Legends Never Die: Plans Within Plans (ch. 74) (Patreon)

“If I'm dead, then Jahannam has a poor sense of humor,” Hadi croaked, laying on a bed in a tent, with Alim seated next to him with a book that probably weighed as much as he did across his lap. Alim looked up at him, blinking owlishly at the sudden address, before he offered a small smile. “The battle? My brother?” Hadi questioned, sitting up, only to find his sword arm bound and in a splint. His face hurt. His arm hurt. But, he seemed to remain whole.

“... your brother is injured. Less so than you. The battle was lost,” Alim answered in a low voice just above a whisper. Hadi's lips thinned, it was a relief that Naeem hadn't gotten himself killed.

“We outnumbered him five to one,” Hadi whispered, pushing back the covers and throwing his legs out. He started to stand, but his ribs seemed to have taken an injury as well. “How badly did we lose?” He asked, looking around to find that he didn't recognize the tent.

It wasn't Alim that answered, but Zafir, who entered by pushing the flap to the ten back. Hadi's gaze instantly went to the stump that was at the end of one of his arms at the elbow. It wasn't his sword arm, but it was still a missing arm. One that hadn't yet been sealed based on the spots of red on the bandages. “Badly. Two hundred to their ten -- most were felled by the Pagan, and the rest scattered.”

Hadi couldn't be bothered to keep the naked dread off of his face, and Zafir continued. “He recognized me after he took my arm. Your brother and I protected you while you were unconscious, trying to get you out of there. We would have lost more, but he decided to let us go.” That was… insane. Impossible. Hadi had tried so hard to not underestimate Siegfried, he’d researched him, and tried to throw out all his preconceived notions about what a man could feasibly do.

Even still, the news rattled him down to the bone. “He let us go?” He echoed, not entirely sure how to react. They were shown mercy by a force they outnumbered.

“That's what he said, but the truth of it was that the forces in Fajr were sallying out. They overstayed and if they lingered longer, then they would have been crushed.” It sounded like hopeful thinking to Hadi as he replayed the memory in his mind. He couldn't get it out of his head -- Siegfried saw five hundred horsemen galloping their way, and he had smiled. The same kind of smile Hadi would expect if they had been reinforcements for him instead of them.

Hadi rubbed his eyes, already wishing he could return to his slumber. “When was this?” How long had he been asleep?”

“Three days ago. The situation is… not good,” Zafir admitted with a grimace. “Fajr burned, and we lost all but five of our ships there. The food was the target, however. We lost our fodder and grain.” Hadi grimaced, that was a deadly blow. They would still have what they brought with them, but it was crumbs in comparison to a feast. “The hundred odd men that Siegfried attacked with cut their way through the defenses, burned it, but they weren't thorough because of their numbers. They lost about half of their men -- they sacrificed themselves to burn it all.”

Fanatics, Hadi realized. Fanatics dying in the name of their god.

Based on Zafir's expression, there was more bad news incoming. “What else? I'd rather hear it all in one go,” he sighed.

“We lost around a thousand at Fajr, mostly to the fire. The biggest loss were the ships that we sent to blockade the harbor at Nordland. They were attacked and seized,” Zafir continued and Hadi dragged a hand over his face, feeling the scrapes underneath bandages. “We've also been enduring small raids -- they attempt to destroy our supplies, and ambush our foraging parties. In total… we've lost about four thousand men.”

The losses were the least troubling news, Hadi thought furiously. The ships. Losing the ships made sieging Nordland impossible. So much of a siege depended on food and water because a siege, if done right, completely blockaded the defender from both. However, Nordland had an open harbor. They had a hundred ships that could outpace their quickest ones, giving the pagans control of the sea. They had fresh food, fresh water, and there wasn't even anything to really stop them from trading for the things they lacked.

That was… “Heh,” Hadi chuckled, a humorless and grim sound. “I'll give him this -- he knows how to flip the board. We’re the ones under siege now,” Hadi quickly understood the situation. They had destroyed the food and hampered them from getting more. Foraging parties gave opportunity to whittle down their numbers, but Siegfried might not even bother. If they failed to find food they would just be mouths to feed with an ever dwindling amount of supplies.

The ships had been crucial to their logistics and now, they only had ten ships in total. If they attempted to fish with them, Hadi had no doubt that they would be attacked. The more ships that they lost, the worse their situation became -- not solely because of their dwindling ability to secure food, but because the ships were their method of escape. Twenty thousand men could not fit on ten ships.

“This whole damn island is a trap. He’s besieging us,” Hadi said, forcing himself to stand up. He wore only a night shift, but he cared little as he forced his wooden legs to obey his commands. “Where is the Prince?”

“He's in his tent with the other commanders,” Zafir said, offering a shoulder for Hadi to lean on. Leaving the tent, Hadi saw that they were in a camp and their walk didn't go unnoticed. Hadi felt eyes on him as he walked, hearing faint whispers under people's breaths. And if Hadi was capable of it at the moment, he would have despaired.

