Legends Never Die: Ravenfeast (ch. 76) (Patreon)

I was pretty satisfied with how things had turned out, I thought, looking down at the sea of Abbasid soldiers that we had managed to pen in. It had been a challenge, but for weeks, I had been slowly setting the stage for this. It hadn't been easy and the cost was honestly higher than I would have preferred, but given that we had encircled an army twice our size, I suppose around five hundred dead or wounded was perfectly acceptable.

It was the same trick that King Widukind did back in Francia -- to highlight my position and make the enemy commit to destroying me. It was for that reason why I was the face of every raid when I burned their food reserves and beheaded their leadership, leaving only the Prince for the sake of capture. It was hard fighting, even for me, and after a month, I had a slow growing collection of wounds and bruises to prove it.

From there, I simply pretended to take the bait and led the Abbasids on a merry chase to my chosen battleground. The Prince and his advisors were clever as they decided to fan out wide, trying to close me in, but it didn't disrupt my plans much. From there, it was a simple matter of timing, positioning, and preparation to set the stage for what would likely be my greatest victory so far. Not quite comparable to Hannibal Barca, but I liked to think he smiled upon my tactic.

The battle field itself was a poor one for a large army, and I had banked on them being so blinded by me that they failed to notice until it was too late. The valley was deep, more of a ravine, with steep hills penning them in. The hills themselves were surmountable, but not easily, and the three easy exits were all controlled by my men. My rough fort held one exit with a thousand men, another was held by three thousand, while a narrow pass was held by a thousand of my men and a thousand Romans. Their positions were secured by wagon forts that blocked off the exits.

Naturally, the Abbasids attempted to escape. They crashed against us, trying to break out, but their numbers did them little good. My men were dug in, fortified, and armored. Those that didn't wield spears used axes to devastating effect. We rotated our men, keeping the front line fresh and tending to any wounds that may have been incurred. The Abbasids had far deeper reserves of men, but most of them were levies rather than the disciplined soldiers I could boast.

We didn't press the attack on the first day. We endured their assaults. On the second day, we did the same. On the third day, desperation had started to set in as the Abbasids realized my intentions and they fought to escape. It was for naught as we held strong. They gathered their strength on the fifth day for an attack that did not come. On the sixth, they made a final bid to get out to no avail.

It was the seventh day that I brought a horn to my lips and blew it, giving the signal that we had waited a week for. The horn rang out and I heard calls to arms as my men sallied out of the fort for the first time. The surrounding area was already littered with corpses, which had further fortified our position. The Abbasids had anticipated the attack and they tried to respond, but there was good reason why I waited a full week to launch an attack, risking reinforcements coming from the Abbasid settlement or the few that remained to siege Nordland.

The Abbasids had forwent a baggage train to maintain their speed in capturing me. They had food with them, but by the second and third day, it was gone. In the four days since, the Abbadids had gone hungry. I had seen more than a few eating grass simply to fill their bellies. More than that, I had been systematically killing their leadership as True Vision marked them out to me. Controlling an army of twelve thousand was no easy feat, and it required strong commanders to relay orders.

Commanders that they no longer had. I'm sure the Prince and his advisors were trying to exert their control over the army, but their influence was limited. They lacked the commanders necessary and, simply put, after a week of hunger with bottomed out morale, the men didn't want to listen. They were hungry, afraid, and what they had dreaded for days had finally occurred. The men panicked, many of them trying to flee in the face of me as those that stood firm to fight back.

The battle of Cannae wasn't merely brilliant for how Hannibal encircled a larger force with his smaller one. It was brilliant because of how the battle was fought -- Hannibal packed the Romans in, to the point that some were crushed to death. Most couldn't hope to even fight back as their arms were pinned to their sides. It was a field of slaughter and I would have the same.

The panicking men packed the Abbasids together as they surged against the pass that was guarded by two thousand men. They identified it as the weakest point and they were trying to break out. It worked perfectly for me and my men as the three thousand others pressed into the sides of the Abbasids, who packed themselves together to get away.

Then the killing began in earnest. It was slower than what I was used to. Usually I carved through the lines of the enemy formations to disrupt them, but that would have the opposite effect here. Not that there was any formation to find. Instead, my men and I opted for a slower, grinding, unyielding push against the Abbasids that slowly choked the life from them. Every step that we took, they were forced to take a step back and before long, the Abbasids ran out of room.

