When he was young, Corwell's father, the Dux before him, would tell stories about monsters lurking in the murks. Corwell would hear about swamp men and ghouls and wandering man eaters. He would huddle behind his blanket upon hearing scratches and screeches. Corwell feared the dark because of monsters.
But as Corwell kept occasional glances towards the dark plains before them, he feared something more real. Swamp men and ghouls and wandering man eaters don't exist. Marquis Erik's army on the other hand, were real.
Every hooting of owls and every small flit in the tall grass would draw Corwell's fear. Every sound, every movement would make his heart beat in quick rhythms. Sometimes he would see knights charging with their bulky steeds, only to escape his delusion. Sometimes it was Castonians in their black mails and stern faces. Other times he would hear war drums- unstopping, steady- pounding in the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Corwell reached back to the satchel slung on the side of his horse. Inside the satchel was another waterskin, this time made of sheep bladder and not leather. Choking the neck of the waterskin, he drank the wine inside. His shaking hands saw to it that half of the flow dripped out of his mouth. The fermented vine formed smudges on his uniform. Corwell couldn't do anything but curse.
"Have... any of the scouts reported?" Corwell asked, to nobody in particular as it was too dark to see faces. All he could see are the figures of his men marching with him.
"No sire" a voice replied curtly.
Corwell sent every man with a horse to scout. Even the horses carrying the barrels of oil were used. Corwell wants eyes and he wants warning. If Marquis Erik does attack, he wants to know where and how many. He wants to send spears to where spears were needed, arrows to where arrows would hit and swords to where it would bleed. He is a sensible man, he again thought- but now a degraded belief as he started to question his ability.
The march meandered south, tracing the bank of the Red River. The River stayed silent to their ordeal. Corwell heard not a single splash. He was told that the Red River is a placid body.
It had been a long time since any of the scouts reported back. Seeds of restlessness sowed in his heart, Corwell thought of grim possibilities. More than a hundred rider he sent and none returned. Not even a cry, not a neigh either. It was as if the darkness swallowed the scouts.
"It is dark, aye" Corwell talked, suddenly "They are just lost. It's the darkness' fault. The scouts are lost. It is a wide plain. So don't murmur about the scouts being all dead!"
His shout was met with turns of heads.
"We ain't murmuring about such thing sire" A soldier reasoned.
"Right. Eh, don't mind what I said" Corwell adjusted on his saddle, embarrassed. It then occurred to him that he shouldn't be. He is a Dux. His father is a Dux. His son will be a Dux.
Corwell raised a finger "But never murmur of such thing. We are safe. Vulus, Creton and Sulla are with us, Gods of old and Gods of true"
Silence, again. Corwell started to loathe silence. He turned towards the front and just rode.
A few thousand steps brought them the pale blue glow of twilight. Fresh air filled his nose, minty and a pinch of something sweet. The march became sluggish. His men dragged and yawned. Marching through the night taxed them too much.
Should we rest? Corwell thought to himself. Maybe they could pitch tents for a while until mid morning. He then remembered that the tents were left behind because he commanded that all the horses are to be used for scouting. But a rest is needed. He was tired himself and his horse's head is already lowered.
"Halt the column" Corwell commanded. He repeated it a few more times before the order was received.
The march stopped. Eight thousand men lay on the grass. Some slept with loud snores. Corwell climbed off his horse. The tall grass drowned his feet up to his ankles. The green things that stretched for leagues on end looked like a blanket. Corwell was called to sleep. He blinked a few times and decided that a moment of rest wouldn't hurt.
"Dux" called one of the Calgarians. Corwell opened his eyes. He traced his look towards the direction the soldier was pointing. His drowsiness was snuffed like a candle amidst a storm.
An army presented before them, stretching long. They were many and they were intimidating. A distance of about a league separated the two sides. The Calgarians, still with swollen eyes and ruffled hairs, snapped into formation. It wasn't a good formation- mismatched with spears mixing with crossbows. Semblance of Cohorts and Centuries was nowhere. Corwell went up his horse in a hurry, almost falling in the process.
