Sunlight broke through the horizon. Adrian watched the fire in front of him snuff itself out, his fingers inadvertently touching his neck again.
It was then that a soldier approached him. "Milord, please tell me you at least got enough sleep?"
It was Dexton. The men had been roused by the assassination attempt the previous night, everyone had searched for other assassins hidden by the darkness, but they found no one else. Dexton himself had been awakened by the commotion and had taken it upon himself to guard Adrian's tent personally.
Sir Clive hearing the news was about the situation was also alarmed and increased the guards around their tent near three times.
"I slept enough." Adrian shrugged, dragging his gaze from the smoking ashes to Dexton, and then toward the awakening camp.
"Did the watch guards see anything on the horizon?" Adrian asked. Plans had changed since Sir Nixon's death. Their original ideas for harassment would have to be set aside for a safer plan, building a fortified camp nearby with watchtowers. It was necessary to ensure the enemy never got as close as they had last night.
Although they had spotted the infiltrator, the encounter had been too close for comfort. If the enemy had chosen to attack with their entire force, the men would have been defeated.
They would have taken a good chunk of the enemy's numbers with them, certainly, but they still would have lost. Then again, a large force would have been easily noticeable, allowing them time to prepare.
"If they had, things wouldn't be so calm…" Dexton said. "The servants are preparing your breakfast, milord. You should eat."
"Right, I should." Adrian replied, shaking his head slowly. In truth, the events of the night still haunted him that he hadn't slept at all, despite the dozen guards surrounding his tent.
Adrian tried to shake himself out of the daze he'd been in since the failed attempt. Honestly, if it hadn't been for his gift, the assassination would have been a success.
He rubbed his temples as he entered his tent, trying to rid his mind of those thoughts. He had to face forward, dwelling on the "what ifs" did him no good.
His stomach felt like a yawning pit, and he devoured everything the servants placed on his table. By the time he was finished, he regretted the indulgence slightly, knowing he couldn't train his body on such a full stomach. However, he had little time to dwell on it, Sir Clive called him to the command tent. News had arrived from the scouts.
--
Adrian sighed, bracing himself against the slope to keep from sliding. In the distance below, he saw that the enemy had established a crude forward camp. It wasn't yet complete, little more than a perimeter of sharpened spikes and a few rising towers, but it was an impressive feat for a single night's work. Roughly three hundred men could be seen either guarding the perimeter or laboring on the fortifications.
Though he spied most who was worked were in rough rags and so thin. Slaves. Adrian could only click his tongue.
It seemed they weren't the only ones who had the same idea.
"They mean to establish a forward base to soften our lines." Clive noted. "Attacking a defensive position, even one so hastily built, is costly, even if we outnumber them once our main force arrives."
"Just like what we were doing..." Adrian commented dryly.
At this moment, Adrian felt entirely out of his depth. Although his knight had tutored him in the ways of warfare, the reality of the situation proved more dynamic than the words spoken to him.
He let his knight speak with Sir Clive as he just stood there.
They remained on the slope, using the elevation to scout the enemy without risking themselves.
Arrangements were made quickly, Adrian simply nodded along to their ideas. Soon, nearly a hundred archers, including most of Adrian's own men, lined the slope.
Adrian made sure to put them there, a few of them never even held bow their entire life, while some probably can't even hit a large target even just ten meters distance from them. But it didn't matter if they weren't skilled.
All they need is the appearance of being an archer, and then they didn't need to step forward to fight the enemy.
On the ground below, a hundred and fifty infantrymen formed up, spears and shields at the front. The enemy was still several hundred meters away, but the distance felt dangerously short.
At the rear of the line, someone tightened the straps of Adrian's armor. Beside him, Sir Cordell and Sir Clive were still attempting to talk him out of taking the vanguard.
"Lord Harrow, I understand your desire to contribute, but is this not too much? Especially so soon after the attempt on your life?" Sir Clive asked.
"Sir Clive is right, milord. Please, do not risk yourself so recklessly." Sir Cordell pleaded.
"I'll be fine." Adrian insisted. "We want them to come to us, don't we? I can taunt them. When they see the man they failed to assassinate last night, I think I can goad them into a charge."
