Day 369, 7:00 AM
“If you want to be a good saddler, saddle the worst horse; for if you can tame one, you can tame all.”
― Socrates
I laugh aloud. It’s the hysterical laughter of a man who survived death brushing his shirt.
I have two days left, a griffon, and I can’t get off it without risking it getting away.
My gaze wanders towards the mist-covered mountains and their white caps for a long moment, as I try to gather my thoughts, utterly failing. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically, and I will have to stay mounted for a long while.
I think of returning, and my knees gently nudge the griffon on their own, telling the majestic creature to turn around. It does so without protest, and we’re flying back whence we came.
The return trip is slower, safer, and full of breathtaking views. What I have seen of Garacia was monotonous flatland framed by forests on all sides, basically just roads, dirt, and dry leaves surrounded by walls of forests and occasional rivers.
The scenery transforms when viewed from above the treetops. The kingdom looks like a turbulent green sea frozen in time, with trees growing everywhere, crisscrossed by roads, lakes, and rivers. There’s even a miniature desert, framed by the forest, so far from the roads, that humans might not even know of its existence.
While the sight is extraordinary, I lack the will to enjoy it, and we return to the abandoned campsite by nightfall. There’s no sign of Vatten or the rest of the army, so we head straight towards Eaglegord. I’m tired, and the next thing I know, I snap out of sleep, my hands still clenching the apex predator’s head feathers.
I check the sky and the land below. I must have slept two-three hours.
After shaking off my drowsiness, I admit to myself that I really needed that nap, and with a fresh mind, I focus on my and Manny’s situation.
With the first step out of the way, the next obvious question is what to do with the invading army and with my mount? The griffon, Grif for short, will need to rest, I will need to keep him somewhere and feed him. Given enough time, I’m certain we will deeply trust each other and become a devastating force on the battlefield. But do I dare land and dismount to let him sleep?
No. Not yet. There’s not enough of a bond. Grif will escape, and then we will never meet each other again. I might even miss my deadline.
A deep growl booms from ahead, causing my bones to vibrate. Grif changes course, just as I’m about to steer away from the area. Time passes as I try to come up with a strategy to handle the king’s army, to fight together with our garrison, but my strongest weapon is our bane at the same time.
Grif will neutralize cavalry on both sides, the only upside is that the royal army has more cavalry than we do with.
If we send infantry against panicked cavalry… But we would need to bait the cavalry, then I need to herd them towards their infantry. I can feel my brows furrow into a frown, but I’m slowly starting to form a plan, and it just might work.
I take off my backpack, letting go of my mount without thinking. Grif immediately turns his head around, but I just clench my knees and he’s looking ahead again as if magicked.
I guess that’s the difference between Master and Initial level skills, even though the description is the same.
I take out a small board intended for writing during campaigning. I place my inkwell in the convenient slot, set everything up, and start writing a letter for Manny.
The plan for now is to toss the instructions in through her window, then feed Grif in the forest near Eaglegord. I would have preferred feeding him in the stable, with some succulent solsus ribs and other bribes, but that will have to wait for later.
It’s close to daybreak when we reach Eaglegord. I have Grif fly a handful of yards away from our bedroom window and throw my mercy blade at the window’s frame. The dull thunk of steel into wood announces my letter was delivered.
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I make Grif fly a round around the castle, invisible to the guards, and on my second pass, I see Manny’s window bathed in light. She’s wearing a loose nightgown, staring at the shortsword and taking the note, perfectly fine, sleepy, and confused.
“Love you baby,” I whisper and direct Grif to the forest.
Grif lands atop a giant tree, which had fallen recently, making use of the temporary clearing it had made, and I throw him all the dried meat I have in my backpack. The boy, still forced to lug me around on his back, devours the meal greedily, snorting his discontent after picking off the final arm-sized piece of ham.
“I’ll feed you something better after we win the battle.”
