A King's Vision
Chapter Two: Red Sands
"Hold!" Amanikhabale was much less friendly, and much grimmer. At his flank, his army marched. They surrounded the city, and made sure no supplies would get in. There was no doubt about what they were going to do. The smell of acrid smoke from the fires his men lit around the countryside told him what he was going to do. He only prayed that their king would be sensible and surrender. Their objective was not to siege Marib. No, that was only a side thought. The real target was a Sabean noble, who had tried to muster new men. They could not allow this. Amanikhabale laid siege to Marib, hoping that their king would surrender. But he knew that was unlikely. Their king was a foolish man, who would try to sacrifice his own people for his safety. But Amanikhabale knew that without reinforcements, sooner or later, Marib would fall. He didn't have sufficient manpower yet, but he knew that he had to stop the noble from recruiting more men. He was alone at the time. This is where Aristenyesbokhe comes into play.
"Aye sir, he cannot run anymore. He has halted, and it seems he intends to fight us." The last words mocked the enemy noble, as the peltast seemed to disbelieve the enemy. "Do they truly believe they can break our will and escape?" The small army of Aristenyesbokhe had no cavalry, but he had no need of them. The enemy noble preferred foot combat, and had no horse at the time, they were able to trap him in, and, threatened with death in combat or death by the desert heat, the noble finally stopped his bodyguard unit and turned to meet his men. They vastly outnumbered him, with three noble sword units, along with five units of levied peltasts, the man was doomed.
When they finally caught up, Aristenyesbokhe gawked at the bodyguard unit. They were fully clad in bronze scale, and some had iron masks covering their features. Their capes were green, and their helmets of silver. Their shields, wicker, yet their swords were straight, and wicked. Compared to the Himyarian Noble Swordsmen, whose swords were shorter, and who wore only scale mail, the nobles of the Sabeans seemed to outmatch them. However, the Himyarian nobles had a major advantage, their shields. Their shields were bronze, and they were constructed to be similar to the Greek aspis shield, round and powerful. Not only that, but their peltasts would reduce their numbers.
Looking at his men, Aristenyesbokhe decided to give a speech, taunting the enemy within it, "Look at our enemy, men! This is why the Sabeans fail to ambush our men! Their capes are green, and are much more suited for trees than our vast desert! Look upon their arrogant faces, some hide them, in shame of their deeds! Let us, then, show them the folly of their ways! Let us show them true men, true steel, and true strength! Make ready! Attack!"
Charging ahead, the levied peltasts charged forward, their light leather clothing allowing them far greater mobility than the nobles, whom they left behind. They were eager to fight, and eager to hear shrieks of terror from the enemy when their javelins pierced their weak hearts.
Amanikhalika was no fool. There was no way of surviving this encounter. Cut off by the army of Amanikhabale, he was trapped, and he could not run. But he would not die as Arimyar, killed by those dishonorable curs, who waited to cause war just to kill him! But he would die as a soldier, a warrior, and a noble to the last. He only wished that he knew. Some mercenaries would be priceless here, but he had no time. The lords he had sent to gather troops did not return, and wouldn't after hearing of his death. "Stay strong. The enemy approaches! They come, like a horde of locusts, devouring everything within their path! Remember, the death of valiant Arimyar, slain by a dishonorable assassin! Remember, we will not live this battle, but we will crush their spirits! We will show them our steel, and we will kill every single last one of them that we can before their cowardice stabs us in the back!" Roaring with anger, his men surged forth as the peltasts began their first wave. Already, three of his men were pelted with javelins, and more peltasts started moving in from the side; they were going to fire at them in the back! Roaring in anger, Amanikhalika grabbed his sword, and jammed it into the side of a peltast whose unit commander had gotten cocky, hoping to break his men's morale with a frontal charge. It only fueled to make Amanikhalika's men laugh, and made them fight even more zealously, as they were determined to end the lives of these arrogant skirmishers, who wore little armor to protect themselves.