Adrian knew he was being reckless, and he knew the dark and ridiculous reasons behind it. Part of it was a performance, a way to prove he would personally bleed for the Prince's cause.
Not out of loyalty, but of debt and to preserve the lives of his men, most of whom were stationed safely with the archers or held in reserve under Dexton's command that was in charge of protecting them.
But mostly he hoped that by plunging into fresh chaos, he could drown out last night assassination attempt that continue to haunts him.
His logic was trying to fight trauma with another but familiar trauma, hoping the old horror would ease the new.
Even Adrian knew how ridiculous it sounded, yet he pressed on anyway.
Don't people say that they don't get sacred of the horrors by being so used to them?
'Fighting fire with fire and hoping it won't spread and leave me in ashes' He thought sarcastically, mocking himself.
"My decision is final." Adrian said, catching the look in his knight's eye.
Sir Cordell's lips thinned, but he nodded.
Sir Clive looked at him with newfound admiration. "When I heard you fought off the assassins while outnumbered, I had my doubts. But seeing you now, Lord Harrow... and so young. I dare say the Prince is lucky to have you."
"I'm sure there are many willing to risk their lives for His Highness." Adrian replied, trying to put emotions on them, masking as he wasn't really devoted to the prince.
The time for talk ended. Under his knight's watchful eye, Adrian marched toward the small army gathered at the front.
Sir Clive led a small mounted force, positioned to deliver a decisive blow or cover a retreat if they fail.
Adrian didn't stop until he reached the very front of the infantry. He gazed at the distant enemy, who were already forming up but behind their crude spikes.
He had to draw them out, turn it into an open battle.
Taking a deep breath, Adrian looked at Sir Cordell one last time before stepping forward to close the distance.
He stopped just a few dozen meters from the enemy line, his knight and three soldiers trailing just behind him. They just stood well within shouting distance.
"Well, well, what do we have here? A pack of dogs hiding behind stolen sticks?" Adrian scanned the enemy and sneered, his voice booming.
"And I thought your pathetic attempt at killing me last night was ridiculous. Truly just a bunch of miserable dogs."
He saw the nearest enemies bunch up in anger, some even spat on the ground. It was then that a man stepped forward.
He wasn't as large as Ulric, the scouts had already confirmed the giant of a man wasn't with this group.
Instead, this man had long hair tied back in a knot and carried a sheatheless longsword across his back.
His nose was crooked from an old injury, and he met Adrian's gaze with a sneer of his own.
"Are you here to mimic Lord Ulric's challenge from last night and duel one of us? If so, I volunteer." the man barked.
Adrian wasn't deterred. "Even better." He gestured to the force behind him. "Why don't our men dance across the field and see who comes out on top? Don't worry... I'll be leading my boys. Perhaps your men can finally kill me." Adrian snorted and laughed, a loud and carefree sound.
"Though, I doubt any of you here have the balls to step out from behind your defenses. I guess you'd rather let your slaves do the work, huh?"
As his laughter resounded across the field, he felt his men join in behind him. Though many were clearly nervous, they followed his lead.
Across the line, the enemy faces, especially that of the man who had stepped forward, contorted with rage.
The broken-nosed man opened his mouth to speak, but Adrian cut him off.
"The only words that leave your mouth had better be acceptance. Otherwise, you're even more pathetic than you look." Adrian said with disgust, spitting on the ground. Behind him, the rhythmic thumping of boots and the clanging of weapons rose in a deafening challenge.
With one last scan of the enemy lines, Adrian finished, "Come out from behind your toothpicks and die like the 'warriors' you pretend to be. Or die like cowards inside your meager defenses. Your choice!"
That was the final nail in the coffin. A volley of stones and arrows whistled toward him, but the soldiers and knights at his side were ready, quickly raising their shields to form a wall. On the nearby slope, their own archers responded, raining arrows down upon the enemy.
As his small group began to back away slowly, Adrian peered through a gap in the shields. He saw a force surging out from the enemy camp to meet them and smiled.
'Well, at least I did my job right...'