Chapter 24: Antlaturs Retreat

THE MONTH OF NINSUM DAY 29 YEAR 675 OF THE SECOND HOLY CALENDAR

The Antlaturs marched to the Howard Bridge on the 26th, deciding to Camp there for the night and completing their Crossing on the 27th. There, they joined the Southern token detachment, bringing their numbers up to 42,000. They marched throughout the 27th, making it to the mountains by midday. They chose March on the route that took them further away from Grastide. This meant a rougher March than the main road of the Kingdom was built, connecting Grastide to the Black Knight Valley. However, it was worth it to avoid passing under that City. They continued marching throughout the 28th, making for a reasonably good time considering.

Christopher reflected on how much things could change in a matter of days. Before, the golden stallions' rule had seemed Rock Solid, and his victory inevitable. But now, its rule was shaky as quicksand, and his victory had turned into defeat, with the Antlatur army was retreating with its tail between its legs. He recalled a quote from Lucas Grimwood: “As is the fate of Nations. For the strong to consume the weak until the weak consume the strong and become strong to be consumed by the weak.” It was the weak nation's fate to be oppressed by a strong nation and ultimately be conquered by them, while the strong nation-state became weak and ultimately suffered the fate of the week.

The kingdom of Antlatur had been there since he was born. He always thought it was a strong Nation and believed it from the bottom of his heart. They were a Major power in the region of Calamise and a regional power on the western continent. But now he wondered if that strength was only an illusion or reality. A nation's strength was determined by its army. Anyone who said otherwise was deluding themselves. A nation without an army was a nation without protection, which a nation with an army could merely exploit with an army. Christopher had had the Misfortune or maybe the fortune of being a Junior Envoy during peace negotiations with the kingdom of Triton.

Despite severely losing the war militarily, that nation was proud of its economic and trade influence. They were still arrogant and held their heads high. Even though the process was annoying and confusing, it caught Linnea's attention, so it wasn't all bad. He thought back to his time in the great Port of Triton. Like many Antlatur, he underestimated the importance of trade, focusing instead on agriculture and Mining, but that was until he saw the great port. Triton wasn't located on any significant trading route; however, merchants still flocked to the city as it was a trade center and a considerable repair hub for ships in the Western continent. Unlike the port of Higgsbury, Triton's seaport was always busy and bustling with activity, and its trade activity brought the city great wealth.

Christopher was brought back from his thoughts when one of the companions Cavalry Linnea had sent to guard him nudged him slightly. Linnea tended to be a worrywart and so would constantly would send him everywhere with guards. However, in another way, it was just a projection of power that reminded people of his station as her right hand. Christopher couldn't help but groan when he saw the problem he'd been called out for. One of the wagon wheels had broken. An army marched at the speed of its slowest unit; for most armies, that was its Logistics. Christopher was very intimate with this process as he had been a staff officer for most of his military career. As its hero, Lucas Grimwood would have said. “Logistics Logistics Logistics.” An army marched on its stomach; after all, every boot and every tent pole needed to be calculated to ensure as few wagons traveled with the Army as possible. Every wagon was a potential problem, a potential breakdown, and a potential Target.

However, an army needed all these things to survive and fight in a war, although some were things were unnecessary, such as the bed frame for every Monarch who traveled with the army. He understood that it was required to preserve their dignity, but a small part of him wished they didn't follow the Army instead, because everyone else could get by with bed rolls and mattresses. Either way, someone had to transport that primarily on wagons, and these wagons tended to break down, especially on bad roads. The entirety of the Norris Mountains only had one good road. Besides the great Alloro River, it was a Super Highway that connected the areas north and south of the mountain range, and it was built by the tower's empire before the Kingdom of black even existed—the Kingdom of black invested solely in their military expenses. The only good road in the kingdom was one built back before the Rebellion, connecting Grastide to the black knife Valley. As a result, their wagons continuously broke down without fail and on repeat due to the bad roads.

