Black Raven (3)
Bandi tribe King Gunter was a man I'd met for the first time, but he was no lightweight. Of course, Aldemark and Sargess, the foes we'd tangled with before, were no slouches either.
I'd hoped Gunter wouldn't be familiar with imperial tactics, but there was little chance of that. With Sartia and Goti warriors—who'd clashed with the empire for years—under his banner, he had to know our way of fighting inside out.
I watched the barbarian horde approach slowly to the sound of horn pipes. Our camp was only half-built, offering no real defensive edge.
The only thing I could count on was the caltrops we'd scattered around the perimeter for their cavalry—just in case.
I drew my sword and bellowed.
"The barbarian remnants who fled from us today have scraped together their rabble and come challenging us again. Rats that barely escaped a lion's jaws now trust their kin and charge back in. Show these fools who overstep their place the might of the empire! The empire triumphs!"
"Glory to the empire!"
The soldiers roared back.
As we formed shield walls in our ranks, the barbarians advanced steadily. The front lines all carried bows.
First, we'll have to take the hits.
I bit my lip, watching the enemy creep closer.
The barbarians started at a trot, gradually fanning out into a wide crescent formation.
Thud-thud-thud.
The horses picked up speed, kicking up snow.
But they didn't go full gallop. As the distance closed, they nocked arrows.
Whish. Whoosh.
A rain of arrows poured down on us like a storm. Soldiers raised shields to weather it. After the first volley, they thundered past our camp, the next wave following to loose their shafts.
This fight demands patience.
The barbarians wanted us to crack under the tension and break formation. So we had to stand firm, taking hit after hit.
I endured the arrow storm in stoic silence for half the day.
They fed in units sequentially, grinding down our stamina. Textbook stuff, but effective.
Still, we wait.
Leaning on my sword, I urged the men on.
Some officers suggested deploying our archers for counterfire, but I shot it down. Right now, we needed to turtle up, let their momentum build. Until they started underestimating us, mocking us.
"Hahaha! Empire rats! You thought you'd pacify the north? Grow some guts first, then come back. Dreaming big when you can't even fly like eagles—or chicks, for that matter. Pathetic."
The barbarians jeered as they shot.
The soldiers swallowed their rage each time.
I glanced at the sinking sun.
"How long till sunset?"
A barbarian guide paused, then replied.
"By your hourglass, General, about an hour."
"One hour."
I pondered briefly, then turned to Rikius.
"Distribute water to keep the men from tiring. Slaughter all the raided livestock if needed."
"Yes, sir."
I prayed the blood-red western sky would darken fast.
Sensing sunset nearing, the barbarians ramped up the pressure. Bows lost punch in the dark.
They could use them again at dawn, sure—but if we recovered in the interim, their day's work was wasted.
Thinking us cowering, they pressed closer, bolder.
Arrows flew truer now, ratcheting up the strain on our men.
Rear spear units twitched, unsure when the charge might come.
Hold on just a bit longer.
I prayed for the sun to dip quicker.
Irony of ironies—a man from the warm southern empire, begging for nightfall.
How much longer?
The sun hung on the horizon, spilling its final crimson glow.
Then the barbarian cavalry closed in further—this wave wielding clubs to smash our lines.
Come on.
I clenched my fist as they neared fifty meters.
A little closer. Closer.
They hugged tight to swing those bludgeons, betting our fatigue would let them punch through.
At twenty meters, they spurred their mounts hard.
The ground shook as they hit top speed. After a day of arrows and standing firm, it was a brutal charge for our weary infantry.
But.
I'd anticipated it.
Fighting without a proper camp was one thing; assaulting a finished one, another entirely.
"Yaaah!"
The barbarians howled.
That instant!
Neighhh!
Horses screamed, rearing and tumbling as forelegs snagged. Riders spilled to the dirt.
Others swerved to dodge, only to meet the same fate.
Seeing horses crash, I roared at full volume.
"Archers! Loose!"
Our arrows flew into the caltrop-sparked chaos; barbarians dropped like flies.
Some raised shields, but the glaring western sun blinded them, arrows piercing gaps.
As the volley shredded them, I drew my sword.
No nomad horde could stomach such sudden losses—especially with night falling.
I bellowed at the troops.
"Eagles! Time to unleash your fury! Rend the barbarians with beak and talon! Bite! Crush! Feast on their blood and screams!"
