Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 106  Settling for the battle(2)

The ground trembled under the march of thousands of Northmen, clad in fur and steel, their breath misting in the cold morning air. Their faces set forward, even sharper than their axes and swords that gleamed under light . Though they had a slight advantage in number, the truth weighed heavy on Maesinius's mind.

His army was mostly composed of infantry—tough, seasoned men from the north who had been accustomed to hunger and cold. Unfortunately good infantry rarely evened the field against cavalry. Barely 150 horsemen rode with them, half hastily assembled after looting Thegolontia's stables, and none were truly battle-hardened, with some of the steeds being even only pack animals . Most of the horses in the north were used as scouts in the north's bane or as pack horses to open up the land. In contrast, across the open plains of tall grass, the army of Messenia Province awaited, some 6,400 strong. Though slightly outnumbered, they had a critical advantage: a far superior cavalry force. Maesinius did not know exactly how many mounted warriors the enemy had, but he had heard reports of at least 700, many of them hired swords—mercenaries skilled in the art of war. Had he possessed more gold, he might have tried to bribe them to his side, but his coffers were drained since the start of the campaign, slightly made fuller during the loot of the city . Maesinius had divided his forces into three. On the left flank, Lord Harold of the North's Bane commanded the infantry, amogst the norther lord he was the one that regularly faced in battle the savages of the cold north . His forces were a wall of shields ,axes spears meant to hold the enemy line.

In the center stood Cregan, Lord of Falkar, a pale and unsettling figure nicknamed Paleface. His men were disciplined, their shields locked in tight formation. He did not know the ability of the men , truthfully he knew little of him , however Harold has suggested him as one of the commander as such he listened. The right flank, however, was led by Maesinius himself. Here, the prince had gathered his remaining cavalry and a force of infantry. His horsemen were few, the prince had racked up his brain trying to think of anything to even the field , at the end he botched up something that could be called a plan , though he was not sure if it would work. The rest of the lord commanded the men coming from their fiefdom working as a sort of junior officers....

As he rode along the front of his formation, Maesinius surveyed the battlefield. The land was mostly flat, but to the right ran a deep river, cutting off any chance of flanking . The tall grass swayed in the wind. It was an ideal battlefield for the enemy, who would no doubt send their cavalry to sweep through the grasslands like wolves.

The sun rose higher in the sky, and the distant dust cloud of the enemy's advance became visible. Soon, the clash of steel and the cries of battle would fill the air, but for now, there was only the cold wind, the distant roar of the river, and the silent preparation for war.

The battle was set, and both sides knew that here kingdoms were to be made.

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Edmund's pov: Edmund sat atop his horse, gripping the reins tightly as he tried to steady his trembling hands. His heart pounded in his chest, and cold sweat dampened the collar of his armor. He had commanded men in scouting mission before, but never anything like this. He was leading the cavalry...

He still couldn't believe how easily his father, Lord Harold of the North's Bane, had offered him up for this role. There had been no second thoughts, no hesitation. The lords of the council tent had all fallen silent when the suggestion was made, as though they were witnessing an execution being carried out. Edmund had heard stories of other campaigns, how men fought tooth and nail for the honor of commanding the cavalry. But not this time. Not for this battle. This was an attempted suicide, and everyone in that tent knew it.

The Messenians had the superior mounted force— most being well-trained , but more importantantly more numerous.

'Damn those fuckers....'he thought as he looked at his own men.

Edmund's cavalry, on the other hand, had been cobbled together in haste, many of them looters from Thegolontia, riding horses barely fit for war. He knew he had no chance of victory if the battle did not go according to plan. Did my father really think this through? Edmund thought bitterly. Did he send me here to die?Did he really dislike me this much?

He pushed the thought aside as the sound of horns echoed across the plains, signaling the start of the battle. His stomach twisted with fear as he was given the order to forward. Dust rose into the air as both armies began to march.

He glanced to his left, where his riders waited. The men looked nervous and perhapse even insulted by being led by a boy of 13 winters. They knew what was coming. Edmund swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and took a deep breath. He had to lead them—there was no other choice. 'Damn you Maesinius'

"Forward!" he shouted, raising his sword. His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to sound confident.

The cavalry began to move, the horses trotting at first, then picking up speed as they advanced across the plain. Edmund's heart raced faster with each passing moment. His mind screamed for him to stop, to turn back, to flee from this madness, but he couldn't. He couldn't be the coward that ran. Not here. Not now .He could run later , but not now.

As they neared the enemy's mounted force, he gave a silent prayer to the gods, whispering under his breath, "May you guide my hand... and let me die with honor if that is my fate."

And so, with the spirit of a man walking to the executioner's block, Edmund rode forth.

The dust swirled into a cloud, kicked up by the relentless pounding of hooves against the earth. Each beat felt like the ticking of a death clock. They were an egg thrown at a boulder, fragile and insignificant, and they knew it. The only question was whether the enemy knew it too. Edmund lifted his face toward the sun, squinting as his eyes began to water. He wondered, with a sudden pang of fear, if this would be the last time he would see it.

Gods, I hope not... I'm still too young to die.

They rode for what felt like a small eternity, the distance passing slowly, each breath weighing heavier in his chest. But then, finally, after what might have been an hour but felt like a lifetime, they saw them—the enemy cavalry. Edmund's stomach tightened into a knot. Seeing the numbers had been bad enough; facing the reality of 150 men against 700 was like sleeping and finishing inside madness herself.

The enemy was a wall of steel and flesh, a mass of mounted knights and mercenaries formed into a single, unyielding fist of iron. They sat waiting for him, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, banners flying high. And yet, in that grim mass of men, he found a small comfort—they were all gathered in one place , hired men and knights alike....one men rides and the other will certainly follow.

Good, he thought, this will make things easier… or at least quicker.

The ground beneath them rolled unevenly, soft but not treacherous, spotted with a few trees scattered across the hillside. The land was beautiful and who know maybe by the end of the day, it was to be theirs.

His heart hammered in his chest, echoing the rhythm of the drums. Sweat trickled down his face beneath his layers of leather and steel, cold against his skin. Edmund's gaze narrowed as he spotted a rider among the enemy ranks, weaving through the lines, shouting and gesturing to his men. He couldn't make out who it was, but it didn't matter—just another lord desperate for glory, eager to prove himself.

"Perfect. We're here for you. Come on, give the order you bastard...." Edmund murmured under his breath, his voice low and strained, barely audible over the thundering of hooves.

For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the enemy commander had heard him from across the field, as though their wills were locked together in a strange, silent conversation. Then it happened—the order was given.

The enemy cavalry surged forward, an ocean of horses and steel rushing toward them in a devastating wave.A mass of dusts rising from the ground, as thousands of hooves moved it around.

Edmund's mouth went dry as he saw the charge coming, a storm of men and beasts barreling down on them with terrifying speed and force. His heart leaped into his throat.

Gods, it's even more frightening than I imagined.