“Fools rarely see themselves as foolish.” - Old folk saying.

Michel du Riffons was no fool.

Unlike his old father and his big sister, he was simply not content with eking out a life as a sellsword, to be at the beck and call of an employer for mere money. He always wanted more out of his life. Status and wealth beyond what his father managed to achieve by peddling his considerable skills and his troops to the highest bidder.

It was the main reason behind the schism that broke up the Silver Eagles, the company his father had founded and was bequeathed to him and his older sister Wilhelmina upon his father’s retirement some years ago. Wilhelmina wished to continue down the path they had trodden so far, while Michel wished to seek out greener pastures and brighter futures for themselves.

Since the two could not come to an agreement, they eventually decided to split the company into two, with the larger majority – mostly the infantry and some veteran riders – in support of Wilhelmina, while most of the younger riders supported Michel and followed his lead. He had proven his vision to them in the years since, as they had left and shortly thereafter found employment in former Clangeddin territory under the Marquis of Podovniy.

The noble promised to pay mercenaries who preferred to be paid that way in landholds instead of just money, which was an attractive thing for Michel. A noble title was even included as part of the deal, should they manage to gain enough land and contribute enough to be worthy of one. It was a goal his new company, the White Eagles, had strived for in the past three years of fighting in the former Empire’s territory.

So far, they had made quite a bit of a name for themselves. Owing to the company’s large proportion of well-equipped heavy cavalry, it proved to be quite feasible to earn their contribution even in battles involving numbers that dwarfed the company’s mere three hundred or so – some of which were new recruits Michel picked up on the way to Podovniy – people.

To date, the small company already owned four medium-size villages as their fledgling dominion, and were valued by the Marquis as they were some of his most effective heavy cavalry, something that was possible because Clangeddin as a whole did not have a culture that involved heavy cavalry until the civil war broke out.

As he led his troops to chase after the mercenaries that had tormented the army’s vanguard over their trip to Levain, Michel made a conscious decision to hold his men back a bit, allowing several knight orders established by the states under Podovniy’s rule to take the lead. He did it out of caution, since while he had not fought against the mercenaries themselves, he was somewhat familiar with the Free Lances, as his father’s command – himself included – had fought side by side with them for over a decade in Posuin before.

He knew that the mercenaries had enough time to simply escape into the forest, but most of them had stayed and turned to face the incoming cavalry for some reason, so he expected foul play or traps of some sort. Something the locals who were far too used to their own “gentlemanly” way of warfare would often fall for.

Sure enough, the first group of knights – nearly a hundred strong, one of the larger knight orders from an earldom of some sort of Michel remembered right – ran straight into the mercenary shield wall only to find them an immovable object. The knight order shattered themselves upon the mercenaries’ shields, while those that managed to turn to the side were soon assaulted and engulfed by too-eager mercenaries who often directly leapt up onto their horses and took them down.

Michel had seen similar scenes before, and knew what was going on.

Regular footsoldiers, much less levies and conscripts, had a natural fear towards a well-armored knight on a warhorse galloping straight towards them. As a mercenary himself, however, he was all too aware of the worth of such a knight if captured. Not only were their equipment valuable and likely to be reused by the mercenaries, but the knights themselves would be worth a pretty penny in ransom.

As the second group of knights – a mix of several smaller orders with poor cohesion between them – met with a similar fate, with even more of them breaking themselves on the shields of the mercenary shieldbearers who suddenly surged forward to meet them, Michel made a quick decision in his mind. He signaled his men to slow down and ride a bit to the side.

The group of riders directly behind the White Eagles took the chance to overtake them and rush ahead towards the ongoing carnage. Michel let them. If the foolish “knights” desired to spend their lives playing cannon fodder, that was their business. As a mercenary himself, he had a far more pragmatic point of view when it comes to things like that.

With hand signals, he notified his men to follow him in taking a more roundabout path that would have them skirt around the fighting and instead strike at the mercenary formation from its left flank. He hoped to circumvent the region where the Free Lances had their defenses prepared for a cavalry charge and catch them off guard that way.

His men quickly followed after his directions, and their nearly three hundred riders swung around towards the right, took some distance, before looping back towards the mercenary left flank. The riders at the front bellowed a war cry and lowered their long lances as they reached a distance of five hundred paces, a short time for a galloping horse to cross.

Michel allowed a fragment of optimism to cross his mind even though his father taught him to always be wary when in a battle. The Free Lances were slow to turn to face his forces, and should things go well they would be able to run roughshod through the enemy flank.

That fragment of optimism died immediately when all of a sudden the frontmost riders fell and crashed into one another out of nowhere.