"Form up! Steady men, steady!"
A group of horsemen rode out from the enemies. The white flag was raised. There were five of them. Corwell raised his own white flag and met the messengers.
Fifteen of his own stood beside. Only Corwell was on horseback. The messengers were all armored. Three had the black mails of Castonians while the other two were knights.
"We have your scouts" the knight said "all except a few who died and escaped"
"Died?"
"They fought, foolishly, and threw their lives. Most had the sense to surrender though"
"What do you want?" Corwell rushed.
"Unconditional surrender. We surround you and your men are tired. Look at them. They cannot fight, not in those conditions. With only the River behind, there is nowhere to run. Marquis Erik doesn't indulge in blood and violence. But if you choose to fight, we will be true to our words and annihilate you"
Corwell looked behind. His cowering men were half routing already. It would be their defeat if he fights. But surrendering doesn't sound good either. He will be a prisoner. He is Dux like his father and his father before him. It would be a shame to surrender without a fight.
He will only surrender once his men have routed. That way, he wouldn't have to face shame. A few hundred of his men would die but their sacrifice will prevent Corwell's family from being shamed.
"Come at us" Corwell said "We will meet swords"
"Dux!" One of the Calgarians shouted in surprise. The others gave him frowns.
"We will not surrender boy" Corwell barked.
"But we will die. We will lose. Are you mad!? We have been defeated the moment that bridge was destroyed"
"Shut your mouth or by Sulla's grace I will execute you!"
Corwell again turned towards the knight "You have your answer. Marquis Erik will have to bash through our spears if he wants us to surrender. We will..."
Corwell felt a sudden cold on his back, unfamiliar cold unlike the usual brought by wind. It was biting. Corwell looked behind. A sword was stuck on his back. The tip protruded a little out his chest. The wielder was one of his own.
"We will surrender" said his killer to the knight.
**********
"Well we have won a bloodless victory" said Queen Emily, leaning forward on the table inside the pavilion. The sun was yet to rise.
"Not bloodless" Erik corrected "They killed their foolish commander right?"
"And blood well spent" Henry said "That was dishonorable, yes. But that betrayal saved thousands of lives"
Erik formed a grin "Look at our First Spear. You have grown. If it was the old you, he would have said, 'By the Omniscient's mercy! That was awful. A stab to the back, what a folly. Oh this is a dark day. The Omniscient is weeping'"
"I am not as dramatic as that" Henry protested
"Well you were something like that before Henry. But enough of that" Queen Emily shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose "What now? We have captured them, eight thousand Calgarians in an almost bloodless victory. But our supply lines are cut. We have no food. We will starve"
"I must agree with the Queen, Erik. Even if we did capture all of the smaller force, we would lose to Balian in a week or so. We cannot feed such a huge host. My knights' horses alone need a constant supply of hay and grains. The nearest crossing point across the Red River is up north near Murt which is at least a week's march from here. They could just run down our starving host"
Erik clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes "I am insulted by your lack of faith towards my skills. Fine, get on your horses and ride with me"
"Where are we going?" Asked the Queen
"Just get on your horses. Bring guards if you want to. It will be a short ride"
Erik exited the pavilion and a squire brought him a horse. Henry and Queen Emily followed. Twenty guards went with them in a ride towards the river and then down south.
When the sky was light yellow and the morning coming into being, Erik halted and dismounted. Queen Emily and Henry followed.
"Why did you bring us here?" Asked the Queen
Erik went to the river and washed his face. He wiped with a clean cloth a squire provided.
"Look around. What do you see?"
Henry started to tilt his head around.
"The Great Plains to the west, the other bank of the Red River to the east" He looked to the north "More river to the north..."
But when he turned his look to the south, he saw dots in the river down south. He squinted, trying to see in the weak light of the rising sun. After some time the figures became more apparent. They were ships, dozens of them and large. Henry was confused because aside from fishing vessels, Tulosa doesn't have a navy. He looked at the flag and his squinting eyes went wide.
"Vanadian ships" Henry uttered.