The Black Raven (2)
The Great Plain was markedly different from the border regions where we had waged war. The vast, open horizon let us spot enemy movements from afar.
In conditions like these, armies with superior mobility held the advantage. It wasn't the ideal battlefield for us, infantry-heavy as we were.
The silver lining was that our enemies were battered wrecks. While our cavalry hounded them, we crossed twenty kilometers of plain each day.
On the third day after entering the plain, a scout patrolling the surroundings reported to me.
Sir. A few barbarians are approaching under a white flag.
Barbarians? Sartians and Gotis?
No, sir. Different attire.
I paused, lost in thought.
Other barbarians. Anxious about our army showing up?
I ordered them brought in.
Soon, two fur-clad barbarians appeared before me.
They wore necklaces adorned with lion fangs—marks of high status. One was an elder, the other a middle-aged man. I sized them up and asked,
Who are you?
The middle-aged man spoke.
We serve our king, who sent us upon hearing the Empire's army had come.
King?
The elder answered in his stead.
We serve His Majesty King Gunter of the Bandi Tribe.
Bandi Tribe.
Barbarians I'd never even heard of.
I see. But what does the Bandi Tribe want with us?
The middle-aged man cleared his throat.
Our King Gunter fears the Empire's northward march will shatter the Great Plain's order. Tribes are already scattering to evade your army, sparking chaos everywhere. His Majesty hopes the Empire will consider this and withdraw.
I gave a wry smile.
That's a tough ask. We're at war. We can't stop until we've wiped out the Sartians and Gotis.
Then what if we exterminate the Gotis and Sartians for you?
The elder said.
I studied their eyes.
Could this be a ploy by the Sartians and Gotis?
Throwing out an unknown tribe's name to feign 'negotiations' and force our retreat?
But their gazes revealed nothing.
Exterminate them for us? Nice pitch, but we need proof.
The middle-aged man whispered to the elder, then turned to me.
After destroying the Sartians and Gotis, we'll deliver ten thousand slaves to the Empire.
Shed your blood for us and hand over slaves. Hm.
Indeed. A fine deal for the Empire, no?
Sure, it sounded good.
But traps lurked here too.
If the Gotis and Sartians sacrificed a few to save their tribes, fooling us would be child's play.
And even if true, accepting was folly. I'd launched this expedition to eradicate northern threats.
Hand the final mop-up to the 'Bandi Tribe'?
They'd swallow the weakened Gotis and Sartians, swell their ranks, and potentially dominate the entire plain—a far greater menace.
Short-sighted, sure, take the deal and go easy. But I bore responsibility for the Empire's future.
One misstep could doom us—I'd learned that the hard way.
Fine. But I verify fulfillment myself. I'll meet your king and hash it out directly. Deal?
They conferred briefly, then eyed me.
Agreed. We'll relay to our king.
See to it.
As the barbarian envoys mounted and rode off, Rikius spoke up.
Turned out well, sir. Grant them a favor now, and friendly forces settle our northern flank, right?
I shook my head.
Favors don't breed loyalty. If they grow beyond our control, more headaches.
Meaning?
No negotiations planned. Just confirming facts. Do the Bandi exist? How strong? I'll see for myself.
By summoning their king, I'd expose the enemy's hand.
Barbarians paraded nearly all forces with their king—to flaunt power. That'd reveal existence and strength.
But refusing after he arrives? Insult.
Exactly. Prepare. Send riders to Usifer. Ready horses.
Yes, sir.
I gazed at the blood-red sky.
We halted advance, pitched camp on the open plain.
Summer or fall? Suicide. Winter? Advantageous. Clear sightlines, snow for water.
Best: flaunted our might.
Directing fortifications, I awaited envoys. Sartia/Goti disguise? Crush now. New foes? Outmaneuver.
Hauling logs myself, Rikius reported.
Sir. Barbarians.
Sartians?
No. Unfamiliar banners.
Bandi real, then.
I dropped the log, headed to the palisade.
There: horde on horizon. I scrutinized, wry smile.
Rikius noted it.
Sir?
My misjudgment.
How so?
You nailed it. Sartia/Goti roped in new allies—for 'submission.'
I pointed: fur-clad soldiers, mismatched attire. No single tribe.
Rikius smacked his lips.
Then...
War's tougher.
White-flag group approached. Golden-crowned figure: I mounted.
Us too.
Yes, sir.
With guards, beyond palisade.
Halted thirty meters off. King raised hand; I mirrored.
Gunter of Bandi?
Yes.
Empire's never heard. Great Plain tribe?
Gunter stroked beard—late forties barbarian. Blue eyes blinked.
Hard for Empire; northeast base.
Then why intervene?
Gunter smirked.
This plain's ours by right. Goti/Sartia chiefs briefly slipped leash—ancestral turf. Natural involvement.
Utter nonsense.
War excuse. 'Noble' justification.
But we knew: bullshit. True owners? Empire would've heard—in a century.
Arms crossed.
Prove it's Bandi land.
How?
Drag all Sartia/Goti here, hand over. No pull? No claim.
Gunter laughed—open mockery.
Offering subdual's generosity. Why oblige?
That laugh: no compromise. He'd subjugate them, claim plain. Yield? Empire mocked.
Cold: Why indulge you?
Smile gone, feral gleam.
Refuse? Blood. We know: under ten thousand. Weaklings maybe; us? No.
Think so?
Warriors no scarecrows—trample soon. No Empire fight. Accept, leave.
Growled.
Laughable. Massive losses from them. Can't leave unexterminated. Retreat to nobodies' threats?
Imperator's gutsy—heard. No win guarantee. Our plain, home. Twenty thousand. You lose.
Calm: Confident? Attack. Learn Empire's power.
Hah! Your war.
Spurred away.
Rikius: Risky. Why all-out?
Eyed horde: He's dangerous.
Sir?
Sartia/Goti—not his yesterday—in ranks. Meaning?
Charisma.
Rikius swallowed.
Exceptional barbarian charisma: Empire threat.
Like nightmare Heigirt, Black Star.
Sacrifices? Field armies twice shattered, provinces ravaged.
Nip early.
Recall legions?
Too late. Re-form, strike: spring. Muddy hell—no fight. Costs?
Rikius wry smile.
Settle here.
Odds?
Spurred horse; black cloak billowed.
Who am I? Empire's wall, barbarians' nightmare. No doubts. Believe: Empire triumphs.
He nodded.
Reassured him—inside, burdened.
New foe.
Mighty horde.
For Empire's tomorrow: no loss. Always proclaim victory bold.
I am the wall. The legion.
(To be continued)