Horizon of War Series

Master of the Mercenary

Three days after Lansius met with Batu, the nomadic tribesmen stealthily moved across the Great Plains, setting up camp far south of Korelia. There they waited for the inevitable battle, their numbers swelling as many heeded the call to avenge their enslaved brethren captured by the Nicopolan mercenaries.

As dawn arrived in Korelia, Sir Callahan continued training Lansius and Sterling in the art of jousting. This day was likely their last as the enemy forces were closing into Korelia.

As an experienced knight, Callahan would not risk injuring the riders or horses through over-training. The riders and the horses needed to recover ideally for a week before the battle.

Lansius sat astride his destrier, eagerly aimed his blunted lance at a wooden shield hanging on a rotating post firmly planted in the ground. Sometimes he struck a solid hit, but often he missed, failing to align his lance expertly. His arm muscles were sore, feeling as if they were burning, even with the lance rest on his breastplate.

Nothing came easy. Lansius had been practicing this skill since last year in Toruna, with only modest progress.

“Keep going!” Sir Callahan encouraged Lansius after his last missed attempt. “Mistakes happen; that’s why we train. Success is easy. How to survive from mistakes is what we trained for!”

Spurred by the encouragement, Lansius pressed on. Despite the aches, he tried again, spending the whole morning in training—practicing with lances, crossbows, and swords.

“That’s enough, My Lord,” Sir Callahan finally called off the training, stopping before rider and horse were thoroughly depleted. He motioned to Sterling, who had been resting as his horse lacked the stamina of a destrier.

Sterling helped Lansius dismount and escorted him to a nearby tent to seek shade. Lansius, with shaky hands, grabbed a jug of water and gulped it down.

As the squire, he removed Lansius’ training armor and noticed new bruises on the Lord’s shoulder, arm, and wrist, despite a layer of arming jack beneath the armor. “My Lord, you’ll need some salves.”

“Leave that for now,” he said breathlessly, lying down on a canvas bed.

Sterling nodded and left the Lord to recover.

After half an hour, Sir Callahan noticed Lansius had changed his clothes and looked refreshed.

“My Lord,” Sir Callahan greeted as Lansius approached him.

“Any news from Sir Justin and Hugo?” Lansius asked.

The knight smiled. “Not yet. Even with fast horse messengers, it will take more time.”

Lansius nodded, a mix of understanding and anxiety evident in his expression. Three days ago, he had sent them as envoys. The Imperium decorum dictated that a lord should extend courtesies if another lord was visiting their domain. It even suggested the types of gifts for the guest.

It was nothing but a political farce, considering most unannounced guests brought an invading force. Beyond the political theatrics, what he desired most was an accurate assessment of the enemy’s forces. He needed more information.

However, he was left with no option but to wait. Taking in his surroundings, Lansius noted the war preparations around Korelia were well underway. Sir Callahan and the squires had been invaluable in preparing the men and the trenches.

Lansius glanced towards the blond knight, his mentor, the best support he could ask for. He had never received a harsh word from him; instead, he had been taught with a gentle hand, receiving daily doses of inspiration and motivation.

More than just a mentor, Sir Callahan was also their most able diplomat. The knight alone successfully negotiated a trade deal with the Eastern Lowlandia merchants, securing their grain for the rest of the year. For that, Lansius was truly grateful.

“Sir Callahan, you may take the rest of the day off. Take this time to be with your daughters. We might need to mobilize either tonight or tomorrow.”

“Yes, My Lord. Does this apply to the rest of the knights and cavalry?”

“Indeed. Please inform them. We’ll feast in the Great Hall before sundown and await news from the Marshal.”

***

A week had passed. To the commoners of Korelia, the day started as any other—the sun slowly rising in the east under a blue, cloudless sky, heralding another sunny day in Korelia.

Unlike the hectic planting season of mid-spring, summer was a relatively calm period. It was a time when farmers and peasants saw their work start to bear fruit. Even with minimal tending, the crops on the farms grew taller, and the livestock fattened.

Summer also marked the time when the roads hardened enough for travel. After months of icy winter and muddy spring, merchants and peddlers resumed their travels and trade.

This should have been a good time of the year, but currently, things were looking bleak. On the western side, where there was typically nothing but empty plains, now stood more than a thousand tents. The invading army from the western Lowlandia had arrived.

