Horizon of War Series

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Hugo and his men had been hiding on a secluded trail that branched off from the hill path. They had waited and watched as the slavers’ one hundred men charged downhill.

The hill path that connected the manor to the low ground was narrow and in several parts no wider than a cart’s width. Such terrain formed a natural bottleneck and forced the slavers to make an elongated formation like a snake.

Hugo wiped the sweat from his forehead and noticed Jardin’s glance.

“Now?” the alchemist assistant asked.

“Do it,” Hugo said.

Jardin puffed a smoke from his clay smoking pipe and grabbed two glass bottles from a nest of hay inside a metal container. He pulled out their corks, jammed waxed linens into them, and lit one using the ember from his pipe. Once it was lit, Jardin looked at Hugo.

“That section over there and there.” Hugo pointed his hand toward the two narrowest sections on the hill path.

Jardin lit the second bottle using the fire from the first bottle, loaded the first one into his leather sling, and then whirled it over his head several times. At the right moment, he released one of the cords and the bottle flew with an astounding accuracy. Before the first one hit the ground, Jardin had loaded and let loose the second one.

The glass bottle crashed without an explosion, but the liquid turned to mist on impact and readily caught fire from the linen wick. It burst into a fireball and the flame spread over a small area.

The fire stunned the slavers’ rear formation. Several men got caught in it and caused panic. When the second bottle landed with another fireball, the slavers abandoned their position.

“For Arvena!” Hugo led his men to attack. Lansius had instructed him not to attack at the very end of the slavers’ formation, rather in the middle, to sever the rear from the main body.

The fire and surprise attack had scattered the slavers, but they soon re-formed into several large groups to defend themselves.

Jardin launched another bottle and successfully prevented two of the largest groups from joining. That would be his last assist as melee fighting broke out between the two sides.

Knowing the element of surprise wouldn’t last, Hugo had concentrated his best fighters at the front. With spears and polearms, they hacked and slashed the slavers’ rear, who were lesser fighters compared to their vanguard.

Against slavers, with slim chances of encountering highborn, the Arvenians ditched formalities and went for the kill. Today, they were not in the mood to take hostages.

The fighting turned brutal. Patches of red and dark gore stained the grassy ground. Meanwhile, fires kept blazing through the dried grass.

The slavers’ middle and rear combined had more than forty men, but the narrow terrain negated their numerical advantage. The gap in skills and resolve caused the slavers to lose men rapidly. It didn’t take long before they feared their opponent.

Hugo’s small but hardened party whittled down the slavers’ number and secured a footing on the hill path. As planned, they split in two. One chased the rear section; the other, led by Hugo, continued their fight against the middle section. This move further strained their small number.

However, the slavers had it worse. They were in disarray. Not wanting to die for nothing, many pushed and jostled against their allies to avoid fighting. However, those who stood and fought were no slouches. One tall man answered Hugo’s halberd thrust with the swing of his sword.

A thin metallic sound rang as the man tried to rush Hugo. However, Hugo raked and locked the man’s sword using his halberd’s axe. He tried to yank it out, but Hugo was ready for a follow-up. However, unseen by Hugo, his ally to the right blocked a vicious attack from his opponent, lost his footing, and bumped into Hugo.

Their lapse freed the tall man’s sword, and he roared while launching a thrust into Hugo’s chest. The sword came too fast, and Hugo parried it poorly. The steel sharp tip stabbed Hugo’s brigandine, dented the thin metal inside before slipping harmlessly into the shoulder.

Staggered, Hugo took a step back and raised his weapon just in time to block a cut aimed at his neck. Unflinching, Hugo grabbed his shaft closer to the tip, and lashed it out against the opponent’s arm. The halberd’s axe bit the opponent’s left elbow, and the tall man groaned. Despite the gambeson that extended to his wrist, he was in so much pain that he went on defense.

Hugo was out of breath but continued to swing his weapon. He saw an opening and hooked the halberd upward into the tall man’s face.

“Gahh!” The tall man winced as the halberd’s axe struck his chin and made a deep gash. Pain and shock made the man lash out blindly with his sword.

Hugo sidestepped and countered with a thrust. The jolt felt squishy as the halberd’s point plunged into the man’s abdomen. The man shrieked before kneeling down powerlessly.

