Enlightened Empire

When Corco’s men were finally in the formation they were supposed to take up from the start, there was still a long distance between the two armies, and Rupilo’s troops hadn’t moved an inch. While they watched the southern commoners stumble down the hill without any organization, they failed to act. As Corco’s hordes calmed themselves and lined up in an orderly formation, Pacha’s warriors still stood their ground high atop the hill.

If they wanted to get close enough for a proper volley, Corco would have to lead his men halfway up the hill. At that point, a simple counter charge would break their lines and erase the fragile courage the southern commoners had built up. That had been Rupilo’s plan, at least.

With frustration, the commander watched as his enemy once more acted beyond his expectations. Rather than charge up the hill, the troops stopped short a good few paces away. Only the left flank continued to advance until the entire army had formed a slanted line. Even though the inexperienced southern army took plenty of time to get into position, no one on the side of Pacha’s forces moved. The main reason for it was, of course, their commander. Rupilo wouldn’t move until he understood what sort of nonsense games the southern king was playing. Yet others were not nearly as patient.

"Lord Rupilo, why would you not allow our troops to charge the enemy’s disorganized line?" Annoyed at the repeated interruption of the other lords, the commander turned around. Although they all had the same status, he had been given command of the army. It was time to stamp down a foot and show them who was in charge.

"Lord Fulcinius, are you challenging the command given by King Pachacutec?" he asked with a frown.

"Of course not. However, some of the warriors atop this hill are my own servants. This lord believes to have some justifiable right to decide their fate."

"Then if Lord Fulcinius wishes to not lose all of his warriors in the engagement, he best listen to his commands." Rupilo remained stubborn. As the commander, he could just stick Fulcinius and his men into the front lines if he didn’t listen.

However, all he earned for his threat were sneers from the other lords and a snort from Fulcinius.

"Even if you are the commander you do not stand above the other lords. Or are your fellow lords too lowly for the great House Rupilo? With how you have led the men so far, our counsel cannot be any worse than our brilliant strategist commander’s mind."

Although he hated the other lord for his crass words, Rupilo had to swallow down his anger. He couldn’t just offend all other lords here, no matter how tempting it was. In the worst case, they might even take their men and leave the battlefield before the main engagement. Even if he could escape from King Corco’s vengeance in that case, what would King Pacha do with him if he drove away the king’s subordinates out of spite? So he remained quiet and motioned the loudmouth lord to continue.

"Now then, I will ask again: Why has our brilliant commander not exploited the broken formation of our enemy when they were advancing? They clearly are a band of commoners who lack any sort of discipline. Had we caught them at their moment of disorganization, we would have already won the tussle."

"What disorganization?" Rupilo answered. "Look at their lines now. Clean, tight spacing and an even march at an even step, they appear far more ordered than our own. Clearly this obvious ’weakness’ during their initial charge was nothing more than that southern king’s ploy to lure us into an attack. Believe me, as his former ally I know this King Corco better than anyone else here. That southern king is sly and tricky. Had we seized that moment and attacked, we would have run right into that boy’s trap!"

"That cannot be true. What sort of tricks can this southern brat have against our brave men?" Fulcinius still looked unconvinced, so now it was Rupilo’s turn to sneer.

"Do not underestimate them just because they are from the south. What these outsiders lack in strength, they make up for in slyness. Just look how those foreigners from across the Weltalic Sea treated us, even though they were meant to be our allies."

"What do you mean?" Fulcinius lowered his voice a bit as he spoke. In truth, none of the lords liked the new foreigners around King Pacha very much. Any dirt on them would be very welcome.

"Did everyone believe it was a mistake to send out our skirmishers for harassment? However, how could I have known that the new enemy hand cannons had such outrageous range, much farther than even our most elite archers? Although we have our own versions of these weapons, they fire little more than half that distance. Since the southern weapons were far superior to the ones we have received, we lost the first engagement and some valuable men. It must have been the fault of that foreign demon called Herak. He must have given us older, weaker weapons to trick us. Surely he laughed behind our backs as he unloaded his old and faulty arms onto us and even received the king’s praise for it."

"...that might be the case." Although it seemed far-fetched, Fulcinius was more than willing to blame their failures on the foreign lord who had gotten more and more of the king’s attention. None of the Medalan lords wanted to share their spoils with the newcomers after all.

