Horizon of War Series Chapter 270: Vultures

Vultures

Canardia Outskirts

Underneath the cloudy skies, seventy riders and three half-breeds approached the road leading into the vast arena. Eyes sharp, every sense straining for signs of an ambush, they kept a steady pace, careful not to stir up dust or thunder across the ground and risk giving themselves away too soon. Because of their rushed return to Canardia, Sir Harold and his riders wore only light armor, mostly brigandine, and carried no long lances. Yet every rider was confident in their skill.

As they drew closer, black specks beca visible circling in the sky ahead, drifting over the fields next to the arena. To veterans and old n who had seen or lived near battles, it was a clear sign of a battlefield.

The riders slowed at the crest of a gentle rise. The squawking of carrion birds echoed across the yellowed grassland. Hundreds of paces away, a great flock of vultures and crows feasted on the countless black and brown forms strewn across the open land. Only yesterday, each of those shapes had been alive.

One half-breed wrinkled her nose and complained, "It stinks."

Her kin showed the sa disgust.

Even the humans could now catch the stench of rot, confirming that what they saw was indeed a field strewn with corpses.

"I see none of our banners," a sharp-eyed rider said to Sir Harold.

"They're not ours," another rider said with forced confidence.

Sir Harold thought otherwise. "Better give it a look." He spurred his horse forward, and the rest followed.

As they approached, the carrion birds grew agitated. So flew off with strips of flesh clamped in bloody beaks; others flapped their giant wings in warning, stubbornly refusing to yield their feast even with thousands of bodies scattered across the field.

Sir Harold paid the vultures no mind and let his n spread out to investigate. anwhile, he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon and the arena. He knew they were exposing themselves, but he needed answers.

The heat made the stench unbearable. Even the horses grew restless, unnerved by so many corpses.

Eventually, the n had searched enough, and the group moved away, finding relief where the wind blew the stench away from them.

"It's not our n. They're not even well ard," one quickly reported as they rested behind a cluster of trees.

"But there are plenty of spears and shields," the leading half-breed argued, crossing her massive arms.

"Not as well made," another pointed out.

"It could be militia from the city," one speculated.

There was a pause as everyone considered the possibility.

"Whoever they are, this isn't a riot," Sir Harold said, his voice steady. "This is a well-planned rebellion."

Everyone looked tense. They had co here expecting to go against riots, not an open rebellion. Now the risk was higher. There could be an ambush at any mont, and they knew nothing about their enemies.

"Assuming they are rebels, what could've killed that many?" one asked, and everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

They knew the Lord had only a few hundred in the garrison, while the dead in the field easily numbered several thousand.

Not even Sir Harold had the confidence to claim the Lord was capable of such a feat.

"Shall we go to the arena?" the leading SAR asked.

The tall knight turned to the half-breed. "Can two of you infiltrate the arena and report back?"

"Certainly," she answered.

"Then let's rendezvous at the foot of the hill camp." With that, Sir Harold guided his horse off the road, skirting the battlefield toward the hill camp.

They had ridden this path many tis. The scenery was usually serene, with vast grassland on one side and sparse woodlands on the other. But they were only midway to the hill camp when they found another telltale sign of carnage. Just as they feared, amid the thinly wooded area, they once again encountered carrion birds feasting on the dead. The flock nearest to them was casually plucking out eyeballs or tearing innards from open wounds.

The birds there were fat, so struggling to take flight as the riders approached.

"Foul creatures," the leading rider muttered as they rode through the rotted field, stopping only to try to find banners or identify the dead.

"Bolts," one exclaid as they slowed down.

"They're ours, judging by the feathers," the last half-breed comnted, looking at the bodies gathered in mounds by the roadside.

"Rebels," Sir Harold grunted.

"Indeed, there are no surcoats with our colors," another confird with relief in his voice.

"But what kind of battle is this?" Sir Harold's squire wondered aloud, knowing that usually the remains would be collected. The city would gather the armants, valuables, belts, and shoes, while trinkets would have been taken by thieves, robbers, or nearby peasants.

"It ans there is still no clear victor," Sir Harold replied.

Fueled by this discovery, the seventy riders pressed ahead toward the hill camp, every sense on high alert. Hope lingered that sohow their Lord’s small force had managed to hold off the rebellion. But they had barely caught sight of the hill when they found the remnants of another battlefield.

They ventured forward slowly, finding scattered weapons and mangled bodies along the way. The farther they went, the worse it beca. The grass was stained sickly colors, the stench was overwhelming, and crows flapped everywhere. As they arrived at the hill path, the scale of the carnage truly shocked them. There were corpses everywhere they looked. Even its two moats were filled to the brim, overflowing with bodies.

