Long before any information reached their position, the sound of cheers in the distance told Tracao of their first victory. However, none of the positive atmosphere transferred over. Unlike the simple-minded commoners at the wall, the men under his command were all proper warriors who understood the significance of real battle and treated it with the required decorum. Even though they had spent several days together on the march and the commoners had proven somewhat dependable in their first battle together, this sort of cavalier attitude showed the difference between the king's new soldiers and proper warriors.

Rather than be happy with a shallow victory during the first engagement, Tracao looked behind, where they had established line of sight through a gap in the trees to transmit news and orders via flag. Of course, a real warrior like him wouldn't need any paper or spend a lot of time to decipher the king's new symbols, unlike the clumsy commoners.

Driven by honor and duty, Tracao had spent the days since his arrival in the king's army practicing the new symbols and communication methods of Saniya. By now, he had become an expert in both. Once he saw the flags move, he could read the message right away; and his face turned grim.

“Here it is, men! Our call to arms! Between one and two hundred enemy warriors are on their way to our position! Everyone get in formation, and raise your shields and axes! Remember the plan and let none of them get away!”

Quite unlike what Tracao was used to from previous battlefields, there was no reason to doubt the transmitted information. If nothing else, at least their king was dependable when it came to warfare. At first, Tracao hadn't been especially eager to serve King Corcopaca. Not only had the king introduced commoners into his army and thus cheapened the standing of the warriors, Tracao's real master was Lord Huaman, who had his own plans for the south and wasn't too eager to see the king succeed.

Although the lords wanted Corco to win the war and defend the south, they didn't want an overwhelming victory. If the king was too successful, he would gain too much political weight and might reduce the power of the lords in the future.

However, his master wasn't here right now, so he had more freedom to act upon his own thoughts. As far as Tracao was concerned, the king had proven himself more than worthy to be followed. In his speech, he had shown that he understood the situation the warriors of the south were in, always under the thumb of the northerners.

Of course, the lords would say anything to make warriors fight for them, but Corcopaca had proven his sincerity when he had shied away from most luxury on their campaign to live no better than the warriors around him. He would even refuse to be carried by his guards and would always speak in an informal manner that inspired familiarity. Somehow, he had a strange energy about him, something that would spur others on and bring the best out of them.

In the absence of any other high nobility and with Corco's no-nonsense attitude and his string of wins, the king had won the goodwill of most southern warriors. Tracao was glad that the enthusiasm of his men had given him an excuse to support the young king.

For King Corco and his goals, Tracao was willing to do his best, even if it meant getting scolded by his master later.

Not long after, enemy troops closed in on their position, though they were just some shock infantry from the northern lords. The decent quality of their training could already be seen from their approach. They didn't blindly charge ahead to flank the main force as soon as possible and instead moved in small groups, covering each other's flanks to prevent ambushes.

Still, their orderly formation didn't last for long. As soon as they saw the warrior line Tracao had formed at the top of a small incline within the woods, the enemy movements grew restless. Since he didn't have any of the king's fancy new weapons at his disposal, Tracao's setup looked very traditional. This would be an old-fashioned clash of warriors against warriors, no tricks and no games; the first chance in this unusual war to distinguish themselves with their prowess in battle. At least that was what the enemy commanders were supposed to think.

At first, they charged the hill as planned, and Tracao's own men at the top got ready to meet them head on. However, as the first row had reached halfway up the incline, one of them lost his footing on the snow, tripped and fell. Soon, a second followed, and then a third. Only hours earlier, Tracao had personally picked this spot for battle after a lengthy inspection. Although it wasn't the steepest hill in the forest, it was the longest, and had his men spread cold water all the way downhill. By now, the surface had frozen and turned into a slippery mess, the dangerous glimmer of ice hidden by the shadows of the forest. Again and again, King Pacha's warriors tried to stand and regain their momentum, but they all lost their balance and tumbled down to the ground. As they slid back down the hill, they took more of their allies with them in a chain reaction, until their orderly formation had turned into a chaotic heap of limbs.

“Charge!” Tracao shouted, and rushed out of his hidden position with a raised axe. Since he had chosen this strategy, he wouldn't only place his men atop the hill. How would they get down to deal with the enemy warriors without slipping themselves? No, the men at the top were only the bait, and it was his job to clean up the mess they had caused.

Together with a small team of twenty warriors, they charged out of the bushes to the side and fell into the rows of enemies like wolves into a pack of deer. Without mercy, their axes cut down the fallen warriors. The king had emphasized that no one was to escape and Tracao had sworn to fulfill the orders of his temporary master as best he could. Whoever didn't surrender on the spot soon lost his life within the nameless little forest.