Hundreds of flags and banners announced large contingents of knights. Their vibrant coats of arms contrasted with the predominantly green and yellow landscape. Many of the Houses were hundreds of years old and had played their roles in Lowlandia’s history.

Around a hundred horse-drawn carts were parked around the inner part of the camp, where the nobility resided. Fancy tents, some even lavishly adorned with bronze and gold embroidery, were evident.

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Despite the early hour, the camp was already bustling with activity. Tens of bonfires were lit for cooking, and hundreds of servants fetched water or did laundry at the small stream outside the camp.

Squires attended to their masters’ horses and war gear, while patrols made their rounds to ensure security. The field was abundant with dried grass or hay, providing easy feed for the horses and bedding material.

After eleven grueling days of marching, the Coalition troops, as they named themselves, finally had some basic comfort.

On the eastern side facing Korelia, the scene was starkly different. The town and castle had barricaded themselves. No soul dared venture outside the surrounding ditches and gates.

This was the first morning of the invasion.

***

Coalition Side

Since the crack of dawn, Baron Omin had been engrossed in his duties. This campaign was his brainchild, and he had invested more than just resources into it.

He was the one who had incited Viscount Jorge to launch the attack, for unlike Omin, who was a relative nobody in Lowlandia, Jorge had a legitimate claim over Korelia.

Korelia was Jorge’s birthright. He was born and raised there as part of a branch family. As fate would have it, Jorge was summoned back to Three Hills City to succeed his dying uncle. However, he proved to be an inadequate leader. His vassals seceded, and Jorge waged unsuccessful wars to retake the lost lands.

While Jorge struggled, individuals like Omin thrived. Ironically, times of war often presented great opportunities.

Omin, originally a migrant knight family from Centuria, had risen through the ranks by outliving his counterparts in Korimor. Biding his time, Omin eventually orchestrated a coup in Korimor, then he astutely pledged his loyalty to Lord Jorge and became a trusted ally.

With Omin’s assistance and the Nicopolans mercenaries under him, Viscount Jorge began to reclaim the lost territories. In exchange for his help, Jorge backed Omin’s official nomination.

Last year, Omin finally received his royal patent and ascended to the status of Baron—a rare feat in the Imperium. In a sense, he was a rising star. He had gained enough acclaim to make Jorge wary, and Omin was aware of this. As such, he designed this campaign to maintain his overlord’s favor.

Goading Lord Jorge had been an easy task. The younger lord was known for his folly and thirst for glory. He also had a strong attachment to his birthplace, which fueled his desire to recapture Korelia.

With Jorge’s authority, Omin managed to manipulate the grain prices last year, putting additional pressure on Korelia’s troops and population, thus making them more vulnerable.

The invasion plan served to keep Omin close to Jorge, as the nascent Baron still needed Jorge’s protection until he could stand independently. After all, his domain, Korimor, was a small city, not even a tenth the size of Three Hills.

Despite its size, Omin’s barony had established an effective bureaucracy, enabling him to maintain a considerable force. Of the six-thousand troops brought for this campaign, a thousand were from Omin’s ranks, including over a hundred cavalry.

Even though they were smaller in numbers, the Korimors were better equipped, with Nicopollan mercenaries at their core. Meanwhile, the troops from Three Hills were primarily levied peasants, second sons, and freemen—many of them no more than unemployed artisans or laborers.

The contingent from South Hill was not much better. They were only there to fulfill their sixty-day obligations. Most were seasonal farmers who were anxious about their upcoming harvest.

In this regard, the Korimors were more than triple their value in combat. Aside from them, only Jorge’s Black Knights were superior in the field.

Now, Baron Omin and his lone entourage arrived at the section of the camp he sought. It was an open field workshop, cluttered with wooden structures, ropes, and pulleys.

“My Lord,” greeted the master smith.

“Let’s hear your reports.” Omin wasn’t one for idle chit-chat.

“The construction of the mangonels is underway, My Lord. As you can observe, the frame is now in place. We plan to stiffen and reinforce it today, and by tomorrow, we should have a solid base for installing the throwing arm,” elaborated the master smith.

