Harun stood opposite a river. Its watery passage separates him and Nasr's forces. Neither force had made a move since Nasr's arrival two days ago, only building camp and preparing for the inevitable battle. It was a flat land, with the only notable terrain being the river.
Harun smiled, knowing that it was Nasr's who had to attack. It was suicide for him to make a move with such little numbers. Coming next to him Ali looked at the forces opposite. It was hard to tell how much of what Nasr had.
"Not many horses on his side. A good thing for the river but he won't be able to do many raids on us." Ali rubbed the hilt of his sword, excited for the battle to come. Harun didn't understand how the old man was still able to come on the field at his old age.
"There are two bridges that are viable crossings. Send a raiding party through the other tonight. Have a small skirmishing force to follow behind it. They will set up camp a distance away. Tell them to watch for the raiding signal the North uses to signal an attack from behind. When the raiding party has come back, destroy the bridge. No fires for the skirmishing force. They must stay hidden." Harun fired off the orders. Ali gave a bow, running off.
Looking back at the camp, Harun's face scrunched as he looked at all the traitors who had originally sworn to his side. He turned, spitting on the ground in disgust, getting ready to prepare.
Nasr much like Harun watched the other camp. He was annoyed that Mansa wasn't here but took some solace that looking at Harun's army it was noticeably smaller. Walking back into the large tent, all the advisors bowed towards Nasr. "Tell me. What is the terrain like around here? I want resources, crossing, anything that will be important."
A greying man stood up. "There is a bridge to the north of here. We already have scouts placed on it to watch for any crossings, but otherwise, we are on flat land. Nothing of note."
Nasr took a seat in his chair. He grabbed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly. "What's the plan then? You gentlemen are all more experienced than me on the battlefield." Nasr spread his arms, to the men. War was a tiring affair to him.
"Both sides hold a strong defensive position, but Harun won't attack. We should expect a raiding party in the foreseeable future to force us out, but if we prepare for it then it shouldn't be an issue." The man said with confidence in his voice, but Nasr didn't share his sentiment. He learnt about the North and how they lived in preparation to take the throne.
They were skilled horseman, forced to learn due to the circumstances of living on the border. He even wondered if his soldiers would be able to kill one horse rider. But pushing the thought aside he knew he had to have faith. "Set up, traps around the camp and kill all light around them. Place double the guards on the food storage for the foreseeable future and keep all flammable material close to it to a minimum."
Nasr looked at the setting sun through the door of the tent. "Have a couple of men try and find a shallow part of the river tonight. If they find anything, get those that can swim to go across and wreak havoc." Standing up the advisors bowed. Nasr knew it was going to be a long couple of nights ahead of him, and he should try to get some rest whilst he could.
Ali rode at the head of a hundred horses. He let the wind hit his face and glide through his hair. He knew that Harun would be annoyed at him leading the raiding party but he was the most skilled rider in the camp. He had lost count of the number of times he had done this.
Nasr's camp got closer and closer every second. His eyes scanned it, and a smile formed. To the untrained eye, nothing seemed out of place, but he quickly noticed areas that had been left purposefully darker. Steering right he led the party around the back of the camp. As he did, he saw a bonfire lit in the direction he had come from.
He knew that he had been caught when bells went off in the camp, but it was fine. He knew the skirmishing force following behind would deal with the scout. Ali focused his attention on the camp. "DESTROY THE FOOD STORAGES AND IF YOU SEE THE FAKE SULTAN KILL HIM!" Ali shouted getting a round of cheers from the horse behind him.
The guards watched the flood of horses approach the camp. Ali began screeching a traditional war cry, those behind him quickly following. The guards watching it felt as if hell had come to earth, as they weakly raised their weapons. More and more gathered at the location, attracted by the deafening war cry.
Ali drew his bow, swiftly killing the two original guards. The horde of horses, ran through the camp, splintering off from one another. Placing the bow back on its holster Ali smiled full of joy as he pulled his sword out. He cut down two men who tried to hit him. Grabbing a torch with his free hand, he scanned his location.
It was a long task, but finding what looked like the food storage he threw the torch in, riding off and finding another torch. Horses ran amok throughout the camp. Few died as the rest were left to roam free. Ali looked like a demon to those he faced. His face contorted into a wide smile straight from the abyss. His black armour placed an evil aura around him.
Nasr watched the camp go up in flames. His royal guard surrounded his tent. One threw a spear impaling a horse that got close. Nasr's lip twitched and his eyes went cold. Catching a glimpse of Ali, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed about the outcome. He knew that his men would struggle but it was a complete embarrassment.
Bodies lay around. Around the camp, large fires broke out on what could only be the grain and food storages. Tents were set alight as those inside screamed in pain. A horn blowing from the edge of the camp got everyone's attention. The horse riders releasing another war cry, ran back to where they had come from, killing and burning anything they rode past. It was over as quickly as it started, the horses disappearing into the darkness.
Nasr heard the grunting of the rider who had been crushed by his horse. His eyes full of malice, he swung his sword down over and over, turning the man's face into an unrecognisable puddle of blood and flesh. "Figure out the damages." His tone was cruel. Those around bowed as Nasr returned to his tent.
Throwing his sword into the ground Nasr took a seat. Grabbing a wine next to him, he downed its contents, wiping his lips. "Mansa. You better succeed or the war is lost." Defeated, he spoke to himself. The difference in ability from one raid crushed his spirit.