Falcon

"Halt!"

"Rest your horses!"

The dust-covered Kurdish cavalry halted their advance in the desert. It was not a good place to rest, offering no shade whatsoever.

Abdullah looked up with a grave expression. "That eagle has been circling overhead for a long time."

Above the troop, an eagle circled back and forth.

Indeed, it had been for quite some time.

Lothar inquired, "Can we shoot it down?"

"No, that flat-feathered beast is too cunning and flies too high."

Abdullah pulled back the bow and arrows hanging from his saddlebag, took aim, and shook his head. "It seems we're in for a bloody battle."

"Let's hope it's just a coincidence."

"No, Lothar, there are no coincidences on the battlefield. If you think there are, treat them as enemy stratagems. Besides, training eagles is an Arab tradition."

"In this desert, no raptor would be circling over a living troop unless it was a specially trained falcon."

"I understand."

Lothar, ever amenable, immediately shouted his orders. "Rest the troops, change mounts, and prepare for engagement."

He was the nominal commander of this Kurdish cavalry, and he never hesitated to issue commands.

Even though he knew that with a single word from Abdullah, this cavalry troop would abandon him, their nominal commander, and obey Abdullah's orders instead.

Yet, he still absorbed experience and lessons from this precious practical opportunity like a sponge squeezed dry.

He hoped to quickly learn how to be a qualified cavalry commander and how to fight in this desert.

Abdullah was well aware of this and had been teaching Lothar without reservation.

Of course, if Lothar had been a proud and arrogant noble son of a Crusader, he would never have received such treatment.

Had he been overly bossy or given reckless orders, he might even have been killed in this desert without hesitation by these "subordinates."

Lothar took out the high-quality feed from his saddlebag to replenish his mount's stamina.

After the continuous journey, this magnificent Arabian warhorse had broken out in a fine sweat, its mane soaked through. It certainly couldn't carry him into a charge anymore.

Even the spare mount, not currently carrying anyone, was far from being in good condition.

"How can this weary army face the enemy?"

Lothar frowned, looking at the swallowtail banner on his lance. With it, a desperate flight to shake off the enemy wasn't impossible.

But the problem was, what would they do if they encountered the enemy again?

They weren't far from the heartland of Ayyubid rule in Syria.

At this moment, Lothar's expression changed slightly. "They've come, as expected."

In the distance, dust billowed into the sky.

The heavy hoofbeats made the sand and stones on the ground tremble.

The System's prompt sounded:

Milestone Activated: One Against a Hundred (Successfully break through a cavalry force of over one hundred men single-handedly).

Lothar cursed inwardly. One against a hundred, my ass. Do they think I'm Lü Bu reborn?

Abdullah stopped beside Lothar and said softly in the Gallic tongue, "A general must not show joy, anger, sorrow, or fear. You must have confidence at all times."

Lothar was startled, realizing his oversight.

Over a hundred cavalrymen, kicking up rolling yellow sand, stopped not far away.

Their iron armor gleamed, and their weapons formed a forest.

Behind the cavalry, a large camel train followed slowly, accompanied by the melodious sound of bells.

It was clear that this cavalry troop had traveled by camel and only changed to warhorses nearby.

In the desert, camels had far greater endurance and carrying capacity than horses, making them more suitable for long journeys.

This meant their mounts' stamina was still very high.

Lothar carefully observed the enemy's armor and equipment. Seeing that most of it was disorganized, he breathed a slight sigh of relief.

They weren't elites like the Mamluks.

This cavalry troop was complex in composition, and their equipment was varied.

Short spears, mace-spears, sabers, straight swords, composite bows.

Kite shields, round shields.

Golden lamellar armor, black scale armor, khaki cloth armor.

They were certainly not an elite force with unified equipment and tactics like the Mamluks.

But that didn't mean they would be easy to deal with.

Lothar glanced back at his men. As expected, every one of the battle-hardened Kurdish cavalrymen wore a grim expression.

They knew all too well that their exhausted force stood little chance against an enemy that was well-rested and far superior in numbers.

It was obvious: Kawkab's men had used a falcon to notify this group of enemies to intercept them.

Lothar just couldn't understand.

Why, in this border region between the Sasanians and the Ayyubids, a place known for its shifting allegiances, would someone risk offending Saladin to ambush their elite unit?

The cost-benefit analysis just didn't add up!

"By the Holy Fire, we are cavalry under King Saladin! Who are you?"

Abdullah spurred his mount forward, his booming voice echoing across the desert plain.

The enemy leader, a man clad in golden lamellar armor, urged his horse forward and slowly approached.

He raised his riding whip and shouted angrily:

"So, you are Saladin's dogs! This is imperial territory under the rule of the King of Kings. Your unauthorized crossing and assassination of an imperial governor are unforgivable crimes. If you hand over the possessions you plundered from Kawkab, perhaps I'll spare your lives."

Lothar urged his mount forward and shouted:

"Coward, dare you reveal your name? Not far ahead is Irbid, personally garrisoned by Lord Savotding. If you dare attack us, Lord Savotding will not forgive you."

Lothar had completely abandoned the idea of escape. Once their mounts' stamina was depleted, the entire cavalry unit would have no ability to fight back.

Besides, they were at least a hundred miles from Irbid. And they weren't truly under Saladin's command.

But the enemy leader clearly didn't know this, and his expression was somewhat serious.

The "Lord Savotding" Lothar mentioned was Saladin's nephew.

He was also Saladin's appointed governor of Syria and had recently advanced into the former territory of the County of Edessa, subjugating several Turkic princes.

He was a renowned figure in this region.

"With that terrible Kurdish, you must be a Frank. When did a Mamluk start giving orders in Saladin's army?"

The enemy leader sneered.

The Franks were actually the Arabs' collective term for the people of Gaul, Albion, and Germania.

Lothar hadn't expected his painstakingly practiced Kurdish to be immediately recognized as poor.

The reason the enemy mistook him for a Mamluk was that at this time, a significant number of Saladin's Mamluks were abducted Franks.

Especially from the Poor Crusades, who had nothing but themselves.

After being plundered by the Turkic cavalry entrenched in Asia Minor, they were often sold into slavery to Sasanians, Ayyubids, and even some princes and nobles in North Africa.

Lothar stopped speaking, exchanged a glance with Abdullah, signaling him to stall for time, and retreated back into the ranks.

The highest level of a lie is to make oneself believe it.

Lothar now felt as if he were a trusted subordinate of Savotding, his sole objective being to delay for time, waiting for Savotding to send reinforcements.

"Your Excellency, have you truly decided to become an enemy of my lord?"

Abdullah drew his Damascus saber: "We only took a quarter of an hour to capture Kawkab's castle. How long do you think it will take you to deal with us?"

The enemy leader frowned deeply.

He opened his hand.

A clear falcon cry.

A falcon descended from the sky, its sharp talons gripping the leather armor on his arm.

Abdullah added fuel to the fire: "We only have this small group of people. How much wealth can we possibly carry away? The truly valuable items remain in Kawkab's wooden fort."

"If you are a wise man, you should know what to choose now."

"Will you attack this small but tough nut to crack, or go for the truly rich prize? The choice is yours."

The next moment, the Kurdish cavalry drew their swords and lances, and in unison, they shouted a phrase in Kurdish.

There was no sign of the exhaustion from days of travel.

A surge of fierce courage made the enemy opposite them look on with surprise.