"Yes, and the southern brat must have known about this as well," Rupilo concluded. "Do not be fooled by the fact that they now fight on opposite sides. According to my informants, Herak and Corco lived in the same barbaric lands for years. Who is to say that all of this is not part of their ploy? We might very well have been maneuvered into a trap. Which is why we have to stand firm and resist any rashness."

Rupilo was a lot less assured of his reasoning than he let on. In truth, he had just wracked his brain so he wouldn’t have to face Corco in a direct confrontation. Even if he had wanted to lead a charge, his military training was lacking. He had never been one to favor combat, but now that the role had been thrust upon him, he didn’t have much of a choice, not unless he wanted to become the laughing stock of the entire nobility. The fact that his excuse managed to throw dirt at Herak was just a small added bonus.

"Then what does Lord Rupilo suggest we do? Just stand around and withstand their fire?"

"Why not?" Rupilo shot back. "Really, why are we meant to do anything? Our runners have long been sent out to inform King Pachacutec, and the king’s army should already be on its way here. Once the king reaches, the southerners will be surrounded by our superior forces on all sides. There is no need to rush our victory. All we need to do then is to stand fast. Even more, their weapons are ranged, and require a large amount of gunpowder for every shot they fire. If we only stand fast, their precious new toys will soon become worthless."

"But... is their firepower not impressive?" Another lord asked. Surely, the image of their archers getting gunned down was still fresh in his mind.

Rupilo only laughed at the suggestion and turned to his attendant. "What are the losses among the skirmishers?"

"Master, it appears as if two of the skirmishers have died, while another eleven have been injured before they retreated. Since their wounds resemble mere small incisions, they should be combat ready once more within a few days."

"Through several salvos of their newfangled weapons, from atop a hill and with all advantages on their side, they only managed to cause this little damage." Rupilo shook his head. "Rather than the intense fire from these weapons, is the failure of the skirmishers not down to their own weakness?"

"Are you suggesting our men are weak, Rupilo?" The voice of Fulcinius turned sharp once more.

"Barely one in ten men lost and they already retreat in panic," the commander summed up the failure of these cowardly warriors. "Obviously, they know nothing of the honor of war. Since none of you have taught your servants right, I cannot be too ambitious with our tactics. If nothing else, your warriors should be able to stand their ground. Go and tell your men. No one moves until I give the orders."

Although the other lords still seemed unhappy, there was no more time left to argue. While Rupilo had been busy convincing them of his competence, Corco’s men had inched ever closer to their formation. By now, the front of his slanted line had come within range of Rupilo’s right flank. With a vicious look, Fulcinius left behind a "you best know what you are doing, Rupilo," before he left to join his men on the right.

Since they didn’t have enough room atop the hill to place all their soldiers, their height advantage was nullified completely on the right flank. Even though he finally understood the purpose of the slanted line, the commander only frowned at the actions of the southerners and showed no other response, not even when the commoner troops kneeled down and loaded their weapons.

As far as Rupilo was concerned, there was no reason to risk everything in a blind counterattack. These weren’t even his own men. So long as he could hold off Corco, reinforcements would arrive. If he could allow King Pacha to win, Rupilo could let as many warriors die as necessary. Once the southern brat had thinned out the warriors from those arrogant lords under his command and the true king had arrived, they could show that loudmouth boy just who would take revenge on whom.

Yes, Rupilo would not forget the shame he had received from Corco and his men, neither the tall claims at the foot of the hill nor the scolding at the banquet back then. That so-called southern king held no power over a noble lord such as himself. Rupilo had been perfectly justified in his actions back then, so why would he have to suffer for them?

Just as the lord wanted to spin more excuses to calm his guilt, a familiar sound demanded his attention. With a jump, he watched as the enemy opened fire once more. This time, their numbers was sill similar to the previous skirmish. After all, because of their strange formation, only a fraction of Corco’s army would fire. Wasn’t this level of fire insignificant in front of an entire army? With only two hundred or so weapons, how much damage could they truly do?

