The King and the War Dancer

Desperado

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Horsemen flying the red banners of the ottoman army and a white truce flag rode towards King Enrik's camp.

Enrik swore and ran his fingers through his hair when the scout reported the approaching party. He ordered for a basin of water and a towel to wipe away the five-day old grime, blood and stench of the battlefield.

He and his men had not had a break from the enemy's onslaught till now, they had to be ever vigilant since they stepped into the heart of the northern territory. His appearance had depreciated forcing large bags to appear under his reddened eyes, with mud and blood caked almost every visible patch of his skin. But he looked no different from any of his soldiers; tired, worn out, and worse, beaten down.

He was dabbing at his face with the towel when the sound of horses and his men's unsettled murmurs outside his tent reached his ear.

Enrik took a deep breath and went out to meet his opponent who had come for either peaceful negotiations or to demand his surrender. He heavily doubted it was the former as he approached the party standing proudly in the middle of his army's encampment. His soldiers subconsciously edged around them to witness the exchange. As he reached them, he saw his personal guards muster behind him, tense and on high alert.

Enrik grit his teeth when he saw the four traitorous northern noblemen standing beside the enemy soldiers. Dressed in northern styled furs and smirking at him as he and his guards stood before them. He bit his inner cheeks to stop the rant that boiled his insides at the sight of them and steeled his expression.

"I am General Bligt Murad Tlav the XIV, commander of the undeafeated Fire Calvary of the Ottoman forces. I believe you already acquainted with these fine noblemen of your country so I will introduce the others. Before you stands all the sub-commanders of my calvary divisions," said the Ottoman soldier standing in front of the small group, his armor looked slightly different with more red sashes and a feather tipped skull helmet.

Enrik's attention turned to the vocal man who was pointing to the five other men with similar but less flamboyant Ottoman armor by his side. Enrik chided himself mentally for allowing anger to tunnel his vision to the point where he overlooked the enemy commander. He turned to acknowledge his enemy.

"Yes and I am King Enrik D' Ramses  VII, the..."

"We know who you are, your majesty," cut in one of his former nobles mockingly.

King Enrik held back the torrent of anger threatening to burst through. He had to remain calm for his people.

"I've come to take your surrender," stated General Bligt Murad Tlav.

"You are surrounded by our combined forces of 98000 men, your soldiers will not survive our continuous barrage. You can either surrender now and face our merciful ruler or continue fighting then we will burn your whole country to the ground," the Ottoman commander continued.

Enrik knew what he had to do, he did not need a seer to tell him, he knew what was expected of a disgraced monarch who could not protect his people. After just eight days of fighting his army of 40000 soldiers quickly dwindled to just over 19200. The Ottomen had overpowered them with sheer numbers but what sealed their fate was fighting their own traitorous countrymen who knew the northern terrains far too well and used this knowledge to lay traps, predict his plans, find his scouts and ambush squads and cut off his supplies while attacking them at the points they knew his army was vunerable. Worse still, one of the traitorous noblemen was one of his former war strategists.

This war was basically a wide-spread slaughter of his men and the northern villagers he was trying to protect. If he continued to fight, he feared some of his own soldiers may turn on him and hand him over to the Ottoman army anyway.