CHAPTER 263: BEFORE THE BLOOD DRIES

Horizon of War Series

Before the Blood Dries

Big Ben

There in the field, surrounded by unconscious men and horses, a hulking wolf-like creature sat groaning on the ground. He gripped the reins of three horses, each animal so frightened of him that they didn’t dare make a sound.

“Why doesn’t the Lord ask me to join the fight?” Big Ben complained, glancing at the horses in annoyance.

Reginald, still trying to identify the trio of captured riders, replied without looking up. “Can’t help it. The Lord was probably surprised when he saw the riders coming.”

Big Ben groaned again, louder this time. “I wanted to fight more men. I wanted to dance through the crowd and—”

“—bash their heads. Yes, I know."

"Buhuhu..." He dramatically put his massive hand over his face, heartbroken over the lost chance for violence.

"The Lord is pulling back now. There may not be another battle.” Out of desperation during the retreat, the Lord had agreed to send them to chase after the three rebel riders, fearing they might jeopardize his ruse.

Big Ben’s tone darkened. “I wouldn’t count on it. Listen, Reggi. These rioters are well fed and have had plenty of rest.”

Reginald moved from the first man to the second, glancing up. “How can you tell?”

“Their faces, and their scent. They’re not wasted, and they don’t stink of sweat like laborers.”

“I see…”

Sensing Reginald was too busy to comment further, Big Ben heaved a long, deep sigh. “My legs so tired.”

“Then you should rest, Master.”

“I can’t,” the half-breed replied. “A moment ago, the Lord blew the whistle. We should be moving.”

“Then let’s take this one,” Reginald said after examining the men. This was why he was allowed to pair with Big Ben despite all the suspicion around them. He could tell which man to interrogate, and Big Ben could not. Reginald also suspected it was a test to see if he was truly on their side.

Big Ben rose and approached with an awkward gait. The half-breed had been walking and running a great distance that he whined and complained openly, unashamed of his weary legs. If not for his ability to run on all fours, his legs would have given out by now.

“Let’s just take this horse,” Reginald suggested, pointing at one of the finer animals they had managed to capture. He still planned to keep his, as the one the Lord had given him was still a finer Lowlandian steed.

Big Ben waved a hand to signal that Reginald could do as he wished, then carefully hefted the chosen man, still unconscious from a slap to the back, across the saddle, belly-down.

Meanwhile, Reginald let loose the other horse they didn’t need with a slap to its hindquarters. The beast bolted, likely joining the other that had already escaped.

After that, the former lord of the region slowly mounted his own horse, and Big Ben, as before, started to guide the horses with a long rope.

It wasn’t that Reginald couldn’t ride, but in the dark, horses were easily spooked. Thus, Big Ben used a lantern and himself at the front to convince the animals to follow.

As they marched south, away from the battle, Reginald periodically checked on their captive.

They had orders to enter Canardia from the far south to avoid getting caught.

***

Sir Hohendorf

Weary and exhausted, and having stumbled once so that a layer of dirt now stuck to his armor and filled the crevices of his helmet, Sir Hohendorf and his men finally arrived where the source of light stood. Like many who had arrived before him, his eyes were immediately drawn to the bright, mesmerizing glow of a massive crystal. Even mounted so high up, it was truly magnificent. He unlatched and removed his helmet for a better view, recognizing it as a dwarven artifact.

It was a gargantuan gemstone of light, a powerful one at that. It radiated so much energy that he could feel waves of warmth emanating from it.

Three more groups arrived, and now more than a hundred crowded in, surrounding the lone cart and the magical light.

Several of his staff, younger and fitter, had reached the site before him. They gathered around him. "Knight commander."

"What are you able to find?" Sir Hohendorf asked, his voice hopeful.

"We found this cart with a tall wooden frame and a great magical device mounted on top," one of the men reported, unashamed.

Sir Hohendorf furrowed his brows. "Tell me something I can’t see for myself."

Two of his staff shifted uncomfortably, unable to answer, their faces turning away in embarrassment.

Another finally spoke. "We came across stragglers in the field who told us what happened."

"Go on," Sir Hohendorf was piqued.

"He... he said a great battle just happened here. Many of our brethren have fallen."

"And?" The knight's patience was running thin.