It wasn't glorious. Not in the same way that the battles in Francia were -- a clash of men and their arms, their leader’s tactics and the gods deciding the victor. At some point, the Abbasids got so tightly packed together that they couldn't fight back at all, but all the same, we pressed on with the slaughter. Our cutthroats lagged behind us, finishing off any who we left behind and dragging their bodies away to not interfere with the battle. On the cliff sides where our archers emptied their quivers into the mass of men, missing was impossible.

The battle would be remembered, I knew, splitting a man's skull with my axe even as he was unable to level his spear at me. I would raise a runestone to it. The first one I had raised with my own hand, though I was certain that I was featured in one or two in Norway and Saxony. But, the truth of the matter was it wasn't a battle.

It was a slaughter.

A slaughter that began in the early morning and continued on until noon. There was no respite to be found as even my arms burned with effort, drenched in blood while killing yet another man. Our shield wall swapped out men, letting some grab a quick bite of bread, meat, and cheese before they were quickly forced back into the killing. The deeper that we pushed, the more we entered the valley, and the thinner we had to spread ourselves.

My boots were filled with a bloody mud, I was drenched to the bone with blood, and my arms screamed with effort with every swing that I made to the point I had decided to switch my shield arm. I was waiting for it to happen by the time the sun was at its apex. It was to be expected, even if I found myself frustrated with it.

My thinning and exhausted line suffered a breach and like an overfull waterskin, men burst forth in a flood. And, to my immense annoyance, I recognized who led the breech.

“I probably should have killed him when I had the chance,” I muttered to myself, catching a glimpse of the man. Hadi, I think he was called. He must be beloved by his God because twice already, he had been spared my axe, and thrice he foiled my plans. Four times now, I amended, bringing the horn to my lips and blowing the second signal. True Vision gave me a glimpse of gold, and I knew that the Prince had escaped with Hadi.

Annoying, but hardly a disaster. I was far more concerned with his numbers advantage -- with this defeat, our numbers would be comparable. And a breach was expected, if unwelcome, so I had a plan in place for it.

With the signal, the two thousand men that had been holding their position began to press forward while I swung wide to close the gap. Our line was reinforced by fresher troops and the breach was sealed before more than a few hundred men could escape through it. Rather than give chase to the escaped Prince, we continued the battle and wore the Abbasids down to nothing. No mercy asked and no mercy given.

By the time the afternoon came, eleven thousand and six hundred men laid dead in what would later be called Ravensfeast Valley.

…

“I pity your child, Wolf-Kissed. I don't think he'll ever be able to step out of your shadow after this,” I heard Alfric greet me as I overlooked the carnage. The valley was covered in corpses, and there were a handful of my men that were claiming arms and armor, along with whatever wealth they happened to find. All of which would be smelted down into their new armor and weapons by my blacksmiths.

It was a devastating victory by any metric, but not a total one. The Abbasids remained on the island and they still had the numbers to be a threat. My men were utterly spent from a long day of killing, and I was hesitant to press the advantage.

“I'll raise him to reduce me to a footnote,” I replied in Germanic.

The Germanic noble hummed in response, “Have you and Princess Astrid considered names?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “Still have some time for it,” about four months, based on what the midwives claimed. “Hopefully we'll be back in time to welcome my child into the world.” It felt a little strange to speak of a new life before a field of fresh corpses, but it was on my mind. I wanted to raid up and down the Abbasid territory -- Acre, Tyre, Alexandria, Tripoli, Beirut, and Antioch. Perhaps even further inland. Sacking the cities would provide all the wealth I would need to pay my men, and fill Nordland with trade goods.

However, before that, there were other matters. “Our losses?”

“A hundred men dead, and another four hundred wounded, but most of them will be able to fight again in a month or two.” Alfric answered and my lips thinned. Between my raids and the various skirmishes, I had four hundred men dead with seven hundred wounded. Of that seven hundred, three hundred were crippled in some capacity -- a missing hand, weak limbs, or the loss of an eye. The losses were rather great in comparison, especially when considering our foe, but I needed my men more than the Abbasids needed theirs.

“I might be sending Garald back sooner than I thought,” I muttered under my breath. It was tempting to recruit from the locals -- the Abbasids, and the Romans, but those men would not be sailing back with me. I wanted my mercenary company to be my army. The one that I would use to claim Denmark when the time was right. I could really use another three thousand men at the moment.

Even if it came with some risks, I thought to myself, True Vision marking one of the men that collected steel to melt down as red. The very same spy that I had noticed when they all sailed in.