However, as he watched on, more and more screams pierced his ear through the constant barrage of thunder. Although the elite warriors of the lords, decked out in their shields and armor, looked like an immovable wall, their defenses proved futile in front of these new weapons. Volley by volley, ever more warriors were wounded and had to be dragged back through the center of the formation. However, even in safety, they wouldn’t stop their incessant screaming.

Rupilo’s frown deepened. How could the warriors of his allies be so weak? Wasn’t Lord Fulcinius known for his courageous shock infantry? Weren’t they men? By now Rupilo had seen the wounds for himself, and they looked not even as bad as a dagger’s stab. Why were they screaming like little women over there? Already annoyed, his attendant brought further bad news.

"Master, the morale among the troops seems poor. On the right flank, Lord Fulcinius has requested to lead a charge against the enemy formation to disperse them and relieve some of pressure from his men."

"What do you mean, ’poor morale’? Who has poor morale?" the commander shouted in annoyance. "Can you not see that victory is near? Our enemies have been on the run for days and they traveled light. How much more ammunition can that dog southerner have hoarded? After another salvo or two to soften up our formation, they will charge us, and they will break under our superior strength."

For a bit, the attendant squirmed about under Rupilo’s stern gaze, before he firmed his features.

"However, the unanswered losses and the screams have caused great damage to the spirit of the men. Maybe it would be prudent to launch a small counterattack to-"

"And let that southern brute lure us into a trap!?" Rupilo slapped his bold attendant’s face. "This lord will not stand for it! Why are our men such weaklings, to be afraid of a bit of noise. Rather than fear, they should feel disgust at the weakness of Fulcinius’ so-called warriors. By standing firm, we are simply helping our fellow lords clean out the trash."

"But master-"

"Hold fast!" he screamed. "That is the commander’s order!"

"Yes, master."

With an increasingly grim expression, Rupilo stared at the never-changing battle. The enemy just kept firing salvo after salvo, unbroken. After he had observed some drills his men had run with the weapons from the foreign lord Herak, the southerners fired with a speed he couldn’t believe, one to match the miraculous power of their tiny projectiles. Maybe Rupilo’s guess really was right. Maybe the weapons they had received from Herak had been nothing but defective goods, meant to trick them. Still, Rupilo was sure that they could win if only they held firm. So long as he didn’t make any mistakes, they would still be fine.

As more and more blood and screams filled the air, his hands developed a life of their own. By now, he could even hear uncomfortable murmurs around his command post. His own guards had become affected by the one-sided slaughter. Just as he thought they might be better off with a tactical retreat, the banner of House Fulcinius on the right flank began to move. A small contingent of their shock warriors broke off and left the formation towards the north.

Since his attendant was nowhere to be seen, Rupilo rushed over himself to sort out the obvious betrayal. He had only taken a few steps when his attendant rushed towards him, completely out of breath. Rupilo grabbed the weakling by his neck and shouted in his face.

"What are they doing!? I said ’stand firm’!"

With a pale, sweaty face, the attendant stared at his lord for a few seconds before he relayed his message.

"Master, Lord Fulcinius answers: He does not need master’s advice in warfare and will handle battle by himself."

"What! I am in charge of this expedition! I am the commander! How dare he-" As he was about to launch into a tirade, Rupilo spotted more movement from the battlefield. On Corco’s side, the warriors of the southern lords moved north to intercept the flanking strike of Fulcinius. While this was expected, his own army’s movements chilled his blood. First were the drums to announce the imminent disaster. After a battle cry to regain some semblance of morale, Rupilo’s entire right flank charged towards the tip of Corco’s slanted formation, with almost no coordination!

"Bastards!" the commander shouted, and threw his hapless attendant into the snow. "What are they doing!?"

"Master, we need to support them or our entire formation will fall apart!" the servant said as he propped himself up.

Now Rupilo had no choice but to act. If they didn’t charge to support their allies, they would lose their entire right flank for nothing, and possibly even the entire battle shortly after. He had to support Fulcinius, no matter how much he hated the bastard. Even so, Rupilo just stood there for a few precious moments, his body incapable of making the decision as he thought of more ways to avoid a fight.

"Master, please," his attendant begged, now on his knees. "We need to support our troops or King Pacha will charge us with treason."

"Damn, damn, damn!" Spittle flew as Rupilo stomped around atop the hill. "If we lose, it will be his fault! Call on all men! We are charging down the hill!"