When the man faltered, he pressed, "What about the thousands of our allies left in the arena?"

The man only looked away, shame clear on his face.

Sir Hohendorf was at a loss for words. All of his staff were just a bunch of rich adults without good sense. He turned left and right but found nothing but darkness pressing in on all sides. There was only the sound of cicadas droning as if mocking his lack of accomplishment.

"Just a single cart?" he shouted, anger and disbelief in his voice.

"Search again! Spread out! Find anything!" his squire barked.

Men with lanterns or torches spread out, trying to hunt down the elusive Lord's men. They were so furious at their failure that many didn't even bother to shield themselves. They had trapped the Black Demon, and yet they lost him.

It was a mistake. A big blunder on their part.

Sir Hohendorf kicked at the dirt to vent his anger.

His squire came closer and whispered, "Sir, the Saint Candidate has arrived."

Sir Hohendorf exhaled heavily, steadying himself. He couldn't afford to sound angry. He needed the Saint Candidate’s support, especially now, with his plans in tatters. After taking a swig from his squire's waterskin, he strode toward the newly arrived group.

The Saint Candidate was riding his horse, led by a few men and surrounded by her aides and followers.

He spoke first. "My Candidate, it's still dangerous here."

She paid him no mind. "Marvelous, marvelous," she said, ignoring his warning.

"The magical gemstone, yes, they're—"

"Gemstone? No, no... by the Living Saint, no," she stammered. "This is a Great Gemstone."

He turned for another look, adding, so as not to appear ignorant, "A dwarven artifact, no doubt."

"This is a fantastic find." She hurriedly dismounted and walked toward it, with Sir Hohendorf and another maid helping her, each holding one of her hands.

She stepped closer, not stopping until she placed her hand on the cart. "Magnificent," she muttered, as if completely enamored with the great crystal.

Meanwhile, Sir Hohendorf turned his gaze and saw his men and staff, who had scattered in all directions, still haplessly searching without finding anything. However, in the distance, his center line and reserve remained vigilant.

Suddenly, the Saint Candidate tried to climb into the cart, but her maids gently pulled her back. She looked anxious for a moment, but their words of comfort eventually calmed her.

Sir Hohendorf, watching the scene, came to an understanding. He quickly offered, "It'll make a fine jewel for our new place, should you want it."

She turned to him, her face unexpectedly firm. "No, this is not an object to be put up as mere decoration. This is a great gemstone," she repeated, the words heavy with wonder.

"Then what do you propose to do with it?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"This," she stammered, "this will need to go to the monastery. Saint Nay will have use for this. She'll be ecstatic!"

Her confidence and joy spread easily to those around her, including Sir Hohendorf.

Her tone piqued him, making him guess at the true worth of the grand gemstone. With the Lord having escaped his grasp, the rebellion would need the monastery’s support and a grand sum of money to wage a siege. "Forgive me for my words, but you sound as if finding this is better than capturing the Black Demon."

"It is almost as good. This is the bounty of the bounty. This is—" She turned to him, meeting his gaze with wild eyes. "Can't you understand? This magic is worth hundreds of thousands of souls."

The way she valued it with souls unsettled him, but Sir Hohendorf chose not to argue. He let out a generous smile and responded, "Certainly, certainly."

Their conversation was cut short as a group came running in haste, loudly asking about his whereabouts as they approached. Everyone nearby was drawn to them, sensing the urgency.

"Knight Commander, my Saint Candidate," they greeted as they stopped, halted by the personal guards.

"Well?" Sir Hohendorf motioned for them to speak.

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"One of my scouts has sighted the enemy column moving north. I confirmed it myself. Dozens of torches."

This was the turning point they had been waiting for.

Sir Hohendorf snapped his gaze to the north, but his eyes, ruined by the brightness above, could see nothing in the dark.

"It can't be," the Saint Candidate muttered. Her eyes glimmered with a faint gold, but the nearby light still blinded her. She narrowed her gaze, shading her eyes with one hand. Suddenly, she cried out, "It's them!" Her voice was full of raw excitement.

Everyone was brimming with anticipation.

The Saint Candidate stepped northward and declared, "There are hundreds of them, and plenty of horse-drawn carts. The Black Demon is fleeing."

