Chapter 64

Five Fates

 

The room inside the guardhouse was bathed in the soft glow from a small chandelier. There Hugo sat in silence. He had emerged from the battle relatively unscathed, save for some minor lacerations that had since dried. He was alone, his only companions a humble jug of water and a smaller jug of wine that sat on the wooden table.

Despite the near-miraculous victory they had achieved, he was surprisingly restless. As a squire, Hugo had always compared himself to Lord Lansius, believing they were equals at least in skill if not in status. But now, it was clear just how wide the gulf between them was.

As if in an attempt to lift his spirits, bright stars twinkled in the night sky, visible through a small window. The sight was not lost on Hugo, who softly quoted, "Shine brightly like the stars in the night."

His lord's achievements were indeed bright, like the stars. Suddenly, a smirk appeared on his lips. He was envious, yet also proud. There was no malice in his feelings, only disappointment in himself as he lamented, "Why don't I possess even a quarter of his talent?"

Despite his mood, Hugo resisted the wine. He had volunteered for watch duty, as the Lord was worried about a possible night attack. More than just good faith, he wanted to think clearly. Today’s battle had been hard fought and he would be a fool if he didn’t try to learn from it.

There were many rising stars in Lansius’ household, and he felt that even his rank as Deputy Marshal wasn’t guaranteed. He sighed heavily and kept watch patiently, his gaze fixed on the darkened landscape below.

Outside, it was all quiet. Only the occasional wind carrying fine dust and the scent of burnt grass.

The door creaked open and Sir Justin entered. The Marshal was wearing a half-open, stained-white padded jack. What was interesting about his appearance was the wooden splint bandaged over his left hip. He had been experiencing pain in his hip and had worn them as a precaution against a possible fracture.

Hugo rose up. “Do you need help, sir?”

“Nah, the pain lessened after I bandaged it tightly.” Sir Justin limped towards the chair, carefully lowering himself into it, mindful of his bandaged hip.

“Are you sure you want to be here? I’ll allow you to celebrate in town. You’ve earned it,” the Marshal asked jovially.

“Gratitude, Sir, but I think the men deserve it more than me.”

The older knight grinned as he reached into his pocket and placed several trinkets on the table: gold rings, a silver medallion, and a rectangular golden belt buckle. "Say, here’s Korelia, and this is the Coalition’s encampment.”

He was explaining his makeshift map when someone knocked. “I’m looking for The Marshal.”

“Enter,” Sir Justin invited.

A tall figure with a well-defined jawline and flamboyant hair entered, dressed in a comfortable tunic. “You asked for me, Sir?”

“Sir Harold, welcome to the small council,” greeted Sir Justin.

Harold remained at the door. “But I’m not a member, just a temporary cavalry commander.”

Sir Justin motioned for the tall knight to enter. Sir Harold closed the door behind him and approached the two. The rectangular wooden table was positioned so that one of its long sides was flush against the wall, leaving just enough space for three people to sit around the remaining sides.

The tall knight rested his sword’s scabbard against the chair. As he sat down, his interest was piqued by the trinkets scattered about on the table’s surface.

Sir Justin motioned to his Deputy, who spoke, “Sir Harold, you might not know this, but Sir Callahan has passed away.”

The knight’s face turned stoic momentarily before looking downcast. “So the bolt penetrated deeply.” He sighed and recalled, “I was riding next to him. That could’ve happened to me.”

Sir Justin poured wine for the younger knight, who took a sip just for the sake of it.

“I only know him for a season, but he seemed like a great man,” Harold continued. “He had the patience of a good mentor. And as a knight, he had the looks and skills to back it up. May he meet the Ancients and hunt for all eternity.”

The other two bowed their heads slightly as a sign of respect.

"So now, what do you need of me?" Harold asked, certain that they hadn't called him in just to inform him of Callahan's passing.

“We want to bring you up to speed,” explained Sir Justin. “House Lansius requires... delicate hands.”

"Lord Lansius may be strong for his size, but his health isn't as robust as we'd like," Hugo added. "There have been instances where he fell ill for weeks following a battle, even without sustaining any injuries."

Sir Harold seemed unfazed. “Well, he has his strengths and weaknesses. Do you have any plan about it?”

“The idea is to keep the Lord well-rested,” replied Hugo. “We want him to stay in the Eastern Mansion. Hopefully, he can recover without worrying too much about the aftermath.”

Harold rubbed his chin in understanding. It was a good suggestion. Right now, the castle was akin to a large hospice, with the injured and dying weeping, groaning, and even wailing until they either got well or died.

The same sad scene happened in other makeshift hospices throughout Korelia town. Despite the concerted efforts of the town’s physicians, castle staff, and volunteers, many wouldn’t see the light of day again.

“I’m all ears,” said Sir Harold.