However, it was soon apparent that it was a trap. No sooner had he dislodged his blade from his foe, when the high quality noble swordsmen crashed into his troops, initiating a bloody melee. At that moment, javelins flew from the sides, killing his men like flies in a storm, unable to combat their cowardly opponents. Slowly but surely, his men died, as he saw his comrades die at the hands of the enemy. The Himyarian nobles used their shields to their advantage, bashing his men, and then slashing them when down. Their wicker shields were no mach for the aspis replica, and it showed. However, he knew that each unit had a unit commander, and he was dedicated to killing him. Seeing the telltale sign of silver scale instead of their traditional bronze scale, he leapt into action, and charged forward, yelling furiously. All around him, his men were killed, killed by the shield, the sword, or the javelins that rained upon them. The noble commander was caught off guard, and Amanikhalika bore upon him with vengeance. However, the commander merely smiled, and Amanikhalika's life ended in the rain of three javelins lodged in his heart.
"M-Mercy! Mercy!" They had already stripped the nobles of their armor, and their swords, even their shields. Aristenyesbokhe was impatient, "Where did you get these armaments!?" The man looked fearfully up at him; three minutes ago his comrades were all killed as they fled, javelins relentlessly pursuing them, "S-sir, I do not know!" Aristenyesbokhe's shield was iron, and had a spike in the center, which he promptly used to jam into the leg of the prisoner, "Liar! Tell me, who supplied you with these armaments?! I swear to God I will kill your family and raze your city to the ground!" The man screeched out, "Nabatea sir! Nabatean merchants sold us their armors and weapons! The allies of Egypt!" Aristenyesbokhe paused. He had heard enough, and yelled, "You dare betray your own people!?" The man shrunk away, this time in disbelief, "I-I…" Aristenyesbokhe once more plunged his shield at the man, who received the blow to his neck, and was forever silenced. Wiping the blood off of his shield, he kicked sand over the blood, "The sands should not be disgraced with the lifeblood of this dishonorable cur, who betrays his own people. As such, I will tell this to all of you. Live with me, and we shall be prosperous, and kill many foes. Betray me, and your grave will be set in the sands until your ancestors can no longer remember your name!" His men were silent. Many were glad and roared approval, chanting his name to the stars.
"Up front, here is your payment. You will be in service to me for several months, or for as long as I need you. I trust these are acceptable terms?" Aristenyesbokhe was discussing terms, as he was want to do, but his arrogant nature always managed to grate on the nerves of people. The mercenary captain frowned, and took a look at the scroll, "Yes, these are acceptable. I assume you will be using us to aid your defense of the area around Marib? I saw Amanikhabale's army move to siege the city. It only makes sense that you pay us extra." The noble's eyes narrowed, "Why? Should I seek for another company?" The mercenary captain's eyes narrowed as well, staring straight into the noble's. "We are not fools. You will use us as the first fighters, because you would not want to sacrifice your own men. Do not lie to me, Himyarian, and do not believe your kingdom innocent. Jugurtha killed a neutral mercenary in Arimyar's tent, and I demand money for that man's life." Crossing his arms, the mercenary impudently stared at the noble. The noble, in turn, gritted his teeth. He needed the mercenaries. With Amanikhabale alone, they would not be able to hold their position, and would be forced to retreat. But, this left Aristenyesbokhe alone, subject to the mercy of the Sabeans. He refused to resign himself to that fate, and so he forced a smile to his face, "Of course. My apologies." As he swallowed his pride, the noble constantly thought of ways to make the man pay for what he's done. The price was worth it however, and Aristenyesbokhe welcomed around three hundred cavalry and five hundred infantry into his ranks.
The next day, he welcomed one hundred more infantry, and 100 more cavalry into his ranks, the time was soon. He could hear the Sabeans. They were angry, they were starving, and they were zealous. Aristenyesbokhe smiled upon the display, happy that they would finally subdue the riotous Sabeans. He took pride in his heart at the shouts of Amanikhabale as he rallied his men, and he knew that soon, his men would taste blood.