“It appears the woods are no longer a viable avenue of attack from now on.” Pacha frowned as he looked down on the trembling warrior with the nasty cut on his right arm.

“This lord disagrees.” Unasked, one of his staff of useless lords replied, which forced the king to look up and deal with more nonsense. “This lord's eagle-eyed have estimated the number of southern troops stationed at their walls. It should be almost their entire army. They cannot have too many men left to protect their flanks. Obviously, the reason for the flank's failure lay not with our enemy's strength, but is only the individual failure of Lord Maecilius' cowardly warriors.”

“Shut up!” In response to Pacha's explosion, the lords flinched back and the failed warrior bent his head even lower, his face now pressed into the soft snow. “This king will not tolerate any more useless bickering. No politics in war! If you want to deal with a rival lord, declare your own war after this king is finished with his, as this king will not become your axe. Should that not please you, you are free to take your men and leave at your leisure.”

One by one, the king stared down his useless subordinates; all of them avoided his gaze. They knew that leaving now would make the king their enemy, and none of them had the courage to start a rebellion. After he had asserted his dominance, Pacha continued.

“None of the warriors we sent north have returned, and only a few made it back from the south. They clearly ran into an ambush. Even if we send more men, success is doubtful. We never had an accurate count for the number of southern warriors who made a successful landing in the north. Hence, we could not possibly know how many men are hidden inside those woods, or how many more traps they have prepared in advance. Still, if Lord is so confident that the woods are the way to go, he may volunteer his own men for another attempt.”

As soon as his own warriors were put on the spot, the selfish lord became very interested in the snow between his feet, still without words. Pacha only snorted and returned to the issue at hand.

“Now everyone should understand that the forest is not an option for our attack. If we had more time to scout out the woods, all the traps and trickery would be useless. However, time is what we lack the most. If my brother's servant makes it through the Narrows with the craftsmen, we will lose an important advantage. We may even lose the entire war. In this case, our only choice is swift win in a frontal engagement. Now, this king is willing to listen to suggestions for how to achieve this goal.”

“King Pachacutec, I suggest we make use of the commoners,” one of the lords stepped up after a prolonged silence. “Since the southerners are short on proper warriors and are unlikely to launch a charge of their own to relieve the siege, our skirmishers will not be of much use. Usually, their only value is to tie down a charge of shock infantry, so they are only dead weight for us. We should send them ahead of our first proper wave of attacks and have them soak up some of those deadly projectiles the foreigners seem so proud of.”

For a moment, the king thought about the suggestion and a shudder ran down his spine. Pacha recalled the state of the warriors who had been hit by those tiny balls of metal. Among the men who had rejoined him from Rupilo's former army, there had been many who had only received tiny wounds from these weapons, nowhere near enough to stop a cultivator. However, despite the best attempts of his doctors, their state continued to deteriorate. Many had died already, and the rest looked to be in danger as well. He was about to agree with the lord's suggestion, when the enigmatic Duke Herak chimed in.

“While that is not a bad idea, I have a much better use for those worthless commoners. Back in the convoy, I have prepared some impromptu walls I can erect on the spot, if I am given enough manpower. King Pachacutec, If you hand control of your commoners to me, I will have them set up our own fortifications right within firing distance of the wall. In this manner, we will reduce losses to our core troops and at the same time make an approach to the enemy position much easier.”

“Here in Medala, warriors fight uprightly, in accordance with the great strategies handed down by the ancestors,” one of the lords sneered. “What sort of unproven trickery are you planning, foreigner?”

“The sort that will win you your war, little man,” Herak replied in his usual, cold voice. Pacha had never seen the man raise his voice, as if he was always in control. Yet the little lord failed to see the predator before him and continued to insist.

“Real men fight in a proper, upfront manner. This lord will not stand for any backhanded tricks.”

“So you prefer death to victory then. I see now why your people are in trouble.”

“How dare you...”

While the two sides argued back and forth, Pacha fell into thought. Although he was an outsider, Herak had already fought against Corco's tricks in the past, that much the king had learned from conversation with his newest ally. As a result, the foreigner was much less likely to underestimate his sly brother. Compared to him, the other lords like Rupilo had proven far too simple-minded in their approach.

“That's enough,” he raised his voice to still the arguments. “We will go with Lord Herak's plan. Give him whatever skirmishers you have, and whatever support he needs. Lord Herak, if you lack numbers, you are free to grab more commoners from the convoy behind us, most are just hyenas without worth anyways. While you prepare your ploy, this king will go and inspire his men.”

Followed by the salutes of his men, Pacha left the tent, hoping he had made the correct decision.