Collapsing Lines
Sergio was in deep denial upon learning that his vanguard had been pushed back. He heard sporadic reports of nomadic archers being deployed over the wall. "How strange," he pondered.
His words drew his staff's attention. Sergio continued, "If the opponent had their bowmen at the ready from the start, shouldn't they have rained arrows down from the walls?"
The staff members could only knit their brows in confusion. They, too, found it puzzling. Defending the wall with bowmen was a huge advantage.
"A lapse of judgment from the opponent's leader?" one ventured.
Sergio nodded. There was another reason, but he refused to acknowledge it. "This is nothing but a desperate move," he asserted. "Our opponent panicked after we drove them from the wall and called for any reinforcements they could get. It just so happens that the nomads answered his call."
His staff nodded in agreement, their earlier confusion vanishing.
"Do not be deceived. Commit the next wave. We need to send more men before they push us back from the wall," Sergio ordered.
His orders were swiftly relayed, and the Nicopolans continued to muster column after column to the wall, oblivious to the worsening situation.
However, the men weren't blind. When they saw their terrified comrades retreat, shouting to warn them of the dire situation, they understood that things were not as their commanders had portrayed.
Peeking over the wall, the sight of their comrades being slaughtered was evident. No one wanted to jump into a hopeless situation, and soon the stream of people halted. Thus, the ones on top hesitated.
They jumped down and refused to obey commands. Before long, the columns stopped in their tracks, and everything bogged down on the Nicopolan side of the wall. In contrast, more and more survivors successfully climbed back, many bearing scars and wounds from battle.
The survivors, having discarded their drenched gambesons, wore only their tunics. When confronted by the enforcers, a heated shouting match ensued. In a surge of rage, the survivors charged and maimed their enforcers. They had enough and only wanted to return to camp. They knew they had been beaten and had set their priorities right.
On their way back, almost everybody inquired about the situation. The survivors explained and tried to persuade everyone they met. Some offered weapons, while others joined the retreat.
One commander attempted to stop them, but they shouted that they had paid their dues in blood. Realizing it could turn into a fight, the commander and his guards backed down.
When Sergio heard of this, he ordered his men to downplay the event, fearing it would exacerbate the situation. "I'll deal with them later. For now, focus on restoring order," he insisted.
"But, Sergio, we've sent the youths, and they returned bloodied. Now, the rest are frightened, they won't listen," one staff argued.
"Then find those who will!" Sergio snapped.
"The right wing is fresh and separate from the rest," someone suggested.
"Pull them," Sergio consented. "Now that we know the nomads are behind the wall, we don't need a thousand to cover our right flank."
The staff member quickly left to mobilize the right wing.
Sergio continued, "Do whatever it takes to get the men to climb that wall and attack. If we fail, we'll lose everything. Do you want your families to be cooked as meals?" he threatened, causing discomfort among his staff.
"We burned the deal. We trampled the crops meant for us. If we don't win, how will we feed eight thousand men through winter?" Sergio practically howled his explanation to his staff. "Those men, the same men you commanded will eat our hearts out. So, get out there and make them climb! Better them dying than us!"
Afterward, his staff and inner circle ran with renewed spirits to act on his command. Sergio himself approached the front line again and pushed the column into attacking. Even to the point of brandishing his sword to make them obey.
Despite the stream of deserters, the men, fearing Sergio, pushed their comrades in the front to make the climb. But the progress was slow.
The arrival of the men with long pikes and crossbowmen from the right wing changed all this. Sergio deftly took command of these elite troops and formed them behind his other column.
"Climb or I'll make you bleed myself! If you don't fight, then you or your family don't deserve to eat!"
With that chilling cry, the attack finally resumed.
***
Lansius
The lull in the opponent's attack allowed Korimor to regain control of the center wall. Piles of Nicopolans' casualties were shoved aside while the mortally wounded were mostly left to their own devices. A few who were groaning or screaming from pain were given a merciful stab to the heart or a blow to the back of the neck.
Hugo reclaimed the wooden tower and allowed Batu's archers to occupy it, taking as many spare arrows as they could. Meanwhile, Sir Michael was organizing a new defense on the wall.
Inevitably, there were pockets of Nicopolans who surrendered. Even in their darkest hour, men wouldn't kill unless they truly had to. The surrendering men were brought to Sigmund who led them to Lord Lansius.
