Victory

Pionus is about to engage a Mycerian relief army near his capital city, strongly outnumbered, he thinks of a way to leave victorious, and eliminate the local threat. 

Pionus shut his eyes as hard as he could, his eyelids quaking with exertion. His mouth twitched twice, and he ran his fingers through his horse's thick hair, humming extremely quietly. The bustling sound of weapons, men and horses could be heard all around, and suddenly his eyes snapped open.

"To me, men! Over here, listen close!" He shouted suddenly. The bustling soldiers stopped their activity, and gave the loud authority all of their attention. "If you're not blind, you've already noticed we're quite pathetically outnumbered. Another thing you may have noticed is that I NEVER lose a battle, no matter how weighted the scales are, so stick with my plan, and I promise you victory! The nervous men muttered in content. "Buckler infantry, listen close! I want you to march to the Mycerian left flank, and break formation and route once their cavalry pursue you. Skirmishers, I want you to shadow the Bucklers and avoid being seen, fire at will once they break. Am I understood?" 

A thundering clash of sheilds, weapons, and roaring voices confirmed his question. "Nobles, cavalrymen, and merchants who are mounted, all of you follow me and my retinue, save for a few nobles who will guard the camp and artillery. Am I understood?" 

"Yes, lord!" Sounded through the large gathering of armored cavalrymen. 

"Get a move on then boys! Be strong, be smart, I can already taste victory!" The mob of infantrymen cheered as they trodded down the rocky slopes of Pionus' camp grounds to engage the Mycerian menace below. 

Pionus held his famous one edges sword in the air, and pointed downwards, kicking his horse on it's flank, prompting it to run down the slope, and his mounted soldiers dutifully followed as he moved to the center of the battlefield.

He looked on at the scene of his infantry routing from the eager mob of Mycerian cavalry as ordered, and grinned as the javelin and bow armed skirmishers showed themselves, showering the surprised enemies on a tidal wave of lethal projectiles. The stunned enemies immidiately turned tail and fled. "Send the signal to pursue." Pionus ordered to his trumpeteer, who blew a short tune signalling his infantry to chase the oposing cavalry away. 

"Now we charge, boys! Get your swords bloody!" Pionus thundered, and was immediately off towards the Mycerian main body of infantry, who were milling around in confusion, as their left wing of support had just crumbled. The ground trembled under the pounding of hooves as Pionus' men closed the gap between them and the Mycerian rabble. Once within one hundred or so feet, the cavalrymen raised their swords and let out a rattling battle cry, and made contact. Horses crashed into men, and swords crashed into helmets, as the wave of eager nobles and cavalrymen hacked through the now terrified enemy infantry. Pionus plunged his sword into a man who tried to tug him off his horse, and reared around, decapitating another fleeing Mycerian. 

The mess quickly cleared itself up, with the battered and bloody Mycerians tripping over their own dead, overcome by the fog of war, and losing their will to fight. "Do not pursue, men, the battle is won." Pionus called out. The exhausted horses and men trodded back to the camp, less numerous than when they charged, Pionus grimly noted.

It had been eight hours since the battle had been won, and Pionus was sitting in his general's tent, feasting with his cheerful soldiers, and talking to his primary advisor, and best of friends, Malem. 

"You know, if it were anybody other than you telling our infantry to show their backs to a mob of angry Mycerians, they wouldn't have done it." Malem chuckled, grabbing Pionus' muscled shoulder. Pionus, not neccesarily one for social occasions or congratulations, smiled in aknowledgment, and took another sip of wine, drumming his fingers on the oak table, eager to bring the concerned people of his capitol news of his victory. 

"The men should be rested up now" Pionus said in his crystal clear, deep voice. "We'll march home in an hour."

9 hours later

Horses winnied, and Pionus' soldiers chattered as they marched the bumpy dirt road back to their homes and families. Pionus was otherwise preoccupied. His unbelievably tactiacally and strategically oriented mind was a curse and a blessing. Thoughts were racing through his head. We attack Myceria next. I'll have to levy a number of pikemen, what if they have other mercenaries who have access to bows, I'll have be sparing of my cavalry. I may need to increase taxes on sea-trade to fund the attack. What will the people think of another tax? His mind raced and raced, with his eyes shut closed as was characteristic of him to do when he was thinking. 

His train of thoughts was shattered, "Pionus! Pionus! Open your eyes my lord" Malem shouted. Pionus jerked his head up, and quickly scanned the surroundings, and smiled. Cynthys, capital of the Cynthian empire, which Pionus ruled was a half hour's walk away.

He hopped off of his war horse, and walked up to the short, red faced master of logistics for his army's cavalry. "Give me a freshly rested horse." Pionus commanded somewhat mischieviously. In about forty-five seconds, the man came out leading a rather ancy looking white horse. "Here you are, m'lord." He spoke gingerly. 

Pionus climbed onto it's back, kicked it's side and it galloped off. "I'll be at city square!" He shouted over his shoulder as he raced towards the city. 

5 minutes later

As the horse slowed to a canter, Pionus heard a curious noise from withing the wall. I hear a loud female voice laughing in the distance-he thought-am I really that sleep deprived?

He unlocked the gate with his key, and swung it inward and peered inside. "My city..." He whispered, climbing off the horse, and stepping another step inside the gate. "MY CITY!" he roared, and ran inside.