The trees were growing tight. In the dusk, Philin’s eyes strained to see about him. The passage through the forest was tough negotiating, and his spotted palfrey found footing among the foliage at a slow pace. 

	“Of course they picked the hardest terrain for their camp,” the young man said to himself. These bandits had more sense than most, but that did not say much. Philin had only been with the Order for three years, and like most squires approaching knighthood, he was sometimes given scouting duty instead of maintaining the equipment or guarding the supply train. A proud smile creased his cheeks; it was a small that he did not take lightly.

	Through the obscured woodland, he could see movement. Men and women in mismatched clothes and armor poured themselves over scraps of possessions stolen in their raids and robberies. King Jeremiah’s band was making out well for themselves, and the goods they collected were piled high outside of a large number of makeshift tents. His smile dropped. There were more bandits than he had anticipated; a couple hundred at the very least. They must have had equal or greater numbers than the Iron Roses, but the count was difficult through the trees and tents. The camp was fortified with a thin palisade of roughly hewn branches dug into the earth.

	He whistled sharply, trotting away from the camp as fast as his horse could allow before a runner came upon him, “They have a weak palisade and a few hundred in their camp. Tell Sir Aethelmund that the forest thins within their camp, it’ll be easier for cavalry to move once inside.” He said to the runner who nodded in understanding before rushing off toward the main body of the right flank.

--

	Eadwig moved across the lines of soldiers with Marianne in tow. In front, fifteen archers stood in light leather and chain armor. They all wore swords or hand axes at their hips, and some even had round bucklers on their back. Behind them stood a line of fifteen pike men all armed with kite shields and fire hardened pikes with cruel iron points. With each unit of five, there was an official knight of the Roses to guide them. The right wing of the infantry was guarded by a dozen mounted knight and on the left another. The reserve backed them as ten strong split between mounted and infantry.

	They were cut into small flanks for the attack, Eadwig knew, but he was a meticulous planner nonetheless. Tactics had saved his life and the life of many of his comrades in his years of service. When the bandit king Evan and his [i]army[/i] of fifteen ambushed him and his five fellow knight, they had galloped ahead and spun around to launch a sortie in a formation so tight that their feet touched. When they hit the mass of confused bandits, their lances killed five of them and another three were trampled. The bandits had been routed before they fully realized what had occurred. It was not a singular experience either, small unit tactics had aided him in the early days of Phoran Cal’s rebellion and in devastating flanks during a number of foreign excursion wars.

	“Sir Eadwig?” Dame Delacroix spoke up beside him, “Before we begin and I no longer have the luxury of asking . . . These pikes, are they efficient at removing men from their horses?”

	The girl seemed prepared, and she was thinking of her command. Sir Aethelmund’s brow furrowed into deep canals masking his contentedness, “I see that your training has stuck with you,” he said brusquely, “Aye, the pikes can do that. Not as efficiently as lances mind you. You’ll need to be careful with your balance while using them.” Eadwig nodded over to the mounted soldiers Marianne would command, some among them held lances but they were the exception. “The plan is good. You should be able to break their morale quickly. Be careful while firing on horseback, these knights can shoot while in saddle, but few if any can while riding. Find a good place to fire where you cannot be overcome if you insist upon it.”

	The runner came upon them quickly, “Sir! Philin has spotted the camp ahead.”

	Eadwig narrowed his gaze, “Aye, what did he make of it?”

	“There are a few hundred of them with palisades, and the camp is better for cavalry.”

	“Is the rest of the forest as dense as this?”

	“Nearabouts, yes. Horses’ll be slow going up until their camp.”

	Sir Aethelmund tapped his reins. He had not expected the camp to be as fortified as that, “That will slow us, but most of the bandits will be engaged when we enter.” The man turned to the small supply wagon and called to the pages for ropes which were distributed among the Roses with haste. “The archers and the left and center pike will march down to the palisades diagonally toward Captain Danbalion and we will pull it down!” Aethelmund declared with a storm beneath his breath, “The left cavalry will ride in and strike the flank of the bandits rallying against our Captain before wheeling northward toward Sir Tiral’s forces while the infantry clears the camp toward the center.” A gauntleted hand pointed to the remaining pike men and Marianne’s cavalry. “The right pike will make for the palisades closer to the north flank and throw it down so that Dame Marianne may rush and harry those who stand against Sir Tiral. The pike shall reinforce her, but will leave space for the bandits to flee toward our flank.” He points to the reserve, “Sir Bernhard shall ensure they surrender instead of rally.”

	Rolling his shoulders, rode up behind the units of pike men. The force moved slowly in the direction of the camp, and what they were unable to see the scouts would tell. They laid in wait fifty meters from the fortifications hidden by a copse of trees and dense brush, “Sir Tiral should give a signal when he is engages,” Sir Aethelmund spoke in a low voice to Marianne, “When he does this, I will signal us forward.” He pats a horn at the side of his horse. “Sir Tiral may have a different course of action however, wait on my signal, but once we are engaged the command and the decisions are yours.” He paused a moment, “If the terrain of the camp is too harsh, then dismount.”

	Eadwig heaved his heater shield onto his arm, and a squire handed him a heavy lance. His heart longed for his voulge, the weapon for which he had made into his art. But today was on for swords and lances.

	To Marianne he said, “Keep them alive, improvise, but always think two steps ahead.” 


[@harinezumikouken]