Gazing upon the two hundred of them, Lansius commanded, "Kneel."
His words weren't forceful, but the Nicopolans heeded them, driven by the dark-haired man's formidable reputation and appearance.
"Raise your right palm and swear to me an oath that you'll not follow Sergio anymore," he demanded.
"We swear, not to follow Sergio anymore," they chanted almost in unison.
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"The next time we meet, I will select a leader for you, and you'll obey that person with your life. Swear to me."
"We swear, to obey the person that you choose."
"If your oath is true, then I shall find a way to feed you through this winter," Lansius promised.
The Nicopolans looked up to Lord Lansius dearly. They couldn't believe what they had heard.
"If you dishonor this oath," Lansius began, then turned to Batu for ideas. This move looked ominous to the Nicopolans.
Batu stepped forward with a smirk. "If you dishonor your oaths, then all the tribes in Lowlandia shall hunt you down. When we find you, we'll make a hole from your rear to your head, so carefully that you won't die despite the excruciating pain. We'll fill that hole with lard, thread a large rope through as a wick, and turn you into living candles."
The men gulped, frightened by the unknown custom of the nomads, taking Batu's threat at face value.
Batu finished with, "The skies and My Noyan are my witnesses. Mark my words, this will happen."
Lansius was pleased with the creative threat. He glanced at the frightened survivors and commanded, "Now, drop all your gear and run north to the river. Hide until the war is over, and remember your oaths."
Sigmund and his men escorted the surrendering individuals north, towards the river.
Lansius was hesitant to shelter them, fearing they might rejoin the battle. He was aware that he had confronted only about a thousand Nicopolans, with another four to five thousand remaining. Yet, he anticipated a rout soon.
Unlike in epic tales where every foe perishes in battle, in reality, even minor casualties can cause an army to flee. Historically, most medieval armies would rout after incurring just 10% in losses, and almost certainly before the 20% mark.
Lansius felt that the Nicopolans were approaching this critical threshold. However, he wasn't solely relying on these hopes. He was also geared up for a prolonged battle.
Hugo returned to Lansius' side and saluted, "My Lord, we've secured the walls. May I learn your instruction?"
"Prepare to defend. Have the boys collect swords and spears, but prioritize bolts and arrows."
"Acknowledged, My Lord. But one question: will it be a long fight?"
"I'm not a seer," Lansius replied lightly. "But let's assume it will be, unless the commanders on our flanks find an opportunity."
Hugo observed, "The opportunity seems to be present on our left wing."
Lansius looked to the far left. "The Baroness's side?"
"Indeed. When I secured the tower, I saw that the Nicopolans had withdrawn their long pike wielders and crossbowmen from their right flank."
Hearing that, Batu spat to the side. "Those cunning bastards," he cursed.
The men Hugo mentioned had cost Batu dearly in yesterday's battle. "My condolences to your brethren," said Lansius.
Batu bowed his head a little in respect.
Lansius looked back at Hugo. "If our opponent is pulling their right flank, then the Baroness might have a chance."
Roger suddenly stood up. "My Lord, I should still be able to deliver a message to the Baroness."
"I admire your courage, but you have more than just a broken finger," said Lansius.
Distinct whistling sounds echoed from the tower, alerting everyone. Batu's bowmen had loosed their arrows, and in return, bolts came flying from beyond the wall.
Nobody needed to be told that the Nicopolans were back on the attack.
Hugo heaved a sigh, while Lansius shook his head. Somehow, Sergio continued to defy expectations. Despite the large casualties and the near-rout situation, Sergio had managed to regain control and resume the attack.
"Rally the men for defense," Lansius said to Hugo, "and this time there are no more ruses."
The Deputy nodded, and Lansius gazed at his ally. "Brother Batu, can I count on you again?"
"Till my bow is broken and my sword dulled," replied the tribesman solemnly.
Lansius was pleased and offered a customary drink that one of his squires carried. He shared the ale with Batu, Hugo, and the rest of the crew. It wasn't much, but the situation made it sweeter.
Hugo and Batu departed for their respective posts, and before long, fights erupted atop the wall. Assisted by Roger, Lansius donned his gorget, gauntlet, and helmet. Armed with a sturdy spear Roger found earlier, the Lord of Korelia strode to the wall, fighting side by side with his men.
