Herald of Steel

As a single general for the campaign could not be agreed upon because of the fragmented and fractious nature of the nobles, Amenheraft’s proposed method seemed to be the best possible solution.

This compromised command structure did not fully please any group, but at least placated most, even Faruq, who viewed his given authority as being adequate.

And as for the obvious question of ‘why Maizdy could be chosen’ but ‘not Muazz’, ignoring the mindset he was in, unqualified to even lead a village of peasants, nevermind a full army,

it was because –

One-Muazz had his chance once and chose his son as the general,

Two- he was a terrible commander,

And three, most importantly, the nobles did not want to see this man use their army to get his city back.

They wanted to be the ones to retake Zanzan, and then metaphorically slaughter the fat Pasha in exchange for it, using absurd trade deals, huge land reallotment, peerage increases, and even just a huge lump sum of money.

Muazz knew this very well, which was why he tried at the very beginning to get Manuk to be the leader, who would be subordinated to Amenheraft, and one who would likely deal him the most generous terms.

But as it could be seen, that did not happen, much to Muazz’s disappointment.

Anyway, it was what it was.

And with this heavy topic out of the way, the talk about transportation came up.

“These fifty-five thousand (55,000) men…we will need about 600 ships to carry all of them and the accompanying supplies. Can that small port handle so many ships?” A noble raised his concern.

“Also, will that port even be usable? The nobles who were supposed to make that sure are all dead,” Another chimed in.

“Or safe? One or two of the cowards might have talked,” A third noble hypothesized.

All these were valid concerns that if were true could seriously hamper the campaign.

But Faruq boisterously brushed these off, waving his arm and saying, “None of those are of much concern. I have been to Hatamum, and its water can handle fifteen to twenty ships at a time. So we will be fully unloaded in two to three days.”

He then further added, “And even if Hatamum is occupied, it will not be too big a problem. I have been to Zanzan a lot of times due to work and know its coastline very well. There are many shallows close around which will do the job just fine.”

Faruq sounded very confident about the disembarkment.

After all, the ships of this time did not need deep water harbors to port.

Only some coastline not infested with coral was adequate.

Faruq’s confident speech affected and convinced most, who praised, “Ohh, then that’s good. We are relieved.”

But one of the particularly detail-oriented nobles raised the query, “I remember that the waters around Zanzan got dangerous in this season. So if it’s not Hatamum, but some other place, will it be safe? How will be the weather?”

These were very good questions, but the person to whom this was posed was very weird.

Because it was done not to the experienced Faruq but to Amenheraft!

And Amenheraft very assertively responded, “The oracles say of dreaming about a rooster being there to greet us when we land. So the weather is predicted to be sunny and the skies crystal clear. God Ramuh is with us.”

These oracles were priestesses, preferably virgins who would be presented with a question, usually from the king or a high-level noble or even regular folk for a fee, who would then ingest various psychedelic flora or fauna such as particular mushrooms or wild berries or inhale fumes of sulfur or such, to get first high and wasted.

Then they would ramble about whatever crazy hallucinations their minds would conjure up in that state, which would be taken as ‘visions and messages from the Gods’ that could be then interpreted by specialized priests to give an answer in the form of a prediction.

And as anyone half smart could guess, these predictions would be 99% garbage.

But, like how even a broken clock shows the correct time twice, they would get lucky in that 1%.

Which would be then used as evidence to defend against anyone daring to bring up the ludicrousness of it all.

Or there was always the simple and time-tested excuse of, ‘If the prediction failed, then you must have misread the signs. Do not blame the gods. Blame yourself for your shortcomings.’

After all, these ‘signs’ and ‘dreams’ and ‘ramblings’ were not clear-cut answers.

You could interpret them in any way you wanted.

And this was an art the priests and soothsayers had mastered over generations.

Take this very rooster prediction for example.

First of all, seeing a wild rooster in the countryside or around the shore was nothing uncommon.

So the choice of bird was ingenious for the oracle.

Then came the interpreting it.

And it could be read any way you liked.

It could be interpreted as there being a bird on the beaches calling out to signal the rise of the sun, hence the clear weather prediction.

Or conversely, it could be read as the rooster warning the ships to stay away because of bad weather.

So which one was it?

And who decided that?

Well, your answer would be good as mine.

But as a guideline, it depended on the particular priest’s interpretation, his status, as a higher priest could unilaterally throw his lesser’s prediction out, and most importantly of all, on who was asking the question.

For example, if it was a king looking for the blessing of the gods to start his next campaign, and he had just donated a large amount of gold to your temple, you did not say no.

And vice versa, holding back on a prediction or using its results to fleece coin out of the king was a time-honored tradition. .

And an entire industry had grown out of this scamming art, with the oracles even getting lectures on what to say in their dream-like state.

“Haha, good, good. Then there will be no problem. God is with us, God is with us,” The issue about the weather was laid to rest with just Amenehraft’s prediction.

Because for the nobles, that was sufficient.

This took care of the transportation, and going by sequence, the next question would be regarding the battle and the tactics to be employed.

But there were too many variables involved, and without knowing the terrain and the opposing force, it would be too hard to talk about.

Besides, most figured there would be no large-scale battle, but that the cowardly Alexander would choose to hole himself up inside Zanzan and start a siege.

Hence the next question raised was the capture of the city.

“My lords, have we decided we are going to retake the city? Will there be a siege?”

This query was laced with unwillingness as if the nobles did not prefer a lengthy siege.

“*Sigh*, it is too bad that this attack could not be kept a secret. It would have been so much easier to take the city then,” A lament of regret unconsciously flowed out from one of the nobles immediately hearing this.

They were sure that if they had managed to get the jump on Alexander, leaving him with only two to three days to prepare his defenses rather than the two to three weeks, getting Zanzan would have been a cinch.

But as the nobles assumed that some, if not all of the information regarding the attack had been leaked given Maizdy’s big mouth, that would likely not be possible.

And though they underestimated Maizdy in this respect, they were right in their conclusion.

The loss of stealth was a bit of a downer for many, who had assumed they could just waltz up to the walls unimpeded.

And now that that opinion was gone, the question raised was, “So how are we going to take it? Do we need Siege towers? Because I remember Pasha Muazz bragging how thick and formidable his city’s walls were.”

As well as posing this inquiry, that particular noble did not forget to have a poke at the ‘downtrodden’ Pasha Muazz.

Because Pasha Muazz could not deny his claims in fear of losing face, but also not brag about it because it will be their soldiers who will be dying under those very same walls.

But though clever, that particular noble had underestimated this former Pasha’s shamelessness.

“Hahaha, indeed Zanzan’s walls were formidable under me. Because it had 100,000 people ready to defend it.”

“But now it’s a ghost city with less than 20,000. And even that is made of the weak, infirm, and plague-ridden wastes. Those walls are nothing!” Muazz waved his flabby arms in a display of strength and masculinity.

Only god knew where Pasha Muazz got his information from, but as the Pasha of Zanzan, his intelligence was assumed to be right and accurate by all.

“Hahaha, yes, yes. After all, the greatest walls are nothing if not manned. We will be able to simply scale it like a child crawls up to his mother’s lap, hehe,” One of Muazz’s lackeys was there to be his boss’s wingman.

“Fifty-five thousand men (55,000) to take a city of twenty thousand (20,000). That should be enough,” Matbar (Marquis) Ulmek’s son Ural commented while tracing the stubble on his chin, feeling a simple ladder rush would be enough to overwhelm the defenders.