"By the Ancients," the leading rider muttered, staring at the moats.

Even a few veterans spat, fighting the urge to vomit. There were a dizzying number of corpses. It was as if an entire town’s population had been slaughtered and left to rot. The grueso scene attracted everything from insects to rodents, all feasting on the dead.

Sir Harold looked up and saw the camp gate was shut. The place seed eerily quiet, with no sign of activity on top of the wall.

"Should I hail them?" the half-breed asked cautiously.

"No," Sir Harold shook his head. "Even if there are allies inside, danger lurks in surprise."

"Then where do you plan to go?" she asked.

"Where else? The city." Sir Harold guided his restless warhorse eastward.

The seventy rode away from the carnage. They were barely out on the open fields when one rider shouted, "Dust billowing high!" while pointing south.

They all knew what it ant. It was the mark of cavalry. An army was approaching from the south, fast and hard.

Concern spread quickly among them. This could be the rebels' main army.

***

Lansius

He had awakened refreshed, enjoyed a late breakfast, and led a productive war eting. Now, Lansius walked under escort toward the castle balcony, where the crowd awaited a glimpse of the heir to his House. Without prior experience, he had wrongly assud that Audrey and he could simply appear and present the baby for all to see. But as always, for those of high rank, tradition demanded preparation. First, his family and the castle staff needed to wrap the baby in the finest silk and fit the baby with a hat to protect against the sun. anwhile, the herald had begun delivering a short speech to address the crowd.

With the ongoing rebellion, the staff believed it was especially important to calm the people. They would use the baby’s reveal to gather support and improve morale.

Lansius made sure only one thing: that the herald did not defend him or try to soften the blow of his defeat.

The reason was that he understood public perception was an entirely different matter. Treating it as sothing ordinary would doom his office.

To the uninitiated, explaining or defending against rumors might seem natural. Yet in the eyes of the people, even offering an answer was as good as admitting so of the claims were true.

Thus, as Lord of this domain, Lansius could not be seen defending himself against rumors and gossip, as it would only confirm so of the rumors. Instead, he would let the public dwell on the rumors, even allow them to question them. But he would offer no explanation, show no reaction to their whispers, and give them nothing.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

If he did this correctly, the public would begin to doubt itself. By not answering, he gave them nothing concrete to attack, or speculate about. In that air of uncertainty, they would question the rumors, grow tired of them, and wonder if they were missing sothing or had misunderstood what they had heard. Their curiosity would naturally lead them to fill in the blanks themselves or seek the truth in how the Lord behaved, watching for clues in his actions.

Lansius understood that the dynamic between ruler and subjects was sotis akin to that of parents and their toddlers. What they perceived most was the language of power and authority. They were not as engaged in dialogue or verbal explanation, instead relying on body language, subtle clues, and signals.

In essence, nonverbal communication was the true language the public spoke, especially in this era when most of the population had little education and were less swayed by argunt.

Thus, Lansius tried to answer in a way they could understand. He would show no regret, no discomfort, and no sign of defeat. Instead of weakness, he would march with dignity and strength.

After all, the essence of rulership was not to be understood or loved, but to maintain authority and survive.

To rule was to wield power efficiently. At tis, that ant ruling with an iron fist in a velvet glove. It was often misunderstood, but good leaders ruled with fear, yet without malice, and punished without cruelty.

Ruling with love and benevolence belonged to peaceti; for Lansius, besieged in his own domain and facing open rebellion, it was a luxury he could not afford.

Knowing all this, Lansius would show not a drop of blood for the vultures to feast on. He refused to feed the rumors. By withholding any sign of vulnerability, he would let the rumors die from lack of response, preventing unrest or opportunism.

Still seated on the bench prepared for him inside the gatehouse, he watched as Francisca and her kin walked the battlents alongside the SAR. Security was at its highest; nobody wanted to risk another lapse, especially not with his son at stake.

Lansius could hear the crowd cheering outside, but preparations were still unfinished.

As he waited, idle, flashes of war returned to his mind. Lansius stared at the walls, unseeing. A few monts of silence were all it took for his mind to replay the horrors of yesterday’s battle. He knew they were only mories, but he was captive to them. One flash showed the mont he saw thousands die on the hill path from a crowd crush he had engineered. He saw n trapped, unable to breathe, gasping, pleading, begging for their lives. And then the Green Miasma hit them.

He snapped out of it and drew a long breath.

He felt soone watching him and turned to see Audrey. Their eyes t, and she gave him a look of understanding.

In monts like this, having a wife like Audrey was a blessing. She knew what he had been through and didn’t try to cheer him up. Even in silence, he knew she understood the cost of war, probably even better than he did. Just by sitting beside her, he felt at ease. Yet that sa understanding made it harder for him to ntion his aching body, especially his shoulder, as he didn’t want to add to her worries.

