02.38: A Night March

I woke hours before dawn.

Sleep whispered sweet promises in my ears. I sharpened my senses till it finally receded.

Not that I had gotten much sleep, the pressure of what I had to do lingering in my mind. Possible failures and contingencies kept popping up in my head. I remained still on the bed for a few moment, listening to the slow rhythm of another person breathing beside me.

I tried to quietly slip from the bed, easing the blanket aside slowly.

A slender hand caught my wrist. Wrapping her arms around me, Reshma tried to pull me into herself.

I let her.

“Stay,” she whispered, her breath brushing my neck. Shivers ran down my spine.

I was tempted.

Then, I grit my teeth and pushed the temptation aside.

“I need to go,” I said, prying her hands open.

Her grip tightened for a moment, then relaxed.

“Promise you will come back to me, safe and sound.”

I turned back and pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her hair.

She molded herself against me.

I inhaled deeply, engraving her scent in my mind. Cupping her face, I locked eyes with her, our noses touching.

“I promise,” I said, then claimed her lips.

She tried to deepen our kiss, biting my lip.

I reluctantly pushed myself away. One more minute and I wouldn’t leave at all.

I turned to look back from the door.

She was still in the sheets, looking very scrumptious.

“I’ll be back for more of your ‘desensitization’ sessions.”

Her lips curved, reluctant but real.

I stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind me.

Lady Erenna and Isanna stood in the great hall, eyes tired.

“Take care of yourself,” Lady Erenna said, throat choked, then hugged me.

I hesitated, paralyzed for a few seconds, then hugged her back. She had finally accepted me as her son. It would have been ungrateful and stupid of me to reject her.

Isanna followed, and I hugged her as well.

Eirica was standing next to one of the doors. I nodded to her as I left the castle.

The dimly lit courtyard was bustling with activity as men adjusted the straps of their helmets or cajoled their horses to move. Someone was whispering a prayer. Armor shone under the flickering light of wooden torches. The smell of oil and leather was everywhere.

The three leaders of my force and their subordinates saluted as I arrived.

Godwin’s armor matched his face, scarred yet enduring.

Sir Grimric stood proud, his shiny intricately carved plate covered by an over-shirt.

Moore, younger than both by almost half, tried to affect the aura expected of a Count’s castellan.

Sir Garwin was also there; ready to prove his loyalty to me.

I turned to Moore after exchanging greetings. “The scouts?”

“In position, Sire.”

“Good. Let’s go secure our border.”

The night air rang with the rhythmic sound of hundreds of armors clinking together, as the two hundred veteran mercenaries of the Great Company, a hundred and fifty troops of the Crown and my own county’s hundred soldiers, including the new recruits, left the city, marching towards the mining town of Blackrain.

As the courtyard emptied, I patted the shoulder of the other Royal Guard, Sir Hagen. “I leave the castle and the city of Falkenheim in your care, Sir Hagen.”

He nodded solemnly.

The poor knight had complained about being left behind, but I badly wanted the men of Nobart to get some experience. He had finally relented, left in charge of fifty royal troops to protect the city in our absence.

I watched my comfortable carriage roll by with longing, but optics mattered. The soldiers would be inspired by seeing their leader riding in front. So I sucked up, got up on a big black destrier and rode out of the city.

I kept an eye on the sky to look out for any messenger pigeon, but found it empty. The cloak of night still covered the sky. Looking back, the city mirrored it, dark as coal. Pinpricks of lights dotted it; torches flickering atop the city and castle walls. My new eyesight was sharp enough to make out distant shapes. I chose to believe the tall shape I saw in a balcony of the castle was Reshma.

It took us five hours to reach Blackrain. The sun still hadn’t risen, but the sky had begun turning light, like a giant slowly opening its eyes.

We stopped a kilometer away from the town. Two bushes stirred and rose, lifting the veils of their Ghillie suits. Two of my bodyguards from Chadom, Ethan and Noah. They pointed to two dead men lying nearby, like hunted animals.

The knights didn’t try to hide their disdain. My men, on their part, couldn’t care less.

“Ironfeld scouts,” Ethan explained.

“Good job,” I said, nodding. I didn’t look at the dead men’s faces. This was the reality of war, whether I liked it or not.

The men nodded, and fell by my side.

Leaving the road, some of us moved into the forest of tall pines. Negotiating under the canopy that blocked almost all light, our pace slowed down to a crawl. Men almost stumbled and cursed. Thanks to my new senses, it looked more like a forest at evening than night to me.

