Legends Never Die: Know Thy Enemy (ch. 167) (Patreon)

“Yahya,” Hadi greeted Harun's trusted attendant first, standing underneath the noon sun. It had been some time since he had last seen Yahya. A few years at least. He looked more like his father now -- the same cheekbones, the same beard, the same nose and eyes. Just a younger version of him as Jafar already had whitening hair when he first met him a decade ago. 

It was difficult to gauge in what capacity Yahya was here. Hadi had blamed his family because it was convenient. He imagined that would be something of a sore point. But if the Birkmids really had been responsible for Harun's near assassination, then it was a question of how high his kin were attempting to elevate themselves. 

However, if they weren't behind it, then there could be a path forward toward a peaceful resolution. However unlikely that might be. 

“You've at last overeached, mutt,” Yusuf, the something something grandson of Emir Ismail, remarked with a delighted grin. “I've waited for this day a long time-” 

“Who are you, again?” Hadi asked with a small frown, knowing already that the passing remark was going to get inside Yusuf's head. Given that they were about to fight a battle, there was no place that Hadi would rather be. Let him get angry. Let him make mistakes. And when the battle was done, he could take his head like he should have done years ago. 

Exactly as Hadi hoped, Yusuf stilled in a way that told Hadi he didn't know how to reply. He was struck speechless. 

“I'm. Anyway, Yahya,” Hadi continued addressing the Barkmid, whose lips thinned. It was evident enough what Hadi was doing. The Barkmids, for all of their influence, didn't have an army. Or, at least they didn't. Meaning that the fifteen thousand men -- ten thousand infantry, three thousand light cavalry, a thousand heavy cavalry, and a thousand archers split between horse archers and traditional archers. All of them answered to the pissant next to him. A man that Hadi knew was both an idiot, hot headed, and with very prickly pride.

“Does the Caliph still live? Or has your father puppeted his corpse?” Hadi continued, searching Yahya for a clue. Something to hint at an answer one way or another. Rumors in Norland and beyond swirled with deliberate intent, making it impossible to tell if Harun still lived or if he had passed from his injuries. As something of a connoisseur of misinformation, Hadi had been impressed and frustrated in equal measures that he couldn't get an accurate answer. 

The last thing verified he heard was that Harun was recovering in Baghdad. That was weeks ago.

“I'm not inclined to answer the questions of assassins,” Yahya rebuked, offering nothing. His face didn't twitch, he sat still on his horse, and his tone was deliberately flat. “To think that the Caliph trusted you so. He named you a friend, elevated you beyond your station, and defended you from your many detractors. You repay his generosity with a poisoned blade in the back.” 

A knife in the back. That could merely be a turn of phrase, but he had heard thousands of renditions of how Harun had nearly been assassinated. The rumors ranged from eating a poisoned apple, to assassins hiding in the walls, to a beautiful woman sneaking into his bed. Again, with deliberate intent, someone made sure that it was impossible to tell truth from fiction. 

“I do not deny that our Caliph was betrayed, but not by my hand,” Hadi returned. “That, I lay at your feet, Yahya. If you did not wield the blade yourself, then your incompetence allowed for our Caliph to fall to an assassin's blade.” There was something in his eyes. A shift. The remark struck a nerve, but Hadi wasn't sure how or why. “You, who Caliph Harun al-Rashid, trusted above all others. You either betrayed him then, or you do so now by standing against me.” 

“You? Who answered accusations of treason by mustering your army?” Yahya returned the accusation, but there was a coil of anger in his voice now. “If you were as innocent as you portrayed yourself, then you would have submitted to the summons.” 

Hadi laughed. Loudly and mockingly. It wasn't even a fake laugh. “There is no one that must fear the law more than an innocent man,” Hadi rebuked. “As you say, the Caliph spoke for me against my many detractors. Those same detractors now name me an assassin and usurper. I am hurt that you thought me to be so foolish, Yaha.” 

“Then submit yourself now. To me. Despite the accusations you have levied against my family, I am prepared to speak for you. I shall guarantee you safe passage,” Yahya offered. He sounded sincere, but that didn't mean a damn thing. If his family truly was behind the attempted assassination, then it would be impossible for Yahya to not know of it. 

