Chapter 59

Waning Blood

 

Korelia Plains

The skirmish between Sir Arius’ column and Korelia had ended. The fight only lasted less than an hour, but it was hard fought. However, it ended inconclusively after the Korelia side resorted to fire tactics to disengage.

Against the dried summer grass, fire grenades worked wonders to create a fire barrier between them. With fire roaring, both columns withdrew to lick their wounds.

The inconclusive result didn’t prevent the Coalition from claiming it as their victory. Sir Arius was paraded by his knights in celebration as they returned to their main formation.

Sir Arius’ victory stabilized the South Hills column in the north, which had endured casualties from Lansius’ surprise cavalry attack. Now they stood in formation with renewed spirit.

They had beaten back the Korelian column and survived the surprise attack. There was nothing else their opponent could do.

Things had very much turned in the Coalition’s favor once again. Even the fire that the Korelian had started didn’t last. The blaze smoldered once the strong southern wind blew them into the foot of the hill.

With the fire settled, if they wanted, the Coalition could launch another assault, but that was probably what the enemy had wanted. So, Arius calmed his staff and simply waited for the enemy to make a wrong move.

The young leader knew he had won enough to boost their morale, and it was risky to ask for more.

Out here in the field, the result of Korelia’s ambush in the forest remained unknown. While it was decisive, the Korelian side had committed almost all their forces. What remained at their disposal was only Audrey’s twenty light cavalry and the questionable nomadic cavalry.

Meanwhile, the strength of the Coalition was still at 5,800 men. The Korelian charge had only dented their numbers.

On paper, with such a big disparity in numbers, Korelia’s light cavalry wouldn’t stand a chance. Especially against Korimor’s troops, which were still fresh, ready, and willing.

The birds of prey had arrived in droves, smelling meat on the battlefield. No longer circling in the sky, they had busied themselves engorging the abundance of carrion.

Propelled by this sorry sight, men from both sides had volunteered to retrieve the dead, but with both sides armed with crossbows, it was a painstaking and dangerous process.

Midday was yet to come, but hundreds had already paid the ultimate price. Once again, the southern wind blew fiercely toward the Korelia plains.

 

***

 

Lansius

Several men, including Sir Harold, helped Lansius mount his horse. The destrier was lucky to only be bruised and not injured. Her mood seemed to improve once Lansius was back in the saddle. “Easy girl, easy...”

She had thrown Lansius in panic, but hardly to be blamed. Who would’ve thought that a mage-knight would be blocking their way?

Some bad luck...

Stinging pain still lingered from Lansius’ nose and lips. Despite the thick padding on his helmet, both were bloodied from the fall. But they were considered cosmetic damage. The real pain was coming from his left wrist. Even in a sling, it was throbbing.

Using his hips, Lansius gently spurred the destrier forward, and his cavalry, watching their Lord, also moved out, planning to return to the open fields.

There was no hurry in their movement. Lansius was using the sun to his advantage, keeping the enemy waiting under the direct summer sun in full armor, a tactic that was beneficial to his side. Thus, he purposely kept his pace slow.

This slow pace also allowed information to reach them; his scouts had reached out and reported the conditions outside the forest.

“How’s the battle between Sir Justin and the Coalition?” asked Lansius.

“The battle is over, My Lord. We saw fire, and both sides retreated,” replied the scouts as they walked.

Lansius nodded. “Any changes in the Coalition’s formation in the field?”

“Nothing changed, My Lord.”

“They’re quite stubborn,” commented Sir Harold, Lansius’ temporary cavalry commander.

Lansius gathered his thoughts for a moment before saying to the scout, “Get some rest, but tell your men to keep watch around Calub’s position and the hostages. I want no surprises.”

“Understood, My Lord.” The scout then ran toward the forest to inform his men.

The cavalry continued their march. After the mage knight debacle, Harold had put more men to protect their Lord.

“My Lord, not to be nosy, but may I ask you a question?” said Sir Harold as they had time to kill.

Lansius nodded, so the knight continued, “Why don’t you just capture Lord Jorge?”

