Antica's Envoy (2)
The king of Ersia is called by the arrogant title of Padisha—lord of kings.
Lord of kings!
It was a title dripping with hubris.
But for the ruler of a nation that could muster hundreds of thousands of troops, such bombast didn't seem out of place.
Buuuu!
A soldier atop the watchtower, scanning a dozen kilometers into the distance, blew his horn. I raced up to the ramparts at the sound.
The soldiers bowed their heads slightly as they saw me. I nodded back and turned my gaze outward.
I swallowed hard at the sight of an Ersian standard-bearer holding his flag far across the barren wasteland. Only one was visible, but the enemy was already close. I sensed it instinctively. The hazy dust cloud rising behind him was proof enough.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir!"
"The Ersian army has arrived."
"Shut the gates and bar them!"
Rikius hurried down from the ramparts and issued orders to the troops below.
I turned to look at the soldiers. They couldn't hide their anxious faces.
This isn't good.
But right now, no words of mine would rally their spirits easily.
We were outnumbered and outmatched, and they'd suffered through one defeat after another. Expecting them to be brimming with fighting spirit was just wishful thinking.
I bit my lip.
Isn't there some clever way out of this?
As I pondered, the Ersian host slowly revealed its immense scale. First to crest the distant ridge were hundreds of cavalrymen.
They bore ornate banners. Behind them surged an endless wave of infantry that blackened the horizon.
My gut twisted at the sheer majesty of it.
Their numbers alone were enough to cow our troops.
Just what's visible is over a hundred thousand strong.
Even the Praetorian Guards who'd followed me through several campaigns couldn't hide their tension at the enemy's terrifying scale.
I wondered if we'd even get a chance to clash blades properly.
The one silver lining: no horse archers in sight.
Thinking about it, that made sense.
Horse archers weren't all that effective in a siege. No matter their mobility, they couldn't do more than any foot archer.
Strategically, it was smarter to leave them in the rear to check the Imperial Eastern Army.
Of course, if the enemy had made that play, it meant I faced an even larger force here.
This is worse than I'd hoped.
I'd prayed Shapur wouldn't make that call, but the host before us was clearly their main army.
Soon, the enemy filled the wasteland east of the city.
Even I, who'd faced Heigirt's horde before, had never seen an army this vast. They arrayed themselves in perfect order, divided by units.
It was unlike the disorganized Ersian forces I'd heard of.
I narrowed my eyes at a group of cavalry threading through a narrow gap in their lines.
Shapur.
I couldn't know the face of their newly ascended king. But the snow-white steed, the lavish trappings, and the splendid honor guard fore and aft marked him as royalty.
As Shapur passed through the ranks, the enemy troops knelt as one. It was a spectacle—like waves crashing across the plain.
"It's Shapur!"
"The king of Ersia leads them himself."
The soldiers spotted the Ersian king and quailed.
Just his presence terrifies them. Shapur.
I clenched my fist.
This menacing figure—the iron-fisted ruler of mighty Ersia—was my foe.
The king halted precisely where the surging waves faced our walls, like Poseidon commanding the sea. Our eyes met briefly.
I have to stop him here.
I ground my teeth, steeling myself to counter that ferocious tide.
The Ersian siege preparations followed textbook form. First, catapults to pound the walls and erode our defenses.
Having tasted success with rounded stone shot, they'd arrayed a staggering number of the machines before us.
As the Ersian engineers openly assembled them, I debated a preemptive strike.
They assumed our catapults couldn't reach, but ours had them in range.
Taking the first hit is definitely a problem.
I gave the order for the catapults.
"Prepare to fire!"
"Prepare to fire!"
Under the decurions' command, rounded stones were loaded onto the machines.
Our Eastern Army catapults could hurl up to twenty-five kilograms over four hundred meters. Machining the stones, as the Ersians had, extended that by over a hundred meters.
Once ready, the decurions raised hands signaling standby. The centurions confirmed and bellowed.
"Catapults ready!"
I gripped my fist tight. This might enrage the Ersian king and accelerate their assault, but we'd have to risk it. We couldn't afford to tiptoe around their feelings.
Feeling the sweat slick my palm, I issued the command.
"Fire!"
The standard-bearer waved his flag vigorously.
"Fire!"
The centurions echoed, and the catapults launched in unison.
Thwoong!
The stones arced high, plummeting toward the wasteland where the enemy bustled with their machines.
The foe gawked upward as we fired, figuring we were out of range and wasting effort.
Big mistake.
Boom!
Stones smashed home, shattering assembled catapults in seconds.
"Kyaaak!"
