Horizon of War Series

The eight riders from the Den relentlessly pursued Anci, charging downhill toward a picturesque glade where the dense forest met the tranquil waters of a large pond. The unsuspecting pursuers, focused solely on their quarry, failed to notice the strategically positioned men hidden among the trees. As the riders entered the glade, a group of determined men armed with spears and swords burst forth from the woods, catching the riders off guard.

“Ambush! It’s an ambush!” the riders exclaimed among themselves. They slowed down and attempted to wheel around.

The men from the woods hurled rocks at the riders, while another group of spearmen moved to block their exit.

“Have courage!” the leading rider urged his companions. However, he failed to notice Anci, who had turned around and was now closing in on him from behind.

A gasp echoed as Anci’s lance pierced the leading rider’s ring mail. The rider fell from his horse, a section of the lance still embedded in him. The unsettling scene caused the remaining riders to grind to a halt, their faces reflecting panic and fear.

“Yield, or I’ll do the same to you, slavers! Decide now!” Anci threatened, while his allies regrouped by his side.

In spite of the threat, three riders made a desperate dash for the exit.

“Spear in front, keep formation!” Lansius commanded as the three riders galloped toward them.

Eight men readied their spears or polearms. In addition to the eight spearmen in the front row, Lansius had only four crossbowmen and Felis in the second row. He prayed that he had enough forces to deter a cavalry charge.

What kind of girl is she?

“Pick your targets,” Lansius directed the crossbowmen. At this range, he didn’t need to question their accuracy. “Loose!”

The four crossbowmen around him and Felis pulled their triggers. The sounds of bowstrings and wooden prods snapping back into place filled the air, followed by the whistling of bolts.

Two steel-tipped bolts found their targets. One struck a rider, while the other hit a horse. Both veered off course.

Small cheers erupted from Lansius’s ranks.

“Not yet, one more!” Lansius moved to the front row to fortify their undermanned wall of spears. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the other men, he planted the end of his spear into the ground like a stake and held it firmly.

The lone horseman, less than forty paces away, continued to gallop, appearing mad enough to force his way through.

Lansius wanted to rally his men, but the words wouldn’t come. Others clenched their jaws or ground their teeth as they stared at the approaching terror. The charging horse made each of them feel as if it were targeting them personally.

This isn’t going to work, we’re too thin . . .

Doubt and fear dawned on him as the ground shook from the thundering hooves of the warhorse. Taller than a man and weighing more than nine of them combined, the warhorse alone was a formidable opponent.

Its large black nostrils flared as the beast went against its instinct to keep away from the column of men. It continued galloping, leaving a trail of dust and dirt in its wake.

Lansius’s fingers turned white from gripping his spear tightly. The other men trembled, cowered, and braced themselves for the inevitable.

Suddenly, a deafening yet familiar sound came from behind. Lansius hesitated to turn, his focus locked on the horse in front of him. He noticed the sudden shift in the horse’s movements as the powerful beast slowed, its gait becoming unsteady, seemingly rejecting the idea of continuing its charge. With a sudden swerve, the horse changed course while its rider slumped lifelessly in the saddle.

“Oh, I got it,” Felis declared, her tone dripping with casual confidence.

Only then did Lansius look back and see Felis, who had clearly fired the last shot. The other crossbowmen were still busy reloading.

Realizing they were out of danger, the men cheered exuberantly. Many could barely stand straight, and the ground reeked of urine, but they raised their fists in the air and taunted their opponents.

“Great shot!” Lansius shouted to Felis, amid a chorus of compliments from everyone else.

Felis chuckled but didn’t celebrate. “Compared to running goblins and the labyrinth’s foul beasts, they’re nothing,” she muttered quietly to herself.

Lansius took a deep breath. They had stopped the riders from breaking through, but the battle wasn’t over. In the distance, he saw another rider challenging Anci.

“Anci’s horse seems tired,” one of the crossbowmen observed.

Lansius squinted his eyes.

“Nah, he’ll be all right. The man is a natural,” Felis reassured.

“You can tell?” Lansius inquired.

“The way he controls the horse. He’s not relying on the reins, as the nomads do,” Felis explained.

Ah . . . Indeed, nomads used bows on horseback.

Just as they had predicted, Anci bested the final challenger without any drama. Afterward, the remaining riders finally threw down their weapons. Witnessing this, Thomas, Calub, and a few other men rushed from the far side to capture the riders.

Anci and Thomas’s men secured the captured raiders, who had surrendered their weapons and horses. Anci dismounted, checked his horse for injuries, and patted the mare when he found none.

