Chapter 36 - A Change of Plans

Tristan

Black rage enveloped his heart like burning fire, blinding his eyes and blocking his mind. All he could see was Mikal's single eye as he looked at him that one last time, full of fake tears and treacherous lies. How could he!

"That fucking traitor, I told you!" Cylia cried out at Tristan for the hundredth time as they returned to the camp. "I told you he would betray us and you never listened to me."

"Enough!" Tristan cried back at her.

"You should have let me kill him," Cylia continued. "How could you just let him go? He knows our battle plan. You made him attend our last meeting and now he knows the fucking plan!"

"I said enough!"

Tristan's chest was heaving with fury as he stood inside the operations tent, surrounded by a chaos of protests and curses.

"Silence!" he roared and everyone turned to him with silent yet furious stares. "We are changing the plan," he continued, more calmly.

"And how will you do that?" Cylia cut in. "He knows everything, he is going to –"

"Can you just shut up for a moment and listen?" Tristan snapped at her. "Fine, he knows the plan, he's going to warn them that we'll strengthen our flanks to encircle them, and they'll probably do everything to avoid this. Which means, they will put more forces in their own flanks as well. Good, let them do so, and in reverse, we will weaken our flanks and strengthen our middle. We will let them encircle us."

"What!" Cylia cried out.

"And they will probably seal us from above too," Tristan continued, ignoring Cylia. "Perfect. That is precisely what we need them to do."

"You must be out of your mind," Lord Aryan hissed and chaos broke once more among the attending leaders.

Tristan clenched his fists, before he struck the table before him as hard as he could.

"I am not finished!" Tristan bellowed, forcing everyone into silence. "They do not know we have the aid of the Esserian states, you morons!"

"Right, like you haven't told your Northern pet about it ages ago," Cylia scoffed.

"I have not. He doesn't know anything about the extra forces."

"Are you sure?" Edward asked calmly.

"I am perfectly sure. That is why during our last meeting I told him that we were having a rest for a few days before the attack. I never mentioned that we were waiting for the Esserians to arrive."

"So you didn't really trust your Northern pet after all," Cylia sneered.

"I was rather being cautious."

"And what happens after we let the Northmen enclose us from all directions?" one of the elder leaders asked.

"It's clear, isn't it?" Tristan said. "The Esserian forces will ambush them, encircling them in return. And the Northmen will be trapped inside out, and above. Our forces will push them from the inside, while the Esserians will crush them in from the outside.

"Brilliant," Edward smiled.

"Well, you're not as stupid as I thought after all," Cylia said, finally not yelling.

"One last thing," Tristan said before the meeting was dismissed. "I want Mikal alive."

"What the fuck? You still want to save that bastard?" Cylia asked.

"Yes. So I can torture him to a terrible death myself," Tristan said, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

***

Tristan stood at the head of his army, his eyes scanning the opposing forces through his horned helmet. But Mikal was not there. A fucking coward. Fueled by more rage than he could hold back, Tristan raised his sword and cried out, giving the signal to attack.

The two armies clashed, steel ringing as swords met, men crying as blades pierced through flesh. Tristan fought like the furious beast he was, cutting through every creature in his way. With every strike he aimed, his eyes searched for a glimpse of short silver hair. He swung his double hooked sword without pause, severing heads and wings as he pushed through the Northern forces, leading his men into the middle. But Mikal was still nowhere to be found.

Axes and spiked clubs started to appear before him, and he realized that he was amid Kassarathi lines. Brutal savages who swept through without caution. Tristan stopped searching for Mikal at that point, focusing on staying alive beneath the brute force of the eastern demons. He maneuvered his way between them, barely avoiding the fatal blows that aimed towards his head. His massive hooked sword was as good as their axes, and he continued to cut off limbs and pull out guts as he led the majority of his forces through, right into the enemy's trap.

It started turning a bit dark, and Tristan realized that the winged Northmen were now flying above them, blocking out the sky. Perfect. He continued to fight, and it got darker and darker as the enemy closed in further. Tristan found himself being pushed back more fiercely along with his forces, and he figured that Cylia must have given the signal, and the Esserian forces were now doing their work, trapping the enemy from outside. 

Tristan cried out and continued fighting, pushing back the enemy from inside, crushing them. But what had seemed to be a hopeful plan was not exactly working as he anticipated. There was barely room to move, and the air grew thick with dust and blood. Tristan found himself struggling to breathe. Many of the Vausterians got stuck between the pushing forces from both sides, and were crushed to death along with the enemy. And many others perished as they stood suffocating within the airless trap.