Hugo kicked the dying man aside and pulled his halberd. He didn’t celebrate, but breathlessly recovered his stance. The fight to his right immediately demanded his attention. He brazenly approached and made a quick thrust when his ally parried.

The unexpected attack scored a clean hit. The opponent dropped his weapon out of shock and gasped for breath. He then stared at the halberd, which jutted out from his stomach. His breath became erratic as he gazed at Hugo with bloodshot eyes. He ground his teeth and pulled the halberd’s tip out.

Hugo brandished his halberd again. His ally was also ready, but the wounded man turned pale. He took several steps back only to collapse, never to stand again.

“Look, they’re running!” A wave of emotion erupted from behind. Breaths of relief and some chuckles quickly followed.

Hugo realized he had slain the last opponent. Despite praise from his men, Hugo felt humbled. The battle had played out exactly as Lansius had predicted.

The fighting on the hill path was practically over. The slavers’ middle section had ceased their struggle and fled to their main body. Uphill, Hugo’s split group had routed the slaver’s rear, who fled to the manor.

The slavers were just local troublemakers. Even strengthened by a percentage of men-at-arms, they weren’t qualified for war. They were paid to guard slaves, not to fight a pitched battle.

Hugo spat before drinking from his waterskin. Afterward, he looked at his allies, whose faces were full of sweat, dirt, and blood. “Don’t celebrate yet. Wash the blood from your hands. There’s still another fight upon us.”

The fighters nodded in solemn anticipation. They had taken the hill path, but the slavers’ main body on the low ground was still intact. And now, even without squinting their eyes, they could see the slavers marching toward them.

Led by Bogdan and reinforced by their best fighters, the re-formed slavers’ column looked solid and intimidating.

“I believe it’s my time again?” Jardin asked Hugo as he arrived at the front.

Hugo snorted. “Do as you’re told, but nothing extra. We’re a little tight on the purse.”

The response tickled Jardin’s nerve who chuckled and replied, “Most certainly.”

The sun was searing hot despite the multitudes of clouds. Bogdan’s men slowed their march just before the hill climb as exhaustion piled up. Bogdan let his men catch their breath before the big push. This was not a race. They needed the stamina to fight.

Made up of mostly veterans, their morale was high. Their earlier failure against the four-carts barricade didn’t dampen their spirit. In their eyes, they had forced the main perpetrator out, and now things would be resolved quickly.

Hugo’s men had arranged themselves six men wide and three ranks deep. They were similarly exhausted after the last fight, but they had time to catch their breath and were in a better position.

In terms of numbers, Bogdan commanded more than fifty, of which half were his veterans. Meanwhile, Hugo had less than twenty. However, the Arvenians looked every bit intimidating as they stood their ground and brandished all their spears and polearms.

Led by Bogdan, the slavers resumed their march, but suddenly a small object flew in their direction. It cracked like clay and burst into flame when it landed at the center of their formation. The attack caught several men’s cloth armor on fire and terrified those in the formation.

“Push forward, let nothing stop you!” Bogdan commanded. Whatever the cost, he needed the assault to happen quickly.

Another clay object flew into their front and shattered, fire blazing just like the first one. However, this time, they were ready and only two got caught in the fire. Both fires fizzled surprisingly quickly and left a plume of white smoke.

Bogdan capitalized on the enemy’s apparent failure. “See those men in front of you? They’re nothing but thieves and robbers. Your wealth, your money, they’re going to take it all from you! Are you going to let that happen?”

Bogdan’s words pumped his men, and they clamored for battle.

“So, what are you waiting for? Make them pay!” Bogdan raised his sword.

Emboldened, the men yelled their battle cry. Their distance was less than two hundred paces away from Hugo’s men.

“Onward!” one of the lieutenants shouted, but a wave of screaming from their ranks alerted everybody. They looked around and saw panicked men trampled left and right to get away from the white smoke. The smoke was clearly unusual. They noticed everywhere the white smoke passed, men immediately suffered.

The men avoided the smoke like a plague and left the formation in shambles. Indeed, it was hazardous. It contained a fine white powdery substance that reacted with moisture and caused burns.

A person engulfed in the white smoke would feel their eyes, nostrils, and throat burning. It blinded them and filled them with immense pain. Even breathing felt like swallowing a burning charcoal. Many scrambled toward the large pond to douse themselves from the pain.

