NOVEL NEXT Chapter LVIII – Their ambush is proceeding on.
Bugles call, the drums rage… or they would if not for the fact that this was supposed to be an ambush. Anybody that had more than three brain cells could see that sounding bugles wasn’t productive to covert operations.
Sir Baha was a man that had a couple more brain cells than three, and he had made preparations which amounted to more than not sounding bugles. He was clever enough to see that the blame would eventually fall upon him, the only person who had something to gain from informing the slaves. He was also clever enough to not sit like a duck and wait for his fate, for fate could be changed easily enough when enough palms were greased and enough men were pleased. Now he and a sizeable contingent, the exact number unknown due to how the men were so suddenly mustered. Atop his horse on the top of the hill he watched the men of the count who expected him to be in the mansion.
“They must be tired and frustrated.” commented Sir Baha atop his high horse. His ever-faithful servant Ted was right next to him of course, listening to his liege’s confident monologue. Baha had asked his servant to take notes well so that this battle could be later recorded into history. “Waiting to apprehend me, wasting days upon days… Alas, they have waited to no avail!” He had practiced speech ever since he had flown from the mansion. Most of his retainers found it cheesy, but they weren’t exactly going to object to the guy who was their patron. Standing by silently, sometimes nodding sometimes cheering, was enough to please such lieges.
“Indeed, my lord.” replied the old and somewhat reliable Ted “We shall march on to… to… Wait, what were we fighting for again?”
“…we found a good reason when we were planning. Didn’t you take notes on that?”
Ted rummaged his pockets upon his liege’s reply, finding a scrounged-up paper deep in the backs of his back pocket. “Umm… Against… Against the tyranny of Count Leon… Ahem, we shall march on to fight against the tyranny of Count Leon!” The men cheered upon realizing that this is the part they were supposed to cheer at.
“Take the part about us looking up notes out of the historical records, definitely scratch that part out.” Sir Baha cleared his throat, glad to have ensured his legacy. From an unknown petty lord in Casamonu, he’d become the brave warrior who fought against the tyranny of his lord who tried to arbitrarily arrest him! “Yes, against the tyranny of that slimy, perfidious, rapacious, darkskin-loving incompetent buffoon named Count Leon! Let us march forth!” The men cheered, for real this time as they were finally off to fight. Swords were raised, lances couched and stirrups secured as the men marched on once more.
Sir Korvus wasn’t standing idle while this all happened however. He had two guns, one on his right arm and the other on his left arm. Other than his biceps, he also had two cannons which were now pointed towards the charging men. Sir Baha had perhaps charged with a bit too much optimism; his cavalry was tightly packed together like pins in a bowling alley. The cannonballs made out of stone moved like a bowling balls, knocking the charging pins down with great force.
The horses which were left intact were scared, scattering wildly around the field. This left the inaccurate and slow-loading cannons quite useless, and the dismounted men of Sir Korvus hadn’t yet had the sufficient time to get into any sort of formation. A formation of sheer confusion and chaos was more efficient than no formation at all however, the chaotic cavalrymen of Sir Baha somehow managed to make their way back to Sir Korvus’ men and swarm them.
Most of the dismounted men had left their lances with their horses as it was an unwieldy weapon to fight with, all they had left were their ranged weaponry or swords which were too short to fight against charging cavalry. Their expensive armor proved useless as men were simply trampled under the hooves of the panicked horses. It was a big mess of horses and men, anyone who was mounted attacking anyone who was dismounted. Confused men from Sir Baha attacked their comrades who had fallen from their horses, confused men from Sir Korvus thought those men were allies, and all in all everyone was confused as to what the hell was happening and who was winning or losing…
…or if any of the two sides were managing to do anything at all.
Eventually, the moshpit of soldiers began dispersing as tired and wounded men retreated. It was hard to identify each other while in the heat of battle, but all soldiers carried the colors of their lords who allowed for identification when one was calmer. Men of Sir Korvus and Sir Baha slowly condensed around their allies once more, both sides nonverbally agreeing to a truce. There were two lines of troops who opposed each other: Sir Korvus’ men were still stood closer to the Earlywatch estate while the men of Sir Baha were further away. A pile of the dead and gravely wounded stood between the two lines, screams and shouts sounding from this pile.
These two lines seemed to have an equal number of men in total, and both sides were unwilling to charge each other if not an as-of-yet unaccounted factor: the men in the mansion. They were battered, a bit thirsty, and most importantly, raring to get back at the gits who had been sieging them down for the last week. Opportune time had arrived now, and the men in the mansion poured out like air from a deflating balloon. Sir Baha joined them in the charge as well, sandwiching the men of Sir Korvus like a delicious meat-meat-and-meat sandwich meeting together
What was once certain victory for Sir Korvus had become certain victory for Sir Baha.
“Lay down your weapons, we surrender!” shouted out Sir Korvus. His men obliged in dropping their weapons and kneeling on the ground, which was the noble way to surrender in Gemeinplatz.
Sir Baha’s men halted as well upon receiving the surrender, for hurting nobility and their retainers after a surrender wasn’t an accepted move. Plus, ransoming these men would net Sir Baha a nice sum of cash, so killing them would be a big financial loss.
“You have… fought well, sir.” Sir Korvus had to greet his new captor upon his approach. Being politely humble was a good idea when you were dealing with someone who now had a good reason to decouple you head from your shoulders. “We beg for your mercy.” He handed his sword over to Sir Baha in another traditional gesture of surrender.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be merciful and whatnot.” Sir Baha received the sword and immediately handed it over to Ted. This sword was to go to his collection and commemorate the day he had won a victory in battle. Such pride did he have in having done something for once in his life, something that was noteworthy anyways. His only significant accomplishment in life had been inheriting land at some point, which was a thing that countless people had managed to do in history.
Participating in a battle was a whole lot less common, a whole lot more prestigious, noteworthy even depending on the battle. Today would be a noteworthy day indeed, just not in the way that Sir Baha had intended.
“’It’s victory that’s so bitter yet… so mellow?’ Wait, how did that poem go again?”
“It’s victory that’s so bitter yet so sweet’, sir.”
“Yes, let’s go with that.”
The ever-faithful Ted was having an ever more faithful conversation with his master, making do with sweet poetry which was so purple it’d make the Roman emperors cry out in jealousy. They had seized Sir Korvus’ tent, along with his sword, and now they were seizing his ears as he had to watch the men write the most self-aggrandizing poetry that the land of Gemeinplatz had ever heard. Poetry that bad might have constituted a war crime if not for the fact that the concept of a war crime hadn’t been invented yet.
“Okay… I think we’ve got enough lines.” declared Sir Baha, leaning back at the cushion on which his enemy once lay. Hurting them physically was a big no, but hurting them psychologically was a big yes. “We’ll write much, much more once we’re at our destination.”
“We will indeed, sir.” Ted closed the small notebook he had been holding in his hand. Sir Baha wasn’t exactly rich enough to hire a professional writer for his memoirs, so poor Teddy would have to do for now. “What shall we write about?”
“Oh, how about the part where we baited the count’s men into a long siege? The part where we waited until they dragged out the cannons so we could take them for ourselves?” Sir Baha was practically bursting with sheer excitement “Many parts, Ted! Ready yourself to write about the descriptions of cannon fire during our next siege, maybe steal some descriptions if you’ve got any books containing them.”
“’A bronze beast, spewing the fires… of death? I’ll have to work on that one…”
“We’ve got a short journey ahead of us, Ted, better get your prose refined by then.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night marched on, the slightly grand machinations of a Sir Baha marching on to… who knows where. Sir Baha certainly didn’t know where he was marching on to.