Meaning that even if he didn't wield the blade, then he gave another the opportunity. 

Yahya grew up together with Harun. He was the reason why Harun was so resistant to the thought that the Birkmids couldn't be trusted. Harun had full and complete trust in his lifelong friend. And there were likely odds that Yahya had betrayed him. 

If he was willing to do that, Hadi thought it was likely he would be willing to just lie about the promise of safe passage. 

“No,” Hadi replied, his tone even. “I will have the truth of the matter and I don't trust you to give it to me.” Even if he were to submit right now, Hadi wouldn't believe whatever he had to say. There would always be a doubt in the back of his mind. That was just the cold truth of it.  

So, he would defeat Yahya here. Capture him. And when he reached Baghdad and Harun, he would leave that messy decision for the Caliph to decide. 

“Enough,” Yusuf interjected when Yahya began a retort. “You asked who I am -- I am the man who will defeat you on this day. I am-” 

“Not interested,” Hadi interjected, turning his horse around. Next to him, Khalid was trying and failing to stifle his chuckles. All the more when Yusuf shouted threats after them, promising a fate worse than death. His threats were creative enough that Hadi was convinced he seamlessly stole them from someone else. “Are you ready?” 

“I am,” Khalid answered. “We have the edge in numbers. And Yusuf is in control of the army. Given his anger, I doubt that Yahya is capable of quelling his anger before the battle. Especially when you insulted him by ignoring him to speak to Yahya.” That was the plan. 

“... and Yahya?” Hadi asked, uncertain if he truly wanted the answer. 

Khalid glanced his way for a quiet moment, likely sensing that Hadi didn't really want an answer. Still, he needed it. “Guilty.” 

Hadi wished that he was surprised, but he wasn’t. “I see,” Hadi replied. It would seem that they wouldn't have to withdraw any accusations once this mess was cleaned up. Even still, he would have preferred being wrong. 

He and his guards returned to his assembled army. Twenty-five thousand men. Eighteen thousand infantry, two thousand archers, and the remaining five thousand was an uneven mix of heavy and light cavalry. Of their infantry, seven thousand men were Norse mercenaries, with their captains and commanders marked for death by King Hoffer. The reason for each varied -- simple ambition to undermining his authority.

It was tempting to renege on his end of the deal. But it simply wasn't worth it as King Hoffer would go to great lengths to get his revenge. So, in the days leading up to the battle, he planned around how to best uphold his end of the bargain while maintaining as much strength as he could. 

The battlefield was one ideal for cavalry. It was a large flatland with little in the way of shrubbery. For that reason, every footsteps sent up a cloud of dust, and a great many feet caused enough to make it difficult to see through. A tactic that Yusuf undoubtedly intended to take full advantage of. Hadi was no different. 

It was clear that Yahya did not have the influence on the army that he desired. If he did, then the army would withdraw to link up with the armies of the other Emirs. His spies informed them where they were, and their numbers. Altogether, they would have an army of seventy thousand. As it was, he had a number advantage of ten thousand over Yusuf. 

He refused to withdraw for two possible reasons. The first was that he feared Hadi would ravage his lands with raids. The other and more likely option was that Yusuf hated Hadi just that much and was convinced that he could win despite the long odds. In either case, it suited him just fine. Ideally, he would fight three battles where he had the advantage in numbers. Just how he liked it. 

Once more at the head of his army, Hadi gave the nod and the war drums began to beat. While far from the standards of a professional army, the core of his was a force that lived in a state of perpetual skirmishes with Charlemagne or his Paladins. They were experienced and disciplined. Something that showed in the march over the field. They moved as a unified whole in perfect synchronization. 

The light cavalry rushed out first, skirmishes with Yusuf's own light cavalry and horse archers. As predicted, they kicked up a screen of dust ahead of both armies. A screen that Yusuf undoubtedly used to reshuffle the position of some of his units, identifying his left wing as the weaker of the two. Naturally, that was the wing where Norse mercenaries were.

