Just a reminder: the dialogue between nobles in this story is deliberately stiff, using an older choice of words. This style is inspired by old manuscripts, and it goes beyond simply using “thou, thee, or art”. Furthermore, when these characters begin to speak in a more “normal” manner, it means there’s a shift in their relationship. They’re either dropping pretenses or they’re getting closer, thus more comfortable talking informally.

 

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Chapter 62

The Blunt Stick

 

The Encampment

The camp for the six-thousand was swallowed by thick black smoke. Fire encroached from the southern side, growing stronger by the minute. Suddenly, thirty-four horsemen appeared. They had crossed a small stream, wetting their horses and attire in an effort to shield themselves from the heat.

Many donned wet scarves to protect their nostrils and mouths as they navigated the path of blackened, burnt grass. Despite the surrounding sea of fire and smoke, they were kept safe by an unseen barrier, warding off the heat, smoke, and fire.

No one fully understood what was happening, but they knew that Lady Hannei was responsible. She was chanting the same verse slowly in an unknown language, almost like singing.

She had created a large spherical barrier by controlling the wind to blow from above, causing it to swirl around them in a protective cyclone. Not just a gentle breeze but a strong current, enough to snuff out the flames trapped inside the sphere.

It was as if they had a dome of invisible walls for protection. While the raging winds couldn’t extinguish the flames completely, they kept the heavy smoke at bay and made it safe for them to press on.

Witnessing this, everyone in the group saw Lady Hannei with profound reverence. They mistook her for a Saint Candidate and felt blessed to see one in action.

Sigmund, Dietrich, and the others had moved beyond their initial skepticism about her plan. At first, they believed they would have plenty of time to loot, but their hearts sank when they saw the encampment already surrounded by fire. Nevertheless, Lady Hannei had shown the way.

As she advanced, the smoke cleared, and the flames died out. The men used sticks, other tools, and even their boots to stamp out the fire, ensuring that Lady Hannei’s horse could proceed unhindered.

The blonde Mage rode alone, while Margo guided her horse on foot, striving to make her as comfortable as possible. Under her protection, the group reached the outer layers of the encampment and increased their pace upon crossing the blackened, fiery terrain.

The Coalition had allowed their horses to graze and their footmen to collect hay for bedding, so the inner parts of the camp were yet to be burnt. However, the thick smoke had rendered it deserted, with no signs of life. Evidence of panic was everywhere, with gear and supplies littered everywhere.

There were carts ready to be used, but many more were still neatly tied.

“There’s no more fire. I will enlarge the barrier, but you must work quickly,” Hannei said to Sigmund at her side.

“You heard the Lady! Split up and ready the carts,” Sigmund commanded the group.

“Disregard the carts with water barrels! We don’t need them. Get the carts with the grain, the armor, and the weapons,” Dietrich added.

“What about salted meat, boss?” one of the riders jested.

“Fuck them!” answered Dietrich, sparking laughter among the group. Last winter, Korelia had produced a record amount of salted meat, it was no longer a luxury.

The enlarged barrier was sending more air downward, but it was far from perfect. Smoke and soot got mixed in, and everyone started to look blackened. Two riders braved the smoke to ensure the exit route was passable.

Despite their reddened eyes and coughs from the smoke, the men hastily prepared the carts and strapped their horses. One by one, even with just a single horse, the supply carts were set in motion.

 

***

 

Western Plains

Lansius had led his cavalry to capture and terrorize the remnants of the Coalition. His priority was to prevent them from regrouping, while simultaneously allowing his knights to collect ransoms and trophies – and they were raking it in.

Laden with spoils and captured nobles, the cavalry moved slowly. The once mighty western nobility were now bound by ropes, the other ends of which were tied to their captors’ horses. Forced to walk on foot, they were filled with shame and fear for their lives.

Fortunately, their fear of Lansius made them easy to control.

