The Eagle’s Flight - Chapter 233: The Seed of Conflict

With Rund in Mearcian hands, the Order army could continue. Supply lines stretching back across the Langstan to Hæthiod were secure. Ahead, in the far distance, the peak of Niðheim could be seen against the horizon. While the name revealed how the Mearcians disdained this place, the outlanders revered it. It held the throne of the Godking and stood as the centre of his priesthood. Furthermore, the city inside the hollow mountain held thousands of craftsmen, and the same number of slaves worked the deep mines to gather ore. From here, the armies of the Reach were equipped. To conquer the mountain would deal a crippling blow, perhaps decisive enough to end the war. Two days after the conquest of Rund, the Order army began its march south.

It took a week before they met resistance. Quick skirmishes between patrols that slowed their progress and kept them blind to what lay ahead further south. Sending a vanguard in force to press ahead, they eventually found the reason for the enemy presence. The outlander army, revitalised and reinforced, had marched out to defend Niðheim. Battle seemed inevitable.

~~~~

“How many?” Brand sat in his tent, studying a simple drawing of the surrounding landscape.

“More than sixty thousand,” Godfrey told him. Besides the two, only Geberic and Glaukos were present. The former sewed a tear in his tunic and the latter sharpened his blade.

“And I have less than forty.” The king exhaled. “The terrain gives no reprieve. Godfrey, are you certain of your plan? If you have the slightest doubt, I must withdraw. I cannot offer battle on these terms.”

“I am certain.” The wanderer looked at Brand resolutely.

“If you are wrong, I will not forgive this error.”

“I understand.”

“Very well.” The king looked at his sergeant. “Summon my captains. We fight.”

~~~~

In the camp of the outlanders, Sikandar had done as the king. Wearing the mask of the Godking, he sat in his tent with his captains gathered before him. Out of all of them, only Arash and Rostam had accompanied the commander during the first invasion of Adalmearc. The rest were recent appointments, filling the positions made empty by recent battles.

“If the drylanders advance, we must fight,” Sikandar declared. “We cannot allow them to besiege the sacred mountain. The scouts say we have more troops, which the flat landscape will allow us to take full advantage of. Yet our enemy has proven cunning in the past.”

“Their best chance would be to trap our centre as they did before,” one lieutenant argued. “We should focus our superior numbers on one flank, envelop theirs.”

“Many of our soldiers are new recruits or pulled from the garrisons,” Arash pointed out. “We do not know how they will handle the fight. We should place our troops evenly across our lines rather than risk any sudden vulnerability.”

“I agree with Jenaab Arash,” Rostam said. “On flat terrain such as this, cavalry will determine the outcome of the battle.”

“Surprising words from the leader of the Zhayedan,” another lieutenant remarked sarcastically.

Sikandar raised one hand to command silence. “Do you have more to say, Jenaab Rostam?”

“The typical strategy in a battle like this would be to divide the cavalry to protect each flank. Yet if we do this, and the drylanders do this, I fear their knights will prove stronger in both fights. With this open field, they can manoeuvre with ease, avoiding our infantry or retreating to make a renewed charge.”

“You have a solution?”

“We place all our cavalry on the one flank. If the drylanders do the same, the resulting engagement of such large numbers will keep them entrenched, allowing our footmen to join the fight. If they split their forces, we win the engagement, and our cavalry may envelop their infantry,” Rostam explained.

“And what of the other flank?” asked a lieutenant.

“We keep our reserves in that position. They may not do much fighting, but they can keep the flank anchored and defend against the enemy’s cavalry. Meanwhile, we win the battle on the opposite side.”

“It seems dangerous to commit our reserves to one side,” Arash argued.

“It will be balanced by the Zhayedan all fighting on the other,” Rostam countered.

“And if the Zhayedan fail?” asked another lieutenant.

“The drylanders will envelop our infantry and win. Which will happen anyway if we divide our cavalry and lose. Keeping all the Zhayedan together gives us the best opportunity to avoid this.”

Sikandar slowly wrung his hands together, though the mask hid all his emotions. “Fighting in the expected manner has not gone well against this enemy. And their knights have proven formidable. I will follow Jenaab Rostam’s advice.”

“Divine Majesty.” The aforementioned lieutenant bowed his head.

“Prepare the men. We fight tomorrow.”

~~~~

The two armies assembled on a flat plain. Nothing met their eyes except the peak of Niðheim to the far south. The sun had risen early and warmed the field; it promised to be a pleasant summer’s day, were it not for the impending bloodshed.

The outlanders stood in deep ranks with a large detachment in reserve on the western flank. Further behind, to the east, their cavalry waited under Rostam.

The Mearcians held nothing back. Their entire infantry stood deployed, allowing them to match the breadth of the enemy lines. As for the knights, all of them had gathered to the east, leaving their western flank exposed.

The Order soldiers did not waste a moment. As soon as they stood arrayed for battle, they marched forward. The outlanders met them with arrows. Meanwhile, Sikandar had already noticed the weakness in the Mearcian formation. Quickly, he sent a messenger to the reserves on the western flank. There would be no enemy cavalry to protect against; instead, they were to move into battle at once and envelop the Order army.

The king of Adalmearc did not waste time either. Even while his infantry still marched forward, he commanded his knights to attack. Having awaited the signal from the king’s banner, Sir Ewind began the charge.

The movement made by thousands of horses could not be disguised. Sikandar gave his own signal for the Zhayedan to make their counter-attack.

