Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 88: Northern's war

Maesinius pov:

The city finally fell , 8,000 men had been assaulting it for a week and in the end the invevitable happened.

Every night, the prince,as usual made his somber rounds through the encampments.He found himself drawn to the medical tents, where the cries of the wounded pierced the silence of the night like mournful wails. The sight of broken bodies and anguished faces were the cost of his ambition, each groan and whimper carving a deep, searing ache in his soul.

'I must see the result of my choices ' he had told Uther the giant as he made his way there .It was horrible to say the least, but he needed to see it .

And so, when news of the city's fall finally reached his ears, it was met with a bittersweet mixture of relief and sorrow.

As the gates crumbled beneath the relentless onslaught of the northern invaders, sending splinters of wood scattering across the ground, the prince could feel the weight of history shifting beneath his feet. Thelogontia, the coveted jewel of the campaign , laid within reach, a prize won through bloodshed and sacrifice. The rest of the province could now be taken much more easily, and if they managed to give one or two defeat to the major lords , the rest would easily bend the knee.

For every inch of ground gained though , there lay a sea of graves, each one leaving a story no one will hear.

As the surrounding lands fell under the relentless advance of the northern army, the once fertile fields lay barren and pillaged, their bountiful harvests plundered and stockpiled in the warehouses of the conquerors. The gains for which the prince had marshaled his forces and rallied his lords now lay within grasp, yet they knew all too well that the true prize lay behind the walls of Thelogontia.

With each conquered city and sacked village, the prince had dispatched envoys to the lord of Thelogontia, hoping to broker a peaceful surrender and avoid further bloodshed. Yet time and again, the messengers returned empty-handed, their pleas for reason falling on deaf ears.

It seemed Lord Carxio remained steadfast in his defiance, perhaps clinging to the hope that his liege lord would rally the forces of the realm to his aid. And indeed, High Marshal Conte had mustered his fief's armies, intent on breaking the siege and relieving the beleaguered city. But the wheels of war turned slowly, and the relief force moved at a pace too measured to stave off the inevitable.

As the city walls crumbled and the garrison fell, the conquerors surged forth, their victory heralding a wave of pillage and plunder. Prince Maesinius rode at the head of his army, a formidable force of 600 Huscarls flanking him on either side. These elite infantrymen were the pride of the north, their strength legendary, adept to cold and hunger, their axes said to cleave through boulders with ease.

Arrayed in the pelts of beasts they had personally hunted and slain, the Huscarls presented a fearsome sight as they marched in disciplined formation. Each warrior bore the trophy of their conquest proudly atop their heads, the pelts of wolves, bears, and elks adorning their shoulders. For those less fortunate, the spoils of their hunts included sheep and foxes, yet even these trophies were worn with a fierce sense of pride.

Under the banner of their prince, the Huscarls rode forth, their war cries echoing off the surrounding hills as they swept through the streets of the conquered city.

Wherever the prince's gaze fell, scenes of chaos and cruelty unfolded. Women cried out in terror as they fled from his soldiers, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the clamor of the conquering army. Amidst the chaos, soldiers indulged in sickening games, hunting down the vulnerable and defenseless like wild animals.

Meanwhile, other soldiers poured into houses like ravenous wolves, looting everything of value and leaving destruction in their wake. The cries of the innocent mingled with the sounds of breaking doors and splintering wood as homes were ransacked and plundered. Those who dared to resist were met with brutal violence, the sharp crack of an axe splitting skull echoing through the streets as the city descended into madness.

Amidst the turmoil, women were subjected to unspeakable horrors, their cries of anguish falling on deaf ears as they became prey to the soldiers' darkest desires. Their pleas for mercy went unanswered as they were taken hold of , their dignity stripped away amidst the chaos of war.

Despite the brutality unleashed upon the city, one decree remained unbroken: the prince's command to spare the city from flames. While his soldiers had free rein to indulge their basest instincts, the city itself was to remain intact, the prince wanted to keep the city so no fires were allowed.