It seemed he had distinguished himself by nearly getting killed by Siegfried. How unfortunate. At least in the long term. In the short term, however, maybe he could finagle this newfound respect and admiration into securing his and Naeem’s lives. Maybe even a trip back to Acre.

They arrived at the central tent, and Hadi noticed that it was spun from silk. The entire thing. What… a statement of wealth, Hadi thought with a small shake of his head, a servant opening the way for them and it seemed that word of their approach arrived before them.

Prince Harun sat at the end of a table, a map with various tokens marking positions in Crete. The table of nobles was a lot emptier, Hadi quickly noticed. And, rather unfortunately, Emir Muhammad was one of the few that remained. “Sheikh Hadi -- it gladdens us to see you awake. We feared the worst when you did not wake from your slumber. We have prayed for your swift recovery,” The Prince greeted him and Hadi half collapsed into an offered seat.

“Thank you for your prayers, my Prince,” Hadi replied stiffly. A prince was praying for him. Where did his life go so catastrophically wrong?

“They say you fought quite well against the Pagan,” Emir Muhammad offered and Hadi resisted the urge to snort. He held off simply because he could use the misconception to his advantage. Warriors respected warriors and, so far, he had survived a clash with one that had been beating them since they arrived.

Still, it would be prudent to be humble. “I survived through the grace of Allah, and the bravery of my brother and friend,” Hadi said, gesturing to Zafir. Emir Muhammad nodded to that, and Hadi noticed that the distaste that was always in his gaze was missing. “I have been briefed of our current situation. Do we have a solution?”

To that, Prince Harun openly grimaced. A troubling sign, if Hadi was being perfectly honest. A leader could never show his doubts, his hesitation, or his fears. And if Hadi knew that, then the Prince would undoubtedly know that. “Not in so many words, no,” he admitted. “The raids conducted on our encampment have been… targeted.”

He said the words with a gesture to the empty seats and Hadi realized only then that the missing nobles weren't securing their position or performing tasks. They were dead. “Were they the goals?”

“Possibly, but if that's the case, then it means that the Pagan has a spy within the camp. A good one,” Prince Harun replied, his lips thinning. “All the raids have been led by him. You… did not exaggerate his ability, Sheikh Hadi. I dare say that you underestimated him.”

Hadi was inclined to agree. “The raids?”

“Small in number, around a dozen men with the cover of archers. They targeted our horses at first, and once they secured their advantage in mobility, they began to strike deeper into the camp. I'd call their attacks assassinations, but that would imply any degree of stealth. They simply attack, cut their way through, then leave before our numbers can overwhelm them.” Prince Harun explained and there really wasn't much that could be done about that. “Our foraging parties are being hit the hardest -- they seem to know where they are, without fail. The smaller bands are ambushed and routed, any supplies they gathered seized.”

The situation wasn't sustainable. They had food for now, and later they could eat the horses and the pack animals, but after that... Water was a concern as well, but one that could be managed. However, from the sounds of it, morale was going to be a huge issue. They had arrived with twenty thousand men, expecting an easy victory before the real fighting got started in Anatolia. The men, the levies who were expecting smooth sailing and easy riches, found themselves hungry, beaten, and suffering a string of defeats. It wouldn't be so dangerous if they had been expecting a hard battle, but they hadn't. Unexpectedly stubbing your toe always hurts more than a punch to the face that you saw coming.

“The Pagan is taking advantage of his mobility,” Hadi thought out loud. “Do we know their numbers?”

“As many as two thousand outside the walls,” Emir Muhammad answered to some surprise.

Hadi slowly nodded, “Without a blockade, the Pagan can freely move around the coast with his ships. Siegfried himself is too dangerous to fight traditionally.”

“You have a plan? A good one?” Prince Harun prompted, and it was Hadi's turn to grimace.

“I have a bad one.”

…

The Abbasids were annoying, I decided, looking out at their sea of tents outside of the walls of Nordland. The stone walls were completed, and in no small thanks to the hard labor of the now freed thalls. They were hardly the tall walls of Constantinople, but at twenty feet up, secured further with a ditch, Nordland was as secure as it could be.

The fireship hadn't burned as many ships as I had hoped. The ambush at sea hadn't worked. They left more men in Fajr than I thought they would, making me incur losses that I hadn't expected. Then they ambushed me outside of the settlement. I still felt comfortable saying that we were getting the better of them, but the victories weren't as clean as they could have been. I had hoped to dwindle their numbers a great deal more at sea, which prompted the attack on their settlement.

“Lord Wolf-kissed,” I heard a man speak to me in Greek, and I looked over at the commander of the Roman forces. Damian. The reinforcements from Empress Dowager Irene were quite unexpected -- a token force, but a useful one. Not in so great a number as to completely change the landscape of the battle, but enough that we could afford to spread our numbers a bit. “Your lady wife requested your presence.”

Damian was probably the first Roman that I liked, and it was simply because he was professional and didn't get in my way. I patted him on the shoulder before walking the length of the wall. For a hastily made construction, it wasn't half bad. It was nestled in between two steep cliffs, serving as one of two entry points to Nordland. The narrowness of the location meant that the Abbasids couldn't bring their full weight against the wall, and a thousand men could hold it against a tireless assault with proper rest rotations.