Engineers died too, crushed as they worked. A dozens-of-kilos stone turned a man to pulp on a shoulder hit.
"Keep pounding them!"
I called for more as Ersian catapults crumbled one by one.
Our one-sided barrage inflicted gruesome losses on their siege crews.
Some stubbornly persisted, but as the stones kept falling, even they broke.
Finally, the engineers abandoned their half-built machines and fled.
Our troops cheered at the sight.
"Waaah!"
"Ain! Ain! Ain!"
Some recalled my command in the rocky valley yesterday and chanted my name.
I eased up a bit, seeing their morale rebound.
Fighting without spirit from the start doomed even winnable battles. I counted this barrage's morale boost as its greatest victory.
"Cease fire!"
I halted as the enemy retreated. In that brief window, we'd destroyed thirty catapults and killed over fifty engineers.
Considering Ersia's shortage of siege experts, that was no small feat.
I savored the first strike's success without forgetting it barely scratched their massive host.
Buuuu!
Minutes after the engineers withdrew, an Ersian standard-bearer advanced toward the wreckage.
Sending infantry?
I tensed briefly, then realized otherwise.
The rider tossed his weapons to signal no threat and approached our walls.
I ordered no attacks and stood firm on the ramparts.
"I am Xerxes, standard-bearer of the Ersian army. By His Majesty's command, I seek your commander. Is the commander present?"
I answered his shout.
"I am the Imperial commander. But you lack the rank to parley with me."
"What nonsense is this?"
I raised my arm, letting my cloak billow.
"I am the Emperor's proxy and Praetorian Prefect. Second in the Imperial hierarchy. Do you think yourself worthy to address me?"
The rider faltered.
"Very well. I shall send a proper envoy. I trust you'll honor the truce."
"See to it."
I didn't want to provoke them needlessly. With such a force disparity, needling their pride overmuch was unwise. No sense enraging them beyond battle.
Soon, a new figure approached from their side—a gorgeously attired general.
I waited till he neared and spoke first.
"Are you the king's envoy?"
"I am."
"State your rank."
"Prince Partan, governor of the royal demesne."
I replied calmly.
"Very well. I acknowledge your standing. Deliver your king's words."
Partan, uncomfortable looking up from horseback, shaded his eyes.
"Our king deems Antica a great city. He regrets destroying its history and traditions in war.
Withdraw from the city. We shall let you go and preserve it intact.
Once peace is made with the Empire, the city will be returned. That is His Majesty's will."
I gave a bitter smile.
Plausible, tempting even. If I were just some grunt instead of Praetorian Prefect bearing the Empire's weight, I might've accepted.
But I stood for my dying comrades—the Empire's pillar, its eagle. Handing over one of the five great cities was unthinkable.
Even at the cost of my life.
I bit my lip and told the envoy.
"The king's terms are generous, but we shall neither abandon the city nor surrender. The Empire's eagle knows no surrender."
"A king stands before you. Ersia's main force. With your Eastern Army isolated, what gives you the nerve to refuse His Majesty?"
I placed my fist over my heart.
"Pride!"
Prince Partan smirked.
"Ain, was it? I'll remember the Praetorian Prefect's courage."
"The northern barbarians all know the name. By day's end, so shall you."
"We'll see. I'll report your refusal."
Partan wheeled his horse.
As the prince departed, I shouted to the troops.
"The enemy demanded we withdraw—but I refused. Not because I'm Praetorian Prefect or the Emperor's proxy.
I chose to fight as an eagle who remembers the blood and sweat of frontier comrades. Eagles of the Empire! What say you?"
The soldiers raised weapons and roared.
"Imperator Ain! We fight at your side!"
"Ain! Ain!"
"Glory to the Empire! Death to its foes!"
Even those who'd paled earlier drew strength from my calm confidence and resolve, vowing to fight to the death.
"Thank you! Today, I cross death's threshold with you. We'll teach this Padisha who crossed our borders that eagle wings cannot be breached! Glory to the Emperor and Empire! Victory to the eagles!"
"The legion triumphs!"
I exchanged glances with the troops, settled my helmet. The wind whipped my cloak fiercely.
I knew, win or lose, I'd given my all for the Empire.
Today, I fight without shame before you.
I shut my eyes, vowing it to my fallen comrades.
From afar came the Ersian standard-bearer's death knell.
"By the king's command—infantry, advance!"
The standard fluttered, and Ersian infantry in scaled armor surged toward the walls—slowly at first, then like an ant swarm.
"Waaah!"
I leveled my sword at the enemy wave churning yellow dust.
(To be continued)