houses.”

Jorge had wanted to say more, but his staff was whispering to him that fewer promises were better to minimize political fallout.

A pause followed before the Korelians blew their horns. Then the Korelians slowly withdrew from the surrounding area.

Witnessing this, the remaining Coalition could finally exhale. They knew they almost had it. Although they didn’t like it, they knew they owed their skin to the opponent’s mercy, or stupidity. For some reason, the Lord of Korelia had given them a free pass.

Despite the oath, Lord Jorge’s words could easily be disowned. Even if the Lord himself would honor it, he could simply sit in his tent and let Lord Omin win the siege for him. While the recapitulation would be messy, that was preferable to losing the campaign.

With that on their mind, the surviving knights regrouped and began their trek through the forest. They dared not use the main path, deeming the Lord of Korelia untrustworthy. After a thorough search, someone stumbled upon an old dried-up stream.

The rocky path was treacherous, but it was open, with fewer trees in the way. The Three Hills Knights and their remaining allies moved slowly in their heavy armor. Those who still had horses guided their mounts carefully.

Moss quickly became a problem. Unperturbed possibly for decades, if not centuries, the thick layers of green carpets were tricky to traverse.

Tired men were bound to slip, and many fell unceremoniously. Thankfully, their thick padding under the armor provided a good cushion against impact.

As they navigated the terrain, the forest thinned out. Then, for the first time, they could see the plains. Renewed in spirit, they traversed the final leg of their escape. However, as the first group exited the forest, their hope quickly vanished.

Gasps rang out as they saw what happened outside the forest.

“This, this cannot be!” one of the knights exclaimed.

Nobody had an answer. They only exchanged looks of disbelief.

 

***