The smell of pine and earth saturated the air. It reminded me of Chadom and Aprilia. I couldn’t wait to leave all this behind and go back to building things there.

Bird song reached our ears. Some of the chirps were exact copies of each other.

Then, more than a dozen dark figures peeled themselves from shadows and trunks. The men following me froze. Metal sang as men drew their blades, while my guards raised their crossbows.

No wonder the men of Wulfsden had remained a separate barony despite being so close to Falkenheim. Without my new senses, I would have been taken unawares as well.

A group walked toward us, Baron Wulfsden at its head. His face was carved of stone, but I didn’t fail to notice the faint curve of his lips and the crinkling of his eyes, even in the dark forest. The prick was showing off his men’s abilities.

He bowed to me once he came close. Not too shallow. Measured.

His retinue following.

“My lord.”

“Baron Wulfsden,” I nodded. “How do you fare?”

“Well, my lord. I am grateful for your help.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m just securing our lands. It will be your duty to keep them safe afterwards.”

“It will be my honor.” He pointed behind him. “These are my sons, Wigmar and Brandolf.”

The two young men, both around twenty years old, stepped ahead and bowed in unison.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment. “How many trained fighters do you have with you, Baron?”

“A hundred and fifty, my lord.”

Together with the men I brought, I now had a force of six hundred. Not enough to quickly besiege and subdue a town with a garrison of two hundred, but this was going to be anything but conventional.

“Let’s get your town back.”

He looked at the hundred mercenaries behind me with concern.

“These are the same mercenaries your cousins hired?”

“Yes. The Great Company is well-known for its reliability and skill. The other soldiers are marching towards the town in the open. I will tell you my plan, after your oath of secrecy.”

His eyes hardened.

“You demand my oath before explaining yourself?”

“I am risking revealing a valuable secret to help you. I only want assurance it does not spread.”

His jaw tightened.

He met my gaze, then nodded curtly. “You have my word.”

Then, I told him my plan.

“That… is that really going to work?” he said, his voice rising.

“You can see for yourself.”

His nostrils flared, as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Let us begin.”

We slowly moved towards the edge of the forest that was closest to the town. The sky opened up as we halted at a spot where the trees gave way to open ground. As I had been told, a hundred meters of open ground separated us, with no large objects to use as shields.

I sighed. The garrison commander wasn’t a lazy bum. A wooden palisade encircled the entire town, with a few towers behind them. All were manned at the moment.

My men would be in serious danger, but there was no alternative.

The Baron frowned beside me.

“My lord,” he whispered, “your other force is quite far away. How are we going to coordinate? They cannot even see us.”

“They can.”

I took out a short tube with a large diameter out of my satchel bag.

The Baron watched with knitted brows.

“Get me some fire, boys,” I asked.

Noah took out a slow match, blew on it until it glowed red-hot and lit up the candle fitted inside the device in my hands. The small flame caught the polished curve of the parabolic mirror behind it, which sharpened it into a beam, staring into the darkness.

Not very strong, but good enough for this mission.

“You plan to signal them with a candle?” Wulf asked skeptically.

“Not signal.”

I lifted it to my eye.

“Command.”

Looking through the hole in the mirror, I focused my eyesight across the road leading to Blackrain.

Half a kilometer away, the silhouettes of 350 men became clear.

Tiny in the light. The light which was brightening fast. We had to be quick or the device would become useless until the sky turned blue.

I tilted the mirror and brought it back.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

The Baron scoffed. “They will never see—”

A light shone back.

Then blinked twice.

Then, the formation began to move. Stirring like a waking beast, the army began marching towards the town.

The Baron froze. He stared at the tube for several seconds.

“You… spoke to them.”

“Yes,” I said, carefully putting down my custom heliograph.

His sons stepped closer, eyes wide. “They saw that?” one of them asked.

“Yes.”

“How far can you do this?”

“Farther than that.” I didn’t elaborate.

No one spoke for a moment.

Because they understood what this meant.

An army that could move without messengers.

An army that could change plans in the middle of battle.

An army whose commander could be miles away and still control the entire field.

“This… this will change warfare,” Wulf whispered.

“Yes.”

In my favor.

Another flicker of light hit me from beyond the town.

Once. Twice.

From beyond the Iselau. From the far side of the bridge.

“That’s our cue.” I turned to my guards. “It’s your stage, boys.”

They nodded, the precious cargo I had handed to them in their hands, and melted into the woods.

“Where are they going, my lord.” Wulf asked, tone now much more genial.

“To prepare.”

I looked back at the men atop the archer towers of the town.

“Poor sods.”