Far to the south, the fire was still raging, and thick, blackened smoke billowed high into the sky, enough to obscure the mighty summer sun.

The area which they rode would soon be engulfed in flames, too. Only the most northern plains near the outskirts of the forest would be spared, a remnant of the time when Lansius had welcomed nomads to graze their livestock there in the spring.

Now, there was only one more thing to do. Following their scouts, Lansius’ cavalry easily met up with Lord Jorge’s remnants. Their situation looked pitiful; many were injured and without steeds. Only about fifty remained, including some Nicopolan mercenaries.

The situation immediately grew tense, but Lansius raised his right hand to indicate parley. “I wish to talk. Tell them I guarantee no harm will befall them,” he told Harold, who flanked him closely.

Nodding at his Lord’s command, Sir Harold rode further and heralded, “My Lord wishes for a parley. He guarantees that no harm will befall the Lord of Three Hills and his retinue.”

While waiting for a response, Lansius instructed his knights not to surround or show aggression. Instead, they were to fan out and present themselves with discipline. His aim was for a visible show of force.

Speak softly and carry a big stick...

He gritted his teeth and slowly removed his arm sling. The throbbing was getting worse. It was possibly more than just a fracture.

A pair of horsemen approached. One of them looked regal with black and bronze-accented armor. Lansius spurred his destrier forward until he was next to Harold.

He finally met Lord Jorge in person. Despite all that had happened, Lansius oddly didn’t harbor hatred but pitied the man’s foolishness.

“That’s close enough,” Sir Harold said openly to both parties. The sight of Morton, who remained steadfast despite their overwhelming odds, put Harold on high alert.

“Lord Lansius,” Jorge began from atop his horse, his voice as alluring as he was charming. “Earlier you promised me a safe passage to return to my encampment, yet it’s all gone in flames. Now, I pray that you’ll allow us to return to Three Hills unharmed.”

“My Lord,” Lansius addressed humbly, the fate of many lives in Lowlandia depending on him. “The situation is unfortunate, but you’re my guest. I urge you to stay for a few nights. Your men and horses are exhausted and without provisions. If you insist on returning today, more disaster will befall the men from Three Hills.”

Jorge looked alarmed and mistook Lansius’ warning for a threat. “Lord Lansius, for what it’s worth, we have made amends. I have pledged neutrality.”

“My Lord, please understand my predicament. You brought a great host from Three Hills, Korimor, and South Hill to attack Korelia. As such, it was impossible for me to stand alone.”

Lansius paused to let his words sink in before continuing, “I had to rely on Lord Robert and the nomadic tribes. In return for their aid, I promised they could freely hunt the remnants of this war.” He returned the blame right back at Jorge.

Morton took a deep breath, gazed at his Lord, and nodded once. He knew his Lord wasn’t going to win a contest of wit. He also feared for his Lord’s well-being if they forced their way to Three Hills. It was twelve to fifteen days on foot, with nothing but grass on the horizon.

Meanwhile, Jorge found Lansius to be very different from what he had envisioned. Riding with part of his armor exposed, likely from a battle wound, the foreigner looked gallant. “It seems you have left me stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

“I wish to rectify that. That is why I beseech you to stay, so many of your men will be spared. Your banner will gather men from Three Hills to return, saving them from the nomads’ wrath.”

Jorge looked amused and boldly questioned, “Lord Lansius, I can’t help but wonder why you are so concerned for the welfare of my men, who, until this morning, were attempting to invade your land.”

Lansius held back a chuckle, realizing that his motives must seem suspicious, and also admired Jorge’s honesty. “I need Three Hills to survive as intact as possible in order to maintain peace.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jorge asked, discarding any pretense.

“I wish to end the conflict in this land. If My Lord, and Lord Robert, through me, could reconcile, then a new power balance could be established between east and west Lowlandia. Perhaps, that way, peace, and a beneficial relationship can be achieved.”