The white smoke had only caught less than a dozen, but it shook the column. Bogdan had shouted at the top of his lungs to keep control. Just then, ten horsemen and a score of Arvenians appeared behind them.

With a wall of spears in front, the threat of more white smoke, and now, cavalry appeared at their back; the slavers were beginning to panic. “This is madness. We can’t win, not like this,” one rambled.

“There’s no hope. We should run and meet back at the manor!” another tried to convince their comrades.

Many nodded and fled as the horsemen advanced closer.

Watching his men fleeing, Bogdan eerily kept his calm. Instead of running, he dismounted and gave the horse to his aide. He was too old to lick boots. Moreover, he had no child of his own and little love for his concubines.

Together with twenty like-minded allies, old Bogdan re-formed the column, and they readied themselves against the cavalry charge.

Anci led his horsemen into a wedge formation. Instead of galloping, he opted for a trot to better aim their lances. The horses showed some resistance at first, but eventually they charged directly into the slavers’ position.

The column of men and horses clashed. In an instant, many fell by the lances while the warhorses tore, trampled, and crushed whoever stood in their way. It wasn’t clear how many died, but the remaining slavers frantically disengaged and ran.

Anci wheeled his riders and gave chase to prevent the opponent from regrouping.

While Anci went on a chase, Lansius arrived at the scene. Thomas, Calub, and Felis were at his side, together with eleven men whom almost all had wounds. They had given their best just to march and keep standing.

Lansius looked around with deep concern on his face. Many took it as reading the battle, but in reality, the scattered corpses, blood, and gore mortified him. He took a deep breath, but the distinct smell of blood made him nauseous.

Calub took notice. “You okay?”

“I’ll be okay when this is over,” Lansius replied.

The white smoke had dissipated from the field. As Calub had warned them, the area wasn’t ideal. There was a strong wind coming from the hillside, and thus the smoke could only last for a minute or two.

Still, it got the job done. Without the burning sands, their casualties would be higher. An evenly matched battle was the worst in terms of casualties. They were lucky that Felis brought the alchemist, who spared them from that fate.

Calub and Felis, in turn, were grateful for Lansius’s uncanny understanding of the alchemist’s tools and how he could integrate them into his plan.

Thomas stepped forward. “I’ll take some men to round up the survivors.”

Lansius nodded. “Try to link up with Hugo.”

“Aye, will do.” Thomas was about to walk away when Lansius grabbed the old man’s arm.

“Be very careful . . . no ransom is worth our men’s lives,” Lansius said.

Thomas gave a warm, fatherly look. “We’ll avoid danger as much as we can.”

Thomas went with just four men and scoured the battlefield. The other seven quickly lost their composure and dropped to the ground. Their role as reserve luckily wasn’t required.

“Don’t drink if you have deep wounds. Dab some water on your lips to keep them from drying.” Lansius watched the men and was reminded of the few he had left behind in the four-carts barricade. He looked at the bright sky momentarily and shook his head to keep away the feeling that he was responsible for the dead.

I did my best. Nobody should blame me.

But the plan wasn’t flawless. Originally, two of the carts should have been burned to keep the attackers away. However, the small amount of fire bottles had failed to burn the carts. Thus, their severely limited number had borne the brunt of the attack.

Lansius knew that was his mistake. He had miscalculated and made Calub assign most of his stock, including both of the burning sands, to Jardin.

If only Calub carried one . . .

As Lansius had witnessed, even a single bottle of burning sands was powerful. If it had been used on the barricade, it would certainly stopped the attack on the carts and saved many.

“Tsk.” Lansius chastised himself. He had downplayed the technical side and incorrectly assumed that the dry wood would catch fire easily. However, the carts’ thick wood proved to withstand the small douse of benzene from the fire bottles.

“Good job, Lans.”

The sudden praise took him by surprise. He turned around and saw Felis. Her smile and blue piercing eyes almost made him blush.

“Hey, be proud. This is a significant accomplishment,” she said heartily.

Lansius felt guilty, but the verbal pat on the back felt so good that he let out a stiff smile.

Maybe this isn’t all bad.

Felis tilted her head at Lansius’s lack of reaction. “You looked concerned. Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s just that . . . it’s time to finish the job.”