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Christopher wondered how to handle the wagon breakdown situation. Glancing inside, he was relieved to see a bedpost, a chair, a writing desk, and a couple of other pieces of furniture. He turned to these nearby soldiers. “Abandon this wagon completely.”

The staff officer who arrived earlier on the scene looked relieved but simultaneously hesitant. Christopher realized why he was reluctant when a soldier approached him a few seconds later. “You can't dump this wagon. It contains the personal effects of Lieutenant Colonel Andermont.”

Christopher glanced at the soldier who wore the lieutenant badge, and he sighed. He didn't particularly care about offending a lieutenant colonel. The problem was that he didn't recognize that name. He was probably from a different division, and that division was likely the 4th division, which had also been positioned in the Vanguard the same as the first. Although they were technically under the command of Linea, that was separate from her command of the first division. The Fourth division, General Philip Westerdale, didn't get along with Linea. Forcing the issue could cause problems for Linea. He was a conservative who believed that women shouldn't be generals and had told her so to her face multiple times.

Christopher followed Linea as her aide to camp and lover for nearly a year. By now, he understood her personality. She was confident, arrogant, proud, cunning, deceitful, and cruel. It was scary how she could simultaneously embody complete narcissism well, being cunning and vicious at the same time. Their hatred and disdain were mutual. But Christopher didn't want to start any problems at the moment. He agonized over what to do for a second before making up his mind. He ignored the lieutenant and turned back to the staff officer. “Dump it on the side of the road, and if the lieutenant colonel wants it or causes a fuss, he can claim it and carry it himself.”

He rode off before receiving a reply. He headed back toward his post by Linea's side. Once there, he found her doing what she had been for the past few days: chainsmoking. “Your Highness, I have something to report to you.” She waved her hand in a continued gesture without even taking the cigarette out of her mouth, and he reported everything that had happened to her.

“That's fine. I'll Deal with the consequences, so you don't have to worry about it.” She said, finally removing her cigarette from her mouth.

Christopher sighed as he knew what to say next, knowing it would offend her. “Your Highness maybe… you should cut back on the smoking.” She looked at him through squinted emerald eyes without saying anything. At times like this, it was difficult to know what she was thinking. “you've been chain smoking for the past few days, and I feel it is starting to become a problem.”

“So what? You don't like girls who smoke now.” She asked him light-heartedly, but he could feel the murderous intent underneath.

“That's not it, Your Highness,” he said hastily. Due to Magic, smoking wasn't a problem for most Nobles. It barely caused any adverse effect on them at all. However, it was still considered by many Nobles to be a dirty habit that especially applied to women. Although Christopher didn't personally care, he felt like it was his duty to keep his General at least somewhat in line with Noble habits and tendencies. “I was merely thinking you should cut back a little bit.”

She breathed in deeply in response and then started puffing out Smoke rings. Before tossing her cigarette aside, she said nothing; that was how he knew she agreed. Her pride would never allow her to say that, so instead, she just stared at the sky, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They rode along in comfortable silence for a time. Some people think all silence is uncomfortable, but Christopher disagreed. There were silences in which you needed to pause conversations to give the other person space and sometimes just to enjoy companionship.

But they couldn't enjoy themselves for much longer as a messenger came riding up. “General, the enemy, they're waiting before us.”

“They're waiting for us. That's rather polite of them,” Linea said.

The messenger hesitated to say something. “Just spit it out. As long as it's an honest report, I'm not going to punish you for it,” Linea said, and he finally continued.

“General, it's General Falcus Ormond.”

The two of them move to the front line, where soldiers are just starting to spill into a valley, and waiting for them at the mouth of the other end is a line of black soldiers. Their black armor was uniform, and their Spears pointed directly into the sky as they stood silently, waiting. They were merely a group of statues wearing similar clothing. Directly above them, on a post, hung a singular body. The body wore an Antlatur uniform with two stars on the epaulets, and the body had a sign nailed to it with words burned into the wood. “Falcus Ormond.”