Gladdened by this change of fortune, without waiting for confirmation, Sir Hohendorf shouted to his officers, "Gather everyone! Everyone!"

He would race all his forces north to catch his prey.

There might be an ambush, but he would gladly sacrifice thousands if he had to. Better that than to siege a walled city.

***

Lansius

By the grace of fortune, despite the initial grim reports, the rioters had been slow to react, giving Lansius' troops plenty of time to make their escape. After a huge effort, the men finally caught their breath as they reached the road. With firm ground under their feet, the beasts of burden willingly pulled the cart along the hardened path at a good pace. As they traveled farther, their spirits rose with the growing distance between themselves and the rioters.

However, Lansius kept pressing his officers to maintain the pace, knowing it was still too early to celebrate. At the end of their path lay the uphill march to camp, and he feared both men and beasts would struggle and need time to climb.

"My Lord, you asked for us." Two riders approached on foot, their horses led by recruits. They did not join the attack because they weren’t accustomed to using crossbows on horseback.

"Both of you, ride to camp and warn them about our situation. Tell them to make ready. We’ll need men to help us at the start of the hill path."

"Yes, My Lord," they replied. They mounted their horses and spurred them north toward Hill Camp.

As they left, Lansius heard his horse, guided by one of his guards, neigh.

He let out a knowing smile and reached out to pat the horse’s head. The mare snorted and twitched her ears. "Just a bit more," he reassured the beast.

Lansius understood. The horse wanted to be ridden. More than anything, she just wanted to return to her stall and rest.

He was lucky it wasn’t his destrier. That beast would kick at the cart or bite someone if faced with this kind of exhaustion. In such situations, only horse people like Audrey could handle its temper.

Oh, Audrey...

Mentally and physically worn, his focus slipped easily, his thoughts drifting to her and her labor.

In that warm haze, Lansius continued to march alongside his men and the cart. His men were so spent, they didn’t even banter anymore; they just kept moving, one leg after the other.

This column of fighting men had been reduced to a weary convoy. Up front, his captain led the way, with Lansius commanding the rear.

They marched in silence, listening for any sounds from behind. But aside from footsteps and coughing, there was only the whining of the cart’s axles over rough ground, the rush of night wind through the trees, and the endless drone of cicadas.

Suddenly, Lansius noticed his guards growing tense. He turned and asked, "What is it?"

"My Lord, it seems the scouts are back," one guard replied.

Lansius turned to look behind them, squinting into the darkness. He saw two figures in cloaks running toward the group, one holding a metal lantern.

Sensing the urgency in their movement, he halted, his guards following suit. The men nearby noticed and shifted uneasily. They, too, paused and watched the event unfold with rising tension.

"My Lord," the two scouts reported, breathless.

"Speak," Lansius instructed.

"The rebels have broken formation and are marching toward us."

Lansius had expected this, but it still stunned him to know their escape had been discovered. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, My Lord. The Camp Commander and the riders are doing what they can to slow the pursuit, but they're outnumbered."

Seeing Lansius slow to respond, his captain suggested, "Should we call them back?"

"No," Lansius replied. "There's no merit in that. If we give the signal, these rebels will know we are indeed retreating. Besides, I trust our riders to understand the situation and react accordingly."

Around him, without being told, his men began to pick up their pace. Murmurs of the enemy advancing spread quickly through the ranks. With all their ruses uncovered, his men picked up their slackened pace.

Suddenly, a nearby area was enveloped in bright white light. Lansius and his men turned and saw the glare. Even from a distance, it almost blinded them.

There was an immediate uproar from his men.

"My Lord," the scout whimpered.

But there was no need for words. Everyone understood instantly that the enemy had turned the grand gemstone against them. More importantly, the enemy had found out where they were.

Lansius had already ordered the carpenters to break the mechanism. Yet, even without the focus, the enemy could simply push and rotate the cart, aiming its light wherever they wished. Worse, Lansius sensed something deeper, and cold sweat broke out on his back. For the enemy to direct the light so close without much effort meant someone among them had night vision.

The tide had truly turned against them.

...

After a crippling effort through a grueling journey, Lansius' men won the race and reached the foot of the hill before the rebels. But there was no celebration. The bloody uphill path to the fortified camp loomed before them. It was the same hill his men and he had traveled so many times, yet now it looked impossibly steep, covered in slippery, blood-soaked dirt. If there was ever a point where they would make or break, this was it.