"Yeah, we'll show those b-s what happen when you fight us!" The marauders were restless, and they were eager. They wanted to taste blood; they wanted to sink their armaments into their enemy flesh. They fully embraced the marauder's training, who had come from Mascat to teach the Himyarian marauders how the Maas Gat Marauders fought. They fought using any tactic possible, they were not afraid of dirtying their feet. But the main urge for young men in Himyar to become a marauder was the aftermath. Marauders in Mascat were free to loot any home they came upon, and claim any man, woman, or child as their slave. Outside of Marib, many marauders danced in circles, letting out war whoops to rival the barbarians, as the Sabeans stayed inside of their city, fearful and stricken with terror.
"Unacceptable! I shall not let your king mock me as he parades me in Eudaemon! I shall not let my people be assimilated into your filthy, dishonorable culture! You think to insult me, you dare spit upon my face, well, you and your men shall die! Every single last one of them! I will raise up a mighty army, and we will hear the wails of terror of your women as we enjoy them in front of their captured husbands! I will personally execute your pathetic king, who does not even don battle garb, and I will spit upon his corpse and piss on it, for all your honor is worth! You Roman dog! You Jewish serpent! Be gone, before I lose my temper and kill you!" The Himyarian diplomat scurried away; the offer to join Himyar peacefully has been rejected.
The Sabean king rose, and his tired eyes swept upon the faces of people rioting in the streets. How naïve. They believed that showing resistance would save them. But he and his men knew the truth. The marauders the Himyarian soldiers trained were based on the Mascat marauders, and he already knew what they have done to numerous villages! He will not accept the destruction of his people. But at the same time, the food was gone. Sooner or later, they would all starve to death. At that moment, the king knew what to do. "For glory and honor!" With those words, his men charged out, desperate to push back the invaders.
As he rallied his remaining troops, the king only then noticed the desperate situation. While the enemy fielded a troop of marauders, he was left with levied spearmen, most of whom had never seen a battle. Even so, their determination to save their city still shone through. Releasing a battle cry, the king led his forces to their final battle. He was confident; he outnumbered his enemy. He just forgot about an important detail. He forgot about Aristenyesbokhe's mercenaries.
"Many of you fight for glory. Some for gold. Some of you, most likely you really just like fighting!" Amanikhabale was known for his odd ramblings, even in the midst of combat he could complain or ramble about his soldiers. "This day is no different! Let us drive the enemy into retreat; there is no need to chase down beaten dogs!" He omitted his own personal fears. He wanted to personally occupy the city peacefully, but the marauders which he praised a few months ago seemed bloodthirsty. They wanted blood, and they swore that they would receive it. "Remember! We do this for our people; we do this for our families! Charge!" With his last word, the marauders whooped with pure joy as they charged at the advancing levied spearmen.
The fighting started with the stones. His slinger unit opened fire, raining down hard hitting stones upon the hapless enemy, condemned to bear their torture. Several spearmen were killed, being struck in the temple, or were crippled by a shot to the arms or legs. Finally, without being able to wait any longer, the marauders charged the spearmen, many of which were horrified, their mouths agape at the display of savagery of the marauders. The marauders wore armor similar to the linothorax, and wielded short but stout clubs in battle. These clubs were not meant to kill, but meant to break the shield, the spirit, and the men. Mercilessly, a marauder pulled a mercenary off of his camel, screaming, and struck the man in the temple multiple times. Ten meters away, a surrendering spearman was bashed mercilessly in the arms and legs by a marauder, but never in the face. The marauder seemed turned on by the pain, and screamed in absolute joy with every blow he dealt to his sobbing foe. One marauder stood out, namely because of his violence. This marauder was Mu'tamid, who had witnessed the death of his parents by Sabean mercenaries as a child. His zeal was unquestionable, and his ruthlessness legendary even within the marauders.
