Oldstones reeked of blood, corpses, and death. The air was oppressive and heavy.
A room in the castle that had been barely cleared out enough to qualify as one had become a makeshift command center.
Rosso Brune stood before Suleiman. Blood and dust smeared across his face could not hide his grave expression, and his voice was hoarse. "My lord, we have preliminary casualty figures."
"Our allied forces suffered a total of 1,237 casualties, nearly 800 of them killed."
Rosso paused, seemingly giving the assembled men time to take it in.
"More than 850 Ironborn deaths have been confirmed. Our combat losses were almost one to one."
It was a miracle! Lymond Lychester drew a sharp breath. The figure stunned him. No lord on the mainland had ever mobilized his people and traded blows with the Ironborn at such a ratio.
But Suleiman's reaction differed from Lymond's. He looked pained, and Rosso's next words were a true blow.
"Another 400-odd men were lost when, during the chaos of this afternoon's fighting, more than 400 levied peasant soldiers from various houses fled."
Suleiman's brows knitted together, and unconcealed worry appeared on his face. Four hundred men had run away in a single battle. It was a stab to his heart.
Under the feudal system, an army might be able to muster some fighting spirit when defending its own villages and castles. But once it was far from home, fighting a war that had no direct bearing on its own interests, it was unrealistic to expect these hastily conscripted farmers to fight like the army of a unified kingdom.
The advantage, however, was that a kingdom under the feudal system was difficult for an outside force to destroy in a single blow or rule outright. Resistance could be found everywhere. But that