XII. The Battle of Ramders Plain (3)
XII. The Battle of Ramders Plain (3)
The hulking knights sat crowded together inside the command tent.
Every face was troubled, and the atmosphere was grim.
Keldric smacked his lips awkwardly under the heavy stare Lothar directed at him from the head of the gathering.
Lothar's left cheek was still dark with bruising.
The other knights knew exactly who had left the mark. They pretended otherwise while repeatedly glancing at Keldric.
Few of them were thinking, 'How dare he strike his lord?'
Their actual lord was Baron Yaven, not Lothar.
Keldric's honor had also been involved. No knight was foolish enough to misunderstand its value.
They had watched him fight like a madman at Schaffendorf. No one wanted to challenge a monstrous knight like that over a matter of honor.
Several were also thoroughly tired of Lothar's childish behavior.
That spared Keldric the nuisance of someone suddenly shouting, 'You harmed my lord! I challenge you to a duel!' Still...
'Damn it.'
Feeling unaccountably awkward, Keldric cleared his throat.
Rutger took it as a signal and rose, drawing everyone's attention.
"Lothar, it appears everyone is here."
"Good. Let us begin."
"Send them in!"
At Rutger's command, three or four soldiers entered with a gust of cold air.
Keldric examined their clothing. They wore light leather armor over warm gambesons.
They were scouts who had spent the last several days in the field. The man in front began his report.
"I am not sure where to begin..."
"Tell us everything you know—everything you saw, heard, and felt."
"Yes, sir."
As the scout spoke, an attendant stepped forward with a wooden rod and began drawing a map in the dirt.
"Everything within three leagues is open plain. It's covered in snow, but we found nothing unusual beneath it."
The wooden rod traced lines through the dirt. Every knight's gaze followed it.
Keldric studied the map. It showed an open plain without a single forest or hill.
The only terrain feature was a river running along one side. Rutger rose and pointed to it.
"A branch of the Ronaun River."
"Yes. The locals call it the Senzer River."
The Senzer curved along the left side of the Rhamdus Plain.
Keldric frowned at the winding line drawn in the earth.
Victory in battle began with the proper use of terrain.
The river could become a weakness for Lothar's army or a strength if used well.
"If they fight with the river at their back..."
A knight murmured thoughtfully.
Keldric imagined the Rheesian cavalry using the river and nodded in silence.
One river might seem insignificant on such a broad plain, but if the horse archers protected a flank with it and kept shooting, Lothar's force would be helpless.
Horse archers were difficult to counter precisely because the Empire rarely fielded them.
Imperial lords naturally prepared more for a knightly charge than for mounted archery.
"What is the enemy's strength?"
"More than forty horse archers, twenty-five heavy cavalry, and a little over thirty light cavalry."
Roughly a hundred riders in total. It sounded formidable every time Keldric heard it.
"Could you not determine the exact number?"
"Their camp was heavily guarded. We couldn't approach safely."
Rutger's face hardened.
Defeat was not certain, but the coming battle had become utterly unpredictable.
"Troublesome. Our victory at Schaffendorf won't have shaken these men much."
Henri, seated beside Keldric, whispered quickly.
Keldric understood his meaning and nodded.
The outcome at Schaffendorf had also been uncertain. The problem was that even after winning a great victory, they now faced an equally dangerous test.
Gofrit's army had been defeated, and only a small fraction of the routed soldiers could have returned.
The new force consisted mainly of Rheesians and Gofrit's supply troops. The defeat at Schaffendorf meant little to them.
A victory that could not be exploited was nearly as bad as a defeat.
"Where have they made camp?"
"With the river at their back."
"The river at their back..."
What did that position mean?
A river was a serious obstacle to Lothar's army, which relied on heavy cavalry.
If the Rheesians camped against the river, Lothar's force could not circle around their flanks or rear.
That removed many tactical options and effectively forced a frontal battle.
The Rheesians, however, could still create uncertainty from beside the river.
They could not retreat across it. A mounted force could not reasonably ford a river amid the chaos of battle.
But the Rheesians possessed another way to disrupt the battlefield.
'Horse archers...'
Keldric considered them. He was not ignorant of what that kind of force could do.
In his former world, a great nomadic empire had dominated lands from the far eastern edge of the world to the fertile west through infamous horse-archer tactics.
Knowing that in theory and facing it in battle were very different things.
Horse archers embodied uncertainty. They shot, fled, then returned to shoot and flee again.
That was disastrous for comparatively slow heavy cavalry and knights.