"For all men willing, and all brave souls, we offer you the chance to fight by our king's side, to bring glory to Himyar!" The recruiter was annoying. The food was annoying. The chatty man who made the ale was annoying. Nothing pleased him. Mu'tamid foggily glanced into the recruiter's eyes, uninterested. Of course, the recruiter then said these next words, "A special opportunity for all who join now, for loot, women, and drink!" He perked up at these words. He had never heard of one of Syphax's recruiters use women or drink as an incentive. He had only preached honor before, and of glory. But now, he saw new light, it seemed. It seems that the king….had finally come to his senses. Scrambling up from his seat, he bellowed. Cowed, the recruiter tried to run, but was caught by the towering man, "Sign me up! -hic- I'll show ALL of those Sabean camel lovers what a true warrior is!" Glancing at the scroll the recruiter held, he ripped it from his hands, and read the description of the Mascat Marauders. Smiling, he held the paper up for all of the patrons to see, "Look! Rejoice! We no longer fight for delusions of grandeur; we may now fight for our heart's content! Join me, and we shall conquer the world! Join me, and we shall destroy these flea ridden dogs who dare to LOOK in our direction! COME WITH ME, FIGHT WITH ME, AND KILL WITH ME!"
Mu'tamid yelled out in glee, bashing a spearman with his shield before caving in his skull with his club. Truly, he felt alive. Swinging around, he found a spearman left in the mercy of an allied citizen spearman. Goading him with his eyes, Mu'tamid urged him to kill his prisoner. The spearman refused, and so Mu'tamid did it for him. The blood still stuck to his club as he pulled it out, and he licked it, much to the disgust and shock of the citizen spearman. Smiling at him, he then pointed to the stars, "God has surely favored us."
The Sabean king was sweating visibly. As his bodyguard charged forward to protect him, he knew that he would not live this encounter. Charging, astride a glorious iron clad camel. Amanikhabale rode down the Sabean king, charged through his men, and slashed the king across the chest. Shrieking in pain, he went down, and clutched at his chest. Luckily for him, the cut was not deep. However, standing above him, he saw a powerful, tall man. Mu'tamid didn't even hesitate to smash the Sabean king's face in.
The Sabeans were losing badly, but their reinforcements came, their mercenary army had arrived. Cheering, the Sabeans waved their arms, beckoning their reinforcements to liberate them. However, it was then that they noticed something terrible. Amanikhalika's mercenary army was not theirs. Aristenyesbokhe had killed Amanikhalika, and had recruited the mercenaries to his side. The remaining Sabeans took one look at the camel riders, and ran, as they screamed, trying to reach their city gates. On the way, countless were swallowed by seas of marauders, who bashed them down and took them prisoner, most for use as slaves. The marauders would have many trophies. Mu'tamid cradled his trophy in his arms. The head of the Sabean king was the greatest prize of all.
Everything Amanikhabale had feared had come to life. Upon entering the city, the marauders went berserk. Instead of the peaceful occupation Amanikhabale wanted, instead he found himself in the midst of a bloodbath. The marauders gleefully looted, pillaged, and had their way among the proud city of Marib. In only eight hours time, the city was silent. They had their prisoners, and they carried heads as trophies.
In one tent, a woman lay there, clutching her children, as she thought of the end. She heard something, a quiet whisper, a shadow in the night. Emerging, terrible and vengeful, Jugurtha came to fulfill his vow. Taking up her husbands sword, she glared at him. However, instead of putting up a blade in self defense, the assassin merely smiled, and walked away. Perturbed by his nature, she went to find her children. It teared her heart to know what Fajr ran away, but at least she knew she would be spared from this carnage that would befall her and her remaining children.
The last grain storage in their tent was dwindling down. At the very least, they would eat before the marauders came and murdered her, and enslaved her children. She allowed her children all of the food. She owed it to them, for failing them. Pressing a hand to her face, Nimat sobbed softly as her children ate in silence. This was to be their last meal. But, it was in a way that shocked the poor, tormented mother. Her children started screaming, and they choked. Rushing to them, she tried to assess what had happened, when she remembered the assassins smile. Widening her eyes, she came to a realization; the assassin had poisoned the grain storage and her children.
Howling in a vengeful rage, the woman gathered up her children, sobbing as they each slowly died. Nimat lost everything, in just a year. Her proud, sweet husband, her beautiful children, and her own strong spirit. But, there was one last thing to do. Her defiant act, which would inspire lyrics among the Sabean slaves for years to come. Enraged, she tore out into the streets with her husbands saber, and slew three marauders before she was captured, and even then fought on, cursing at the Himyarian soldiers and beat at them with her fists, until finally a tall man emerged from the crowd.
