You sit at the bank of the Atiming River, watching the waters run by. You need your peace before a battle. You always have.
A voice behind you says, "I thought I'd find ye here."
You turn to see Darin walking limping toward you, arms folded across his chest.
"'Alone time?'" Darin asks with an uncomfortable waggle of the eyebrows.
"What?" you ask, confused.
Darin smirks. "I's often forget how easy it is to make fun of you."
"Okay, old man."
His smirk falls. "A low blow, young man."
"You did it first."
"Maybe I did," he replies as he takes a few steps closer.
And then he goes quiet.
"Is there somethin' wrong?" you ask Darin.
He shakes his head. "I's just makin' sure you're okay."
"I'm good. Just need some space."
He nods. "I's understand, lad. Hell… I need my space, too." He starts to walk away, saying, "I'll give ya yer space, lad."
"Thanks."
He turns and says over his shoulder, "And… Arthur Hornraven? If you ever need me… I's open for ya."
"Don't worry, I ain't gonna break on you, gov'nor." Not yet, at least.
He chuckles lightly and continues on his way.
You have no intention of ever taking him up on his offer.
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You watch the waters of the Atiming rush by. You feel the cold air on your skin. In the distance, the enemy camp stirs as yours does. The enemy is preparing in much the same way.
Ultimately, the two sides of this battle and the conflict at large are not all that different from each other.
Back in The War, you fought the Erisian invaders, a group of people dead set on the conquest of the entirety of Krorid, and most likely Kanton right after. It was an existential threat to the Kroridians, and you maintained a sense of moral superiority.
But this war is just senseless violence over a crown. The men you face are Kantonians. They're your supposed brothers. Even if you never truly fit in among the Kantonians, they're still your countrymen.
But most disgusting to you is how excited you are for the battle.
Excited…
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You feel a sense of anticipation, a readiness for the fighting that is to come. Because the actual act of fighting is a thrill that no other activity can give. The adrenaline, the high of combat and bloody victory…
It's only after the slaughter that your mind can focus on the costs of it all. It's difficult to ponder the ramifications and morality of war when you're fighting for your life.
But you're excited to feel the high again. To be in the field again, alongside your comrades. To feel alive again. To break your cycle of numb emotions and fits of self-hatred.
Battle is what makes you, but ultimately it is what breaks you. You have no purpose in this world besides fighting, and a primal, subconscious part of you embraces it. While you may scream internally and rage against the human cost of it all, another part of you revels in the violence.
It's just another reason for you to hate yourself.
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You're a psychotic, unstable soldier who lives to fight. Who can only feel alive by taking the lives of others.
You rage against the inhumanities of war as you lead more men to die.
You're a hypocrite, a liar, a murderer, and you hate yourself for it.
You're a true godforsaken mess.
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-Eight Years Ago-
You had just gotten back from Krorid. You had just spent another four wretched months in that jungle, practicing with Cadarn. You've only a few days of respite from travel and training.
And now you have to go back.
You speak, your voice low and deliberate so as to not provoke your father. "I humbly request that you reconsider."
The king looks out the window, back turned to you, hands folded behind him. He tenses up for a moment. You tense up as well, ready to dodge any strike he throws your way. Such reactions are instinctive to you now.
Instead, Sobik remarks wistfully to nobody in particular, "Sir Cadarn said your training has been coming along… quite well."
You narrow your eyes and repeat your request.
"No." He shakes his head. "No. I've already made up my mind. You must go. Consider it your… princely duty."
You clench your fist in silent hatred. "I am no general, Your Majesty. Nor am I a prince." Not anymore, anyway.
"It matters not to me. Peasant, noble… bastard… they all can serve the crown."
You mean they all can be used by the crown, you think but dare not say, lest you provoke the man.
You sigh. "How long will I be down there? Another four months?"
He goes silent for a few seconds. "I… don't know."
An awkward silence descends upon the room. After a moment, your father breaks it, saying, "The army has already mostly gathered. You've a week to pack, rest, and say goodbyes."
White-hot rage boils up within you. You feel frustrated tears beginning to well up in your eyes. But you can show no weakness in front of Sobik. Instead, you pull it back within you as best you can and reply flatly, "Your Majesty… may I at least have your permission to meet with your daughter?"
