Benjamin woke his liege early in the morning. The royal tent that Varre used was built as the epitome of luxury and resembled his bedroom in Westbridge in many ways. Even here, while out on campaign, the monarch wouldn’t sleep on the floor like a peasant. His servants managed to set up something resembling a real bed. Every night, even during long marches, they’d unpack the plans and set it up, together with the rest of the furniture. They even managed to set up a privacy curtain.

  History books will remember August 29th as a momentous day, but it started off like any other. Varre took a warm bath prepared by his servants and enjoyed a hefty breakfast. The royal tent obscured the outdoors, letting him stay in this oasis of calm for now.

  Once the king was satiated, Benjamin along with a couple assistants, helped him put on his armor. Though he was getting better at it, it was always an ordeal. But today, there was a good reason to wear it. All of his closest advisors knew it.

  Though the average trooper wasn’t told about the upcoming battle, the secret couldn’t be hidden forever. An astute enough soldier could have realized that something big was going to happen when everyone received an extra large dinner yesterday. Today’s breakfast continued the trend, with extra meat rations as well.

  The army couldn’t be kept in complete secrecy. The sergeants needed time to organize. Last night, the officers informed them to get ready. Even then, the real reason was obscured. As far as anyone knew, the army could have simply been preparing to march out tomorrow. Anything other than that was just a hunch.

  The real announcement was made after the men received breakfast. By now, even if Clement had spies in the camp, they wouldn’t be able to deliver their message in time. His scouts, posted on the other side of the river would doubtlessly notice the commotion, but that was always inevitable.

  Varre exited his tent to watch the men making final preparation outside. He stood in the very center of the most heavily fortified area of the camp. It was cordoned off, with multiple Royal Guards patrolling it and watching every exit. Still, he could see heavily armed men running back and forth as they prepared to form up.

  He walked towards the strategy tent. All of the other commanders were already there. Everyone wore plate armor, though not as exquisite as the monarch’s. The officers bowed their heads as soon as Varre joined them.

  “Are we ready?” the king asked.

  “We are,” Count Jan replied, “the men are forming into ranks as we speak.”

  “What of the others?”

  The senior commander reached over and read from a scroll. “The latest reports came in last night. Gregory is in position. And the fording army was proceeding according to schedule last time we heard from them.”

  “It’s all up to them now,” Varre stared up to the tent’s ceiling, as if invoking the gods to help him.

  “That it is,” Jan smiled awkwardly, “what about you, your majesty. Are you ready?”

  The question gave the king pause. Normally, the count had little time for decorum. He almost never referred to Varre by the proper title. If he did so now, the stress of the battle must have been getting to him. “I am,” he answered after a moment, “now let’s go end this war.”

  The commanders moved to the temporary stables and began mounting their horses with the aid of the gathered servants. Even though plate armor allowed for movement on the battlefield, it was still difficult to jump on top of a tall animal with the extra weight on everyone’s shoulders. At least for a regular human.

  All of the men gathered here were high ranking nobles and veterans of previous wars. They could have easily enhanced themselves and used their increased strength to leap over the horses if they wished. But energy was limited and no one wanted to waste it on such frivolities. Using that minute here to show off, could cost them their life later. Especially during a prolonged battle.

  Within a few minutes, the commanders were mounted and left the cordoned area to join the rest of the army. The troops were almost ready and three thousand gathered soldiers lined up in columns. There was no way to hide this force from enemy scouts. Doubtlessly, Clement had already noticed and was frantically arranging his own men for battle. All according to plan, Varre thought to himself.

  The king rode out to the center of the formation together with Count Jan. The Royal Guard, all mounted on magnificent horses of their own, surrounded them. The honor guard would remain here, ready to protect their monarch from unexpected dangers. In a pinch, they could be used to turn the tide of battle. There was no need to deploy them just yet.

  The other commanders rode towards their individual units and began giving out the final orders. Varre could have given a speech to rouse his troops, but at this distance, only a few would even hear him. He would deploy another symbol to raise their morale.

  “Last chance to back out,” Jan said, smirking.

  What’s with him? This stress must really be getting to him. He’s even joking now, Varre though as he stared at the count with concern. “I think it’s a little late for that. Gregory should have already crossed by now.”

  “Then there’s no time to waste. Shall we?” the count pointed towards the river.

  “We shall,” the king replied and drew his sword.

  He held it up, high above his head. Flags fluttered around him and it felt like the whole army held their breath. It was about to begin. And though most tried not to think about it, they knew that not all would survive to see another day.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Then, with a sudden yell of, “charge!” Varre pointed the blade forward.

  The flags surrounding him all signaled towards the crossing. Then came a loud sound of trumpets, as the heralds announced the order to the farthest ranks of his army. But even that sound was drowned out soon.

  Three thousand voices yelled out in unison as the army began to move. Three column began to jog, but others took their time. They still had a few hundred yards to go before the bridge.

  The bottleneck would seriously slow the army’s advance, but the first units should still rush. That would force the rebels to make their play, hopefully before fully ready. Varre could see it already. Their ranks had barely began to form, but they immediately collapsed into disarray as the rebels rushed to the bridge. It was their only advantage and if they lost it, they’d be slaughtered.

  The first column made it to the riverbank around two minutes later. The path was narrow. The men held up their shields and began moving across the bridge. By now, they slowed down a bit. There was no need to exhaust themselves further before the actual battle. Better to conserve their strength. Clement has already been thrown off balance.

