Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1070: Honorless
"It was Ser Rath’s decision to push further inland, my lords, his and Ser Maul’s. Sir Rossmond agreed too If I recalle well and offered his men promptly. They thought the pickings would be easy," the knight said, his voice straining. He attempted a low bow before the gathered princes, but his body betrayed him. His shoulder, wrapped in thick linen, winced as a hint of fresh red bloomed at the movement.
"No need to harm yourself further, Ser" Nibadur mouthed, the blue streak in his eyes following the knight, his tone measured and not unkind. "Your blood has paid enough for one day. Just tell us, plainly and clearly, what happened out there."
"They were soundly beaten and routed to a man, that is what happened! You may save your royal breath, brother!For cowards needs little of it" the Prince of Ezvania snapped, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment given that the assaulted men were his. He turned his bulging eyes toward one of his vassals. "I recall giving leave for Lord Maviost to scout the surroundings. I do not recall telling his men to march halfway to the Yarzat capital! Would you have reached the Romelian border if the weather had permitted, my lord?"
Lord Maviost, a man of high standing now looking very small, stammered, "I gave the command to my lieutenants, Your Grace. I... I did not expect this level of resistance."
"A ’good’ service your expectations gave us then, my lord," Ezvania sneered. "Perhaps your wit will serve us better next?"
Before the argument could dissolve into a shouting match, Nibadur’s voice rose "Enough! It is no one’s fault. We had no knowledge of the enemy’s disposition. If anything, we should be grateful; at the very least, we now know they lurk in the shadows surrounding us." He shot a cold, silencing glare at his brother-in-law, a silent command to shut his mouth before the morale of the camp curdled entirely.
He turned back to the wounded man. "Tell me, Ser, would you kindly lay out the events as they befell you? Spare no detail."
"The Fox befell us, Your Grace," Ser Rath muttered, his expression curdling into a mask of pure, frustrated hate. "He came from nowhere. We thought we had found a simple prize, a village to sack. We intended to press the peasants into service, to make the wretches fill the ditches before the Bastion so our own men wouldn’t have to. It seemed a sound plan."
He let out a ragged breath. "It went as expected at the start. The villagers saw our banners and fled into their hovels. We moved in to drag them out. But the moment we crossed the thresholds, the doors we thought otherwise empty except of women and weak men, bursted with death.
Armed men, hidden in the lofts and the cellars, hacked into our lines before we could even draw steel. We were set on looting; our shields were slung, our spears leaned against walls. They cut us down in a heartbeat before we could equip ourselves to fight."
The knight’s hand shook as he pointed toward the east. "I saw the black and white of their surcoats, my lords. They weren’t peasants with pitchforks; they were the Fox’s own. And just as the tales say, they fought with cold and hard.
I realized my small band couldn’t hold the square, so I rallied those I could and cut our way out. They pursued us like hounds through the brush, but most of those who survived the initial shock have trickled back.Discovered myself I was one of the lucky one, the other knights and footmen were cut down to a man. None survived, or if they did none came back."
Nibadur stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on the knight’s uninjured shoulder. He forced a warm, confident smile to his lips.
"You have done well, Ser. You have brought us the most valuable gift a soldier can give: information. Rest now, and let the healers tend to you."
As the knight was led away, Nibadur turned to the silent, worried lords in the tent, his smile widening to reassure them. "Do you see what I do? The Fox hides in villages and strikes at small parties because that is all he can do. He lacks the strength to face us openly. He is a scavenger nipping at the heels of a giant. Let him have his small skirmishes; they are the desperate gasps of a man who knows his walls are about to crumble."
The lords nodded clearly reassured and comforted by the Prince’s iron calm. But as Nibadur turned back toward the map on the table, the smile vanished instantly. His stomach twisted.
The strategy behind the Fox’s move was clear now.
The surroundings had been systematically stripped of life; there were no peasants left to press into service, no local labor to expend on the grueling, lethal task of filling the Bastion’s deep outer ditches. If the League wanted those trenches filled, they would have to use their own trained men, a waste of good steel, or they would have to send foraging parties even deeper into Yarzat to hunt for captives.
But to send men further out was to invite the very ambush they had just suffered. To do it safely, they would need to dispatch a significant force, a small army in its own right.
Luckily that was not really a problem, he did not know how many men Alpheo had but surely it could not be enough for a head-strong battle.
The lords, however, were not thinking of logistics; they were thinking of the sting of the dung thrown from the walls and the blood of their fallen lieutenants. All they knew since their short presence here had been slights, so of course the were wanting revenge.
"I say we ride out and scour the land until every one of the Fox’s curs is swinging from a branch!" Ser Left-Hand Mers roared. He brought his lone, heavy hand down onto the tactical table with a crash that made the map-weights jump. His outburst was met with an immediate, guttural cheer from the younger lords and their knights retinues.
"Our honor was pissed upon!" Mers continued, his face purple with zeal. "I say we wash the stain away with Yarzat blood. The Warrior of Wrath shall be pleased with the sacrifice! If we offer him the heads of these hidden cowards, he will surely bless our ladders when we finally take the walls!"
Nibadur closed his eyes for a second, fighting the urge to groan. Not even a week since his arrival and already it was becoming hard to rein in the lords’s wills.. If he let them all gallop off into the woods with their retinues, they would waste away time and effort from the main mission.
"My lords," Nibadur said, turning back with a voice that commanded the room. "As much as I am ecstatic at the thought of Yarzat blood soaking this soil, we must be reasonable. We are currently preparing for a siege. Our priority is the ditch. We need laborers to fill it so our towers can reach the stone without collapsing. If we use our own soldiers for such a task, we waste lives that should be spent on the battlements.That would not please the Warrior."
He leaned over the table, his finger tracing the road back toward the nearest cluster of villages. "I propose a mission of dual purpose. We send a strong, unified expeditionary force. Their goal: to bring back every able-bodied peasant within three leagues to labor for us. Such a force, large, tempting, and burdened with captives, will be a prize the Fox cannot ignore. We will draw him out of his holes and crush him, while simultaneously securing the workers we need to break this castle."
Sir Left-Hand Mers stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. "Then let me lead it, Your Grace! My liege’s men were the first to fall to this treachery; it is only right that I be the one to repay the debt. I crave the chance to see if this ’Fox’ can outrun a charge of the Warrior’s faithful."
Nibadur felt a wave of genuine relief wash over him. Mers was a madman, yes, but he was a madman that at least had been baited in doing proper work. He doubted the Fox would really take the bait after all he did not have the number to waste on engagement that would bloody the league’s nose and break an army of the Fox.
Still by putting him in charge of a specific, large-scale expedition, Nibadur could prevent the other lords from wandering off in disorganized bands. It kept the "unruly" elements of the army under one banner and directed their rage toward a goal that actually served the siege.
"Very well, Ser," Nibadur said, clasping the man’s lone hand. "You have the blessing of the League and the mandate of the Warrior. Take a thousand spears and thirty horse. Bring me laborers, and bring me the Fox’s head if you find it.Remember your efforts shall hurry our preparation to bring steel to the fortress...’’
"I shall bring you a forest of gallows, my lords and princes. Word of mine!" Mers vowed, bowing deeply before stomping out of the tent to rouse his men, no doubt finding many for his task. After all he may have been a bit mad but he was also charismatic to a frenzy.
Still, the prince of Habadia allowed himself a breathing, after all he had just evaded the worse.