Their armor might remain unscratched, but a stray arrow could still find a joint or gap.
Even harmless arrows hammering constantly against their armor would exert tremendous psychological pressure.
And even if no arrow found a gap and the rider remained calm, one unlucky hit to the horse could end everything.
"Is that everything?"
"Yes. We observed nothing else unusual."
"Well done. You may go. Someone give these men hot water and barley porridge. They have earned it."
The scouts' rigid expressions relaxed as they left the tent.
A heavy silence descended once only Lothar and the knights remained.
Everyone sensed that one mistake could turn the Rhamdus Plain into their grave.
The Rheesians certainly would not respect knightly honor.
They might spare a captured knight, but only because they coveted his ransom and equipment.
If he refused to surrender his armor and weapons, no one could object if the enraged Rheesians cut his throat on the spot.
"Sir Rutger, who commands the enemy?"
One knight asked. The others looked toward Rutger with equal curiosity.
"The knights who weren't summoned under Baron Gofrit and the Rheesian mercenary captain, most likely."
"Then isn't their command structure weak?"
"Hm?"
"Their army appears to depend almost entirely on the Rheesians. If we pin down the horse archers and send the main force against the remaining troops..."
"...That could work."
The idea sounded plausible. Even Lothar, who had listened blankly until then, paid attention.
"I also doubt they can coordinate properly with the Rheesians. They have no clear figure around whom to unite, do they?"
Mercenaries normally needed little coordination in a territorial war. They simply marched among the lord's troops.
Even so, they had to meet a minimum standard and obey the lord's orders to advance or defend.
The knights believed the Rheesian cavalry would struggle to do even that.
"Perhaps it would be different if Baron Gofrit had returned..."
"Sir Rutger, what happened to the pursuit of Baron Gofrit?"
Keldric asked this time. Rutger turned toward him.
"The reports are delayed. They lost his trail."
Keldric clicked his tongue in disappointment.
Still, he understood. Snow had fallen every night without exception.
Driven by the north wind, it accumulated in layers and erased every track from the snowfield.
"It can't be helped. We'll defeat this force and then march to Baron Gofrit's castle."
Rutger turned his head after speaking. The other knights did the same.
Every gaze settled on Lothar.
"And so, Lothar..."
Rutger opened the discussion. Lothar only blinked at him.
The enemy command might be unstable, but the Rheesians would remain effective whether Baron Gofrit was present or not.
Lothar's army therefore needed a plan to counter them.
Keldric considered what his side possessed that the enemy did not.
"What are your orders?"
A commander capable of leading an entire army. It was time for that vital position to prove its worth.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
He had escaped death again and again over the past several days.
The snow was cold, and the north wind mixed with it was colder still. His hands and feet had passed beyond pain into numbness.
Some soldiers suffered frostbite so severe that their toes needed amputation. One soon fell behind, unable to walk another step.
He had probably died alone on the snowfield.
Freezing to death would have been merciful. If he survived until night, wolves would not have ignored weakened prey lying helpless in the snow.
As the last few soldiers fell behind one by one, the man abandoned them with anguish tearing at his heart.
It could not be helped. Not everyone could survive. If only a limited number could, he had to be among them.
Had the great general of ancient history felt this way when he crossed towering mountains to attack the old republic?
The man understood now. That had to be it. He needed it to be.
Otherwise, he would lose faith in every remaining possibility.
He clenched his teeth and forced his way through the snow. Fleeing south had been the worst choice, and thoughts of surrender repeatedly tried to consume him.
Each time, stubbornness tougher than a bear's sinew rose to battle his defeatism.
The man had no troops left. His wealth remained in his territory, and even the relief force he had summoned still faced a long march.
More than a desire to live had carried him through every hardship.
'I cannot fall here.'
He would never yield. A defeat was only one failure.
Dozens or hundreds of failures could eventually produce one decisive success.
"My Lord! Over there!"
He was still addressed as 'my lord'—the lawful Baron of Gofrit, whatever anyone said, and a defeated man who ground his teeth while reliving every bitter loss.
"It's the Rhamdus Plain!"
"There are unidentified soldiers ahead...!"
"They're reinforcements sent by Count Rasau!"
Using his unbreakable, iron-hard stubbornness as a foundation, the man finally forced his way across the vast snowfield.
His name was Ansen Schultheis. After surviving countless brushes with death, the Baron of Gofrit had arrived.
"...This time, I will succeed."
Survival was another name for a second opportunity.
And Baron Gofrit had no intention of wasting it.