But even before they began the climb, his men stopped to stand at rest or simply collapsed to the ground in utter exhaustion.

Everyone was spent, even Lansius, who had stubbornly helped push the cart several times and knew he was worn out.

If there was any consolation, dozens of men, recruits and volunteers from the camp, were waiting to assist. Without hesitation, they scrambled to push the first of the carts uphill.

Moreover, the bright ray of light from the gemstone was finally blocked by a cluster of trees at their last bend.

Still, it was clear the enemy would catch up. Scouts at the rear watched the advancing column, relaying fresh reports every few minutes. Lansius knew his three groups of riders were fighting to scatter the first wave, but they were outnumbered and their horses so spent they had to pull away and find a moment’s rest.

He understood their thinking. If the riders fell straight back to his line, it would only spur the rebels to chase harder. By slipping off to the flanks, they kept the enemy wary and cautious. Every bit of hesitation bought more precious time.

Sensing that they had spent enough time to breathe, his captain rallied the men with a hoarse shout. "Get them up, get them up!"

His men, who had barely rested their limbs, forced themselves up and set to their last hard task of the day. With heavy steps, they pushed the carts, knowing the horses had done all they could and would need help for the climb.

"Come on, everyone, just a little bit more," someone called from the front.

But at the rear, a scout rushed to Lansius' side, his voice tight with a panic he rarely showed. "My Lord, the first group is closing in on us. Several hundred, maybe more."

"Inform the captain," Lansius ordered.

Soon, the captain walked to Lansius’ side to watch the creeping rebels moving with white light at their backs. "They’ll reach us before the last cart."

"Indeed," Lansius confirmed.

The captain drew a sharp breath and turned to his men, warning them bluntly, "Gentlemen, we’re about to get swarmed. Get moving, or get ready to die!"

His men gritted their teeth and frantically gave what little they had left, straining to push the cart upward.

"Push it, give it all," one shouted, and the rest groaned and murmured.

The whole crowd came alive, fighting exhaustion with raw effort. Surprised, afraid, but driven by the new urgency, even the most weary horse relented and labored upward. Step by step, they climbed the bloodied path left by the last battle.

Driven by fear, the men managed to push the carts and made a beeline for the camp.

As the men did their best, Lansius turned to his signaler, who had also helped push the cart. "Sound the call for the cavalry."

It was clear, they were desperate for help.

The man obeyed at once, raising the cornu and sounding the unique signal for the cavalry.

Lansius gestured for the last of his close retinue to follow.

As the men gathered, Lansius calmly took his battle axe from his young aide. Despite the threats, he turned to face them and shouted, "Rear guard action! Brave volunteers, on me!"

"My Lord," his guards shouted as his captain and the rest looked on.

"Please reconsider," they begged him.

He answered firmly, "We're close to our goal. Just a little bit more. Only the first wave."

"My Lord," they protested, "there’s likely a mage in their midst."

"Could be just an artifact user, or a Saint Candidate," another offered.

"Just? That’s a major issue," one of them muttered.

Lansius did not budge, and the guards, faces drawn with exhaustion, began to form up in front of him.

Old hands and veterans drifted in, gathering around Lansius until a solid column took shape, with him standing at the core. They were too tired to push the carts uphill, but not so weary they couldn't stand and fight.

A hundred paces away, scores of rebels poured from the bend, their breathing ragged, eyes wild with triumph. "We got them, we got them!"

"Rebels," one spat on the ground.

"Traitor," another hissed.

The men's gazes hardened and bodies tensed as one, shields raised and spears lowered.

Now they had been openly referred to as rebels and traitors. The preparation, the numbers, and the weapons made it clear to all: this was open rebellion. And such things would be answered in kind. When this ended, there would be a reckoning.

"Hold the crossbows," Lansius ordered. He couldn’t afford to waste a non-killing strike.

More rebels kept flooding from the bend, quickly swelling their numbers to a hundred, then more. Yet, more kept coming.

"By the Ancients," the captain muttered.

They all knew they stood little chance if the rebels waited for more.

"Slingers," Lansius called.

Two stepped up, weary like the rest, but still standing strong.

