Varre watched as his light cavalry hopelessly fought against the enemy infantry, holding them in place. They were left without support, the rest of the loyalist army minutes away. Still, the sacrifice was necessary. It occupied the enemy’s attention, threw chaos into their lines and kept them guessing as to the direction of the real assault.

  The biggest threat though, were the enemy knights. At any moment, they could easily countercharge, swarming this pathetic attempt at an attack. It would be a slaughter. Thirty odd light horsemen couldn’t hope to fight over a hundred heavy cavalry. The could try to run, but most would get caught anyway. It would take time to notice what had happened, turn their mounts around safely and disentangle themselves from combat. Many wouldn’t be fast enough to outrun the chase. This was a suicide attack. Pure and simple.

  And yet the rebel knights stood still, refusing to join the fray. They watched as the light cavalry traded blows with the infantry, slaying a couple, only to lose a few of their own in the process. The fight could have been mopped up in two minutes, far before the rest of the army made it here. But they just watched.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Varre asked, straining his eyes to try and spot some detail he was missing among the enemy forces.

  “Maybe Greggy was right after all!” Jan joked, “these cowards wouldn’t dare to fight real men! Go on lads! Knock their teeth out!”

  No matter what kind of divine providence gave them this chance, the light cavalry couldn’t stay there forever. They occupied the enemy long enough to cause chaos and then retreated back to friendly lines.

  Then something strange happened. A few of the rebel knights broke off, chasing after the loyalists, but it was a strange, seemingly random selection of warriors. Like stragglers, abandoning their position.

  Normally, when a commander dispatches a small force for a task like this one, they elect an officer, who gathers a few of their nearby companions. The result is a decently organized group leaving together and holding close while moving to their objective.

  This time, the selection of soldiers seemed completely arbitrary. Rather than a combined wave that mopped up Gregory’s distraction, or a small elite group that quickly chased off the assault, before returning it looked like a hodgepodge, disorganized collection of rabble. Most, stood firm.

  “Wait, what’s going on now!” the king pointed out, “why are they splitting up like that? I thought they were supposed to be trained! Proper knights! They look like complete recruits.”

  “I’m telling you Varre, Greggy’s a prophet!” Jan leaned laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse, “everything he said is coming true! They’re falling apart at the seams and the battle hasn’t even begun!”

  The monarch looked around at the knights surrounded him, then leaned over to his commander. “These are our knights, right? Everyone’s a noble. On both sides, correct? The should have the same training?”

  “Maybe whoever’s leading them is an incompetent moron!” the count grinned, “you know, you’re lucky you’ve ended up with geniuses like us. Charlie’s scraping the bottom of the barrel over there!”

  Unbeknownst to the king, The duke’s men weren’t some monolithic force with a unified command. Most of his vassals, the men loyal to him personally, were a part his honor guard, right in the center. He wanted to keep his best and most trusted troops by his side during the battle. There to deliver the finishing blow. The bulk of his force however were volunteers. Those who believed that Varre murdered Mikkel personally, or were against some of his choices. They trusted Charles enough to join his army, but they didn’t agree with every single one of his decisions.

  Though the flanks were technically led by the duke’s close associates, the knights were here of their own free will. Many of them were prominent nobles in their own right, hoping to earn a name for themselves. They refused to engage some squires sent to harass peasant infantry. There was no glory to be gained from that.

  They were here for one thing and one thing only. Slaying a tyrant and getting some hefty rewards in the chaotic aftermath. They didn’t want to risk their lives in unnecessary fighting. Killing their countrymen didn’t sit right with all of them either. Especially not other nobles. Others still weren’t fully convinced that Charles was going to win. They were going to hedge their bets and hope that refusing to engage at a time like this might earn them some extra leniency. And finally, some simply went with the flow. All it took was a couple charismatic and influential aristocrats theatrically refusing to engage, to spark a movement that held dozens of men back.