Sir Justin smiled. “Since the Lord trusts you in command, I think he’ll be comfortable if you and your most trusted men bolstered the Eastern Mansion’s security. While they have fences, it’s not a castle.”

“I can do that. I’ll arrange a garrison and patrols.”

"Then, I'll put Lord Lansius in your care," said Sir Justin. "Now, with that out of the way. Care to tell us how the war unfolded on the cavalry side?”

The tall knight perked up. “Of course. Where should I begin?”

“Well, if this is Korelia,” Sir Justin pointed at the rectangular belt buckle first and then to the silver medallion. “And this is the western Lords’ encampment...”

For the next half-hour, Korelia’s military commanders discussed the day’s battle, examining Lord Lansius' strategy and contrasting it with their own approaches. Although Lord Lansius had discussed the plan at length with Sir Justin—indeed, the Marshal had even finalized many parts of it— he was not aware of the variations the Lord had ultimately chosen.

Battle tactics weren't fixed; they evolved depending on the circumstances. There were several contingencies, including one where Sir Justin's column would need to leave town and assist with the fire strategy. However, Lord Lansius ultimately deemed this unnecessary.

This decision didn't come as a surprise. What did come as a surprise was his decision not to employ the nomadic cavalry in the main battle. There had been multiple opportunities to include them, but in the end, Lord Lansius used them only for the cleanup operation.

...

 

“Did the battle proceed so smoothly that the Lord didn’t even feel compelled to use his reserve?” Sir Justin queried as he returned the cavalry piece to its original spot on the table, concluding their simulation of the battle.

“It’s as if he hesitated to call them,” Hugo suspected.

In contemplative silence, the Marshal took a sip of water and reclined in his sturdy wooden chair. His injured hip started to ache in earnest after prolonged sitting. He hated to admit it, but he was probably going to need bed rest by tomorrow.

“The audacity to envision victory without the aid of Batu’s tribesmen is remarkable,” he commented nonchalantly.

Sir Harold massaged the back of his neck. He knew the answer, but couldn’t reveal it. “The Lord may not want the nomads to get too much attention,” he finally said, careful to keep his statement vague enough to not breach his oath.

Hugo furrowed his brows. “The Lord said that?”

“Something to that effect, yes. He didn’t want to show the nomadic tribes as potential mercenaries,” Sir Harold confirmed.

Sir Justin nodded approvingly. “True... Why didn’t I think of that? If I were still in the mercenary business, after that training last spring, I’d consider recruiting some of them.”

Hugo could only grin. The thought that the Lord had also fooled the two knights satisfied him.

Sir Justin pondered hard. “It’s wise to hide them, but don’t you think we could win the battle more easily by employing them?”

“Let’s simulate another one,” Hugo suggested, as he reset the pieces on the table.

“How about, after we’ve drawn out the column, the nomads simply attack the encampment with fire?” Sir Justin proposed, moving a gold ring with a black gemstone.

Harold looked at the silver medallion on the table and pointed out, “The scouts reported that the encampment was fortified with a ring of carts and had only two well-guarded exits. Even when they marched out onto the plains, they likely still had enough men for a garrison.”

Sir Justin mulled over it. “Given their numbers and ferocity, I think they could cause havoc...”

“Well, if they use fire, it would certainly cause some damage, but would it be significant? The cavalry of the Western Lords is nearby.” Harold picked up a gold ring and placed it near the silver medallion. “The Black Knights and the Nicopolans. Once they react, the nomads’ attack would amount to nothing.”

The Marshall crossed his arms. “I guess it would alert them of our use of fire... our only ace.”

Harold furrowed his brows. He wasn’t used to strategy meetings like this. “Pardon my language, but I think that’s the problem with a half-hearted attack like this. The nomads would cause damage, but they wouldn’t deliver a knockout blow. Worse, they would also reveal our hand.”

The other two refrained from commenting, allowing Harold to continue. “I believe the Lord made the right call by drawing the cavalry into an ambush. After that, he didn’t need a large number of nomads. Even our small light cavalry could do it,” he asserted.

Hugo nodded deeply. “We’re too focused on attacking the encampment.”

“Indeed. After Lord Jorge was gone with the cavalry, the northern column was routed, and the fire started to burn. Without even setting the encampment alight, the western men would be forced to flee.”

“Sir, what about the fire tactics? If it’s a secret, then why did the Lord instruct us to use fire grenades?” Hugo asked.

Sir Harold was equally piqued and eyed Sir Justin.

“Well, it’s because it would fail,” the Marshal, more familiar with the battle plan, explained. “The grass around the battleground and castle hill is shorter than on the plains. After all, we use it for training, horse grazing, and marching. A fire wouldn’t spread there.”

“To use, but expect it to fail. Is there a particular reason for this?” asked Sir Harold.

