Wolf Hunt (2)
The chieftains sent their troops on the promised day.
Of course, being forced levies, there were far too many who were overly young or old, and most of the horses were half-starved skin-and-bones.
I felt pity for the state of these barbarian allies we'd mobilized, but I didn't berate them and send them packing. Every hand would count against Heigirt.
I reorganized the barbarian soldiers into ten units, taking care to consider their tribal origins and inter-tribal relations.
Barbarian warriors were appointed as commanders of each unit, but I assigned our legion officers to oversee them—just in case they decided to grip their swords backward.
With preparations complete, I led the field army out of Bellgorod.
I didn't forget to dispatch letters to the eastern provinces, requesting reinforcements if they had any to spare.
Our army marched an average of twenty kilometers a day along the Drvina River.
We were advancing upstream from the lower reaches, so we couldn't use rafts, but boats sufficed for ferrying supplies—no major issues there.
On the fourth day of the march, a messenger arrived from the north. The sender was Heigirt.
I received him from horseback.
"To Governor Ain of Bellgorod, a message from His Majesty Heigirt."
"I'm not the governor. I'm the Northern Army Commander."
"My apologies."
The messenger's demeanor was relaxed. It spoke to his utter confidence in the might behind him.
Still, my title gave him a slight pause.
Northern Army Commander of the Empire.
That alone made it clear the empire now treated them differently.
"So, what message did Heigirt send me?"
"The king bids me confirm how long the truce you mentioned while withdrawing south remains in effect."
Ah, right.
I recalled the brief truce I'd struck with Heigirt. No specific deadline had been set.
If I marched north again, war would resume without need for envoys.
Still, he finds a plausible pretext. Sending envoys like this to probe our situation. Impressive.
I replied with calm composure.
"The truce ends today. Unless you withdraw beyond the imperial border, war has no choice but to resume."
"I shall relay your response to His Majesty exactly as given."
"Before you go, one question."
"Yes."
The envoy paused as he turned his horse.
"Our empire stands ready to strike you with its full might. Are you prepared to face the talons of the enraged eagle?"
The envoy lifted his chin high.
"Our king fears no one. Not even the golden eagle that rules this world."
"I see. But your king has retreated before me once."
"Did you not do the same, Your Excellency?"
The envoy yielded not an inch.
One of Heigirt's inner circle?
I grew curious about this bold man's name.
"Very well. One last question, if I may?"
"So long as it brings no harm to our king, I shall answer gladly."
"What is your name?"
"Griffior. First standard-bearer in service to the king."
So said the envoy.
Young, yet qualified to bear the king's banner. Higher status than I'd thought.
"Come to think of it, your name resembles a certain Griham. Kin?"
"My uncle."
Of course.
It made sense. The nephew of that giant had to be made of stern stuff.
I waved him off with a smile.
"Thank you for the answers. Go, deliver my reply to your king."
"Then we shall meet on the battlefield."
Griffior offered a courteous bow before spurring his horse away.
A clever barbarian well-versed in imperial etiquette.
The Thunder Tribe's next generation had clearly studied and prepared much to one day rule the empire.
Worlds apart from the dim-witted, grasshopper-like rabble.
I watched the receding envoy for a moment, then raised my hand.
"Resume the march."
An army of forty thousand created problems simply by moving.
Foraging fodder for the accompanying horses and mules was a prime example.
Small forces could graze freely in meadows, but not a host this size.
Once the vanguard's beasts had stripped the grass, nothing remained for the rear.
To solve this, I divided the army into four columns.
A single road doomed them to pasture shortages, but multiple routes eased the strain.
The drawback: vulnerability to attack while split.
Still, it was too soon for Heigirt to strike.
He couldn't have positioned a host before us without foreseeing our route three weeks prior. Not even the great Heigirt could manage that.
And past experience had taught me to clamp down hard on the troops and barbarian auxiliaries, making it impossible for him to glean prior intel.
He knew we were coming from Bellgorod only because local barbarians talked—no credit to his spies.
I figured any attack would take at least a week.
But I was wrong.
Half a day after the 16th Legion entered the Black Forest, disaster struck. The road suddenly collapsed, badly injuring several men.
The report of sharpened stakes in the pit—meant to kill—drew a scowl.
A delay tactic.
No need to guess the culprit.
Heigirt!
He meant to bog us down while seizing favorable ground. I could stomach it once or twice, but repetition wore my patience thin.
After some thought, I summoned Rikius.
"Yes, sir."
"Send the cavalry ahead as vanguard. Not along the road—through the forest. Slaughter any rats plotting this mischief."