  Regardless of their reasons, the result was the same. When Charles’ commander gave the order to stop the incursion, only a few listened. The slow reaction of their comrades only brought more confusion and helped the light cavalry in getting away.

  Perhaps the rebel commander realized the problem and tried to call off this pathetic excuse for a counterattack, but it was too late. Many of his most loyal knights were the first to go. They were out of earshot now. Or wanted to prove their bravery and kept going regardless of the commotion, racing after Gregory’s horsemen.

  Varre watched as the entire flank dissolved into chaos. Every few seconds, a couple more knights broke off, joining their friends. Others, turned around.

  In the end, about forty nobles had left their lines racing forward in a disorganized mess that couldn’t even be called a formation. They still outnumbered the twenty or so light cavalry remaining in their saddles, but catching them wouldn’t be easy at this point. And with every second they got further away from their allies.

  The gap grew wider as both groups raced across the empty fields. Finally, after a couple minutes, the baron decided to use this opportunity and sent half of his own knights in a countercharge. Both to save his horsemen, and to crush the disorganized enemies.

  Perhaps, Charles’ side could have abandoned this disastrous attempt. They could have dug in, hoping that the rest of the battle went better. Or, they could have believed that these zealous knights who actually listened to their orders and charged as their leader commanded, were smart enough to realize the threat and retreat.

  Stolen story; please report.

  But they didn’t.

  No matter what thoughts went through his mind, the enemy commander blinked first. Unwilling to risk losing so many nobles this early, he decided to move out. And this time, that included the infantry.

  Again, the rebel knights clearly had issues with this order. A few started moving together, following their footmen, while others kept arguing with their leader. At least they would be able to catch up quickly.

  The drafted peasants weren’t here of their own free will and they had no privilege of picking and choosing which orders to follow. When their commander told them to go, they simply asked where to. Or at least their sergeants did, while the serfs just did whatever was passed down to them.

  “Oh this is just perfect! I hope Greggy can improvise!” The count grinned and turned to another nearby officer, “hey, you there! Get your boys ready. We might need to ride out and support the left flank soon!”

  He was right. This wasn’t part of the plan. And while the baron was ultimately free to make decisions on how to break through the enemy lines, depending on how the situation developed, having the enemy abandon their positions was never even considered before. Gregory was on his own now. In unprecedented territory.

  Still, the overall goal remained the same. In order to win, the loyalists needed to somehow bypass the ramparts. This shift simply presented a new opportunity.

  For now, Varre kept moving the center of the army forward, slowing their already glacial pace further. The more time the baron was given to make his play, the better. And if it looked like he was about to break through, two hundred and fifty knights were ready to follow. Even the Royal Guards, if need be.

  Meanwhile, as all these discussions were happening across the battlefield, the light cavalry kept running for their lives. The unsung heroes who caused far more chaos than anyone had anticipated were running for their lives. Mounted rebels were hot on their trail. And even though heavy horsemen weren’t as fast, they’d slaughter anyone who fell behind. They held the advantage in equipment, experience, and sheer numbers. And the further they moved, the more organized they got. Years of drilling and exercising kicked in as the knights slowly grouped up, finally resembling the elite warriors they represented.

  By now several of the original forty saw the futility of this charge and turned around, heading back to their commander. Most, kept going. Blinded by promises of glory or illusions of grandeur, they ignored the coming threat. Until it was too late.

  Gregory’s reinforcements slammed into the rebels like a hammer. Varre squinted his eyes, as if bracing for a massive clang of metal, but it never came. At this distance, he could barely even hear any screaming. Not over the noise of the marching boots of his troops and his commanders yelling out new orders.

  Still, the devastation was obvious. Both sides couched their lances, as tactics demanded. They aimed the spears at their opponents’ shields and tried to throw each other off their horses.