I had no time to dwell on it as I saw Hoffer racing towards us on a horse, his face pale and alarmed. I tensed, bracing myself for the worst, as I turned to greet him. “Wolf-Kissed -- our ships! Those mad bastards burned our ships!” Hoffer growled, fury in his eyes as I looked beyond him. In the distance, it did seem like there was smoke rising up to the sky.

“That bastard,” I muttered, knowing exactly which bastard I was speaking of. I wasn't sure if I was impressed or furious. “How many? What happened?”

“The group that escaped went straight to their settlement, but a detachment broke off. They found fifteen of our ships on the coast, slaughtered the guard, and burnt them.” Hoffer informed and I scratched at my cheek, feeling the dried blood chipping under my fingernails.

That was annoying. Crete didn't have forests for me to rebuild the lost ships. The ships were there to take advantage of our maneuverability, seeing as the Abbasids lacked much in the way of a navy or horses. They went around the long way to avoid sailing by the Abbasid settlement to deliver my army to me. Nordland itself was guarded by wounded men and Romans.

The loss of fifteen ships stung. It wasn't a crippling loss, but it was a very unwelcome inconvenience.

“The men besieging Norland?” I questioned, mulling over the issue. Four thousand men had been left in their settlement while two thousand men had been left behind at Nordland to maintain the siege. An effort to prevent the defenders joining me, unaware that my men had already set sail.

“Still there. We killed a messenger recalling them, we think,” Hoffer informed. Two thousand men. After a week of silence from their Prince, they must suspect something.

“We repay the loss of our ships with more blood. Give me a thousand men, fresh as we have, and I'll crush them at our gates,” I decided, sending one last glance at the valley of corpses and the one enemy left within. Looking away, I clapped Alfric on the shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint on his tunic. “We'll see them off the island. Then we rest… and then, we raid.”

…

Words to describe the disaster that they faced didn't exist, Hadi was certain. A month ago, they had arrived on the island with more than twenty thousand men, and now they were reduced to a mere four thousand and six hundred. They found themselves outnumbered and the last scraps of their army…

“The Pagan got to them first,” Hadi informed the rather empty hall that had once housed all the leaders of the great army. Now, it was just Hadi, Yahya, and Prince Harun himself. Of all the nobility that could have survived, Emir Muhammad still lived, just grievously wounded. The scrap of parchment relayed the message that his last remaining scouts delivered, and Hadi found the walls of the settlement to be of little comfort. Not when Siegfried had already proven that he could breach them. The settlement itself was in a state of ruin, still recovering from the fire.

Prince Harun slammed a fist upon the table, restrained fury etched into his expression. “Any survivors?”

“... None. He is aware that he can't afford them,” Hadi said, falling heavily into a chair. He was tired. Exhausted. Utterly spent and he just wanted to sleep.

He would never walk in a crowd again, Hadi knew. He would never forget the crushing sensation of so many bodies pressed together. Sending Naeem and Zafir here had been the greatest idea he ever had because it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to get the Prince out of the encirclement. Their only chance had been to wait until the line got thin enough and make a push in a single direction with a concentrated force.

“A single mistake, Sheikh Hadi. You once told me that a single mistake was all I needed to make to be defeated. What mistake has been my undoing?” Prince Harun questioned and Hadi closed his eyes.

“We stepped foot on this damned island,” Hadi replied and his sincere answer earned a feeble dark chuckle from Yahya.

The advisor to the Prince inclined his head to Hadi, “A mistake we must rectify, I fear. We have ten ships and four thousand men -- I say we make use of both and sail back to Acre, my Prince.” Yahya was suddenly a lot more tolerable in Hadi's mind, he decided. “We find ourselves outnumbered and while Sheikh Hadi burning the ships was a welcomed boon, the Pagan does have more. We can find ourselves under assault from land and sea.”

“Sheikh Hadi?” Prince Harun turned to him and Hadi considered their position for a moment. There was… one possible path on which they could secure victory.

They did have some advantages. Siegfried and his men were tired after killing thousands of men. They were exhausted, injured, and out of position. They had comparable numbers and, the very last thing that the pagans would expect after that massacre would be an offensive. If they marched out and gave battle… Hadi gave it decent odds that they could win. They may not kill Siegfried, but they could crush his spent army.

“Lord Yahya speaks wisdom, my prince,” Hadi said instead. He wanted off this damn island. He wanted away from that damn Pagan. He wanted a soft bed. He wanted wine and good food. He wanted a clever whore in his lap that would make him forget all about this horror.