Another snort, but I guess that’s how I reacted whenever politicians waved hams before my face, speaking of the bright future awaiting. And my stomach wasn’t growling back then.
I can feel myself dozing off again and snap out of it.
“Let’s go and find the royal army.”
Grif takes off without protest, and after flying an hour, I spot the dying fires in the dawn’s faint light. There’s a bunch of them. The army we sent against Karengord is close to two thousand, but there’s more than twice as many men down there, breaking camp, organizing the horses, and preparing for departure.
Behind them, about fifty yards away, spilling into the road, is a smaller camp, full of wagons, bustling like a trampled anthill. I can see the followers packing up supplies on the carts, folding tents, and struggling while storing hundreds of packed tents.
Our way is better. You distribute the tents among four soldiers sharing them, replace cauldrons with hides, and you can ditch the wagons entirely.
I circle above seven times, observing soldiers funnel onto the road before the camp followers are done packing up.
“That could also work,” I mumble, smirking.
Instead of attacking the enemy directly, I could set their supplies on fire, and their suddenly relaxed siege will become a race against time. But that will have to come after Grif devastates their cavalry.
Especially the heavies.
Unless I’m counting wrong, they have around six hundred heavy cavalry, some twenty-five hundred light, and the rest are infantry.
They have an awful lot of cavalry, and they have more troops than Manny and I expected. Close to six thousand men I reckon.
I take a moment to realize they followed the instructions from Warfare to the letter, bringing thrice as many men as they expected defenders, but they overshot. We left mere fourteen hundred soldiers at Eaglegord.
Whoever wrote the letter to rile us up was right. Manny has no chance of repelling this force. The only question is how long she could defend the walls against an all out assault. Probably quite a while, assuming nobody betrayed her. Assuming the assassin didn’t sabotage things under the cover of darkness.
The sun is fully out by the time I head back for Eaglegord, more ideas brewing in my mind about how to utilize my combo with Grif. After the battle, I could fly straight to the royal castle. By this time next week, the king, all potential heirs, ministers, and the like would be dead, opening up an easy path of conquest.
With my physical strength and Grif’s mobility, the sky’s the limit.
I look at the surrounding clouds. Or not?
***
Bloom 10th, early morning
At first, the crown prince Corvein’s altered route confused Bastian. They were not gathering troops, their arrival catching the local lords by surprise more often than not. Then, once he realized what was happening, Bastian was amazed.
The king and the prince levied hundreds of troops. They kicked up hell and forced the nobility into a frantic scramble with their harsh conscription orders, not caring for the quality of the recruits, only about the quantity.
Everyone thought they wanted a supply of fodder for the siege, trying to keep safe their more useful subjects, when in truth king Basson was constructing an elaborate bait. An extremely believable bait.
The move was a sleight of hand on a national level, and the Garash family had fooled everyone, friend and foe alike. And the miserable circumstances left Bastian at an utter loss.
We are going to reach Eaglegord tomorrow. He thought, riding a horse at the back of the column in the delicate morning light. What am I going to do? If we besiege the Eagleeyes, win, and capture or kill the rebel duchess, my fate is tied to the royals. But what if Blackstaff returns and lays waste to our army?
The notion was absurd. It was almost impossible for one man to hold sway over a battle of thousands, over six royal knights, but Blackstaff’s feat had stunned everyone, and this giant gambit was the proof of king Basson’s justified fear. It reinforced Blackstaff’s reputation and proved it was well deserved.
A commoner beat a veteran knight single handedly, crippled, burning with fever, after slaying his liege behind a wall of steel and bodies. Throwing a ten pound ax at such a distance and striking true was the proof of Blackstaff’s superhuman nature.
Bastian shuddered, his mouth went dry. In a matter of days, he might be forced to oppose that monster, with no way out.
Maybe he stayed home and sent count Vatten to lead their army against the king’s faint? Bastian hoped for a direct clash between the crown prince and General Blackstaff. Otherwise, his choice would have to be a gamble. A gamble with his life and the future of his family at stake.