We had to expand rather aggressively for the natural chokepoint. More than I was comfortable with, but we had secured a third hill for future expansion. The space would be left unoccupied for some time, I imagine, but that mattered little.

Leaving the wall behind me, I made my way down the winding path that led to the main settlement of Nordland, which was defended with a palisade -- it would have been too time consuming to build the stone wall around it, especially if it meant ripping up our current defenses. There was a standing camp of two hundred men on the walls at all times, with a thousand ready to reinforce them at any moment.

Despite the rather sizable army that was currently outside of our gates, Nordland almost seemed the same as usual. There were still ships coming and going from the harbor, bringing back fish and trade goods, or coming back from a patrol along the coast. The people still sold items and food at the market, and further construction of housing continued without pause. The only thing that gave away a change was that the thralls, all previously captive, were enjoying their newfound freedom.

Heading up to the longhouse, passing through another gate, I caught further glimpses of my army that continued to drill and train. The men that Garold brought were eager, and some of them already earned their hauberks and arms. It was something of an interesting development -- the new arrivals were more loyal than those that were here first. The ones that I fought with before were all here for glory, coin, and honor. The new arrivals though…

They were here for me.

The double doors to the longhouse swung open for me and I saw a sea of blue. All warriors that were loyal to me without reservation. Continuing onto the back room, I found the war room and that was where I found Astrid. She stood before a table, hunched over, and only partly because of her rounding belly that started to strain against her red dress. She looked down at a model of Crete.

King Widukind had inspired the idea. I got started on it the moment I realized that I would be forced to fight on this island, and I hadn't anticipated help of any kind. Knowledge of the land I was fighting in had proven to be a huge advantage more than once, and it was something that I was eager to replicate. Though, if I was being perfectly honest, my first rendition of Crete wasn't exactly great. It was good enough, but not accurate down to the last footstep like the maps made by King Widukind could boast.

“They're reacting,” Astrid said, not even looking up at me as she adjusted one of the pieces that were on the model that took up a significant chunk of the table. In the end, with the time that we had, I ended up focusing my exploration mostly on one half of the island. There were tokens for Nordland, our armies, our fleets in the surrounding sea, and the armies of the Abbasids, their settlements, and what was left of their fleet. “They're moving in blocks of a thousand, spreading themselves out… Easy reinforcements.”

As Astrid spoke, I caught a look in her eye to find that her eyes were glowing faintly.

A Blessing.

Zone of Control (Martial): The user establishes a zone with effigies, and all known enemies within the zone will be marked and their movements revealed to the user.

It wasn't the blessing that I had expected Astrid to receive upon my return from Constantinople with two thousand Romans in tow. But it was one that completely changed my plans once she received it. She described it as looking at the ground from above, down at the armies, and seeing them move around. Naturally, we established the zones with the appropriate effigies, though there did seem to be a limit on their size. So, with the model, we picked out potential battlefields where we would most likely deal with the vast Abbasid army.

“We expected that they would,” I said, standing next to her, watching as Astrid moved the pieces. I saw what she meant -- the army of twenty thousand was breaking up into smaller bands of a thousand, likely to forage or fish. However, with the closeness of the groups, I couldn't easily attack them. I still could, certainly, but I would swiftly find myself outnumbered and outflanked, and the longer the battle went on, the more reinforcements would be drawn in.

“Some of them are going to be bait,” I ventured, my arm snaking around Astrid’s waist and pulling her to me. “They’ll be out of position to bait me into attacking them, and the others will spring their trap.”

“They want to catch you. Have you committed somewhere,” Astrid agreed. I had experience with these kinds of tactics in Francia, but more than that, I had many thoughts and ideas on how I would fight someone like me. Someone like Roland. And, the simplest answer was to make Roland commit to a battle that would bog him down while I fulfilled an objective elsewhere. Roland would win the battle, but I would win the war. “What do you want to do?”

I hummed in thought, a slight smile curling at my lips. “I want to sail to the Abbasid cities. With so much of their military committed in Anatolia, their cities are ripe for the taking.” We could use the wealth and trade goods.

Astrid snorted, “Maybe not the best idea when we have twenty thousand men camped at our door.” A fair point.

“For now, we let them go hungry. I'll continue to burn out their food supplies,” I decided. They had learned their lesson after the first time and spread out their food reserves so I couldn't destroy it all in one go. However, True Sight marked out their locations to me when I saw them. “We weaken them with hunger and thirst, then we take this bait and turn the trap on them,” I said, taking the tokens and setting up the battle I wished to fight.

Astrid made a faintly impressed sound as I continued, “We deliver a strong decisive defeat to them, and what's left of the army will flee to their ships. We mop up the stragglers, and then our part in this war is done.” Technically, it was already finished. Our task was to prevent the Abbadids from landing in Anatolia, and with most of their fleet scuttled, they couldn't.

From here, we can deliver a crushing blow to the Abbasids with a string of raids to their coastal cities. Take a few important hostages, and then the war would be over.

And I could finally get back to studying.