He chuckles. "Elya? Fine. Not that you listen to me when I tell you to stay away, regardless."
"Thank you," you force out. "Am I dismissed, then, Your Majesty?"
"Yes. Go… talk with your sister." He says the final words as if they're acid in his mouth.
As you reach the door, Sobik glances at you from over his shoulder. He says, a hint of remorse in his voice, "You won't be down there for more than six months."
You make no attempt to reply. You slip out of his room, shutting the door behind you.
You won't see him again for three years.
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Chapter 5 - The Battle of the Atiming River
There's a sense of power that comes from being at the helm of an army. You're surrounded by the military men of Kanton. They answer to you. And you? You answer to…
A smile spreads across your face. This feeling of power, of control, feels good.
The queen breaks you from your thoughts, saying, "Gentlemen, shall we begin?"
It isn't the most regal setting for a monarch. She is without traditional garb, huddled in furs to protect from the cold, surrounded by rough military men. You, Darin, Obren, and Velinor sit in the pavilion with her, armed and dressed for combat.
This pavilion is lit by torchlight and the last glimpses of the setting sun, shining under the fabrics. A table sits at the center, with a chair for each member of this impromptu military cabinet pulled up.
No soldiers guard the pavilion, inside or out. You do not trust easily swayed and easily bought men to be within earshot of where you're formulating your battle plans. Besides, your current company can easily protect the queen themselves.
Darin clears his throat and replies, "Yes, Yer Majesty, I guess we shall…"
A pause falls upon the cabinet.
After a moment, Velinor, breaking the silence, says, "Alright. I's reckon we'd best start quick. Hit 'em fast and hard. Send some riders downstream toward the wooded area and cross there."
"We couldn't get any sizable force of cavalrymen across the river without them noticing. This fork is the easiest crossing. Further upstream would be… difficult," Sir Obren replies.
Darin speaks up. "And if that group got caught, they's be fucked."
Velinor nods. "Yeah, which is why I's recommending that we don't only do that."
You clear your throat and say…
"Commits?" Elya asks for clarification.
"Commits their army," you explain. "Engages in full force, going all-out."
"If the enemy commander has a lick of sense, he wouldn't fully commit with this river in the way and forest on his flank," Obren says.
"If the enemy commander had a lick of sense, he's wouldn't attack us at all," Darin replies with a chuckle.
Velinor nods in agreement. "So, the odds are that he's not gonna. At least, not how we expect it."
You shrug. "I don't know this commander. It's not Rade, though. The army doesn't fly his banner, and well, if it was him… we wouldn't have taken the crossing so easily."
"The river's a constant force, my friend, whether Rade or this new commander is at the helm," Velinor says.
"Of course. The river is our greatest asset. He'd need some sort of bridge to cross it. If he attempts to send infantry through those waters, he's fucked," you say. "Any reasonable commander would attempt to circumvent it."
"Exactly," Obren says. "I believe we should keep our cavalry in reserve and wait. Wait to see what he does first and then prevent it."
"We's lose the initiative that way," Darin remarks. Obren sighs.
Elya speaks up. "I have a question."
"Go ahead," you say.
"Isn't it a flaw that all our plans revolve around them attacking us first?" she asks.
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Velinor nods in agreement. "We's need to maintain some kind of momentum."
"We don't need to attack to keep the initiative," Obren replies flatly.
Darin says from his seat, "We's can start preparing for our own offensives. Get some bridges ready. Keep men in reserve. Doesn't hurt to prepare."
"It comes down to when they decide to attack," Obren says.
"We need to forage regardless," you say. "We need food. Materials."
Foraging parties are the lifeblood of an army as undersupplied as yours. It isn't practical to haul lumber over such great distances. As such, materials must be gathered at the site of a battle. The bulk of your men are farmers or laborers, fit and young, easily capable of chopping lumber or digging trenches.
Darin comments, "The forest further up the river where we approached from could keep us sustained for a lil' while." He smirks. "Now… what to construct?"
"We's cover our bank of the river with traps and debris. Stakes, caltrops, pitfalls—anythin'," Velinor says. "Tear up the land. Keep them from marchin' in a formation. And keep away any cavalry."
