It was a bright and radiant day, the golden light pouring over the pastures of the plain like molten gold.
Above, the sky stretched wide and cloudless, a serene ocean of blue with only a few puffs of white drifting lazily across the horizon, like the small brushes of an artist.
Yet, amidst this tranquil beauty, two military camps dirtied the landscape like scars on untouched skin.
To the north, perched on a strategic rise, stood the camp of the prince of Yarzat. Neatly arranged tents in a fortified camp spread across the hill, the prince's banner snapping defiantly in the breeze.
A few kilometers to the south, on the opposite end of the vast plain, the camp of the prince of Oizen loomed in contrast.
Between the two camps, the open plain lay silent and untouched, a stretch of no-man's-land where the tall grass swayed gently, unaware of the blood that would soon soak its roots.
Inside the Yarzat's camp, a tense gathering of nobles, those who had been convinced to join the campaign, were amassed in a large, ornately decorated tent, where the nobles argued over the strategy for the impending battle.
One of them, stood up, his face flushed with excitement. "We should engage the enemy immediately!" he shouted, trying to rally his fellows. "Repel the invaders and drive them from our lands!" His fervor was infectious, and many of the nobles echoed his cries, their thirst for battle evident.
The recent humbling of the enemy elite, which, however, did not come from their own hands, had filled them with confidence and they saw this as a prime opportunity to deliver a powerful blow to their adversaries.
The first victory in a war that they had only met defeat in.
However, not all shared this eagerness for a direct confrontation. A significant number of nobles were not quick to voice their opinion for a direct assault. Were they cowards? No, they just knew the difference in strength between the two sides.
They were acutely aware that the enemy's cavalry outnumbered their own and that abandoning the high ground to fight on the plain, which favored such a style of fighting, could be disastrous.
"We should maintain our position and force them to come to us!" "One of the cautious nobles argued, his voice steady but firm. "The high ground gives us the advantage and stop them from using their cavalry to flank us.
I say we let them exhaust themselves trying to dislodge us."
The tent erupted into a cacophony of voices, with nobles on both sides of the argument trying to make themselves heard.
Children would have argued with more sense, Alpheo thought as he watched what was meant to be a discussion of strategy dissolve into a contest of insults and wounded pride. He really could not fathom what use such meetings had, as he believed they should be conducted with respect for all sides , through calm and clear discussions.
This was everything, except those.
"Are you just empty of guts, or between the legs as well?" one of the hot-blooded lords sneered, finding better argument in an insult rather than in a proper rebuke.
The tent fell into a hush at the audacity of the insult. The target, a broad, scarred man with shoulders like a bull, who seemed big enough to eat him whole,stiffened. His hand dropped to his sword, knuckles whitening as he growled, "Say that again, and see which one will come out without cock."
Steel whispered in the air as a few of his men shifted at his back.
Luckily it came to nothing, as the prince's voice thundered over the din, putting a stop to what could have been a catastrophe
"Enough!"
Arkawatt stepped forward, his glare sweeping over the gathered lords. "We are here to break our enemies, not each other."
The murmurs died at once, though anger lingered in clenched jaws and smoldering eyes.
Alpheo, leaning casually in the back, had not spoken a word but took everything in. He recognized none of these men by name, nor did he care to, he preferred to watch their vanity play itself out.
But the prince's gaze swept the tent and finally stopped on him. A raised hand summoned him forward."Captain Alpheo," Arkawatt said, his tone calm but clearly hoping for something. "You have crossed blades with the enemy. You've seen their strength. Tell us, what is your judgment?"
The room shifted as a dozen of eyes fell on him. Curiosity, skepticism, and disdain—they all really clearly and most unmistakably wanted to hear what the mercenary captain would say.
"Well, Your Grace," he began, "I haven't had the pleasure of fighting them in a fair field. But I've watched them closely. Their numbers. Their equipment. The way their officers ride." He let the words linger, drawing them in. "Their infantry? Little better than a mob. Peasants with shields and lances. We carved through them like cattle in a butcher hourse when things came to a draw. But—" he raised a finger "—our own footmen are cut from much the same cloth. Poor gear, little training. It would be folly to believe they'll win us glory in the field."
Alpheo's tone hardened. "The real danger as others have clearly pointed out lies with their horses. Oizen's cavalry outnumbers ours at least two to one. In open ground, they'd run circles around us, cut us to pieces before we even had the chance to form. Any man here who tells you otherwise is lying to you,or worse, to himself."
That struck deep. A flush of anger rose among the more aggressive lords. One in particular, a hawk-nosed noble with a voice like a war horn, surged forward, face red with fury."You insult our strength, mercenary!" he roared. "We are not cowards to cling to hills ! We will smash through the enemy lines like an axe through rotten wood!"
Alpheo smiled, he really should have kept his tongue, but he could not."With all due respect, my lord," he said coolly, "that axe of yours would splinter before it ever struck. Their horse would see to it."
Gasps and low chuckles spread through the tent. The noble's face turned scarlet, his pride pricked deeper than any blade. He took a step forward, hand on his sword."You dare mock me? Here, in front of my prince?" he bellowed. "I'll cut that smirk from your face myself!"
Before steel could be drawn and tempers set the tent aflame, the prince's hand shot up, his voice cracking like a whip."Enough!"
The word froze the room. Arkawatt's gaze blazed as it flicked between the furious noble and the mercenary who had just baited him. His patience was clearly at its end."Captain Alpheo," the prince growled, "if you have something worth saying, now is the time. Otherwise, hold your tongue."
Alpheo inclined his head, as he wanted to put an end to this meeting as much as the prince."As it happens, Your Grace, I do. A solution, one that might turn our weakness around to level the odds. If you grant me a moment, I'll show you."
The prince, intrigued despite himself, narrowed his eyes. He had been told of his little trick inside the city, so he was leaning to lend him his ear to see if he thought of something of that kind."Very well. Speak."
Alpheo bowed slightly, his tone respectful but steady."With your permission, my men will bring in something I prepared for this very moment. It will make my meaning clearer than words.They are currently waiting outside"
Arkawatt's brow creased with suspicion, but he waved a hand."Bring it in."
At once, the tent flaps were drawn back and two of Alpheo's men stepped inside, their boots thudding against the dirt, their hands holding something long, carefully wrapped around some rags.
The two men set the burden carefully in the center of the tent, then stepped back.
"Thank you, gentlemen."
Alpheo muttered as he rested a hand on the covered object, letting the silence thicken. The nobles leaned forward despite their earlier scorn.
"Your Grace," Alpheo said, locking eyes with the prince, "this, in my humble opinion, is what will decide the battle. Not boasts. Not insults. Not wishful courage. But the element of surprise."
He gave a small nod, and his men pulled back the blankets, revealing to everyone what would win them the day.