Mu'tamid wasted no time, as his club drove into Nimat's face. Somehow still alive, she reached for the dagger in her dress, and in a blind fury stabbed at the marauder's stomach. He simply dodged, and with a chilling, hyena like laugh, swung his club into her arm. Then her other arm, then her leg, then her other leg. After he finished, the woman was nothing more than a bruised puppet to him, a broken doll.
Seeing her lips move, he smiled and moved in to hear her last words. When he leaned in, Nimat's final act, to this abomination of a man who slew her people, was to roll a tooth that had broken in his violent assault, and spit it at him with such force that it lodged in Mu'tamid's eye. Howling with rage, he cracked his club upon the woman's chin, leaving her in the city streets to bleed out to death.
"You are all disbanded." Aristenyesbokhe was wearing a triumphant smile. The mercenary captain was enraged, "You kill our men by having them at the forefront, you pay us for only three seasons, and you discharge us the day before our next pay? You rotten bastard!" Ignoring the incensed mercenary, Aristenyesbokhe reveled in the glory of the sacked city of Marib. At the same time, Amanikhabale was soaking in the terror of what he'd accidentally wrought.
This is glorious.
This is terrible.
It had been nine months since they had taken Marib. Amanikhabale made full use of the cavalry stables, and included his own design for armor and weaponry, dubbing the new troops, 'Himyar Cavalry'. He established these men to become the new standard for the rejuvenated kingdom, which had doubled in size since they took Marib. The people sing his praise, and Syphax had permitted the formation of his cavalry. The cavalry would be forever known as "Amanikhabale's Knights", though none were produced yet, the anticipation was there. Disgusted with the marauder's behavior, he disbanded all of them, yet was shocked when he learned that Aristenyesbokhe had embraced every single one of them, and indoctrinated the experienced and brutal killers into his own army. He feared for whom they went to war with next, as the marauders now had a commander who relished in bloodshed.
"We will burn your cities, we will take your settlements, and we will relish in the smoke." The message was delivered by the Ma'in diplomat, though Syphax already knew this was coming. War with Ma'in was inevitable. Syphax nonchalantly waved the diplomat away. He already planned for this eventuality. "Karkamani." The name sent a chill through the Ma'in diplomat, "Do you plan to assassinate me?! Why do you call upon a name as you would call for an assassin, or a sword?" Syphax ignored him. "Answer me! I am the prestigious messenger of the kingdom of Ma'in! Answer me or I will have your cities burnt!" Syphax continued to ignore him. "I-" The diplomat had only two seconds to say his next words, as his own escort turned and promptly stabbed him. His eyes bugged out, and his mouth hung open as he doubled over on the ground and bled to his death. Syphax smiled, "Well done, Karkamani. Your service will indeed be useful." The sage bowed before the king, humbled by the compliment, "I thank you, my liege. I will serve the best as I can."
"Advance! Root them out!" The war cry prompted a massed shout from the marauders, eager to be fighting, only months after they had pillaged Marib. They were eager for more combat, and Aristenyesbokhe was only too happy to oblige.
They were hiding, as always, and they were afraid. Afraid for their lives, for their escape, for their children. Starting to finally relax, the leader of the congregation passed around a single pot full of grain, their only food source. The Sabean leader shakily poured out some for himself as he passed it along the group of fifty men, women, and children.
Pakheme was the celebrated war hero of Ma'in, who had raided Sabean lands and liberated his people from a siege on their city. He was the man whom Ma'in thought would crush Himyar. He was the man who was arrogant, and let his guard down. "Attack!" Converging onto the rocky outcropping like cultures, his bodyguard tore the meager goatskin covering the hole, and stormed the tiny encampment. A man shouted in surprise, and everyone in the congregation put their hands up in surrender, signifying they had no weapons. Proud, Pakheme ordered for all to be put before him, to be killed. He was alone, save his loyal bodyguard, who protected Pakheme from childhood. He would never betray Pakheme. But never is a word that is subjective, after all, what truly judges a man's character is not in his actions, but in his heart, where all true intentions lay.
