The Storm King

The area where Leon’s people emerged from the forest wasn’t in front of the areas that Duronius had seen fit to fortify with walls, but that wasn’t to say that it hadn’t been fortified. Before them were anti-cavalry spikes and ditches, not to mention quite a few guard towers.

Leon could see quite a bit of mad scrambling in the tents just beyond those fortifications as the noble retainers in this area of the camp hastily prepared themselves for what seemed to be Leon’s charge. The horn signals that had been sounded on Leon’s approach had alerted them, but there hadn’t been enough time for all of them to assemble for battle.

However, there were still quite a few who had managed to form up just behind the fortifications. Compared to Duronius’ entire army, it wasn’t much, but it was still far more than Leon had in his entire force. If he had to guess, he’d have to say at least ten thousand knights, men-at-arms, and peasant levies— probably closer to fifteen or twenty—now stood between his unit and the Octavian camp.

Curiously, on their far right flank—to Leon’s left—was a force of about five hundred dark-skinned men clad in white robes and armed with long scimitars and two-handed sabers that had thicker heads at the end of their curved blades.

“Who are they?” Leon asked anyone who was listening, pointing to these obvious foreigners.

“Uuuh, looks like mercenaries from Samar,” Marcus replied as he squinted in their direction. They were almost a mile away, and his third-tier senses made seeing them more difficult than it was for Leon.

Leon frowned. He had little idea how those men fought, though he could hazard a guess given their choice of weaponry. To a degree, he was hoping he’d get the opportunity to cross blades with them, but he remained stoic and professional. These mercenaries and the massive force that was already standing against them weren’t too concerning; he had no intention of charging the spear wall they were establishing. All he and his unit had to do was wait…

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The horns alerted the entire Octavian camp to the attack that seemed to be coming from the north. Nobles and Legion commanders moved quickly in an attempt to get ahold of the situation while still keeping the siege lines strong so that the Augustine forces couldn’t exploit this attack to break out.

Among those Octavian commanders was Count Calerus, an ice mage of some repute back in his home of the Western Territories, but virtually unknown outside of them. As far as Counties went, his land of Turicum was rather important in the Western Territories, being powerful enough to be a direct vassal of the King himself rather than subordinate to a Duke or Marquis, and he was quite wealthy, to boot. He’d joined Octavius’ army to fight for his Prince—and for the benefits that his Prince would give out to his supporters once he’d defeated the bastard and removed the invalid.

It was his retinue of eight thousand that was closest to this incursion, and so Calerus wasted no time in getting his people moving as quickly as they were able.

In barely five minutes, more than half of his people had armed themselves and run out to face their foe. Fortunately, Calerus was a relatively cautious man, and he had mandated that every fighting man and woman he brought with him to the war always wear their armor. Looking down the line as he took his place at the head of his host, Calerus could see that many other retinues weren’t so prepared, for there were thousands to his right and left that only had time to grab their weapons following the horn signal.

“Fools…” muttered a familiar water mage who had appeared on foot next to his horse. This man was relatively short, but with a stocky build that made his strength obvious. His black hair was covered by a faceless helmet that had been scorched black in the battle a month previous, as had much of the rest of his scale armor, but his bright green eyes sparkled with vigor.

Ignoring his comment, the older Calerus noted, “Hmm? Ah, I didn’t even see you show up! You seem to be in good health. Have your injuries healed?”

“You need to ask?” the water mage asked, lifting and flexing his right leg.

Calerus’ lips curled upward into the slightest of smiles as his blue eyes were pulled to the general vicinity of the man’s leg.

“Good,” he stated. “When this is over, we should get some drinks. I haven’t seen you in a while, we should catch up.”

“Sounds good,” the water mage replied as they locked eyes, a hidden message passing quickly between them as a smile played across his handsome face. They were both married men, so they couldn’t be too open with their desires, but those who knew them also knew they would be doing something other than drinking when they did get together.

But that was something for later. As their respective retinues streamed in to join the spear wall—the water mage had brought three thousand fighters with him when he answered Octavius’ call to arms, and like Calerus, they were all dressed in whatever armor they had—Calerus asked, “Have you noticed what’s happening?”

“I have,” the water mage replied.

Both were sixth-tier mages, and their use of magic senses meant that they could see exactly what the scouts and camp guards had seen: thousands of strange troops advancing on their northern flank. Since no word had been sent ahead, it was assumed that this force was hostile, something which the water mage could confirm.

“I know that black-armored knight on the griffin who’s riding at the front,” he said as he glanced up at his older lover. “He’s the one that beat me in our last battle.”

“He’s the one?” Calerus asked as he directed his attention toward the man the water mage had pointed out. Even from this distance, he could sense the knight’s power, which made sense given the obvious quality of his armor and his rare war beast. Calerus could easily imagine that both were far better than the armor and horse he had. “He looks strong.”

“Yeah…” the water mage murmured in thought.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s the one who led the giants. I think his name is Leon Ursus…”

“Ahh, the so-called ‘Thunder Knight’ that I’ve heard so much about these past few weeks, the one who broke Marquis Quirinus’ army like it was made of cheap paper, practically winning the battle right then.”

“That’s him… but where’re the giants?”

Calerus instantly whipped his head around from the water mage and back to their marching foe. And indeed, there wasn’t a giant to be seen. Severely alarmed, Calerus’ first thought was for his people. He turned his attention to his adjutants nearby, who had given him and the water mage some respectful distance, and shouted, “Don’t charge! Something’s wrong! Hold until further orders!”

A chorus of ‘Yes, my Lord’s’ followed, and many of the adjutants began to run around to the Count’s knights and Barons to relay the order.

“You think it might be a trap?” the water mage asked.