Lansius drew a deep breath. Since Harold wasn’t a member of the council, he hadn't been briefed on the full plan. “There are several reasons, but mainly, if we captured Lord Jorge, then the rest of the Coalition would fall under Lord Omin. And I don’t want them to be united,” he explained.

“Could such things happen? Won’t the Three Hills and South Hill simply back down?”

“Normally, that should happen,” said Lansius. “However, Lord Jorge’s reputation is so bad that their own nobles might use this opportunity to replace him. And I don't want to give them the pretext to do it.”

Sir Harold nodded; he had never thought about it.

“There’s also another reason.” Lansius continued, “Whether we capture Lord Jorge or not, it won’t affect our victory. It’s just a secondary long-term goal.”

Harold’s sharp eyes squinted while his lips grinned, hearing such an absurd claim. “The Lord of Three Hills is a secondary goal?”

Lansius nodded without hesitation. “For Korelia, the perfect victory is not about just defeating the enemy, but also forging a new alliance. For that to happen, I need Lord Jorge’s trust. That’s why I let him go, for now.”

“For now?”

Lansius looked at Harold and said, “Before this day is over, I reckon we’ll meet with Lord Jorge again.”

“That’s a bold statement, My Lord.”

Lansius nodded but didn't give a comment.

The sunlight on the far end signaled that they were getting closer to the open plains. With a wave of his hand, Harold signaled two knights to move ahead as the vanguard.

 

***

 

Calub

The alchemist winced as he tended to his wounded right arm. Despite the protection of his ringmail sleeves, the axe attack had left a painful laceration. He loathed to admit it, but his insistence on joining the fight almost got him killed.

His days working as a treasurer had dulled his skills. No longer did he possess the sharp reactions and instincts of his past. Worse, his sword and spear play had rusted.

However, in retrospect, nobody was in the wrong. As planned, they had subjected the Coalition to a barrage of continuous crossbow attacks from the glade and into the barricade.

Thus, everybody expected the opponent to be weary and disorganized. Instead, the Black Knights fought like possessed monsters.

Calub let out a sigh.

Just like in the dwarven catacombs, things in battles are nigh unpredictable.

Despite serious setbacks, the fact that they could still complete the ambush proved just how solid Lansius’ plan truly was. For that, Calub was grateful.

Right now, he was leading a small detachment to act as rear guard. Meanwhile, the rest of his men, all with wounds of varying degrees, were preparing to return to their yurts.

With their original mission completed, the men were tasked with picking up the wounded and carrying them to their camp. There were also hostages to be attended to.

Earlier, Calub had met with Lord Lansius, who, despite his injuries, insisted on riding with the cavalry. During their exchange, Calub had kept his wound hidden. He didn’t want to add to Lansius’ worries - the Lord was already burdened with concerns, and the battle was far from over.

“Erggh...” Calub grimaced as he tightened the cloth he used as a makeshift bandage.

Nearby, his men were preparing makeshift stretchers for Sterling, whose leg had been crushed when his horse fell on him. Sterling fell unconscious not long after they freed him from the dying horse. The poor beast was in pain and shock until the standard bearer put him down as painlessly as he could.

As Lansius had instructed, Calub had done everything in his power to treat the squire. Now, it was up to Sterling’s own body.

“Remember, no bloodletting under any circumstances,” Calub instructed his men, who would carry the stretchers.

The men dutifully nodded and continued to work in silence.

“Master Calub,” someone called urgently from behind him.

“Yes, what do you need?” Calub turned to face the speaker. It was one of his lieutenants.

“Master, it’s Sir Callahan. He’s…”

From the lieutenant’s tone, Calub understood the situation. He patted the man’s shoulder and spoke, “Where is he? Show me the way.”

Calub followed the lieutenant to a place not far from the barricade. There, Sir Callahan was lying on the ground, his head resting upon a tree root. His discarded helmet was by his side. There were spots of red on the mossy ground. It was clear that the man had vomited blood.

