The War of Eagle City (Part III)
The War of Eagle City (Part III)
Panic surged through the crowd of enemies. Many men fell as they were scattering and running in a flurry, ending their lives miserably under the horse's hoofs.
Occasionally there were some men that drew their weapons to resist, but they were pierced by the spears of the skilled knights. The one who raced in the front of the unstoppable knights, like the tip of the blade, was Frostwind Knight Naim Moor. The blue striped cloak flying behind him cast a particular conspicuous sight as he rushed ahead to clear the way. He fought fiercely to force back the enemies, causing his spear to be soaked with blood.
Timothy Wimbledon stood on a small slope far away from the battlefield watching the situation. At this moment, the tail of the platoon of 3,000 had become disordered, and as the scattering grew, the platoon almost halted.
"They can't hold on much longer," Timothy thought, "Her army will be defeated by two more rounds of strikes. The rabble of enemies is no match for the elite knights of Kingdom of Graycastle. Most of the enemies, who did not even have armor, only needed to be struck once for them to lose fighting capacity.
Just as he had expected, the detour took him two extra hours. The knightage had gone around Eagle City and then over a col, through a sparse wood, and finally back to the main road. After that, under his command of acceleration, the knights eventually caught up with Garcia's army at noon.
According to what the duke had taught him, Timothy divided the knightage into three teams, each with 300 men that would take turns to strike the rear side of the enemy. In this way, he could save enough horses and men to mobilize and support the attack in the event of an emergency. In case of being besieged, rather than marching into the main crowd of the enemy, the knights only needed to be near the platoon from the flank before speeding up and dashing into the platoon. In this way, each time they could cut off a short piece of tail of the enemy's platoon and cost them tens of men.
The tactic's effect was obvious. After some rounds of strikes, the enemy had lost over 100 men, and they were unable to fight back. Although they also wanted to organize the riders to defend, they were poorly equipped and trained. Comparing to the knightage of the king's city, their make-do riders were no more than the infantry mounted on horses. When the "riders" engaged in the battle with the knights, they could not help but to scatter and run away in the bloodshed.
The overwhelming slaughter lowered the morale of the enemy immensely. Timothy noticed that some of the men in Garcia's platoon were abandoning the army and running away in other directions.
He thought it was time to launch a general offensive. Waiting until Frostwind Knight led the team back, he returned to the knightage from the slope instead of giving the order for the next round of strikes.
"Your Majesty, they'll be soon dispersed," Naim said as he dried the sweat on his forehead, the blood on his palm leaving some marks. It was the enemy's blood. He had remained unharmed since the battle began.
Timothy pulled out his handkerchief and handed it over. "Well done. Take some rest before we launch the last strike."
Noticing that the next round of strikes had not come from Timothy's platoon, Garcia's men were aware that the final battle was coming. The large platoon stopped marching and gathered slowly together into an assemblage. The outermost men held up the wooden spears.
Seeing their reaction, Timothy scoffed at it. "It is no more than the death struggle. Without any horses and armors, the flesh will never ward off the knightage of king's city but end up in defeat. Whether Garcia was in the platoon will not change the result. Maybe she has run away long ago, leaving her army to buy her more time."
But soon he found out that what he had thought was wrong.
Once again, the enemy raised the flag of the Queen of Clearwater, letting it fly in the wind. Timothy frowned as he caught sight of the sigil of a sailing ship and crown on the flag. Through the telescope, he watched the enemy. There was a blurred figure of a woman standing on a "stage that was made of some warriors. It seemed she was shouting something while raising her hands high. He could not see her face clearly but he recognized her gray hair.
It's Garcia Wimbledon. Why doesn't she run away?
Timothy took a deep breath. "Very well, in this fashion, the farce will be ended earlier here, saving me the trouble of marching to Port of Clearwater."
The new king waited until the horses had enough rest before giving the order of a general offensive attack.
Under the leadership of the knightage of the king's city, the 800 riders, which were made of knights and squires, started to march on the enemy. Frostwind Knight Naim Moor, still raced in the front like the tip of the blade.
When the knights were about to charge into the enemy, a large group of riders emerged on the horizon of the east and the west sides. Accompanied with their weird shriek and shout, they galloped all the way to the center of the battlefield.
Timothy widened his eyes in disbelief. "Who are these people?"
The troop that burst in had no flag or kamon, and was different from any forces in the kingdom. Watching through the telescope, Timothy found that most of them were without armor and equipped with various weapons. To Timothy's knowledge, only one kind of people had the same sturdy figures and strange faces of theirs.
They were from Sand Nation in the Southernmost Region.
There was no need for him to guess which side they stood with. "Obviously, Garcia has struck a bargain with Sand Nation so that they'll interfere with the game of the thrones of the Kingdom of Graycastle. Damn foreigners!" As Timothy was thinking about this his rage soared, he turned to shout, "Blow the horn. call the knights back!"
But it was too late for the galloping army to turn around easily. The knightage had rushed into Garcia's platoon, piercing to where the Queen of Clearwater was standing like cutting through butter with a hot knife.
Timothy looked at the flying flag eagerly, hoping it would snap and fall down. "With the 1,000 soldiers from Sand Nation flanking on each side, the number of Garcia's army is up to 5,000 men, which is beyond the number of my knights. Meanwhile, the soldier from Sand Nation, who is valiant and tough, will threaten the knightage enormously in the close battle. My only chance lies in the possibility that the knights could kill the leader of the enemy and bring down the flag."
Yet the flagpole only shook a little and kept standing in the platoon.
Once the soldiers from Sand Nation had surrounded their enemy, they marched into the battlefield following the corridor cleared by the knightage.
If there were no reinforcements, Garcia's 3,000 desperadoes would have scattered. Yet, the game had changed. They were holding out and swallowed the knights one by one, like a swamp.
The horn calling for the retreat was echoing in the battlefield. One after another, the knights were gathering towards Timothy. However, many men remained trapped within the confines of the enemy's platoon, and Frostwind Knight was one of them.
He was panting with the effort to deal with a foreign warrior with a height of almost three meters that waved a giant stick to clear away the men around them. With the horse being killed under the bash of the stick, Naim now tried his best to dodge the strike. His extraordinary reaction and agility had helped him a lot, but yet the thick, heavy armor wore him out quickly. Finally, he tumbled at a dodge and was hit right in the chest by the flying stick. The hit was so hard that the plate caved in and the stick was broken into two parts.
The flying blue cloak fell slowly and disappeared in the crowd.
After an hour, the knights who were still standing had lessened. When Timothy saw that the soldiers from Sand Nation turned their eyes to where he was, he gritted his teeth and commanded the army to withdraw. The rest of army started to retreat to the north. After the battle, there were only 300 men left with the new king, considerably less than the large platoon that had started the war.