The Grey Pass was a natural deathtrap. The canyon walls rose a hundred feet on either side, steep and unforgiving. The floor was narrow, wide enough for two wagons abreast but no more. It was a place that suffocated the sweeping cavalry tactics of the Royal Knights, forcing their disciplined lines into a cramped, vulnerable column. Captain Valerius, in his haste and arrogance, saw only the quickest route back to the civilized lands. He saw a road. I saw a tomb.
Ren's signal came as the last of the wagons cleared the entrance to the pass. A single, bright flash of reflected sunlight from the high peak. The serpent was in.
I relayed the signal from my position on the wall to Kai, whose archers were hidden along the canyon's western ridge. The command was not mine alone; it was a symphony of coordinated silence.
The first volley was not aimed at the knights, but at their horses. Kai's archers were masters of this cruel art. A hundred arrows hissed through the air, silent messengers of death. The effect was instantaneous and devastating. The massive warhorses, their unarmored legs and necks pierced by the barbed arrowheads, screamed in pain and terror. They bucked, reared, and collapsed, throwing their heavily armored riders to the ground. The front of the column dissolved into a screaming, thrashing chaos of dying animals and trapped, immobile knights.
Before the knights could even comprehend what was happening, the second part of the trap was sprung. From the eastern ridge, Ulf and the Ironpeak warriors gave a mighty heave. With a deafening, grinding roar, a meticulously prepared rockslide thundered down into the pass, sealing the exit. Boulders the size of houses crashed down, blocking the path of retreat and raising a thick, impenetrable cloud of dust.
The trap was now sealed. The Royal Knights were caught, their formation shattered, their mobility eliminated, their escape route blocked.
Then came the hammer. From hidden ravines on both sides of the pass, Borin and the Oakhaven infantry charged, their shield wall a solid, disciplined line of iron and wood. Simultaneously, the Ironpeak warriors, their heavy axes and hammers in hand, charged from the other side. They slammed into the flanks of the disorganized knights.
The battle of the Grey Pass was not a duel of honor. It was a slaughter. The Royal Knights, so formidable on an open field, were helpless. A knight in full plate armor, unhorsed and on foot, is a clumsy, slow-moving target. In the tight confines of the pass, they could not form a line, they could not charge. They were islands of steel in a sea of our furious, coordinated soldiers.
Borin's shield wall was impenetrable. They advanced with grim, steady steps, their short, heavy spears punching through the gaps in the knights' armor, targeting groins, armpits, and eye-slits. The Ironpeak warriors were a force of pure entropy, their massive hammers crushing helmets and breastplates with sickening crunches. They fought with the joyous rage of men who had spent their lives being told they were brutes, now unleashed upon the very symbols of the authority that scorned them.
Above it all, Kai's archers provided a constant, deadly rain of arrows, picking off any knight who managed to gain a foothold, sowing ceaseless confusion. It was a perfect execution of my combined arms doctrine. The infantry held the line, the heavy shock troops broke the enemy, and the ranged units controlled the battlefield.
From my command post, I watched the unfolding massacre with a cold, detached clarity. The system fed me tactical data, highlighting enemy weaknesses and troop stamina, but the decisions were mine. I relayed commands via a series of runners and flag signals, adjusting the flow of the battle, directing reserves to shore up a weakening flank, ordering a concentrated volley to break up a cluster of knights trying to rally. This was the ultimate test of my knowledge, and it was working with terrifying efficiency.
Captain Valerius, my 'cousin', was magnificent in his death throes. He managed to rally a handful of his personal guard, forming a small, desperate circle of steel around him. He roared my name, his voice filled with a shocked, impotent fury. He finally understood. He had not been taxed by a broken-spirited bastard. He had been played, lured, and systematically exterminated by a calculating enemy.
Borin himself led the final charge against the captain's position. The one-eyed warrior met the royal knight in a brief, brutal clash of Oakhaven iron against kingdom steel. Borin's shield took a blow that would have shattered a lesser man's arm, but he absorbed it, and his return thrust was swift and true. The Oakhaven Blade, the symbol of our new nation, found the gap between the captain's helm and his gorget, silencing his curses forever.
The death of their commander broke the last vestiges of the knights' resistance. The battle turned into a grim, methodical cleanup. Within an hour of the first arrow being fired, it was over. The Grey Pass was silent, save for the groans of the dying. The serpent of iron and arrogance had been decapitated and dismembered. The King's tax had been emphatically rejected.