Callahan’s eyes were bloodshot, but his face was as pale as snow. The cause was easy to find: a crossbow bolt was embedded deeply into his breastplate.

“Don’t worry, Sir Callahan. The alchemist is here. I’ll patch you up,” Calub knelt and said in an upbeat tone, but they both knew the situation was grave. There was no red potion or instant healing. Even magic would take hours, if not days, to regenerate tissues. A burst artery or punctured organ was a death sentence.

“Don’t give me false hope, Maester Calub,” Callahan answered in between pained grimaces. Each breath was a painful struggle. His face was strained, and his hands began to tremble.

Calub removed his gloves and then Callahan’s gauntlets before holding his hands firmly. The ex-explorer had parted with numerous colleagues and holding their hands felt natural.

As their hand touched, the man’s strained expression quickly softened. “Maester, I can feel it. It’s near...”

“Is there anything I can do? Perhaps a painkiller potion?” Calub asked gently.

“Save it for the wounded, Master. It’s useless for the dead.” Callahan managed a jest despite his pain. The joke must have strained him, as he vomited blood afterward.

Calub quickly assisted him, turning him to the side so as not to obstruct his airway. Afterward, the weakened Callahan half-whispered to Calub. “My daughters, Cecile and Claire are the last of my House... Promise me you’ll look after them.”

Those words surprised Calub. “Sir Callahan, what are you saying? I can’t do that. I’ll promise to help-”

“Maester… you must... I cannot trust anyone else-” Callahan’s voice was growing fainter.

Calub could only listen with mixed feelings.

“I had hoped… Lord Lansius, but… with so many noble ladies around... I fear even as a concubine, Cecile won’t—” He restrained a cough, but some blood escaped. “Calub, you’re my last hope.”

“Please, Callahan. There must be a better candidate. Can’t you see my dark skin? I’m of Tarracan descent,” Calub pleaded.

Callahan just smiled. He knew Calub was worried about bloodline and all. "Blond is just a color... it doesn’t make me a better husband,” Callahan’s breath was getting shorter, and he involuntarily tightened his grip on Calub’s hand.

Calub’s heart was in turmoil. He had barely known Callahan. Despite his friendship with Lord Lansius, he was a non-noble and an outsider. A tool or instrument to be used and then shipped back home.

But now Callahan wanted to entrust his daughter to him. The girl was so bright, so unique, that Calub felt unworthy.

“Take Cecile as a concubine if you wish… as the Lord’s confidant, you’ll ascend high—“ Callahan paused as he gasped for air. “... promise me, you’ll never cast her aside.“

Calub couldn’t react but tried his best to comfort Callahan. But the man’s eyes lost focus and wandered into the distance.

“... even if she’s not to your liking—“ Callahan’s body jerked slightly. He had things to say to Claire, his youngest, but his strength faded away.

“...do …not …” His word trailed off, unfinished.

“I promise, Callahan, I promise,” Calub said, tears welling in his eyes.

Under the shade from the tall costard tree, Callahan’s breathing finally stopped. There was no longer strength in his grip. Pain no longer troubled the blond knight, whose eyes were now fixed on the sky. A faint smile touched his lips.

The lieutenant and anyone in the vicinity wiped tears from their faces. All who passed the place knelt and touched the fallen knight’s armor in a final gesture of respect.

As the knight who had successfully led the merchant caravan from Midlandia, and organized a refugee in his estate, Sir Callahan was respected and well-liked.

Calub closed the knight’s eyes. With that, the long lineage of House Callahan that stretched back into the second millennium came to an end. The knight’s great-great-grandfather had been a King in the north. Now, the unbroken line from father to son finally ended.

Just as foretold, the northern blood would wane in the south.

 

***

 

Lansius

An abrupt, cool wind blew over Lansius, causing the surrounding trees to whisper soothingly. It was pleasant enough that for a moment, Lansius forgot about his pained wrist.

“If I may, another question, My Lord,” Sir Harold asked again.

Since conversation put Lansius’ mind at ease, he agreed. “Speak.”