Turning in pride, Pakheme was about to order his death when his most trusted bodyguard thrusted his sword into his general. Gasping in shock, Pakheme doubled over, grasping the sword, blood running from his hand as it cut into his flesh. He couldn't talk; but merely looked at him, as if asking, "…Why…?" The man gave no answer, and the general was ingloriously assassinated. In a fearful rush, the Sabean leader rushed outside, only to be greeted by a cadre of three cloaked men. Karkamani's assassins had come to finish the job. In a panic, the Sabean leader rushed back, and put his arms up, as if to shield the last remnants of his people from this inglorious fate.
Wailing in a panic, a small girl in the back of the congregation couldn't take it any longer. She had her father killed, then her mother, then her sisters. Sobbing in a helpless anger, she started cursing out the assassins. Enraged, one of the men rose his sword in anger, only to be stopped by the arm of another assassin. Silently, the more professional one pointed backwards. The sight of the man clad in white scared many of the Sabeans. Diplomats never made fair arrangements. The man was pale for his race, and lanky. His build wasn't impressive at all, and gray hairs showed in his dark hair denoting his age. Smiling, Karkamani beckoned with his hand outside of the area, then gathered up the assassins, and silently left.
Confused, the leader was the first to exit, and his eyes blinked several times, as if unable to comprehend what lay before him. Three large tubs of grain, two of water, and best of all, farming implements, as well as a stand covered by goat skins. Peering under the skins, the leader met the sight of a small, moist patch of dirt, rare in the desert, already laden with seeds. He shouted in joy, and turned to thank the man in white, but when he turned, he and his entourage had already disappeared into the desert.
In the wake of the loss of their general, Pakheme's army retreated back to their own territory. But they had stumbled straight into a trap. As in a dream, hundreds of warriors poured from the countryside, and Pakheme's disheartened army found themselves fighting Aristenyesbokhe's Warriors of the Sun. Shouting orders, Pakheme's third in command advanced the troops onto a hillside they could easily defend, and left a force of mercenary cavalry to hide in the forest. Within minutes, the Warriors of the Sun arrived. Without a taunt or a jeer, the levy peltasts threw their payload at the enemy, killing ten men in one volley. Concerned, the Ma'in army charged, only to be slaughtered by the marauders. Scoffing at the ease of their victory, Mu'tamid spit on the corpse of an enemy. His left eye was gone, replaced by a purple fabric strapped around the vacant eye socket.
Arahkakatani was resting. He was the new commander of Pakheme's destroyed army, who had successfully evaded the Warriors of the Sun by running. They now tend a small, fortified area, but as always, they fear for their lives. Exhausted, Arahkakatani never saw the crazed assassin silently drop in from the wall. Alarmed, the guard on the wall was about to shout, before being silenced by an assailant from behind. Jugurtha has much to prove, and much to lose. Pakheme was a legend, it was only fitting that he, the veteran assassin, would kill him. But no! Instead, Karkamani killed him, stealing his glory and honor! He knew not what else Karkamani had up his sleeve, but he would not be outdone! Startled by the war cry Jugurtha let out after reaching him, Arahkakatani reached for his sword, only to be cut down. Jugurtha then raced back the way he came, running into the night as the soldiers discovered their general's unfortunate end. He was in command for a solid two days before Jugurtha killed him.
Unnerved by their general's death, his men tried to flee, and fled to a new place. Yet again, they were led straight into the Warriors of the Sun. Trying to flee, the remnants begged for mercy, before being cut down by the giant wave of marauders. They felt no joy in this battle. For their enemies were cowards. They savored the taste of blood, the taste of victory, and the taste of satisfaction, knowing that they killed worthy foes in the past. Yet, Ma'in offered no challenge as of yet. They were almost angry at the sage, Karkamani, for killing Pakheme, who knew what great battle they would have had, with Ma'in's war hero fighting them!