''Look ahead prince'' Svenn told him as he rode forth with the prince , during the siege he had been given command of the huscarls and right now he was doing his duty as he led the soldiers towards the keep. ''You have given them ample opportunities to surrenders, they did not and now the pay the price''

The prince eyes moved to his ''I know that , this are supposed to be my people too . Nonetheless let's put an end to this now''

''Gladly your grace'' Sven said as he moved forward with a dozens of men to scout the road and the defenses of the keep.

'What now?' The prince thought as he moved his eyes away fromt the dead body of a child . At least on one of the many standing there across the street 'Conte is raising up an army ... among the province the east is among the lowest in term of population, obviously not counting the north . Most of the fortresses have been built to keep the Azanians out , which means that all that separate the province to the north is that one army. We defeat that and the north may have a chance of surviving, we lose and that is it. We fail and tens of thousands will die , and worse it will be on me .For once, I wish I was more like him," the prince mused, his thoughts drifting to a figure from his past. Despite their fraught relationship, he couldn't help but admire the man's prowess on the battlefield. "He may have been a shitty father, but at least he knew his own in battle."

Interrupting his reverie, Elenoir's voice broke through the silence, her blonde hair whipping against her back as she approached. "For the love of gods, I can hear you thinking from here," she remarked "What is it?"

The prince hesitated for a moment before responding, "Nothing much, just thinking," he replied, though the weight of his words belied his attempt to brush off the gravity of the situation.

Elenoir moved closer

"You're still dwelling on them?" she queried, her gaze searching his face for signs of distress.

"They'll soon be our people too; of course, it bothers me," the prince admitted, his voice heavy with remorse for the suffering inflicted upon the city.

"You knew what you were getting into when we planned this," She said with a snort "And there are bigger things for you to worry about, surely you can't be crying everytime you see a dead bird."

"Like what?" the prince inquired, turning his attention to her as she gestured expansively.

"What happens after all of this?" she replied, her arms extended to encompass the uncertainty of their future.

The weight of her question hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the prince's thoughts. "We will face Conte and his army," he declared, his voice firm with resolve, though uncertainty lingered in his heart.

Elenoir's words hung in the air, laden with implications that the prince struggled to fully comprehend. He listened intently, his brow furrowing in confusion as he grappled with the weight of her proposal. "I mean, after all of that, I am not the one who studied history like you," she began, her tone measured yet urgent. "But I think that one of the reasons the north fell was because we were many and at the same time no one. We were divided, making it easier for the south to subdue us. And unless we want the same thing to happen again, I think you should think about that."

The prince regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "Are you suggesting something?" he inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Maybe I am," Elenoir replied cryptically, her eyes alight with determination. "The lords are riled up. They love what you brought them, and apparently they are enjoying the weather of the south , much warmer than the snow in the north."

The prince remained silent, his thoughts churning as he attempted to decipher her intentions.

"By the gods!" Elenoir whispered fervently, her frustration palpable. "When will you make your move? You've got to ride the wave when it comes, not after it passes."

The prince made no haste to respond.

"I am talking about becoming king of the north," Elenoir declared boldly, her words ringing with conviction. "We need someone to lead us, and apparently, you are the best choice around here. If your plan regarding the Arlanians works, then you will have enough to show to claim the crown.Plus you have the legitimacy to manage to calm the vanquished nobles after we conquer them . Don't you want that? To rule over a kingdom of your own?"

"If I did, we would be marching south of here toward the capital," the prince countered, his tone firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "I have no reason to aim for that, especially given our situation. And what's with it for you anyway? Why are you so interested?"

Elenoir's jaw tightened imperceptibly as she tilted her head back, offering the prince a small, enigmatic smile. "It seems to me you lack both ambition and interest in it, so let me clue you in and give you a reason to care," she explained, her voice soft yet resolute. "If I am to be married—gods know how much I don't want that—I can at least aim as high as I can. And I think that marrying a king and becoming queen would sweeten the deal enough for me. So tell me, do you have a reason to care about it now?"

The prince's expression softened and by the gods if he now had a reason to care.