“Who can say?” Calerus replied. “But what I do know is that stone giants don’t just disappear, and they’re not afraid of fighting a losing battle. If those giants aren’t here, then they’re, in all likelihood somewhere nearby, waiting.”

“Mm,” the water mage grunted in response. Leon Ursus had just emerged from the trees, about three thousand people at his back. The vast majority of them, however, were on foot, with only the leading knights and nobles mounted. Once they reached the edge of the trees, they halted and seemed to stare at the assembling Octavian forces.

They just stood there, staring, for almost five minutes, not charging, not doing anything that might be considered hostile. To many eyes, it appeared as if they were hesitating.

“HAHA!” came a booming laugh further down the line from Calerus, the water mage, and the rest of their people. “IT SEEMS LIKE THEY’RE HESITATING! THEY’RE AFRAID! LET’S GO SHOW THOSE CRAVENS EXACTLY WHAT THEY HAVE TO FEAR!”

As this voice continued, Calerus glanced over to see who was speaking and was completely and utterly unsurprised to see it was some knight or Baron that he didn’t recognize, which meant that he was no one important and likely felt the need to prove himself in battle. If he were someone who actually made decisions in the army, then Calerus would’ve seen him at strategy meetings with the rest of the upper leadership and the unknown nobleman probably would’ve been a bit more restrained.

Instead of showing restraint and acting with more dignity, this anonymous, insignificant nobleman charged, and dozens of his retainers followed. And then a few hundred more followed. And then the Samar mercenaries broke ranks, charging across the cleared field, avoiding the obstacles, howling some barbaric war cry. Other nobles then followed, and the charge cascaded down the line.

“What should we do?” the water mage asked, looking to the older Calerus for guidance.

“We can’t let them charge without support,” Calerus replied, noting that in mere moments, thousands of their noble comrades had started an uncoordinated charge. Calerus couldn’t stop it by himself, for those were the troops of other nobles, and he had no authority to command them. “Stay vigilant, stay cautious, and above all, stay in formation,” the Count told his younger lover, briefly showing the water mage a look of deep concern before turning back to his adjutants and shouting, “Advance!”

He said no more, but he didn’t need to. His knights and vassals were disciplined and well-trained; they knew what he meant when he ordered them to ‘advance’ rather than ‘charge’. Slowly, and in stark contrast to the wild sortie of the rest of the Octavian line, they began to march forward, taking all the time they needed to properly clear the ditches, pits, and other fortifications that had been constructed. Calerus couldn’t help but disdainfully scowl at many other retinues that were charging faster than his, for they were leaving many people behind, some even with injuries as they were pushed over and trampled or thrown against some of the anti-cavalry spikes.

The battle with Ursus’ forces hadn’t even begun yet and already the Octavian forces had suffered a handful of casualties.

Fortunately for Calerus, though, none of those casualties were from his people. His people were better than that. Still, it was a bad omen, and Calerus was momentarily disturbed at its portents, at least until the Octavian troops drew to within eight hundred feet, or typical effective arrow range.

The levies making up the barbarian’s unit began to waver, even before the Octavian troops reached the halfway point between them. Calerus couldn’t blame them, not when tens of thousands of Octavius and Duronius’ fighters were so recklessly charging at them, but what left a particularly bad taste in his mouth was that many of the knights that were leading them began to waver, too, falling back into the tree line like terrified dogs with their tails between their legs. They were his enemies, to be sure, but they were also nobles of the Kingdom, and their conduct reflected poorly on all the rest of those with noble blood.

Were those his knights, Calerus would’ve had them in stocks in a heartbeat—not that his knights needed that kind of encouragement since he’d already had most of their rebelliousness beaten out of them during their training at his personal knight academy.

“Hold! Hold, damnit!” the black-armored Ursus shouted, but to no avail. His right and left flanks, both composed of peasant levies, were already collapsing. There was little helping it, and the more the levies broke and ran, the more Ursus’ knights did likewise.

The water mage, still quickly marching next to Calerus, said in disbelief, “They’re running? I can’t believe it…”

“That’s what it appears to be,” Calerus said, momentarily glaring down at his horse as it carefully worked its way through the camp’s fortifications.

“These guys smashed through thousands of our people just a few weeks ago, they shouldn’t be running like this!” the water mage insisted, his tone growing more suspicious with every word.

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Calerus asked.

“It might be. Those giants aren’t here…” the water mage repeated.

“It’s possible the giants abandoned them, and without that support, the rest of them aren’t as motivated to continue fighting as they were…” Calerus mused aloud, not that he put much stock in the possibility. “Let’s just assume that those giants are still around here somewhere. Better to watch for an ambush than to assume it’s not coming.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” the water mage replied, though he pointedly nodded his head towards the thousands of other Octavian troops that were charging forward so quickly and with such wild abandon that there was no way in any hell that they were staying as vigilant. “At least if there is an ambush, it won’t be triggered by us.”

“Don’t assume that,” Calerus warned. “Ambushes are just as likely to strike at those in the back as those in the front.”

“I got it,” the water mage replied, sounding playfully annoyed, quickly winking at Calerus.

“I hope so…” Calerus whispered as he turned his attention back toward Ursus and his people. By now, only a few hundred of the most powerful of Ursus’ people were still standing in formation at the tree line, and it was clear to Calerus that they weren’t going to stay. They hadn’t the numbers to stand against this charge—not that they had the numbers to begin with, but it was much clearer now that they were screwed if they stayed. As a result, Ursus shouted for everyone to turn around and retreat.

It made Calerus wonder just what Ursus’ intention was in leading his people here in the first place, and his suspicion of a trap only grew stronger. But it wasn’t yet strong enough for him to turn back. If he had the opportunity, he would utterly crush Ursus and his people before they could make any trouble.