However, they soon found a sight that excited them, and surprised the general. Yathrib, the capital of Ma'in, was in full sight, and also in full sight, a full army of Ma'in infantry and fighters. The last vestige of their army in their full sight and Mu'tamid let out his cry, as the de facto leader of the marauders, "Do not let the flower kisser Amanikhabale seize this victory! Rush now! Take their lands! Pillage! KILL! MURDER! KILL! MURDER!" The chant started resonating within the marauders, and Aristenyesbokhe watched, amused. The marauders were crude, but easily manipulated and effective. Gathering the marauders, the cleared his throat, "We will fight, we are now outnumbered! Is this not what you were waiting for?! Is this glory yours, or will you let Amanikhabale take it?" The mention of their former general's name made the marauders howl in rage, and they stamped the ground, their fervor seeping into their marching. "Then, my friends, my people, ATTACK!"
Roaring their approval, they surged forward, the Ma'in general showing surprise. He had not expected an attack when they were right next to their city for reinforcements. Smirking, the general rallied his men, "Attack!" Roaring, his men surged forward, the mercenary cavalry charging into a rank of peltasts, killing many of them, before they were caught by the marauders, where they were swiftly pulled off of their horses and beaten to a bloody pulp. Aristenyesbokhe encouraged this; it allowed for the men to demoralize their enemy. Shocked by the bloody display, some of the cavalry hesitated; this was all that his peltasts needed, who fired a volley to avenge their fallen comrades, killing many of the horseback mercenaries.
Charging into him, a levied spear unit tried to quickly stab Aristenyesbokhe, where they were met by a group of marauders, who quickly slaughtered them, using their blood soaked clubs to make their new trophies. Many marauders had necklaces made of string and teeth, each tooth was a fallen enemy. Some had none, some had more, but Mu'tamid had twenty five teeth on his neck, a tribute to the woman who managed to put out his left eye. Joyous in the thrill of being outnumbered, he celebrated by crushing a man's head; another tooth to add to his collection.
The camel archers that Aristenyesbokhe had were invaluable; they were able to effectively kill and stay out of combat, and were quick. He estimated that one unit of them killed eighty men in a battle. However, it was clear to him that he had underestimated his enemy. The Ma'in main army had fielded a considerable number of cavalry, be they local or mercenary. Utilizing this to their fullest advantage, they danced from his marauders and crashed into them, causing innumerable deaths. But, nothing would change the inevitable. In less than an hour, the marauders broke the will of the levied spearmen, who ran crying out in fear. The cavalry, now with the marauders full, hate filled attention on them, tried to retreat, and succeeded, but only with heavy losses, as the camel archers chased them down and killed a great amount of their number.
Aristenyesbokhe watched as the general fled, joining his men as they retreated. But they left Yathrib undefended, in full sight of the angry marauders. Roaring in anger at the loss of their comrades, the marauders charged at the already weary garrison defenders, who had tried to reinforce the main army in their giant battle. The garrison consisted of mostly skirmishers, who fled at the sight of the marauders, and used hit and run tactics, however, each unit was run down by camel archers, and the men were able to settle down and look at their losses.
The results were sobering. They were down, from twenty units of men, to ten units. They were left with three noble swordsmen units, including Aristenyesbokhe, five marauder units, and two camel archer units. None of the peltast units were left, all were killed by cavalry or javelin. Looking upon his men, Aristenyesbokhe spoke, "Is it not terrible? This spectacle we call war..? Or is it glorious? Is war not the reason our ancestors smile upon us, for righting past wrongs, and is it not the reason our children and women can sleep at ease? Tell me, for I will reply that we are better men. I will reply that we have defeated these so called warriors, who fled their own city, and once we have taken it, disbanded, like a band of animals! I tell you, you will see greater things than just us taking this city! Lives will be lost! Mourn them! But prepare, and kill! For our enemy will not be as merciful, or as civil as us! Therefore, fight to the end, honor these brave soldiers who gave their lives, as those who die in combat will be immortalized!"
Finishing his speech, Aristenyesbokhe went to recoup his losses, while the remaining marauders compared their necklaces, trying to find out who killed the most, well, the most next to Mu'tamid. The man was absolutely covered in blood, and had a crazed smile upon his face. An absolute madman, who would fight to the last, no matter the odds. His brothers, who stood beside him, did not care for losses, nor did they care for their commander's speeches. They only let blood control them, as meat controls a savage animal. They do this, because they recognize that they have lost their honor. A man who has lost his honor and dignity has nothing more to lose, and none have recognized that more than Aristenyesbokhe.