"Or," Obren cuts in, earning a small glare from Velinor, "we construct a set of walls, reinforce it with stakes and the like. Mass our infantry there. It'll keep the enemy from even making it over the river."
Darin shrugs. "Any efforts toward defenses are gonna slow down the buildin' of any bridges."
Elya, clearly out of her element in such talks, glances to you. "Your call, Arthur Hornraven."
"Understood, Marshal," Darin says.
"We'll need a strategy for if they attack, as well," you add, attempting to prompt a conversation.
Obren speaks up immediately, saying, "We should line our infantry beyond our traps. Then, we place our archers beyond them, loosing volleys on them as they scramble over. Before they reach the line, we withdraw the archers and move our infantry up."
Velinor asks, "What about our cavalry? I's think our knights ain't gonna help much on horseback. Might as well dismount them."
Darin shrugs and says, "What about our lighter riders? They's gonna be shit in a melee."
"Send them up the river, maybe?" Obren suggests. "Attempt a crossing further north?"
Elya glances at you again, her eyes pleading.
And the decision, once again, comes down to you. Not the queen.
You consider your options, racking your brain to remember the strategies of olden times or from The War.
Odds are, the plan you formulate now will not work as intended. You cannot have your army maintain constant readiness. They cannot stand, unmoving, in their battle lines for days on end. When the battle begins, when your enemy assaults, the lines must be formed quickly.
You place a hand to your chin in thought, considering your options.
An oblique ordered formation involves packing your strongest units on one flank. During a battle, the center and weaker flank slowly fall back as the strong flank pushes forward, breaking through and attacking the enemy from the rear.
Archers could harry the enemy as they approach through the traps, leaving the beleaguered enemy to face a counter-charge from an unconventional formation.
"We'll place our infantry in an oblique ordered formation, just beyond the traps. We shoot 'em to shit as they approach, and then we counter-attack when they reach us?"
"Place them in what?" Elya asks.
"It's an… unconventional formation. We place the bulk of our army in one wing of the battle line."
"What purpose does that serve?"
"The strong soldiers punch through the enemy flank, hopefully breaking them," you reply. "The rest of our troops could then just run them down."
The men nod contentedly.
"What of our retinue, Marshal? Should we's just place 'em with the infantry?" Darin asks. Without looking down, he begins to write down the details of the strategy on a sheet of parchment.
Obren nods. "They sure as hell aren't knights, but they're better than a levyman. They'd do well fighting as infantry."
You know the men of the retinue are higher quality than the typical infantryman. If you suspect you had enough of them, you could disperse them among the infantry. Or you could mass them in the center of your line, possibly breaking the center of the opposing army, leading to an easy rout and victory.
Darin nods. "As ye order, Marshal."
Obren speaks up again, saying, "As for our cavalry, I believe it'd be best to keep them in reserve. We don't have the space to maneuver, and committing them as infantry is… risky."
Velinor opens his mouth, then shuts it and shakes his head. He glances at you. "It's yer call, my friend."
Obren nods, emotionless, the rejection of his strategy clearly not affecting him on a personal level. "Should they be spread evenly?"
"Understood," Obren replies.
Darin sets his pen down and rolls up the parchment he was writing on. "I's guess that's enough of the outline." You nod in the affirmative. He turns toward Elya. "Yer Majesty, with yer permission, I's like to begin preparations for tomorrow."
Elya, suddenly brought back into the conversation, clears her throat and says, "Of course, Captain."
The old warrior stands up, offers Elya a small bow, and then limps out of the tent.
Elya turns to the rest of you and says, "Everyone else is dismissed until the morning."
Obren replies quickly, "Your Majesty, would you have us place out patrols for the night?"
Elya blinks. After a moment, she says, "Uhh… of course. Please."
"Understood, Your Majesty," the young knight replies.
With this, both he and Velinor stand, bow, and exit the command pavilion. You make to leave as well, but Elya extends her hand to stop you. You lower back into your seat.
"Could you stay a while, Arthur Hornraven?"
You grit your teeth. "Everything okay?"
She waits until both Velinor and Obren have left the pavilion before she focuses her attention back to you. "No, not really. I just… wanna speak with you."
"Alone," she adds.
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