Thomas approached with a waterskin. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”

Anci took the water, drank some, and offered the rest to his horse. “Your friend has a sharp mind.”

“I never knew he was more than just a clerk,” old Thomas admitted.

“Maybe you never asked?” Anci suggested.

Thomas chuckled.

Calub approached the two and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but I think we should send a messenger.”

“No need, the marshal is right there.” Anci gestured toward the line of spearmen who had yet to move.

Thomas followed Anci’s gaze and saw Lansius in front of his men. Thomas laughed while Calub tried to understand the humor.

In Sir Peter’s retinue, Hugo had always acted as if he were in charge, much to Anci’s annoyance. Despite Hugo’s laid-back attitude, he was rather bossy. Seeing someone else in command now gave Anci a great deal of satisfaction.

“So . . . ?” Calub wasn’t sure what to do next. There wasn’t a clear chain of command in a ragtag war band like theirs.

“No need for a messenger. I’ll speak to Lansius myself on my way up,” Anci said.

“You’re going up again? Oh . . . the second, or is it the third step?” Thomas asked, half-guessing.

Anci tried to count on his fingers.

“First step is the baiting. Second is luring them here. Now, it’s the third,” Calub clarified. As an alchemist and part of the educated class, he easily understood Lansius’s seemingly complex battle plan.

The other two nodded in agreement. Having tasted a minor victory, they were eager for more. Their success was proof enough that they could trust Lansius’s plan.

With renewed confidence in their strategy, the group started planning the next steps. Anci and his fellow riders took a short break, giving their horses a chance to recuperate before continuing. After the rest, Anci observed his horse panting heavily, so he affectionately patted the horse and switched to a more rested one.

With the sun on their back, Anci proceeded at a relaxed pace alongside four other men, while five footmen joined them, each guiding one or two horses. As they came into view, the manor complex came to life with the sound of metal hammering and shouting.

Unfazed, Anci paraded the horses they had acquired from the riders. “I thank you for these lovely horses. Anything else you can offer?” he taunted in a loud clear voice.

This time, the slavers responded boldly, with the gate swinging open as armed men poured out. “Charge, punish these fools!” Bogdan, clad in bright brigandine, commanded.

Anci surveyed the scene, noting seventy men lining up against him, with another thirty emerging from a hideout on the far side of the complex. Surprised by the wide front, Anci hesitated before retreating in disarray, losing two captured horses in the process.

Sensing panic in Anci’s retreat, the slavers threw their full force into the pursuit. One hundred men charged downhill, with Bogdan leading them all in. He was suspicious after the eight riders he had sent earlier never returned and didn’t want to risk another piecemeal attack against his opponents.

As the slavers descended, their line became stretched out. The front group kept pace with Anci’s men and reached the glade in the low ground, where they discovered four horseless carts blocking their path.

Anci and his horsemen rode past the carts, which were guarded by a group armed with spears and swords.

Confident of their numbers, the slavers charged headlong into a direct assault. A fierce battle ensued, with the defenders using the carts as makeshift barricades. Slavers attempting to climb the barricades were met with brutal resistance, being hacked down, pelted with stones, or shot by crossbow bolts.

Undeterred, Bogdan directed his fresh men into the narrow gap where Anci had slipped through. The bulk of the fighting took place in the tight space, with both sides thrusting and raking with spears and polearms, each struggling to gain or maintain their ground.

Casualties started to pile up on the slavers’ side, but that didn’t faze them. Their morale remained high. After all, they had a hundred fighting men, a significant force their opponents could not match.

Even if the neighboring baronet and knights combined their forces, they could only muster around thirty fighting men. This was a fight they could not lose. Their opponents had merely poked a hornet’s nest.

Fresh blood and gore stained the grass as the fighting grew more intense.

Suddenly, desperate shouting and screams erupted from the slavers’ rear. Bogdan looked back and saw their rear ranks under attack by a swarm of men who had seemingly descended out of nowhere. “What’s going on? What are our men in the back doing?”

“Two dozen men or more attacked our rear,” one of his aides hastily reported.

Bogdan realized that his hundred men had been stretched thin as they marched through the narrow hill path. However, he never expected that the enemy had enough numbers to pull off such a deception.

Indecision breeds disaster, Bogdan thought. “On me, on me! Boys, that’s where the bastards are hiding. Time to give them a warm welcome!” He rallied his most trusted men and led them toward the source of the trouble.

Old Bogdan knew he could still salvage this situation. The enemy was cunning but lacked experience.

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