***
Nicopolan Side
Threatened by Sergio's newly formed rear guard—comprising long pike wielders and crossbowmen—the Nicopolan attack surged with renewed vigor. They knew what Sergio was capable of. Although the rear guard were Nicopolans like them, they were nothing but Sergio's lackeys.
In total, three thousand men were pouring over the walls, haphazardly trying to climb or survive the onslaught of arrows coming at them. Many were wounded, and several succumbed from getting crushed or trampled in the frenzy. The situation was dire, but Sergio, driven by desperation, believed the battle could still be turned in their favor.
However, the situation worsened. The water had risen ever so slightly, but enough to swell the mud beneath. Now, with thousands on the move, the area before the wall had turned into a muddy swamp. Men struggled to trudge through the thick mud, striving not to slip or die from sporadic arrow attacks.
It was a matter of time before they could take no more. Finally, enough of them realized that Sergio was leading them to certain death. Gradually, they began to disperse in small groups, wandering and stalling for time. Then, seizing the opportune moment, they swiftly marched back, launching a surprise attack on Sergio's unsuspecting rear guard.
This move took many by surprise, but it was brutally quelled by a volley of crossbow bolts. Sergio witnessed the incident and moved quickly, trying to contain the problem, but his army had mutinied.
As the crossbowmen in the rear guard reloaded and the pike wielders still recoiled from the surprise attack, more groups fled west toward their camp. Many had no issue with Sergio, but they had no wish to die that day.
In just a span of several breaths, almost a thousand men made a run for it, evading the rear guard in two directions. Some were simply escaping the death march, while others followed their mercenary friends or family members who had decided it was better to loot their own camp and live as brigands.
Watching half the army flee, Sergio and his guards plunged into the fray to physically bar the soldiers from leaving. He caught several, shouted at them, and slapped one of them, but the rest simply ignored him and continued to flee toward the camp.
It was then that the harsh truth dawned on him: he had lost the battle. His rear guard, who should have prevented this, failed to act. They were unnerved by this sudden development. Despite Sergio's wishes, as long as they were not attacked, they refused to retaliate.
"Sergio, we must return to camp. The situation is critical," a trusted aide cautioned.
"I've put your uncle and his men to guard the supplies," Sergio snapped back.
"Even I can't truly trust them," the aide countered strongly. "How can you trust them? Our supplies might be the first they loot on their way out."
"Bah!" Sergio grew angry. But deep down, he recognized the possibility was real.
Casting his pride aside, he commanded, "Get the rear guard and anyone still loyal. We return to the camp, now!"
Without hesitation, Sergio left the battlefield, leaving his men to serve as a buffer against possible enemy counterattacks.
He had forsaken the hope of ever winning this battle. Now, his lifeline was clear: secure the supplies. If he still had the food and spoils, then he could maintain an army and survive this major defeat. Even with as few as a couple of hundred men, he could safely escape Korimor, or even form a raiding party and cross the Great Plains into prosperous Midlandia.
It would be tough to make the crossing and organize a base camp in Midlandia, but it was better than being trapped against a formidable foe.
However, his dreams were quickly shattered. A section of the wooden wall on the right side moved, opening like gates. Now, like a vulture sensing dying prey, the sons of Korimor marched through. They were no more than two hundred, along with several riders, but the thousands of Nicopolans had no heart to fight.
Wherever the Korimor went, the Nicopolans dispersed. The few hundred tore through the lines without fear and kept charging straight at where Sergio's banner was located.
Sergio saw the risk, but he couldn't lose his banner. The rear guard halted their march back and reformed their line formation.
Against hundreds of brandished spears at the front and crossbowmen at the flanks, the Korimor slowed their approach. Everything seemed in control. However, more Korimor people poured through the opened section.
It was like watching a building catch fire and collapse; another section of the wall just fell. As Sergio's elite left wing fled the scene, several hundred Korimor emerged from the wall near the river through a similar opening.
But the worst was yet to come. The blue and bronze banner finally arrived from the right wall with hundreds of men and tens of riders.
Despite the situation, Sergio's face remained stoic, though his hands betrayed a slight tremor. He was trapped by his own acumen. To move would mean abandoning everything he had built up to this point. And he knew he couldn't live without the success and reputation he had gained.
Unwilling to start anew and tempt the Lady of Fortuna a second time, the Tarracan Man made his stand.
***