The Chronicles of Eriuna

[Ayzek]

"Barbarian fool," Lyrn spat. "Rot in hell. Throw that head away. Someone give this man his piece."

"Ah ha, thank you, Prince." The cavalryman threw Sinead's head into the pit of bodies his fellows had dug and wandered after the soldier who signaled to him. While the Lanlanians didn't collect the heads of their enemies, they did use them as proof of their death. If a commander was gracious enough, he rewarded whoever brought him the head of the enemy general.

"Did he have an heir?" Lyrn questioned, continuing his walk with Doren. The Lanlanians had won the battle and were now cleaning up the field. After their cavalry outmaneuvered the Phortainese and killed their king, the Phortainese collapsed. Many resisted to the very end, but knowledge of their fate was quite demoralizing. The Lanlanian infantry steadily surrounded and pressured the Phortainese. They were killed almost to the man, with very few making it through the Lanlanian cavalry that covered their rear.

"No," Doren answered, giving a final glance to one of the many mass graves his army had dug for the Phortainese. The Lanlanians did not want the dead rotting on land they would soon own. "He killed his rivals for the throne and had yet to sire any heirs. There is no one the Phortainese to rally around."

The prince nodded, smiling gleefully. "They should disintegrate, then."

"Their army might scatter. But I don't expect their cities to simply surrender."

"I've'd an itch to raze their capital since we departed Halvadag. That would certainly encourage them, no?"

"I would say it would encourage many things, yes," Doren replied, a frown on his face.

Lyrn raised an eyebrow. The walk from the mass graves to their new camp wasn't long. The battle had taken most of the afternoon, and collecting the bodies took the rest of it. Marching simply wasn't an option. Instead, as a quarter of the soldiers dug and filled graves and another kept guard, the remainder built a camp a little north of where the battle had taken place. They would rest for the night and march on Orenhold in the morning.

"I don't think the Phortainese would be happy to serve masters who set their people to the torch," Doren explained, having noticed the quizzing look on his Prince's face. The walked down one of the four main roads of the camp, flanked by rows and rows of tents and campfires. Many of the soldiers had already removed their armor and were sitting around their Troop's campfire, the day's cook making dinner for the team as the lot of them laughed over a joke or reminisced of days gone.

"And I can't say I'd be happy with subjects who desecrated my grandfather and butchered his Hosts." The two stopped near the crossroads of the camp. "One city for the lives of an Archking and thirty-thousand Lanlanians is more than fair, I would say."

Doren scowled. "As you will, Prince."

"Wonderful," Lyrn replied. "I will quarter will the troops tonight. You may return to yours."

The Ordinskarl watched his commander disappeared into a network of tents, before wandering off in a different direction.