Jorge nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Lansius’ points. “I always wondered why you kept Lord Robert on the throne... Will you also allow my House to rule Three Hills then?”

“That is not even a question, My Lord. I have no claim over Three Hills.”

Lord Jorge seemed to regain some color in his pale cheeks at this reassurance. “Very well, as long as my House can continue to rule Three Hills, I shall heed your words. Then, what are your suggestions?”

Jorge’s positive answer calmed Lansius. Winning at diplomacy was as crucial as winning the battle. While as the victor, he could force his demands, but if the other party was deeply unsatisfied then it was just a prelude for another war. What Lansius needed was a mutual understanding.

Thus, with all the charisma he could muster, Lansius suggested, “I would like to offer you the best lodgings in Korelia, but it may seem like I’m holding you hostage. I think it’s best for My Lord to establish a new encampment. There's an abandoned village north of here. It has wells with clear spring water.”

Without being asked, Morton looked at his Lord and nodded to show that he wasn’t against the idea.

“I recall such a place," said Jorge. "Then we shall set camp there. Will you permit me to search for my men?”

“I’ll allow it, as long as they’re your subjects,” Lansius emphasized the last part.

Jorge seemed to catch the meaning and felt grateful for the opportunity.

Watching them, Morton coughed, and Jorge readily motioned his Captain to speak.

“My Lord, I hope you’ll forgive my blunt language,” the mage knight addressed Lansius. “You’re showing us significant leniency, for which we are grateful, but you haven’t stated your demands. This concerns us.”

Lansius chuckled. This mage knight had caused him so much pain, yet somehow he harbored no hatred. “Sir Knight, my demand remains the same. Uphold your oath of neutrality, respect my claim over Korelia, and allow my men’s rights to the spoils of war. In return, we’ll guarantee a safe haven. In a week time, I’ll also arrange a carriage so Lord Jorge can march home with the dignity befitting his station.”

Satisfied with the offer, Morton and Lord Jorge agreed to the terms. With this, the two Houses ceased all hostilities. The Lord of Korelia would assist with basic supplies, tents, and other materials. In return, Lord Jorge forfeited all gear and supplies left behind, to be seized as war reparations.

They exchanged liaisons and parted ways peacefully. Lord Jorge and his remnants marched northwest and started to gather the wounded and stragglers.

Midday had passed, but the summer sun was obscured by thick smoke from the burning plains, providing the men in armor with some much-needed shade.

“My Lord, won’t it be dangerous if they regroup and rally?” Harold asked as they prepared to ride again. He felt that the other knights would ask about this when they had the chance. Nobody wanted another fight so soon, and Lansius’ decision seemed unnecessarily risky.

“An army marches on its belly,” answered Lansius as a squire helped him with the arm sling. “Without daily supplies or weapons, what can they do? Now, they’re depending on us like children to their parents. If they bite the hand that feeds them, then it’ll be a slow and agonizing death for them.”

“I see...” remarked Harold, pleased that his Lord had thought this through. With this, he could easily calm his fellow knights.

“Besides, they fear Lord Robert’s cavalry and the nomads,” added Lansius.

“It’s funny that My Lord mentioned Lord Robert. I heard nothing about reinforcements from White Lake.”

“They’re going to be late, probably in a few days. I mentioned their name because Three Hills respects and fears Lord Robert’s cavalry more than the nameless Nomads.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” The knight rubbed his chin in satisfaction.

Continuing his earlier plan, Lansius sent two unburdened squires to inform Calub and Korelia of their newest agreement and situation. He also instructed his burdened main cavalry to head east to Korelia castle, where Sir Justin would be ready to assist.

Meanwhile, Lansius, his scout, and twenty knights rode west. While the battlefield was still filled with stragglers, he needed to connect and reinforce Audrey’s cavalry.

As they rode, the Korelia plains smoldered. Nearly a third of the plains was blackened, the ashes carried by the wind painting the landscape a ghostly grey.

 

***