  Many fell. On both sides. All proper knights knew how to enhance themselves and did so before engaging the enemy, so the strength wielded by each warrior was superhuman. Though the saddles had been engineered to account for this fact, leather straps could only do so much. People tumbled to the ground, rolling over and trying to avoid the hooves of the horses thundering around them.

  Fortunately, the nobility had spent centuries developing tactics that minimized the dangers to themselves. The code of chivalry was an ancient agreement that everyone abided for or risked ostracization. One should never aim for lethal blows. No matter how much one side hated the other, as long as everyone abided by this simple rule everyone could come out fine at the end of the day. And if that wasn’t enough to convince some brutes, taking prisoners and ransoming them was simply more profitable.

  Furthermore whenever knights charged against each other, they always made sure to spread in a thin line. Two horses deep at the absolute most and even that was to be avoided. This minimized friendly casualties and injuries from trampling each other. Sticking together and forcing through the enemy in a deep formation was better against commoners and infantry, not fellow aristocrats.

  The short battle had devolved into a mad skirmish. The men threw aside the remains of their lances and pulled out longswords and maces. No matter their skill or bravery, thirty horsemen could never beat a hundred in a clash like this, but they held out for as long as they could. Blades and hammers bounced off plate armor. Glancing off, scratching it, denting it, bruising the flesh below, and occasionally causing serious damage.

  In his initial clash, Gregory opted for the maximum depth of two men, ensuring that almost all of his enemies were thrown off. Some were still trampled, despite precautions, but the code of chivalry could only do so much. Even then, the armor was strong enough to save many lives.

  The rebels were losing. A few stragglers managed to somehow break out of the fighting, circling back for another charge or retreating while they still had the chance. But Gregory couldn’t tarry. Enemy reinforcements were coming.

  The infantry was still minutes away, but the cavalry was thundering down the empty fields. They wouldn’t get here in time to save everyone, but they could at least make Gregory pay a heavy price for this momentary victory.

  The rebel knights had finally decided to act. Perhaps their commander somehow persuaded or bribed his men to join the fray. Perhaps they realized that if they stood by, only willing to fight Varre, they’d lose the battle without ever getting the chance to earn any glory. Or perhaps, they realized that their fellow nobles were doomed without assistance and decided to save them.

  Regardless of what convinced them, the result was the same. Gregory had to now prepare to receive this new threat. Though his attack was a success, there wasn’t any time to take captives. Those that surrendered on their own were taken. Those still on horseback, or the dismounted knights who drew blades and were willing to defend themselves despite their disadvantage, were left alone.

  Instead, the loyalist cavalry focused on getting their comrades back on horses, sometimes putting two men on the same animal, and retreated quickly back to the safety of friendly infantry.

  The rebels didn’t chase them very far. Just enough to push them back. Once they met up with their unhorsed allies, they helped them back on their feet and returned to their lines as well. The men needed new mounts and new lances before they could reengage.

  This first clash ended with only minor casualties on both sides. A few of Gregory’s light cavalrymen died in the initial charge, a few on both sides perished in the middle of no-man’s land, and a few rebels got captured.

  Despite that, the effect on morale was huge. Charles’ troops have shown themselves to be disorganized and unable to fight efficiently. More importantly, the infantry from the left flank was forced to abandon their positions and trudge across the field to save their allies. The situation had drastically changed.

  Varre wasn’t the only who realized this. The duke too watched the chaotic events, tearing his hair out at the incompetence of his general. With the left flank pushing forward alone (it was the right one from his perspective), they were going to be surrounded soon. Gregory was ahead of the army, but the loyalist center wasn’t far behind. Once the disorganized rebels locked together with the baron, Varre’s center could easily surround their forces and crush them. And with that, there’d be no one left to guard the gap in the ramparts.

  With a heavy heart, Charles realized there was only one thing to be done now. He gave a signal, and his center started marching forward too. They abandoned the safety of the fortifications and were going to meet Varre in the open field.

  They only joined later, once they realized their side was losing.