Chapter 68

Oryndor stared in confusion as the massive gates of Meereen slowly swung open, and a mixture of hired mercenaries and slave soldiers marched towards them in more or less orderly ranks.

For days, the good masters of Meereen had shown no reaction to the forces at their gates. No negotiations, no attack, nothing. If he didn't know better, Oryndor would have thought that the good masters didn't take the threat of the Volantis forces seriously. But that was not the case.

They recognized the danger very well.

They knew that Volantis had joined the Eternal Empire and that they were here on orders from their new emperor, Kaelarys Baelaeron.

The slave masters of Meereen also knew that the dragons would soon be circling over their roofs, bringing fire and death. And yet they had avoided provoking the fight.

Oryndor would have expected them to seek open conflict on the field before it was too late—before the Eternal Empire's dragons appeared over their walls and everything went up in flames. After all, the high walls of Meereen were no defense against dragonfire. It would have been tactically wiser to fight the battle in the open, hoping to weaken the Volantian forces before they could focus entirely on the southern armies. But the slavers had made no move to choose that path.

Even more surprising was that they had made no offers of surrender. Anyone with half a mind would have realized that Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor had the most to gain from an alliance with House Baelaeron. The slave trade could continue, for the Baelaeron Empire continued to traffic in slaves as Valyria had before them and the Ghiscari before them.

Oryndor frowned as he watched the mercenaries in the distance. The flags they bore were unfamiliar to him. A crimson spear on a gray background surrounded by a circle of black thorns.

"Which sellsword company is that? I do not recognize their flags," Oryndor asked his officers.

"The Crimson Lances. Their captain is a man named Kragas Velorn, known as 'Hell Hound'. He is cruel and ruthless, but efficient and dependable. As their name suggests, they are known for their lance formations, which are quite effective against any ordinary cavalry." came the reply.

Oryndor raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. Dependability is a word he wouldn't associate with any of the Sellswords. They fight only for profit and have about as much loyalty as a stray cat.

"Shall I order them to hold formation?" the officer asked.

"Do you think I should be worried about this enemy force?" Oryndor asked, his gaze falling on the officer.

The officer blinked in confusion and stared at his commander. "Eh, no, commander... of course not," he stammered, unsure of the correct response.

Oryndor snorted softly, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Let them come, but have the cavalry ready. Let's test if the Crimson Lances live up to their reputation."

The officer nodded and hurried off to pass on the orders, while Oryndor turned his gaze back to the battlefield. In front of them was the army of Meereen, a motley force of nearly 20,000 mercenaries, slave soldiers, and guards hastily rounded up.

On the side of Volantis, however, were 30,000 disciplined soldiers, supported by their own sellsword companies. Unlike the armies of the Eternal Empire, which largely relied on their own elite, Volantis also relied on the mercenary companies at their side. They were perfectly suited to thin out the opposing army and maintain the advantage of numbers.

"Send forward the archers," Oryndor commanded calmly. "Let's give them a warm welcome."

The first ranks of Volantenian archers stepped forward and drew back the strings of their bows, ready to unleash a hail of arrows at the enemy.

Then, with a single command, the arrows whizzed through the air.

The sky darkened for a moment as hundreds of arrows rained down on the advancing mercenaries. Screams pierced the air as the first ranks of the Crimson Lance were hit, men dropping to the ground, bleeding and screaming. But the remaining mercenaries did not hesitate. They continued to march forward as a hail of arrows was unleashed from their side.

Shortly thereafter, the foot soldiers of the Volanten army encountered the forces of Meereen.

The impact was violent. Shields met swords and spears, and each side tried with all their might to gain the upper hand. Spears pierced armor, blades tore through flesh and bone, while the battle raged brutally and relentlessly in the front rows.

Oryndor watched the action from an elevated position, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, when he finally recognized the moment he had been waiting for.

"Send in the cavalry."

Moments later, the bugle call sounded, and the thundering hoofbeats of the Volantenish cavalry filled the air.

The cavalry came over the slight hill from the left flank. They increased the pace and accelerated to a fast trot, but maintained a wide line facing the mercenaries. The earth shook under the heavy hooves as the cavalry set in motion.

To their credit, the mercenaries managed to reposition their ranks quickly enough.

The Crimson Lances reacted faster than Oryndor had expected. Within moments, they had realigned their formations and pointed their spears and lances in the direction of the charging cavalry.

"Interesting," Oryndor murmured, as he watched Kragas Velorn skillfully coordinate his men. Despite the unexpected attack, he reacted with the calmness and calculation of an experienced warlord.

The hooves of the horses thundered on, the armored riders closing the distance to the mercenaries, but the Crimson Lances held firm. Their spears rose up like a deadly forest of metal from the earth, ready to stop the charging cavalry.

The force of the impact was violent. The first riders hit the tips of the spears, and horses and humans went down under the pointed weapons. Screams filled the air as the cavalry stumbled and the front ranks of the Volantenish riders were cut down.

But this was only a brief victory for the mercenaries. The mass of Volantenish riders was too large, too well coordinated, and even the Bloodred Lances would not be able to hold out against them for long.

The mercenaries fought fiercely to hold their ranks together as the Volantenish cavalry pressed relentlessly against them. But the reality of the battlefield was merciless and in the end they could not hold out and broke as the cavalry trampled over them.

Suddenly, disaster struck on the left flank as the Volantenian infantry broke through and stormed the army, which had fallen into chaos.

Oryndor heard a commotion behind him and turned around in wonder to see the soldiers behind him step aside. A lone rider, covered in dust and sweat, approached hastily, his horse breathing heavily.

"Let him through," Oryndor ordered, and the lines of soldiers parted to make way for him.

The rider pushed his horse forward until he stopped directly in front of Oryndor. He leaped from the saddle and knelt, panting, before looking into Oryndor's eyes with a solemn expression.

The rider took a deep breath before speaking. "Commander, there is news. A new army... marching towards us and will be upon us shortly. They come through the Khyzai Pass."

Oryndor's expression remained impassive, but inwardly, he immediately began calculating the possibilities. Where would this army come from all of a sudden, and more importantly, who did it belong to?

"How many?" he asked while his eyes scrutinized the rider.

"At least 30,000. There could be more," the rider replied with a trembling voice.

Oryndor nodded slowly. "Good. You've done your duty. Rest, we'll take care of it." He gestured, and the rider was led away by one of the officers.

Oryndor cursed the slave masters of Meereen inwardly. This was their plan. They had waited, delaying the fighting and hiding their true strength until the Volantenian army was deeply involved in the battle. Now that his troops were engaged in close combat, it was almost impossible to regroup them in time to respond to the new threat. Even if they quickly defeated the army of Meereen, his men would be too exhausted to repel a fresh force of this size.

Thirty thousand men or more, Oryndor thought. If they were disciplined and well-armed, he had a serious problem.

He had to act quickly and carefully.

He turned to his officer and quickly gave his instructions: "We have almost defeated the army of Meereen. The left flank has already collapsed and the infantry will make it without the cavalry. The cavalry should retreat!"

"Send out scouts," Oryndor ordered another officer. "I want to know how well equipped and organized these reinforcements are. If it's just a bunch of poorly trained slaves and mercenaries, we can crush them with a coordinated attack. But if they're well-armed, we'll need a different strategy."

Oryndor knew that this was the best option. They had to attack the new army before it had a chance to interfere in the battle.

If necessary, he would sacrifice his cavalry to buy more time. It was a race against time and he would do everything he could to win.

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Men scroll

Men see

Men smile

Men gifts Stones

Men leaves Review

Men leaves happily.

Yours,

Jasonenrick!