"Where does it ache?" she asked. Before he could answer, she added, "I’ve heard the report. You’ve won several difficult battles last night. So don’t push yourself."

"Defeated," he corrected her, only to find her eyes burning with intensity.

"I was not raised a lady," she protested coldly. There was nobody nearby except the guards, standing at a distance. "I don’t know why you insist on belittling these achievents. But know this, Lansius of Bellandia, I know the numbers, and I’ve fought enough wars to realize. In my eyes, and the eyes of your n, last night you won your greatest battles."

A smile crept onto Lansius’ lips. "To be praised by you is my greatest achievent."

She sighed, her voice turning gentle. "You must be worn out. I apologize that I wasn’t there."

"No. You were with in my heart, even in battle," Lansius replied, unashad. "Besides, you’ve faced life and death yourself."

At first, Audrey gave him a warm, understanding look. Then her gaze turned sharp. "That will be the last ti I’m not with you."

"Don’t say that." Lansius turned playful. "We might have a few more."

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a strong, judging side glance. There was no quip about airships this ti.

Lansius snorted softly at the absurdity of the mont. Sohow, they had managed to break the gloom that had settled over him.

Footsteps echoed from the circular stairs, and soon Mother Arryn arrived with Tanya, Claire, and the guards. Everyone treated the boy like a precious item, and Lansius couldn’t help but think about how to raise him. He didn’t want his son to grow up spoiled.

Should I send him to school under an alias? That would require a lot of preparation. I don’t want him to enter school and be bullied for never living like a commoner.

Audrey rose to see the baby, who oddly didn’t fuss despite the noise and cheering outside.

He’d heard that babies liked noise and hated silence. Maybe it was true for his newborn son. Either that, or the boy had inherited so much of his mother’s genes and was blessed with the sa physical stubbornness and strong constitution. The image of Audrey sleeping in a barn without care for the world amid horses farting and neighing ca to mind.

I probably shouldn’t worry about the kid too much.

Still sitting, he saw Audrey turn and extend her hand to him. It was the sa hand that had guided him out of Bellandia and first taught him swordsmanship. The hand that eventually brought him to where he was now.

Lansius took it, and she pulled him up with such ease that it surprised him.

She sported a smug look. It was clearly a demonstration of power. Without the pregnancy, she was physically fit as before.

The display amused him, lifting his mood further.

Still gripping his hand firmly, she said, "Co, I'll be your strength."

"You already are," he replied, full of gratitude.

The two made their way onto the platform on the battlents, surrounded by cheers and the blare of trumpets announcing their presence. The sky was overcast, and the breeze was pleasant. Large field umbrellas offered shade as they stepped onto the platform. Below, the crowd was lively, and Lansius could see hundreds, maybe even a thousand, gathered around the castle.

As the herald continued his speech, Mother Arryn appeared, bringing the baby.

It pained Lansius that she was to be unrecognized as family. The citizen would undoubtedly see her as a lowly servant, but that was her wish. Arryn did not desire high status, and Lansius knew better than to force anyone into the public eye for scrutiny and ridicule.

Gently, Audrey took the baby from Arryn. With the child safe in her arms, they presented the heir to the House of Blue and Bronze to the world.

The Canardians erupted in shouts, hands raised high in celebration. Their reaction was more than enthusiastic as they basked in the mont’s glory, as if all their worries had lted away. It was clearly not just for show. The excitent was unmistakably raw, powerful, and even euphoric.

Lansius was staggered by the strength of their reaction. Deep down, he had expected to be hated, to be t with suspicion, to be feared, but never loved.

Does the threat of rebellion drive them to support ?

Lansius swallowed dryly and composed himself with a fitting display of strength. He offered a thin smile, swept his gaze across the crowd, and gave an occasional small wave to the toddlers below.

The experience humbled him. Knowing so many Midlandians supported him and his n made all the battles worthwhile and gave aning to the pain and sacrifice they had endured. They were not fighting for themselves as conqueror, but to protect the city and the people’s livelihood.

He felt hope surge as the herald continued, narrating the event, introducing the baby, and encouraging the crowd to pray for the newborn’s health and the parents. After about a dozen minutes, the staff decided it was enough, and the Lord and Lady waved as they retreated inside once again.

Despite the sun overhead, Audrey maintained a bubble of cool air around them, shielding the baby and themselves from the lingering sumr heat.

Inside the castle gatehouse, Mother Arryn offered to take the baby, but the sleeping child nestled close to her mother, drawing smiles from everyone who saw it.

"It's fine, I can take care of him," Audrey said, turning to Lansius.