In the coming months, Himyar would be approached by Nabatean emissaries wishing for a non aggression pact, and then straight afterwards break their pact! Their foolishness was not lost on Syphax, who had banned Nabatean emissaries from entering Himyar. Their relations with Qidri in the north were shaky, and the Gerrhaeans to the east were neutral, while Mascat remained strong. In the meantime, Syphax stopped trade with Drangiana in revenge for the gold that they had taken, and established trade with their enemies, the Arachosia.
Aristenyesbokhe had replenished a part of his army, and hired more camel archers, they were instrumental in his victory, and he felt a certain kinship with the camel riders now, and it was apparent in his recruitment methods he was interested in levying men who had experience on camelback or horseback. Amanikhabale, on the other hand, favored the horse, and his custom 'Himyar Cavalry' were finally done, and they rode upon majestic steeds. Syphax was still in Eudaemon, and continued to govern affairs of the state. Yet, one matter still gnawed at him, his political enemies. Even with enemies no longer directly threatening him, he still had to be aware of attempts on his life.
Luckily, he had managed to establish a true navy, with his younger brother Amani-bakhi leading them. Hopefully they would establish trade for Himyar. They must, for when Himyar is inevitably attacked, they will need supplies.
In the past year, he had conquered Marib and Yathrib, with Amanikhabale slaying the Sabeans and Aristenyesbokhe slaying the people of Ma'in. Both were powerful warriors, but Amanikhabale lost much less men. On the other hand, Aristenyesbokhe killed more, and conquered Yathrib in mere months compared to Amanikhabale's year long campaign. In the end, he supported two powerful generals, one joking and convivial to his men, the other manipulative, who used the Mascat Marauders Amanikhabale raised and turned them into….barbarians. His people were not as violent, nor as depraved as the marauders, yet their reputation spread. It is with that reputation that Gerrhaea, Nabatea, and Qidri glanced at Himyar scornfully. Yet, even surrounded by hostiles, Syphax would find a way, for he had to. No other alternative was acceptable.
Author's Note: Sorry for those who think the battles were lackluster and boring! Unfortunately I found no real challenge in fighting Saba and Ma'in, so until I find Egypt or another major faction your stuck with the levy spearmen armies of the Arabic factions L. Though, I can already tell that they were hiring more troops, hopefully they'll turn much more powerful in time. Also, I don't control my armies in battle, I put them in AI control. This is for two reasons, one, I'm not a tactical genius, so I don't expect to do anything special, but two, it makes it easier to write, as I'm focusing on the events of the battle, and not the specifics of battle itself. There are points where, when it's ridiculous, I'll change orders, but other than that we should be fine. Stories of the life of the men inside the army will be coming soon!
I suppose listing all non military bonuses and units would be quite boring for some, so I'll just be posting armies, their unit compositions, cities, and their unit compositions!
Amanikhabale's Heralds of Allatu:
Amanikhabale: Armoured Camel Rider
Six units of Himyar Cavalry
Two units of Tabriz Peltasts
Two units of Citizen Spearmen
One unit of Camel Spearmen
One unit of Sabean Raiders
Two units of Desert Camel Archers
Four units of Levy Skirmishers
One unit of Slingers
Aristenyesbokhe's Warriors of the Sun:
Aristenyesbokhe: Noble Swordsmen
Two units of Noble Swordsmen
Five units of Maas Gat Marauders
Four units of Desert Camel Archers
Amani-bakhi's Spice Masters:
Amani-bakhi: Missile Penteres, Archers
Eudaemon:
Six units of Levy Spearmen
Nine units of Levy Skirmishers
One unit of Tribes People
Marib:
Two units of Noble Swordsmen
One unit of Arabian cavalry
Four units of Levy Spearmen
Six units of Levy Skirmishers
Yathrib:
One unit of Arabian Cavalry
Two units of Levy Spearmen
Six units of Levy Skirmishers
One unit of Tribes People
Thanks for reading!