"Understood."
"Dispatch riders to the other columns. Start the rat hunt."
"Yes, sir."
Rikius saluted across his chest.
Massing cavalry before battle drained their stamina. Best avoided.
But we couldn't ignore those brazenly tripping us up.
Five thousand barbarian cavalry mobilized at my order.
Two days yielded nothing—no enemy traces.
But a long tail always gets caught.
On the third day, reports came of barbarians in Heigirt's pay.
"Kill every last one—man, woman, child, elder. No exceptions. But capture anyone who looks like a leader, along with their families."
I issued the merciless command.
These interlopers in the Black Forest were mere brigands, not a proper tribe. I'd never dreamed they'd dare challenge our army.
But greed-blinded fools always court madness.
Playing pranks before tens of thousands for a few coins.
Soon, our cavalry dragged in ten barbarians—mostly sturdy adult warriors.
I gazed down coldly at the captured ringleaders.
"Are you the lunatics who planted stakes and pits before our army?"
"No, lord. We're just hunters living off this forest. We're innocent!"
One wailed in protest.
Probably true in peacetime.
I snorted.
"Then answer me this. Since the 12th Legion fell, the Black Forest has been imperial territory effectively abandoned. Provinces reliant on legions were raided or evacuated inland.
So you're barbarians yourselves. Even 'honest hunters'—why should we spare you?"
"We harbor no rebellion against the empire. Truly!"
I cracked my knuckles.
Desperation rang true in their pleas. Our cavalry might have nabbed them as convenient 'prey' for lack of better targets.
But claiming 'you're innocent, so off you go' was absurd now.
In operations against citizens or provincials, one might apologize for mistakes, even execute the officer in charge.
Not with barbarians.
And no value in it. My prestige as commander of a great host wasn't so cheap.
Ordering troops to catch enemies, then releasing them as a 'misunderstanding'? My face would be mud.
More crucially, we'd already drawn blood. Spare vengeful survivors, and who knew what they'd do behind us?
I shook my head.
"Even if true, you're illegal squatters on imperial soil. As Northern Army Commander, I sentence you to death for unlawful border-crossing."
"You bastard! We did nothing!"
"Mercy, Excellency! We're blameless!"
They screamed.
At my gesture, axemen approached and stood behind them. One by one, heads thudded to earth.
Even if you never struck us, you sinned. In this age of might-makes-right, your only crime was weakness. If I fall, the empire shares your fate.
Bitterness washed over me as I regarded the corpses.
After unleashing the cavalry for a purge, our advance smoothed. Whether from the example or not, no more sabotage ahead.
To prevent Heigirt sympathizers, I sent word to nearby tribes: our army marches. Cross us, and we eradicate.
Me—who'd wrought devastation on barbarians even with ragged remnants.
Now with forty thousand? None dared openly side with Heigirt.
The Black Forest pranksters might've acted on his word alone, blind to our numbers.
Ten days from Bellgorod, we reached the old legion base near Sian.
Word of our march had spread; locals fled, leaving half-abandoned traces around the ruined city.
I assembled the dispersed columns on the outskirts.
16th Legion, Praetorian Guard, Atillca Legion, 11th Legion, 12th Legion. Plus two minor legions.
Seven legion standards, over thirty tribal banners.
Impressive on the surface.
I admired the host arrayed on the plain. In the empire's heyday, even two hundred thousand barbarians would hold no terror.
But ours is a motley crew.
Plausible gear, hollow substance.
I never forgot it.
Climbing Sian's empty tower to check tomorrow's weather, I spied black clouds to the west.
Rain in battle favored us not at all—but hard to be optimistic.
Clouds without downpour just sapped stamina with damp.
And marching rain was as deadly as the foe—pneumonia and colds claimed lives.
As I eyed the sky worriedly, Rubiot appeared beside me.
"We can drop the formalities now."
I spoke without looking at him. He took the cue.
"We're at Sian now. Think Heigirt won't engage soon?"
"Who knows."
"Accounting for that possibility?"
Leaning on a melted slag-brick wall, I replied.
"He's no simpleton. Might feint battle, then use cavalry mobility to hit our rear. His edge in maneuver gives him options."
"Any countermeasures?"
Rubiot asked.
I chuckled and punched his chest.
"You."
"Hahaha!"
Rubiot bellowed with laughter.
But I wasn't joking.
I trusted him—the comrades who'd shared life and death. The rabble I doubted, but these men would rise to my expectations.
I believed it.
(To be continued)