"Kill the barbarians!"
"Waaah!"
Soldiers broke ranks, surging forward. Stamina low, but the foe was rattled, bloodied beyond expectation—we had the edge.
As our blades flashed, survivors wheeled mounts to flee—our arrows hounding their backs.
"Don't let them escape! Annihilate them!"
My cloak snapping, I charged alongside the men.
Gunter hastily dispatched mounted archers in response.
Getting desperate, eh? Bad timing.
I bared my teeth in a grin.
With the sun gone, their archers' bite halved. They couldn't pick friend from foe in the gloom, holding fire. We pursued with everything we had.
"Ensure no barbarian sees tomorrow's sun—or we'll bleed come dawn!"
Officers' urgings sent men sprinting till their lungs burned. Ludicrously, cavalry fled before infantry.
In open battle—melee chaos, no less—horsemen routed by foot soldiers? Unprecedented.
Gasping raggedly, I heard weapon clashes ahead where barbarians fled.
Rikius panted up beside me.
"Usiper must be here."
"Not too late. Let's go."
Lungs searing, I forced my legs on. The commander leading charged everyone. Soon we hit the tangle of Usiper's men and the enemy.
"Death to the barbarians!"
We crashed in, shouting. In the dark, blades whirled amid yells; horses and men screamed their deaths sporadically.
Nearly an hour of slaughter, then faint moonlight filtered through. I spat dryly, using my sword as a crutch to scan around.
The men have taken heavy losses.
I'd braced for it.
Wishing zero casualties in a brawl against superior numbers? Greed.
But no choice. Limited time to achieve the goal—no room for alternatives.
"Excellency."
Rikius wheezed up.
"Gunter?"
"Fighting under that moonlight over there."
I looked where he pointed.
Gunter.
King of the Bandi.
True to his ambition—seizing the Sartia plains amid our campaign—he fought valiantly at his warriors' fore, swinging fiercely.
Warrior and king, he radiated dignity.
If Heigirt was a sly fox, this one was a proud lion.
But you're dying today.
Propped on my sword, I shouted to the troops.
"Kill the barbarian king! Take his head, and I'll grant immediate discharge, a hundred savage slaves, and a glorious record. Seek fortune and fame? Slay Bandi King Gunter!"
Men swarmed him—even allies. Gunter roared defiance, blade flashing at the hyenas.
He was brave, no doubt.
Make him a battalion or legion commander, vanguard of the empire—he'd chill enemy spines. That valor explained why other tribes bowed.
But one hand can't beat ten.
Gunter swung heroically but couldn't fend them all.
Soon a blade pierced his chest; soldiers hacked limbs. Targeting the prize, they diced him before he could scream.
His death unleashed cheers.
"Gunter's dead!"
"Your king is slain! Surrender!"
Our cries bewildered the barbarians. They hesitated, then dropped weapons one by one.
The king was more than a leader—their banner, their heart. His fall broke Bandi will.
We bound the surrendered, catching our breath. The grind had exhausted everyone. We slaked throats with dead horses' blood.
Examining the crown from Gunter's corpse, Rubiot approached.
"Excellency."
"You got him. What is it?"
"More barbarians surrendered than expected. Over ten thousand—tough to manage. Orders?"
I grinned wolfishly, clapping his shoulder.
"Not a hard problem. Bury them all."
Rubiot's eyes widened.
"But they're surrendered?"
"So what? No mercy for empire's foes. Bury them. No survivors."
He started to protest, then bowed.
"Understood, Excellency."
I crushed Gunter's crown in my fist. By the code, spare the surrendered.
But we lacked leisure to drag ten thousand prisoners on campaign.
Sell as slaves? Profitable, but this op's success outweighed coin.
For the empire's future, I forsook a soldier's honor.
Prisoners dug pits at our command, assuming for corpses—mindless obedience.
While they toiled, our men gripped swords, awaiting the word.
Pits done, centurions bellowed.
"Death to the empire's enemies! Massacre the barbarians!"
Soldiers fixed cold stares on the pit. Struck by panic, barbarians wailed, scrambling out.
"You said you'd spare us!"
"Surrender meant life, didn't it?!"
No replies—just swinging blades.
Those climbing out died first; the rest cowered. Thus, ten thousand barbarians were buried alive.
I nodded at the report of completion.
Now, only to butcher the helpless remnants, dry their seed—send a clear message north.
(To be continued)