"Aim for the bend. Break them."

***

The Second Hill Path Battle

With the lights of Saint Nay glowing brightly behind them, guiding them through the darkened plains, two hundred rioters had gathered, their numbers still growing as more arrived from the rear. They had endured savage harassment from cavalry to get here. Wounds and deaths were a price many had already paid; thus, the thirst for revenge was thick in the air. If not for the Saint's light, this successful chase would not have been possible.

Most who arrived first were young and brash, but all were united by a single, burning faith in Saint Nay.

"For the Living Saint!" they howled from within their swelling ranks.

"Crush the Black Demon!" another cheered enthusiastically.

The chants spread and took hold of the mob. Despite heavy, weary limbs, men shoved through the ranks, hungry to fight, whipped up by the cusp of victory and the promise of the Living Saint’s blessings.

Hundreds more poured in, and the press of bodies grew tighter, the air thick with sweat and hot breath. Officers barked orders to hold them back, constantly glancing behind for guidance from superiors who had yet to arrive.

But there was no containing them. Facing their prize, the undisciplined mass quickly turned rowdy.

"What are we waiting for?" one barked, the others joining in a chorus of raw energy.

"Crush them!"

"Don’t let the Demon escape, attack now!"

They craved a decisive battle, convinced their cause was righteous. Men began shoving forward, setting off a chain reaction that surged through the column. Everyone shouted frantically, thinking it was the moment to advance.

Still, the officers managed to hold them back once more.

"Hold the line! We can't win by sending small groups. We must attack in unison," one shouted in vain, his voice drowned by the masses.

Amid the rowdy noises, two clay jars dropped from above and smashed open with a wet hiss. Only a few dozen from the hundreds noticed at first, but soon plumes of white smoke engulfed whole sections. Within moments, the choking stench swallowed the column. The rebels stumbled in panic, coughing wildly, tears streaming as they shoved blindly, breaking the formation apart.

The crowd reeled at the taste of choking pain, but those who didn’t scatter were filled with rage. Like a wounded giant, the mob bellowed. Their officers could not contain them any longer and let them loose against the Lord's column.

More than two hundred surged forward in a frenzy, blades and spears drawn. With reckless bravado, they charged the Lord's line. The Lord's men greeted them with a cold-blooded hail of bolts. In the flurry, a dozen men fell, and many more were wounded. Still, the advancing mass was too great, and the rebels hurled themselves into a brutal assault.

Blood was spilled in the chaos as the two sides collided in a violent fight to the death.

There, in the heart of the whirlwind, Lord Lansius fought shoulder to shoulder with his veterans while the last carts crawled up the hill.

No more tricks. There was only iron, resolve, and blood.

***

Just a note:

About this arc: Sp, I wrote Horizon with realistic battles in mind, and this is one of the things I wanted to get right. A battle is not just coming face to face, bash-bash-bash, and then victory. In reality, it is often a lengthy and time-consuming process, with countless skirmishes and actions from multiple groups that constantly shift the outcome. I do not want to water down this battle, intervene with plot armor, or tailor the wars to fit into a neat length. This will be the battle that consolidates his power in the region, much like Justinian in the Nika Riots.

If you find this arc hard to read, you can wait 2 - 3 weeks instead of complaining, because it is not going to move any faster. Or you can always join Patreon and read 17 chapters ahead. 😅

As usual, any battle map update is free in Discord! ❤️

...

On a different matter, not to cause panic, but my country is currently in the midst of large student protests. At least a thousand protestors have been detained, colleges have been stormed by police, and riots have spread. Several government buildings have been burned, and at least ten people have died in the unrest. 😰

Schools remain closed, and people are generally advised to stay home until the situation stabilizes. There is also the risk of looters at night, so communities are taking care of their own. 🫠

I am mostly fine, but with so much happening it is nearly impossible to concentrate. Most of my time goes into following the news in case something escalates. I have secured supplies, and hopefully the government can reform so the storm of protest will pass.

For the next week or two, expect the update schedule to be irregular. Let us pray that nothing more serious happens, and that the situation de-escalates quickly. 🙌

Lastly, note from the publisher: get the 1st book. Horizon 1st e-book is under a dollar in Amazon. Limited time only. Book I on Kindle, Amazon & Audible 🎉