The Marshal shrugged. “The Lord only said that it would create a false sense of security. He feared Lord Omin might read that far, so he wanted to lure him into thinking he’s safe from fire tactics.”

The two nodded their heads despite not fully grasping the idea.

Amidst the silence, Hugo tried his best to think of something to prove that he still held a candle against the Lord, but he came up empty. “So, this is the only tactic to win? We don’t have any other solutions?”

Sir Justin exhaled deeply. He had battlefield experience, but nothing prepared him for this. “Someone in the past era did this kind of thing, digging trenches, and burning the field. But I always thought it was just a story. Most of the time, it’s simply unreasonable or even impossible to do such a thing.”

“Indeed...” Sir Harold looked at the chandelier and said, “I imagine burning the whole western plains requires a lot of preparation. Since when has the Lord been planning for this?”

The Marshall shook his head. “I didn’t ask, but I knew he forbade anyone - even the tribesmen - from grazing the western plains since early spring.”

“The wind.” Hugo realized something. “Before winter, the Lord asked for things like weather reports. He even met with several old people. I thought it was just his hobby or something.”

Sir Harold chuckled. “So he learned about the summer wind and planned all this? To think anyone was thinking that far ahead of time.”

Sir Justin chuckled happily. ”This is why I’m following him. I’m curious just how high he can climb. He’s the most interesting fellow I encountered in my life.”

He drank his cup of water and added, “Now, this is a good time to ask, are you guys with me, or do you have another plan?”

The tall knight chuckled. “I'm thinking of leaving after the war. Korelia is too far out. Surprisingly big population, but the town has little to offer.”

“You better reconsider," said Hugo. "The Lord... has quite an ambition. I doubt he’ll stay in Korelia.”

His words piqued Sir Justin. “Interesting. He never revealed as much.”

“When Lord Arte made Lord Lansius his squire... The young Lord questioned Lansius so hard that he revealed a different side of himself.” Hugo suddenly felt a thirst for wine, so he poured a little into his cup of water and drank it down.

“What kind of a man is he?” Sir Harold asked while helping Hugo with another pour of wine.

A squire like Hugo couldn’t refuse a knight, so he gratefully took the offer. “Lord Lansius, he cunningly fooled everyone... I was a fool to try to take his contribution after a battle. I was talking big, trying to boost my importance in battle and get Lord Arte to bestow a title upon me, then he appeared like a hero, bearing grand gifts.”

“What kind of gifts?” Sir Justin asked with a chuckle, surprised at his deputy’s honesty.

“Tens of highly educated freed slaves. Freed slaves! They even volunteered,” complained Hugo.

The absurdity of the story made the two knights burst into laughter. Even Hugo couldn’t resist a chuckle and added, “I was there with just bruises and honeyed words, and he appeared with gifts fit for a king.”

“But how?” Sir Harold asked with tears in his eyes.

Hugo shook his head. “To this day, I have no idea how he did that. Why the slaves didn’t just bolt home after being freed remains a mystery.”

“Drink up,” said Sir Justin, but Hugo shook his head with a sheepish smile. “I volunteered for the night watch, Sir.”

Sir Harold patted Hugo on the back. “Drink, the Lord did you dirty. I’ll do the night watch for you. You should have some merriment.”

Hugo sheepishly accepted the offer and drank some more. This was the first time he revealed his greatest shame to anyone else and apparently, nobody judged him harshly.

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***

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The night watch ended peacefully without incident, and a bright new day dawned in Korelia. Dew and morning air erased yesterday’s scent of smoke. The siege had ended in a day, an unprecedented event that everyone saw as nothing short of a miracle.

Despite the activity in the hospice and the graveyard, the mood in town was uplifting. The Lord of Korelia had prevailed against an army of six-thousand men in just a single day. Such an achievement was beyond anyone’s dreams.

Naturally, everywhere in town, over meals or drinks, people, militia, and men-at-arms praised their Lord, embellishing their deeds and elevating Korelia’s victory to greater heights. The heroic fights, the cavalry charge, the ambush, the burning plains, and even rumors about the Saint Candidate’s involvement all contributed to the fervor.

Rumors of the Lord’s impending marriage only added to the excitement. The town was alive with anticipation, yet the victory celebration was yet to be held due to the ongoing risk of another battle.

Even now, the cavalry was preparing for another sortie to guard against regrouping. Before they could sortie, however, a group of twelve riders, accompanied by a band of men, marched towards Korelia castle, crossing the scorched western plains.

The uninvited group carried a white flag but moved with composure. A woman in a white traveling cloak led them, her stature erect and her gaze steady, hinting at her uncanny confidence.

As the castle loomed large in front of them, she dispatched one of her riders as a herald to inform the castle of their intentions.

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***

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