  Many of these men would be the first to fall, but they walked forward regardless. Varre wasn’t sure what compelled them to do it. Were they doing it for glory? The promise of reward? A sense of duty to their country? He couldn’t be sure. And yet he watched with a grimace, realizing that he was sending them to their death.

  Jan, perhaps noticing the king’s reaction, decided to draw his attention away from dark thoughts. “It’s going well. They didn’t expect such a brazen attack.”

  Varre blinked a couple of times and looked up to the other side of the river. The rebels were frantically forming up into lines, preparing to receive the crossing army. A constant stream of warriors were running over from their camp set up around the town of Elstercross, but for now, their lines were still paper thin. Damn it, Varre thought, I should have kept the cavalry here after all. If they had charged across the river first, they could have broken through. The casualties would have been lower. Goddamnit, why the hell did I…

  “And there they go,” the count interrupted his train of thought again and pointed to the rebels again.

  The first archers started to appear, launching individual arrows onto the bridge. At this distance, it was hard to see details, but Vare hoped that most bounced off harmlessly off of shields. Some men would doubtlessly get hit, but fortunately, for now, the arrows were isolated shots and not a massive constant volley.

  “And here comes our response,” Jan said and broke the king out of his stupor again.

  The two columns that jogged alongside the first didn’t queue behind them. Instead, they took up positions on both sides of the road and spread out slightly. These were the loyalist archers. Five hundred men released a combined volley straight into the rebel ranks, gathering on the other side of the river.

  “We can’t keep this up forever,” the count said, “eventually our men will meet their ranks, but this should spook off their archers.”

  Indeed, Varre watched as the volley rained upon the rebels. A couple dozen fell, mostly their own bowmen, but the infantry in front was quick to hold up shields as well. That sight cheered the king up more than anything else so far. The rain of arrows wasn’t as devastating as he feared. It would probably be even less deadly against his own troops, protected on their sides by the bridge barriers.

  Jan was right. The loyalist archers held the advantage for now. Their higher numbers meant that they could easily overpower the rebels, saturating the skies with their arrows. But they couldn’t risk hitting their own allies. Eventually, once the two armies met, they’d need to retreat. The rebel archers on the other hand could simply pull back. They’d stay out of range of Varre’s arrows, while continuing to pepper the massed troops on the bridge.

  By the time loyalist soldiers finally managed to get to the other side, the rebel lines looked decisively thicker. Even if he had used cavalry here, they wouldn’t have broken through easily. They also couldn’t have used shields to protect their horses from the rain of arrows. It would have been a slaughter, as the wounded animals collapsed on the bridge trampling each other, blocking the path, and potentially even destroying the wooden structure.

  The king took solace in the fact that everything was going to plan. The lines of soldiers met and the battle was audible even here, hundreds of yards away. His troops were clearly disadvantaged, unable to push the enemy forward, but every man that fell was quickly replaced by a steady stream of reinforcements. By now, the slower, more rested columns were approaching the bridge and queueing up for battle.

  Suddenly, a loud boom caught Varre’s attention. He turned to the side and saw a terrifying sight. Elvira stood alone, with a couple soldiers keeping their distance and protecting her horse. She kept waving her arms in the air, as explosions raged in the air above the water surface. He had to strain his eyes to see it, but he saw another man on the other side, doing a similar dance. Most likely Tobias.

  “The mages are doing their thing,” Jan mused, “I put five thalars on Elvira. You in?”

  Varre raised an eyebrow. It certainly seemed inappropriate, but he couldn’t blame the count. Perhaps gallows humor was better than panicking, like he had been doing. It was worth a shot at least. “Fine. But I want Elvira.”

  The count smirked. “You drive a hard bargain. Deal,” he even leaned over and extended his hand to solidify the contract.

  The king kept his mouth serious, but he returned the gesture and the men shook on it.

  “Try not to think about it too much,” Jan finally said, trying to keep his voice down, “I know it’s your first battle, but the plan is good. We’ve done all we could. Now, you just gotta have faith.”

  “In who? Myself? The men? Or the gods?” Varre asked, a bit more philosophically than he intended.

  “All three I suppose,” the count replied and plastered a confident smirk on his face again.

  It could have been seen as callous, but the expression could have served another purpose. The commander may have been out of vision of most soldiers, but his posture and body language still sent a tangible message to the troops. If anyone happened to glance back on the hill to look at their commanders, the view should inspire not cause despair.

  Varre still had a long way to go before he could match that. Instead, he focused his vision on the river. Elvira’s duel continued off to the side, no doubt distracting many of the soldiers just as well, but the battle continued in earnest. The soldiers kept slowly walking across the bridge, ready to replace their fallen brethren, but the king couldn’t help but notice that the rebel line seemed to decrease slower than his own forces melted. If this was all there was to the battle plan, it would have been a loss. Fortunately, the real battle had yet to begin.

  “There they are,” Jan cheered and pointed off to the left, "right on schedule!"

  Varre strained his eyes again, but he could see a cloud of smoke appearing from a thicket off in the distance. He quickly glanced back at the battle. The two armies were locked in place and hard to dislodge. It looked like most of the rebels had already left the camp and joined the battle, crowding behind their allies. The archers stood a few paces behind, but the infantry was busy. None of them could respond quickly to this new development.

  Baron Gregory had arrived, ready to charge Clement’s army from behind.