It was, perhaps, dangerous to rely on old impressions of Yusuf. People did change, after all. But even in that brief meeting, Hadi saw that all of his worst personality traits had only grew more prominent as time went by. It was a gamble.

One that paid off as erupting from the cloud of dust was Yusuf's heavy cavalry. A full commitment to destroying his left wing as fast as possible. 

“I… have fought too many clever enemies,” Hadi muttered under his breath. He sat back with the reserve forces, allowing him to see the full scope of the battle. Yusuf had taken the bait. His cavalry charge was devastating on the mercenaries. They didn't crumple, but they wavered dangerously. 

However, with their heavy cavalry engaged, it left his infantry free to march forward. Once more, Hadi gave the nod, everything proceeding within expectation. The signal rang out and the rest of his army advanced with all haste in a general charge. 

Under normal circumstances, it would be unthinkable. He was leaving behind an entire wing of his army to be ravaged. Not only did it risk being routed, it exposed him to Yusuf's one right wing. It would be free to swing around and strike his center on the sides and rear. There were two things that turned the maneuver into a reasonable gamble from what would traditionally be a foolish risk. 

Hadi was well prepared for the clash that followed in the dusty air. His men knew what to expect when the surprised enemy was counter charged. Just as the dust in the air obscured the enemy, it also protected Hadi's army from their eyes. A great clash rang out across the field as men shouted to pretend they weren't afraid. 

He might have better command over the situation if he led from the front, Hadi knew. But that meant being near a bunch of people who really wanted him dead. So, he was perfectly content being surrounded by people who really wanted to protect him. It seemed far safer that way. 

In his place at the front was Khalid, who for some insane reason, preferred being in the thick of things. Perhaps it was the best way to use his ability. Hadi didn't know, and he didn't ask. Even if he did, Hadi doubted he would be able to understand his reasoning. 

“Send in the reserve left,” Hadi instructed, going more off the timing than what he could see. It would take around six minutes for the reserve to cross the field. Eight for additional maneuvers. “Have them go wide and bypass the engaged left. When they do, they are to turn their formation forty degrees and charge.” 

The order was relayed and carried out with three thousand men in reserve marching forward. The dust was bad enough that he couldn't see how bad the mercenaries were doing, but thus far, they hadn't fled. Or if they did, they hadn't fled in Hadi's direction. He watched the reserve force obey instruction, and in his head he saw the flanking maneuver. 

By now, Yusuf would have ordered his men to pounce on his unguarded center. He would order a mass push to distract it, while his west wing would swing in. Three thousand men would be outnumbered, but in the dust, their true numbers would be obscured. What's more, while his center would be flanked, the reserve men would strike them in the back, pinning them between two forces. 

It would make doubt sink in. ‘Was this the left?’ ‘Was the cavalry charge rebuffed?’ ‘If we're outmanuvered on the right, then what do I send to alleviate the pressure?’ 

War was not a game. Those who compared it to chess were fools. But that wasn't to say that they weren't similar. Knowing the enemy was an integral part of battle. Knowing what they knew, suspecting what they suspected, all of it allowed Hadi to predict how they would react. 

Yusuf was a prideful man. One with a grudge. A man who took this battle despite having more reasons to refuse it. When he would sense the battle was turning against him, he would do two things. Perhaps three. 

First: he would ignore all good sense, understand that he had been outwitted, and withdraw. Perhaps not quit the field entirely, but he would need to accept that his right was compromised and addressed it accordingly.

Secondly: he would whole heartedly believe that he could turn the situation around with a personal hand. 

Thirdly: he would command his bodyguards to join him on a counter charge against his outflanked right to relieve the pressure. To that end, he would command the skirmish cavalry to commit to a flanking maneuver.

“Tell Khalid it is time,” Hadi decided, giving his heavy cavalry the order. Yusuf's cavalry was entirely engaged, giving them a window of opportunity for a singular decisive blow. Where that blow would be landed, that was a decision Hadi would leave in Khalid's hands. However, he knew what the result would be. 

Khalid led the cavalry charge, choosing to strike at Yusuf's unprotected left. While Hadi couldn't see it in its entirety, the sound of the charge striking was a devastating thing. The signal quickly rang out to mark that the left wing was collapsing, caught between a hammer and an anvil. 

