Michael led his n through the centre of the camp a second ti. His eye focused intensely on William and his n ahead. It was getting dangerous to stay any longer, but Michael had to know and be sure about his enemy’s strength. The two locked eyes again from a distance, and like they were dancing, subtly repositioned themselves.
With emotionless expressions, the space between the two closed. 50 ters, 30 ters, 20, 15, 10. Michael’s arms tensed, and he swung his sword in a perfect arch. William watched without blinking. He watched Michael’s body, how he swung his sword, and looked at his horse.
When the space between the two was minimal, he swung his spear, predicting where the attack would co from. The long tal shaft collided with the heavy steel sword, and it sounded like an explosion to the two. Michael’s sword bounced back, and William didn’t hesitate. Pulling the spear back, he stabbed forward, directly into the back of Michael’s horse.
The spear narrowly missed, cutting across the heavy armour the horse was wearing, leaving a large scar. Michael looked back and t William’s eyes again. There were no words spoken, but each man had a rough feel for their enemy. With a smirk, Michael slamd on the reins of the horse and led his n out of the camp.
It wasn’t easy, and being t with fierce resistance, he had to fight, his sword never stopping. It should have been a massacre, but the sole saving grace Michael and his n had was the heavy armour on their horses. He could see it. The final line of defence: a long spike wall.
Michael turned and rode through a bunch of tents. It was dangerous, and he risked getting trapped, but he had no choice. The hooves trampled on a few people, but eventually, it worked out a different exit in sight. Michael forced his horse to go quicker. A line of Ammary n ford as quick information about him, but paying them no attention, he rode through them.
From behind, he heard both man and beast die, but it was nothing he could worry about. Riding towards the bridge, a line of Templars waited to protect their retreat, allowing him to finally breathe a sigh of relief. His body collapsed onto his horse, and stroking its neck, the beats finally cald down.
"Michael." August ca over with a small smirk. "Did you achieve what you wanted?" Michael looked at the old duke and frowned. The smirk on his face was enough to tell him the man had done sothing whilst he was gone, and sitting up, he looked around.
"Where are they?" Michael turned and with dangerous eyes stared deeply into August’s soul.
"They moved on. After all, we never were their final stop." Michael jumped off and got into August’s face. Only a few inches of space separated the two.
"You went behind my back. Where are they?" August shrugged and tried to walk of, stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Disgust lathered August’s face, and he smacked the hand away, brushing his shoulder.
"Never lay your hands on again."
"You may be important in the Commonwealth, but in this world, you are nothing." Michael moved closer; his usual calmness had completely vanished, replaced by a deep disgust. His voice was full of venom, and August finally felt happy to see the mask of the hypocrite slip. "Don’t disobey . Tell where they are, or I will have my Templars visit so of your n. I wonder how long they would hold out."
"Do it." August said arrogantly, "You’re not in the Holy Seat. You’re not fighting for God or doctrine right now. You’re fighting my war. You need ." August finally turned and left. Michael watched his back slowly vanish. A few Templars ca over and held their breaths, seeing Michael’s mood.
"Interrogate Duke Laska’s n. Find out what he did to the refugees." The Templar nodded and ran off to relay the order. Watching the camp, Michael didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he hated that August was willingly abandoning his own people and openly going against him, but on the other hand, the refugees served no purpose other than to weaken them.
It was cruel, but August allowed him to focus on the war. But Michsel couldn’t accept it. The help of a vile human like August was sothing he didn’t want. It disgusted him. The way he spoke, acted, thought and behaved. Everything was disgusting about the man.
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"Who is that?" William walked into Marcus’s tent and saw the man sitting shirtless with a woman massaging his left shoulder.
Looking behind him, he chuckled and shook his head, "She is one of the refugees. A couple of them have been low on funds. A few others and I have offered them so money for help around the camp." Marcus saw William still staring at him strangely, and he sighed, "I hurt it earlier. I did sothing stupid, but I wanted to get in that man’s head."
William took a seat and poured himself so wine. With the camp on such high alert, he didn’t have to worry about Michael returning for the next few days and could truly relax. "He’s strong."
"No doubt." Marcus waved away the woman and dropped a few silver coins into her hands. Her face lit up. With a quick bow of the head, she ran out of the tent. "Their cavalry is dangerous. Heavy armour, skilled riders. A deadly combination."
William took a deep sip of his wine and grabbed his bag from his waist. Throwing it at Marcus, he, without looking, quickly pulled out the old man’s pipe and prepared it for him. Handing it over, he struck a light and let William unwind. "It was a test. He tried to attack the food storage but called it off after one attack. His main goal must have been to get a feel for us."
"Did we do well?" Marcus said, pouring himself a glass of wine. "In a case like this, I hope we underperford. He is a man used to strong enemies. He can prepare for them. If he underestimates us, we could get a slight advantage."
"I doubt it." William took a hit of his pipe. Blowing a thick cloud out, he looked at Marcus. "We need a way to deal with the cavalry before we can fight."
"Spear’s won’t work?" William shook his head.
"I couldn’t pierce its armour. Granted, I was off balance, but it wasn’t enough." William sighed and fell back into his chair. Taking a deep inhale of his pipe, he and Marcus sat in silence for a few minutes, resting their minds but trying to think. "I should have listened." William broke it by talking to himself.
"What do you an?" Marcus leaned forward, and William smirked, shaking his head.
"His Majesty told of a way to make archers effective against such opponents.
But I didn’t listen. It was a bunch of reasons. Learning a new weapon was the main one. I never used the thing, and no one in the Empire trained for it."
"What is it?" Marcus cut in and William opened his mouth, realising he had never said.
"A longbow. I heard the Slathans use them. It makes sense to see how they live in the mountains. But there were too many reasons not to bother with it. Now, I wish I had." William sighed and finished his wine.
"Let’s stop thinking about a new weapon. We don’t have the ti." Marcus paused and thought. His mind spun, and in a minute, he had an idea. "Is it a problem?" Marcus asked with a confused voice, "We have so many more n. I don’t think Michael has enough to deal with us. And it’s not just numbers. We have many more highly trained soldiers."
William paused and looked at Marcus. "Once we cross, it’s fine, but we can’t get all our n across in ti. Maybe we could have gone through the water, but anyone who lands will be easily picked off. It’s not a problem if we cross. But until we do it is."
"Then we just have to surprise them. Why don’t we attack now?" Marcus said with a sly smile. "I an, our n are tired, sure. But they won’t expect it."
"We haven’t prepared," William said cautiously, and Marcus scoffed.
"You trained these n. They have your discipline and efficiency etched into their hearts. If they can’t prepare for battle in 30 minutes, then what did you waste your ti doing, General?" William looked at Marcus and chuckled.
"Spread the word. Quietly. We can’t alert the fellow across the river." Marcus smiled and got up. Finishing the rest of his wine, he rushed out of the tent. The soldiers were already alert and wide awake. Why waste the ti they would be spending trying to sleep? William couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of Marcus. It felt like his successor by the day was getting better and better.
Strategy, political skill, leadership and combat ability. He lacked nothing. It was like Sol himself created Marcus to be the perfect warrior. Although he had his fears, they didn’t affect the pride he felt. It was a strange thought, but if Issac had still been in the military, he didn’t think he would have chosen him over Marcus. It was his job as a father to want the best for his son, but it was sothing he couldn’t imagine doing now.
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