Iowerth's fatal slash cut through the man in front of him just as cavalry broke through the ranks around him. In one fluid motion he pivoted, and drove his sword through one of the few remaining bandits before withdrawing the blade with a grunt of disgust and taking a moment get his bearings. The battle, it seemed, was going as expected in spite of the surprises the knights had faced. The flanks had finally been secured, and it seemed most of the resistance was focused around the center of the camp, where a mob of undisciplined men were surrounded. The battle was won, more or less, and with a rare smile he allowed the thrill of victory to wash over him as he caught his breath.
"Did you need help?”
"
Hardly. The odds were, what, five to one? You should have set up a betting pool instead and shared the winnings with me after we stomped them. That would have been helpful."
The man's smile faded into his usual grim sarcasm as he looked up at the knight. Iowerth already felt like he was in a constant state of
I'm too old for this shit he couldn't imagine what Aethelmund felt at his age, especially being wounded. With a sigh, he pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the blood from his blade, convinced that it's use for the day was done. He'd eventually have to find his crossbow as well somewhere in the chaos of the battlefield.
"
Sir, if I may, the battle is nearly won. You should get that shoulder looked at before infection has a chance to settle in. I can take over command from here. There won't be much more resistance."
Speaking of command, he didn't have a chance to hear the old knight's reply before the sound of shouted orders reached his ear;
"Bandits! Lay down your arms and surrender immediately, those who refuse will meet the sword for your crimes against the people of this kingdom! This is your only warning!"
Juliana Silvern, the Captain-that-could-have-been. While far newer than House Rhyddarch, the influence of House Silvern had been growing at an alarmingly rapid rate since the last war. Every noble family across Thaln had taken note, especially Iolyn's own. According to rumors she had been bred all her life to be in Fanilly's position, in spite of her birth. They were, from what he'd seen of the woman so far, plausible at the very least. He came up beside her, sheathing his sword, and gripped her shoulder tightly. Speaking low so that only she could hear;
"
You are not captain yet, nor are you of a leadership position within the Order or this battlefield. Do not go issuing commands as if any of these things are the case."
And then, after a brief pause.
"
It would be wisest not to show your ambition too openly before you've gained more support."
Iolyn's criticisms were harsh as usual, but level heads could usually see the intent beneath. Juliana risked appearing more as a spoiled brat competing with Fanilly rather than a leader better fit to rule with the attitude he'd seen from her so far. At least, to the older knights in the order. Respect would have to come first, and more modesty would help that. These of course were only
assumptions on Iowerth's part. If assumptions with a pretty hefty basis.
As for Iolyn's own thoughts on how the knights chose their captain: He had never spoken a word about it, and his opinion remained his own for now. It was clear though, whether he wanted the process changed or not, he expected the current hierarchy to be maintained, at least on the battlefield. Breaking the chain of command breeds confusion, which wastes lives.
Finally, the man raised his voice, clearly accustomed to giving orders himself:
"
Obey flags of surrender! No quarter to the rest!"
No other command was needed, he wondered briefly about how the fight against the Bandit King was fairing, but considering the number of talented knights he'd seen taking part, he assumed that battle was even more well wrapped up than this one.
He hoped, anyway.
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