Falcon

"Halt!"

"Rest in place!"

The dust-covered Kurdish cavalry troop came to a stop in the desert. With not a single leaf to provide shade, this was truly a terrible place to rest.

Abdullah raised his head with a grave expression. "That eagle has been circling above us for a long time."

Above the troop, a male eagle circled back and forth.

It had indeed been there for quite a while.

Lothar asked, "Can you shoot it down?"

"No. That flat-feathered beast is cunning and flying too high."

Abdullah drew the bow hanging from his saddlebag and tried to take aim, but then shook his head. "It seems we're about to face a bloody battle."

"Hopefully, it's just a coincidence."

"No, Lothar. There is no such word as coincidence on the battlefield. If there is, treat it as the enemy's scheme. Besides, falconry is an Arab tradition."

"In this desert, no bird of prey would circle above a living troop unless it was a trained hunting falcon."

"I understand."

Lothar took the advice readily and immediately shouted his orders. "Rest the troop, switch mounts, and prepare for battle!"

He was the Kurdish cavalry troop's nominal commander, and he had never been stingy about giving orders.

Although he knew that with a single command from Abdullah, this cavalry troop would immediately abandon him, their figurehead commander, and obey Abdullah instead.

Still, like a sponge wrung dry, he absorbed experience and lessons from this precious opportunity for practice.

He hoped to learn as quickly as possible—how to become a qualified cavalry commander, and how to fight in this desert.

Abdullah understood this clearly as well and had taught Lothar without reservation.

Of course, if Lothar had been some arrogant, self-righteous Crusader noble brat, he would never have received such treatment.

If he had meddled excessively and issued reckless orders, these nominal "subordinates" might even have killed him without hesitation in this desert.

Lothar took out the concentrated feed from his saddlebag and replenished his mount's strength.

After traveling nonstop, the powerful Arabian warhorse was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and even much of its mane was soaked. It certainly could not carry him into another charge.

Even the spare horse, the one that had not been carrying a rider, was far from being in good condition.

"How is this exhausted force supposed to fight the enemy?"

Lothar frowned deeply and looked at the swallow-tailed banner on his lance. With it, it might not have been impossible to flee for their lives and shake off the enemy.

But the question was, what would they do if they encountered enemies again afterward?

They were not far from the heartland of Ayyubid rule in Syria.

At that moment, Lothar's expression suddenly changed. "They're here after all."

In the distance, dust filled the sky.

Heavy hoofbeats made the sand and stones on the ground tremble faintly.

The system notification sounded:

Milestone activated: One Against a Hundred (single-handedly break through a cavalry troop of more than one hundred men).

Lothar cursed inwardly. To hell with One Against a Hundred. Do you really think I'm Lü Bu reborn?

Abdullah stopped beside Lothar and said quietly in Gaulish, "A commander must not show joy, anger, sorrow, or fear on his face. No matter when, you must have confidence."

Lothar was startled and realized his oversight.

More than a hundred cavalrymen, trailing billowing yellow dust, stopped not far away.

Their iron armor gleamed, and their blades and spears stood like a forest.

Behind the cavalry was a large camel caravan, slowly following along to the melodious sound of bells.

Clearly, this cavalry troop had traveled here by camel and only switched to warhorses nearby.

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

In other words, their mounts were still full of stamina.

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

They were not elites like the Mamluks.

This cavalry troop had a complicated makeup, and their equipment was equally varied.

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

Kite shields, round shields.

Golden lamellar armor, black scale armor, earth-yellow cloth armor.

They were absolutely not an elite force like the Mamluks, whose equipment and tactics were highly standardized.

But that did not mean they would be easy to deal with.

Lothar looked back at the others. Sure enough, every battle-hardened Kurdish cavalryman wore a grave expression.

They knew very well that their exhausted force would have a difficult time contending against enemies who were fresh and far more numerous.

The matter was obvious. Kawkab's men had used a hunting falcon to notify this group of enemies and intercept them.

Lothar simply did not understand something.

Why would anyone in this borderland between the Sassanids and the Ayyubids, a place where most people were fence-sitters, risk offending Saladin to ambush and kill such an elite troop?

The cost was completely disproportionate to the reward!

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

Abdullah urged his horse forward, his booming voice echoing across the Gobi Desert.

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

He raised his riding whip and shouted angrily:

"So it really is you Saladin lapdogs. This is imperial territory under the rule of the King of Kings. You crossed the border without cause and slew an imperial governor. Your crimes are unforgivable. If you hand over the wealth you stole from Kawkab, perhaps I may spare your lives."

Lothar urged his horse forward and shouted:

"Coward, do you dare announce your name? Not far ahead is Irbid, personally garrisoned by Lord Savotding. If you dare lay a hand on us, Lord Savotding will not forgive you."

Lothar had completely abandoned any thought of fleeing, because once their mounts' stamina was exhausted, the entire cavalry troop would lose all ability to fight back.

Moreover, Irbid was at least a hundred li away, and they were not truly under Saladin's command.

But the enemy leader clearly did not know that, and his expression grew somewhat grave.

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

He was also the governor of Syria appointed by Saladin. Not long ago, he had marched into territory once belonging to the County of Edessa and cowed several Turkic princes.

In this region, his name was renowned.

"With that clumsy Kurdish, you're a Frank, aren't you? Since when did Saladin's army let a Mamluk call the shots?"

The enemy leader's face was full of contempt.

Franks was actually the collective term Arabs used for the peoples of Gaul, Albion, and Germania.

Lothar had not expected that the Kurdish he had painstakingly practiced would be exposed as clumsy at once.

As for why the other side had mistaken him for a Mamluk, it was because quite a number of the Mamluks under Saladin at this time were Franks who had been abducted and sold.

This was especially true for the Poor Crusades. They possessed nothing, and their only wealth was themselves.

Thus, after being plundered by Turkic cavalry entrenched in Asia Minor, they were often sold as slaves to nobles and princes in the Sassanids, the Ayyubids, and even North Africa.

Lothar said no more. He exchanged a glance with Abdullah, signaling him to stall for time, then retreated into the troop.

The highest realm of a lie was making even oneself believe it.

At that moment, Lothar truly seemed to regard himself as Savotding's trusted subordinate. His only goal was to stall for time and wait for Savotding to send troops to rescue them.

"Has Your Excellency truly set your heart on becoming our lord's enemy?"

Abdullah drew the Damascus saber in his hand. "It took us only a quarter of an hour to capture Kawkab's castle. How long do you think you would need to deal with us?"

The enemy leader's brows furrowed deeply.

He extended his arm.

A sharp eagle cry rang out.

The hunting falcon swooped down from the sky, its sharp talons gripping the leather armor on his arm.

Abdullah pressed his advantage. "There are so few of us. How much wealth could we possibly carry away? The truly valuable things are still in Kawkab's wooden fort."

"If Your Excellency is a smart man, you should know what choice to make now."

"Whether you attack us, a small but tough bone to chew, or feast on truly rich meat is entirely your choice."

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

They showed not the slightest sign of exhaustion from days of travel.

Their fierce valor made the enemies opposite them look over in alarm.