Prince Harun bit his lip, and despite himself, Hadi understood. This was going to be a disaster that would leave its mark upon his reputation for the rest of his life. And it wasn't his fault. Siegfried was simply a monster put on the Earth to punish them, himself in particular, Hadi felt. But no one would believe it, regardless of how true it might be. And, for a moment, Hadi feared that Prince Harun would choose death over disgrace. Which was his choice to make, so long as Hadi didn't die with him. However, he offered a shallow nod, “We depart. Now.”

Hadi couldn't even hide his relief.

Preparations to depart began immediately, and after such a crushing defeat, people were eager to leave. It was dusk by the time the ships were loaded, and it was only upon the advice of Zafir that they delayed heading out into the night. Something that likely saved them as a storm came during it that continued on until the next day. At noon the next day, they finally loaded up on the ships before setting sail.

The mood was abysmal. Hadi figured it likely couldn't be lower even if Siegfried did give chase to them. There were angry mutterings, but Hadi was able to check them with a gentle word here and there. All to make Siegfried the target of their anger rather than Prince Harun. If it worked, Hadi couldn't say. But, hopefully, four thousand men repeating the same tale would lessen the impact on the Prince.

They made the same trek that they did before, sailing throughout the day before slowing during the night. It was at noon the next day that Hadi saw the familiar port of Acre. They were in the homeward stretch, Hadi could feel. So close to casting off his responsibilities. The invasion was a thorough failure, and if he was lucky, he could take most of the blame. Prince Harun would forestall any execution, while Hadi would be so disgraced that he would never be expected to fight in a battle again.

The landed, the flagship sailing into port first, and Hadi saw a crowd waiting to greet them. Hadi stood to the left of Prince Harun, and he saw his face tighten -- the city of Acre was ignorant of their defeat. They were greeted with roaring cheers as they made landfall, and Hadi found himself hoisted up alongside the prince as they were being carried towards the keep. They were treated as returning conquers, and despite himself, shame pooled in his stomach.

He could only imagine how Prince Harun felt. Especially when they made their way to the keep. It was an old fortress -- if tales were to be believed, it had stood since the days of Alexander the Great. It certainly looked it, though the walls showed signs of being refurbished. Inside was large room, one made for fighting, but it served as a welcome room when Princess Jasmine awaited them.

“Brother! You have returned!” Jasmine announced, sounding delighted. Hadi, however, found his attention drifting to something else entirely as the family reunion happened. Trailing behind Jasmine was a tiger. Large, around the height of a pony, but longer, with coiled muscle underneath striped orange fur. And it looked at Jasmine much like a common house cat might -- with affection and mild annoyance in equal measures. It wasn't even on a leash.

“I have, sweet sister. Though I wish I could return as a victor. The truth of it is far harsher -- I have been defeated,” Prince Harun informed in a low voice and Hadi saw the joy melt away from Jasmine's veiled face. She stilled, standing before her brother and Hadi could practically see her mind racing.

“The ten ships…?”

“All that is left of the fleet and my army,” Prince Harun confirmed quietly. They were hardly alone in the room -- attendants and servants, people of note like the Mayor to the city. Hadi saw the effect that the words had on them. The air of triumph gave way to shock and fear. “I too would be dead if it wasn't for the bravery of Sheikh Hadi. He saved my life more times than I care to count.”

Well… at least his efforts were appreciated, Hadi thought as Jasmine's dark eyes flickered to him. Before she could speak, Prince Harun continued. “Father must be informed -- he expects our arrival in Anatolia any day now.” Right. That was a problem, wasn't it?

“What do you intend to do, brother?” Jasmine questioned, reaching out to grip Prince Harun's hands tightly.

“I shall recruit to replenish our numbers from the surrounding area, but we shall head straight into Anatolia from there to reinforce father. With some luck, the Pagan will stay on his island and lick his wounds-” Prince Harun started, only for a messenger to enter the hallway and rush to Prince Harun's side, whispering in his ear.

Prince Harun gave no reaction until the messenger pulled away. Then he closed his eyes and… resignation. That's the word Hadi would use to describe his expression.

“Oh. Fuck. He followed us, didn't he?” Hadi heard himself say, any thought of diplomacy fleeing out of his head much like Hadi wished to flee the city.

Prince Harun opened his eyes and regarded Hadi with dark amusement, “Followed you, I suspect. You did burn his ships,” Prince Harun pointed out and that was a truly blood curdling thought. He had just wanted to make sure they didn't attack the settlement with them while he was in it! “You didn't burn enough, it would seem. Fifty of the Pagan’s ships are sailing our way.”

Well…

“Fuck.”