~~~~

“Jenaab, they have given the signal,” a soldier said, pointing towards Sikandar’s position. “The Godking bids us make our attack.” He sat on his horse next to Rostam.

The captain of the Zhayedan did not move. “Hold steady.”

“But Jenaab, the drylanders attack!”

“Hold!” he roared.

Ahead, the knights changed their direction. Having moved past the infantry of the two armies, they charged into the outlanders from behind, tearing through the ranks.

“Jenaab, the battle will be lost!”

“And with it, the tyrant!” Rostam declared.

“Traitor!” shouted the soldier. He dropped his spear to draw his sword, but Rostam was quicker, grabbing his dagger to stab to the other man.

“The reign of the Godking is over!” the captain bellowed, pulling his dagger back. “If you wish to see your families free, you will stand down!”

Confusion and murmurs spread among the Zhayedan. Finally, they drew swords.

“All for the Godking!”

“Death to the tyrant!”

A dreadful fight ensued as brother killed brother.

~~~~

The battle lasted only another hour. Unopposed, the knights crushed the outlanders’ formations. Their reserves were deployed on the wrong flank, attempting to envelop the Mearcian lines; they had barely moved into position before the battle had been decided. All hope lost, the outlanders took to flight, but the Mearcian cavalry pursued them across the flat plains all through the long summer’s day. When night finally fell, tens of thousands lay dead. The might of the Reach had been broken.

~~~~

In the evening, a handful of outlanders came to the Order camp under guard. Soldiers led them to the king’s dwelling, where a heated discussion with the thanes ensued. Finally, one of them stepped inside the tent. “My king, the outlander captain is here as you requested, but he refuses to yield his weapons.”

Brand raised one hand. “He comes as an ally, not a prisoner. Let him keep his sword.” Behind him, Glaukos grumbled while Godfrey murmured in assent.

Rostam entered the tent, still armed. Brand rose in greeting, inclining his head. He sat down, gesturing towards the chair in front of him, and his visitor took the empty seat.

“Welcome, Lord Rostam. I have been told of the aid you have lent us.” Brand glanced up at Godfrey, who had moved to stand to the side. “I am grateful.”

Rostam bowed his head in acceptance. “You are the great king of all your lands?” he asked, speaking the Mearcian tongue.

“I am high king of Adalmearc, yes,” Brand confirmed.

“You are young,” Rostam spoke hesitantly, “and you wear no crown or mask, but the same clothes as your servants.”

“My power does not rest upon such trinkets.”

The outlander nodded slowly. “Maybe we can learn from this. Once Sikandar is removed, and the Servants, we have difficult decisions ahead of us. We already have a second tyrant seeking to replace the first.”

“I assumed you would take up the mantle,” Brand said.

“I may hold the highest rank among those who seek the morrow,” Rostam explained, “but I will not take power for that reason. Else I shall simply be the third tyrant.”

“That is your business,” the king declared. “As long as the new ruler ensures peace with Adalmearc, that I never have cause to return.”

“That is certain,” Rostam promised. “We are not eager to have soldiers of your lands in ours any longer than necessary.”

“You need not worry. I will withdraw as soon as my aim is achieved.”

“Your army, yes, but what of the marked people?”

“He means the Dwarves,” Godfrey added.

“They seek return to their ancestral home. It is not for me to hinder this,” Brand claimed.

“They are your subjects, are they not? They come from your lands.”

“They did, but they left, and they are no longer my subjects. If they wish to settle, I cannot stop this. You do not expect me to turn my soldiers upon them, surely.”

“Yet you pave the road,” Rostam argued. “You remove any obstacle in their path. I am told they seek the sacred mountain.”

“Niðheim,” Godfrey interjected.

“It has been ours for as long as we remember. How am I to gain my people’s trust, convince them to cast aside the new Godking and his priesthood, if our lands are given away to invaders?”

“Without my army, you will not achieve any of this regardless,” Brand retorted. “This Sikandar may be defeated for now, but he will recover in time.”

“Without my help, you would not have won this battle. Not to mention I and others risked our lives to pass you information, undermining the Godking’s war against you from within,” Rostam countered.

“I believe that brings up an excellent point,” Godfrey interceded, “that you had and have a common enemy. If Adalmearc is to be safe, Sikandar must be defeated. If the other cities of the Reach are to cast aside the Godking’s yoke, Sikandar must be defeated.”

“You speak your honeyed words, Javed, but I do not dispute this,” Rostam said. “But I will give this warning. If the people of your lands come to take ours, it will be the seed of conflict. If you truly wish for peace to last, you should be careful what you sow.”

“Consider me warned,” Brand declared. “For now, Godfrey is right. We still have a war to win.”

“Very well. I must go. We still have many dead to bury.” Rostam rose, bowed his head, and left.