"Push back!" Tristan cried, urging his men to keep fighting back. It would be most ironic if they got themselves defeated within their own trap.

Tristan and his men stood their ground and kept pushing and killing, their blades impaling the enemy as they pushed through their lines, slicing endless bodies.

They had barely gained a little more ground, before Tristan found a blade falling right above his head. He only caught a glimpse of massive wings before he was knocked out of the way. And the next moment he found Jared falling to the ground with a long slash across his chest, trampled by the swarming bodies of Vausterians as they struggled to push the enemy back.

"Jared!" Tristan cried out. But there was neither time nor room to save him, as Tristan found himself getting swept with his forces, where they kept pushing and pushing against the enemy. It was getting darker, the pressure increasing. He was suffocating. He was going to die...

And suddenly the pressure was lifted. 

Tristan gasped for breath as air finally found its way back to his lungs. 

And with the hazy vision of a man who had almost just suffocated to death, he vaguely saw that the enemy lines started to clear before him. Light flashed in from above, and he noticed there were several openings in the enemy's winged lines above him as well. It happened sooner than he expected. And it was happening quickly. Very quickly. Then Tristan realized that most of the enemy forces were fleeing.

The Kassarathi were abandoning the Northmen. Thousands of Kassarathi took to the sky and flew away, leaving a mere thousand helpless Northmen to be crushed by the Vausterian forces. But even that did not last for long. The Northmen too finding themselves trapped in a hopeless fight, started to flee as well.

It was an easy victory. Much easier than Tristan had anticipated. He raised his blood dripping sword up and cried out, his bellow echoing through the battle field, followed by thundering cheers of triumph.

They had won. They had taken Grytia.

***

The first thing Tristan did when he entered through the castle gates was head straight to Olivea's grave. Still drenched in blood, and sword still in hand, he knelt down before her tombstone and cried. Perhaps that had been his sole motivation to win this battle. So he could stand once more before his beloved wife's grave.

A night, the castle walls shook with celebration. Music blasted within the great hall and wine flowed endlessly over the tables. Tristan sat at the head of the main banquet table surrounded by his friends and army leaders. Earlier this morning he had been met by their angry protests, but now they all gathered around him showering him with praise.

With the Kassarathi gone, and the Northmen defeated, Lord Frederik and his family had once again fled the castle, escaping before the Vausterian forces got hold of them. But Tristan didn't care. Whatever their fate was, it would not make a difference anymore. With the Kassarathi abandoning them, there was probably no hope for them to ever retrieve Grytia again. Grytia was now his own for good.

He raised his cup of wine and toasted for Grytia.

"For Grytia!" The hall shook as the men returned the toast.

"That coward. He didn't even show up for battle," Cylia said, instantly upsetting Tristan's light mood. Being reminded of Mikal now was not exactly the best idea. This was supposed to be a celebration. And the mere thought of Mikal made his blood boil with rage. The traitor.

"I'm not done yet," Tristan said, almost to himself. I will find you Mikal Nordstrom. And I will kill you.

The celebrations lasted for a whole week, not only at the castle, but throughout the whole city. To the common citizens of Grytia, Tristan was not an invader. He was their savior. A fellow human who came to liberate them from the tyrants who had oppressed them. 

Just as he had done the last time he took the city, Tristan started his rule by cancelling a number of taxes and declaring the right of every citizen to a share in the gold produced by the Grytian mines. He forbade the harrowing practices of mine slavery, reserving the strenuous mining labor to abled prisoners and willing strong men, with fair wages and reasonable shifts. Moreover, he granted the humans of Grytia the right to join King William's army, with an impressive income in return. No wonder Tristan's name was cheered throughout the entire city for the whole week.

With the endless duties that accompanied his reclaimed role as a Lord, Tristan barely had time to blink. And yet he never stopped thinking of her...

How stupid he was!

How stupid he was, for ever kissing her like that, the night before he left Vausterland. He should have known he would not be able to stop himself if he gave in to her. He wanted her. Oh, how much he wanted her. But he could not have her. Because he had promised not to love any woman other than Olivea.

And yet as the nights fell, Tristan would still think of Alina. Of sweet honey eyes and soft lips. And a delicate warm body pressed against him as they shared a passionate kiss...

************

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