“Send in the reserves. Have the light cavalry hunt,” Hadi relayed his final orders of the battle, knowing that it was won even before the dust cleared. Yusuf's left and right flanks faltered and with a final push, his center routed. 

It was not a surprise to see a dust trail in the distance. He knew it belonged to Yahya and Yusuf, along with what forces they could flee with. Which would be the cavalry. 

As for the battlefield itself, once the first surrenders came, many followed. The heavy cavalry finished its ravaging of the mercenaries to find that it was surrounded on all sides, so they needed little prompting. Hadi drank the sight in and… 

“Good,” Hadi voiced, urging his horse forward. The injured were being sorted, but with how quick the battle was, there weren't many. Perhaps a few hundred on the extreme end, discounting the mercenaries. 

He had no true gift for public speaking. Nor any particular desire to. However, a lesson he had learned was that when something was said often mattered more than what was said. So as the defeated men were gathered up, near twelve thousand in total, he spoke. 

“You have been lied to!” Hadi shouted out, riding amongst the men. “Through no will or awareness of your own, you have been party to treason against the Caliph! You have served one of his would-be assassins, who muster now to reach out for his throne out of petty ambition!” 

Most of them wouldn't really care. What they would care about was this. 

“So I offered you this chance for atonement. Join me, and we shall rescue the Caliph from their grasping hands! Who would snuff out his life in the name of greed!” 

Most wouldn’t care about the Caliph. Or the Caliphate. To the average man, it didn't matter whose ass warmed the throne. So long as life didn't grow more complicated for them, they would accept a dog as Caliph. They might even prefer it, as dogs knew of loyalty. 

However, Hadi had just handily defeated them. Never mind his advantage in numbers. In their eyes, he was the likely winner. Thus, the Caliph was the likely winner. Meaning that fighting against Hadi would have consequences -- executions, loss of land, and so on. The Caliphate wasn't exactly known to look favorably on traitors or treason. 

On the other hand, fighting with Hadi? That meant rewards. Money, titles, land… it was a simple equation.

“Al-Gaib!” Hadi wasn’t sure who first shouted, but it didn’t take long for the chant to spread. “Al-Gaib! Al-Gaib! Al-Gaib! Al-Gaib! AL-GAIB!” 

In no time at all, the chant was deafening. Enough so that Hadi could barely hear himself think. He had more to say, but it seemed unneeded. He had underestimated how unpopular Yusuf was by a considerable margin. Still, it worked in his favor. The mercenaries lost an estimated three thousand men, though there were a few names that still needed to be crossed off yet. 

They gained more than they lost. From twenty-five thousand, they were now thirty-four thousand. Most of the additions were infantry, as Yayha had taken the cavalry with him. Which was a shame, but unavoidable. To win the battles to come, he needed more men than horses. 

He made the rounds, doing what was expected of him. Nodding at the right times, offering compliments, and assuring the various minor nobles that no, he didn’t begrudge them for fighting against him. Even though they likely would have roasted his head on a spike if he lost the battle. Magnanimous and generous. 

Of course, he didn’t trust the army further than he could throw them. They already betrayed one master. The moment the winds blew against him, Hadi was prepared for a sudden yet inevitable betrayal. 

Until then? He would use them for all they were worth. 

It was a time-consuming affair. Enough so that he had little time for anything else, much less joining the celebrations for their victory. The hour was late when Hadi stumbled into his tent, his eyes bleary with his bed singing a sirens song to him. 

Or, perhaps that was the woman seated upon it. 

“I’m married,” Hadi replied instantly, suddenly alert. The woman wore a veil, making her face difficult to see, but he was something of an expert on beautiful women. And the woman was undoubtedly beautiful. Enough so that it would cause him no end of trouble, so he really hoped she stumbled into the wrong tent. 

“I’m sure Sheba will appreciate your faithfulness,” the woman replied with a hint of a smile in her voice. “However, that is not why I am here. I carry a message from Al-Khayzuran, the Queen Mother, for your ears.”

Hadi swallowed a groan. Whatever the message was… 

He was certain that he wouldn’t like it.