“Many are curious. Why haven’t you deployed Batu and his brethren?” asked Harold.

Lansius mulled for a moment. “Just how far can I trust you, Sir Harold?”

The knight tapped his breastplate twice proudly and said, “I may not look the part, but I never spill anyone’s secret. Not even when I’m drunk, because, after a bottle, it’s all gibberish.”

Despite his throbbing pain, Lansius chuckled at Harold’s answer. “You’ll be the only one to hear about this. So if this leaks out, then it’s on your head.”

The knight grinned. “I feel a bit threatened, My Lord, but also honored.”

Lansius motioned him to get closer, so Harold leaned closer as they rode side by side.

"Since you wished to know,” he whispered. “Frankly, I don’t want the nomads to contribute greatly to this war."

Harold knitted his brows. “Knowing you, My Lord, I doubt this is about honor or glory. So why?"

"If the nomads were to contribute significantly, everyone in Lowlandia would crave their assistance. I trust Batu as our ally this year, but what about in several years' time? Can we guarantee their loyalty?"

Harold began to comprehend his Lord’s line of thought.

Lansius continued, "Sadly, anyone, even tribesmen, are easy to be manipulated. Meanwhile, Korelia is naturally poor... Do you think the nomads would turn down offers of supplies and riches from the other Lords?"

“No, My Lord, that would be naïve,” Harold responded.

Lansius nodded slightly. He recalled how the Great Jin dynasty's poor handling of the Mongol issue eventually led to the rise of Genghis Khan.

He had planned a role for the nomads, but nothing that would thrust them into the limelight.

Harold still had lingering doubts. “But, My Lord, we’re at war with an uncertain outcome. Is it wise to hold back?”

"Hold back?" Lansius smiled as if amused.

"Many even expected you to unleash the nomads to raid the western army on their march."

"That's foolish." Lansius shook his head. "Tell me, Sir Harold, do you show your cards before the showdown at the gambling table?"

The knight unconsciously rubbed his chin. "Are you implying that the nomads are your ace card, My Lord?"

"Indeed. They're our reserve, and I can't afford to employ them recklessly. They're also the only hand unknown to the enemy."

"But, wouldn't a raid be beneficial to us?"

"Such a strategy would gain us little. It might delay the Coalition's arrival by two or three days, but a full day of rest would easily remedy that... Moreover, it would make them more cautious, which could jeopardize our ambush."

Sir Harold nodded deeply. Only now did he truly grasp the reasoning behind his Lord's actions.

"Only an overconfident man rushes towards a trap. That's what we need," explained Lansius. "To achieve that, Korelia needs to appear weak, insignificant, and non-threatening. Deploying the nomads would shatter the western Lords' illusion."

Intrigued, the knight asked, "So, can we win without deploying the nomads?"

"They'll have their roles, but right now, I am certain that we can achieve decisive victory without relying on them."

The revelation sent Sir Harold into a grin. “Now, I got to see just how Captain Audrey can win against six thousand with just twenty cavalrymen.”

“You’ll see. Unless the Ancients hate me or something... The conditions are all set,” said Lansius as they rode toward the open plains.

“But why go to this length for the nomads, My Lord?”

Lansius momentarily pondered before admitting, “I want more... I want Batu and his tribe as my strength. I refuse to let them become Lowlandia’s newest mercenaries for hire.”

Harold's eyes narrowed in thought. The answer reminded him of his masters, who had taught him sword and fencing styles. They, too, often approached things differently, finding unexpected solutions from new perspectives.

He felt the same way about Lord Lansius. The manner in which he not only foresaw a future problem but also used it to empower himself served as a reminder that he was more than an ordinary noble.

While Lansius felt he was merely providing answers, Harold was deeply impressed. The responses had satisfied his hunger for perfection. Under such a lord, he felt he would have the opportunity to refine his skills as a knight and fighter.

As they left the forest area behind, the summer sun shone down upon them. The knights and the standard bearer rode up to Lord Lansius and Harold's side.

"Carry on," Lansius ordered, "let's show them some of our magic tricks."

 

***