Observing the scene, Omin could see three catapults in the making. A team of carpenters, smiths, and specially selected men were engrossed in the task. The robust wooden frame was roughly as tall as three men standing atop each other.

“When will they be operational?”

“Provided the weather cooperates, two will be ready in five days, My Lord.”

Upon hearing this, Omin deliberated momentarily before deeming it unwise to accelerate the process further.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Maester,” Omin responded, admiring the progress before him.

Typically, it took several months to build a siege engine, but his were preassembled.

“Should you encounter any difficulties, come to me immediately. Your work is a top priority.” He told the grey-haired man, who resembled a scholar more than a carpenter or blacksmith.

“My deepest gratitude, My Lord.” The master smith bowed in acknowledgment.

Omin departed from the workshop, observing the sprawling encampment. To the unacquainted, the site appeared chaotic. Tents were haphazardly pitched with only narrow pathways in between.

This early in the morning, most of the infantry were still weary from their lengthy march, awakening slowly as sunlight filtered into their canvas dwellings. Some gathered near their tents, others headed straight to the nearby stream. Portions of the camp now reeked of human and horse waste.

“Is breakfast prepared?” Omin asked, his appetite unfazed by the stench.

“It should be, My Lord,” his towering Nicopolan bodyguard replied.

The two navigated toward the heart of the encampment.

“My Lord,” a woman clad in a blue surcoat with bronze accents called out to Omin. She had been waiting by the secured entrance to the nobles’ quarter.

Omin recognized her. Despite her youthfulness, she was the cavalry captain of the Nicopolans. “Lady Daniella, you presented your report this morning?”

“Walk with me, My Lord,” suggested Daniella, with a tone that hinted at urgency.

Omin followed her stride. Daniella’s background was more than just a mercenary, she was also a Nicopolan Baron’s daughter, albeit without inheritance. When she adopted such a demeanor, it indicated serious matters were at hand.

“What seems to be the issue?” asked Omin.

“The Korelians are mobilizing.”

“Are you certain?” Omin looked taken aback.

“I have already readied your horse and my riders,” she replied, guiding her employer towards the eastern edge of the camp.

Midway through the camp, a group of Korimors and Nicopolans brought forth their horses. Alongside twenty riders, they galloped eastward.

The terrain was flat, enabling them to spot distant silhouettes early on their journey. As they drew nearer, they could distinguish lines of soldiers standing between the castle and the town.

Omin pulled back on his horse’s reins, bringing the animal to a standstill.

What is the meaning of this?

He studied the Korelian formation contemplatively.

“Tally their numbers, but keep your distance,” Daniella directed her scout. Two scouts rode to estimate the size of the opposing force.

Meanwhile, Omin retreated into his thoughts. He hadn’t anticipated any skirmishes today. In fact, no one had.

Yesterday, upon their arrival, Lansius had dispatched a delegation, requesting a parley. It wasn’t a first-time occurrence either; several days prior, a group of horsemen had intercepted them en route to Korelia.

In both instances, Lord Jorge and Omin firmly declined any negotiation. They demanded that the delegation respect Lord Jorge’s claim and forfeit Korelia.

Lansius had yet to respond to Jorge’s invitation to battle. It was expected; strategically speaking, the Korelians lacked any incentive to venture into open battle. The Coalition’s overwhelming numerical superiority effectively ruled out that option.

While Lansius’ previous battle with Robert was shrouded in mystery, it was known that he favored mass crossbowmen tactics. This was why Omin had invested heavily in the construction of mangonels.

He anticipated that Lansius would adopt a defensive stance, waiting for the impending attack. After all, there was little a defending force, especially a smaller one, could do in such a predicament.

Omin surmised that the ditches encircling the town were meant to serve a similar function. Their purpose was likely to impede the Coalition’s advance, much like how Lansius had thwarted Robert.

So, why is Lansius marching out today? Is he looking for a battle? Or is this bait?

“Seven-hundred, possibly one-thousand, My Lord,” his scouts reported.

That’s almost all of Lansius’ troops.

He wasn’t sure what Lansius’ intentions were, but he knew how to react. “Fine, I’ll bring it to him.”

In war, flexibility is paramount. When there’s a change, there’s also an opportunity!

Omin intended to thwart and exploit Lansius’ tactics for his own gain. With his sight set, he rode back and prepared for battle.

***

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