He nodded. "Yes, there shouldn't be any trouble. I'll just inspect the length of the wall and speak with the n."

"No plan for action?" she asked again.

Lansius shook his head. "None," he reassured her.

...

Shortly after, Lansius, accompanied by his guards, a four n group from SAR, Francisca, and Karl, set out through a series of well-guarded small doors with heavy locks inside a tower that connected the castle wall to the city wall. The passages were intentionally difficult to navigate, as the two walls had been designed as separate defense structures. A breach in one wall would not automatically compromise the other.

As they walked along the northern side of the battlents, Sterling joined them.

"We have sent the mounted scouts, My Lord," he reported, still unaware he had been made a knight.

"I'm looking forward to hearing good news from them," Lansius remarked. They continued on, greeting the sentries as they passed.

The sky was cloudy, yet the heat was enough to make him sweat beneath his deep blue brigandine.

Sotis, Lansius would stop to ask about the surrounding fields or speak with a familiar face, or if he noticed sothing peculiar about a city guard. He was glad to see morale remained high, and news of defeat had not shaken them as much as he had feared. Even below, on the city side, people were watching, and he saw no signs of ill intent.

They were only halfway to the west gate when a horn sounded in the distance.

"That's a warning sign," Karl said, eyes sharp.

Without waiting for instructions, Sterling and one of the SAR sprinted toward the western gate.

"Might be better to head back to the castle, My Lord?" the tall guard leader suggested with a shrug, fully expecting not to be heeded.

"Oh, you know ," Lansius replied, then headed toward the western gate with a confident stride.

The guard leader turned to Francisca, and the two exchanged knowing glances at their lord’s propensity to face danger head-on. The rest of the group followed the Lord, marching along the battlents.

They reached the western gate to find a flurry of activity as more n climbed the stairs to take up defensive positions. Spears and shields lined the walls, and extra quivers for crossbown were being handed out.

"My Lord," dozens of his n greeted as he appeared. There was gladness and surprise on their faces.

"Carry on," Lansius instructed, making his way to the command post, which was busy with activity.

"My Lord," the lieutenant of the west gate and his small staff greeted him.

"Give us your reports," Karl ordered.

"Yes, Commander. My Lord, our observer has seen dust billowing high on the southern horizon. We just confird that hundreds of horses were sighted."

"Hundreds?" Karl blurted out.

A chill settled in Lansius’ gut. He began to assu the worst.

"Yes, Commander. Also," the lieutenant’s expression turned grim, his words heavy, "we spotted a low, hanging dust cloud covering a wide area."

Lansius drew a heavy breath, forcing himself to steel his heart. Dust billowing high ant fast horses or cavalry. Low dust, spread wide, pointed to infantry and slow-moving carts. Together, they were the unmistakable signs of an invasion force. He then said what his n hesitated to voice. "So the rebellion has gained traction."

His guards, even the SAR mbers and Francisca, grew visibly disturbed. If other cities rose against them, it would beco a vicious battle for survival.

"Another civil war," Karl said in disbelief.

"It could be reinforcents," Francisca argued.

"No." Lansius shook his head, refusing to cling to false hope. "The rebellion started yesterday. Even our reinforcents from Ploiesta haven’t arrived. For this army to reach us so soon, it can only an one thing."

"The Saint’s coup de grace," Karl muttered in disgust.

Lansius put his hand on the wall, leaning forward slightly as he felt the old stones and their rough, sunburned surface. He forced his mind clear to prepare for a long siege. He knew that if there were hundreds of horses, the main army was likely numbered in the thousands. Now, even reinforcents from Ploiesta would seem inadequate. Moreover, they still had to deal with thousands of rebel survivors from yesterday’s battle.

The situation had turned into a disaster.

Suddenly, an observer using the Ekionia optic mounted on the gatehouse howled with urgency. "My Lord, the banner! It’s a Roaring Lion over a field of grass!"

The excitent in his voice was t with equal enthusiasm.

"Are you sure?" Karl called out, nearly shouting over the murmurs.

Francisca nimbly stepped out and reached the man in a heartbeat. The man surrendered the device, allowing the half-breed to see through it. She only needed a mont before handing the device to Karl, who had followed her.

She turned to Lansius and gave him a wide smile.

Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was a dramatic reversal of their earlier assumption.

Even Lansius wiped his face with a shaking hand. The horrors of yesterday’s battle were still fresh. He could still feel the sticky blood on his skin. He knew he was fortunate that it was an ally who had arrived. But how could the Lion have known? There had been no hawks, no ssages. And where did they find such a large force in so short a ti? A myriad of questions rose in his mind.

***

I forgot to include duck image last ti. You can find it below in the Author Notes: