Surrounded by what remained of his loyal men after their botched revolt in Saniya, Nahlen looked down on the foreign village at the foot of the hill. From his vantage point, he could watch his army's great devastation.
“So that would be step one. The only question is: What now?” he muttered his confusion to no one in particular. After all, his closest ally had already been taken out by the nonsense barbarian king several days ago.
While he waited for his troops to clean out the village, Nahlen thought back to the conversation he had held with the merchant king a few days back, the one which had led him here. He needed to clear his head and reaffirm his plans.
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As others were sent off to conquer the villages along the southern coast and get rich off the loot, Nahlen and his wolf mercenaries had been left behind. Of course he was upset that he and his men would miss out on their part of the bounty. Even more so, he was nervous about the cold treatment from the king. After their attempt at a takeover had failed, there would be no good end for Mason and the other co-conspirators. Even less so once they reached Dedrick.
Nahlen knew better than anyone about his commander, and the old mercenary would never go back on a deal once he had agreed to it. No matter how much he loved to talk like a bandit, at heart Dedrick was still just an Arcavian knight, with all the nonsense code that came with it. And more than anything, Arcavian knights didn't excuse traitors. Once Corco had decided to send Mason to Dedrick, the quartermaster's fate was as good as sealed. However, Nahlen knew Mason as well. No matter his talks of loyalty, the fat treasurer would talk long before he died, just to buy himself a few more moments of breath. Once the truth was out, Nahlen's life would be just as forfeit as Mason's.
Though even before that moment he was in imminent danger, right here in their army camp. When he stepped into the command tent, the merchant king, great seer Corcopaca Fastgrade, was already waiting for him on his seat. With a frown, the mercenary looked at the guards around the king while he stepped up to take his orders. No one offered the mercenary a chair of his own. All throughout the invasion, none of his men had been used as guards by the king, so the warriors here all stared at him with hostility. All but the king of course, who would always wear his eerie, unreadable mask of a smile.
Though of course, even Corco's thoughts had become clear to Nahlen. Since the incident, the mercenary had been given no vital orders at all, despite his important position within the army. Rather than do meaningful work, he would be sent out on menial tasks, to keep him busy and prevent any further plots. It was exactly what Nahlen expected this time as well: Busywork to keep him occupied until he would be easy to take out.
“So how did the trench digging go?” The king's voice was calm as ever, but Nahlen felt a tingle in his stomach that sapped his patience. Today, he wouldn't play along with the charlatan's games.
“King Corco, although we have done our work to the best of our ability, I believe my men would be much better served out in the field. They are your most experienced warriors and have proven their talents and loyalty in countless battles, unlike those local farmers and dockhands who have never seen blood.” Though his knees still felt weak, his chest ballooned as he stared at the king's incompetent guards one by one. However, Corco seemed uninterested in a power play.
“Their background is exactly why they had to be sent out first: They're locals, and commoners. I get your basic point, but you're wrong. You and your men have been assigned to the camp because this was where I needed you most. After our landing, our first priority was to secure a proper foothold in the north, before anyone can organize an attack against our position. Not only do your guys have prior experience with the engineering work, we also needed our strongest men for all the hard labor to speed up our progress. The strongest, unfortunately, are the wolves.”
Corco shifted in his seat before he continued.
“Unlike the rest of my army, at least the wolves have been cultivating for a couple years. If we let the commoners dig those trenches, it would take them all winter. Plus, I wanted to establish first contact between my troops and the local villagers through Yaku men, people who understand them in every regard. Their humble heritage is a bonus, if anything. If we had moved in with foreign nobles to take the wealth of the people, it would have been bad PR for me, even worse than this operation already is.”
As usual, Nahlen had a hard time following the king's ramblings. Still, one part he had understood: The merchant had said they 'had been needed' in past form, which meant that their new orders would lead them out of this damned camp at last.
“So what's our new task?” he asked, eager to receive good news, and even more eager to leave the uncomfortable presence of the many-faced man in his front.
“Now that your work is done, we have that precious foothold established. I think it's time we focused more on the work outside. There's already been sightings of enemy ships along the coastline, so we better hurry up and clean out those villages. While our small-caliber cannons repelled them easily enough, they probably won't just sit still and starve to death. So, while my other commanders will have to reinforce their positions at the villages they have taken, I need you to go and organize all the wolves in the camp. Coordinate in multiple groups and clean up the remaining villages a bit further inland. I don't want the ships of that blockade to sneak in a landing in some secret bay somewhere and smuggle back supplies.”
For the first time since Corco had returned from his trip to Chutwa, Nahlen was genuinely glad to hear his voice. Maybe the king's suspicions had been lifted after he had seen Nahlen's hard work? No matter what, at last he had enough room to operate now, enough room to plan his future.
“Your wish is my command, King Corco.” After his energetic acknowledgment, the mercenary turned and left the tent.
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With this single command from Corco, Nahlen had been removed from the doghouse. At last, he had suffered through his time of penance and regained the king's trust. Now, he just needed to deal with the Mason situation before it escalated into a problem. However, the commander had prepared for the worst long before the king had ever returned. If everything went according to Nahlen's plans, Mason would never make it to Qarasi Castle. An unfortunate, desperate and shameful suicide would prevent his inevitable confession before Dedrick. At the same time, Nahlen had decided to lay low and gain Corco's favor, at least for the moment. Easy enough, since his only competition were a bunch of green recruits, most of them trained up by himself.
Of course, he couldn't stay here in the long term. Even after the king's trust had returned, he could never be sure about his enigmatic master's motives, and he had lost his strongest ally to boot. As he saw it, he'd have to lay low and play obedient servant for now, until he found an opportunity to show his worth to Duke Herak. Only then could he switch sides in a way which would not cost him any power or wealth.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Though the plan was good, it had far too many holes at the moment. Yes, he could wait for an opportune time to stick a knife into Corco's back, but in a proper battle, he would only make a true difference if he could command enough men who were willing to follow him. Everything being said, if he wanted to make an impact on this war, he'd have to win over a whole lot more of the wolves, and maybe even a few of his new recruits. After the failed takeover of Saniya, he had already lost most of his loyalists. Whatever was left would have to be convinced with more solid evidence than grand promises of future riches. At least the merchant king's most recent orders order had given him the chance to secure that evidence.
Even though he had been confined to the camp for several days, Nahlen hadn't stood still. During his days of penance, he had asked around for the richest, juiciest villages in the area, in great secrecy of course. The traveling folk who had come to the camp for some quick silver had been ideal targets. After a few coins and some cheap wine, a local flame juggler had spilled a great secret. It seemed like the chief of a village closeby was the illegitimate son of the local ruler, Lord Cassius.
Though he was illegitimate, it seemed like the lord was very fond of this bastard son and trusted him deeply. As a result, the lord had left that bastard with a portion of his wealth and stashed it all beneath the son's house in the village. Now that Nahlen had been tasked to organize the second wave of requisitions, he had free reign to visit the place. Not only could he take the wealth of the local lord, but also the money Corco had entrusted him with to buy grain. With both sums put together, he could buy enough loyalty for a second chance at greatness.
Of course, the merchant king had implored him to use the money for the grains from the villages, rather than taking them like any self-respecting mercenary would. Worse yet, he had even tasked Nahlen to reign in his men and go easy on the 'poor villagers', but Nahlen had better ideas. In the chaos of war, what would one village matter anyways? Most likely, no one would ever notice if they just disappeared. Even if his deeds here were ever found out, this was just a village full of commoners. Who would care about a burnt village full of worthless dead people? None of the merchant king's soldiers would side with him on this issue, so he wouldn't be able to enforce any law. Not during war time when there were more pressing issues to consider.
From a distance, the blaring noise of a horn brought Nahlen back into reality. As his plan took further form in his head, the mercenary once again looked down onto the houses beyond the low palisade wall, where his men had begun their game of raze and plunder. Screams of fear and pain told him tales of good, honest mercenary work. Cold wind carried the crackling of flames to him and warmed his heart. The wolves had been starved for too long. It was time to feast at last.
However, as he rose to join in the fun and begin his search for that local lord's secret stash, he noticed something peculiar. Within the cacophony of screams, he failed to hear any laughter from his men. Instead, he could distinguish the high-pitched ping of metal on metal. At that very moment, the sound of gunfire burst through the atmosphere. This couldn't be, could it?
In a panic, Nahlen ran down the hill and sprinted into the village. These men were his only chance. He couldn't lose them! As soon as he crossed beyond the village's borders, through the gate in the short fence, he stood still, shocked into silence. Around him, there were no signs of plunder, and no dead villagers. Although the smell of blood and soot were oh so familiar to his nose, the hasty steps, strained grunts and enraged shouts in the distance told him the truth: This wasn't a slaughter, it was a battlefield. As he began to move towards the noise, the number of gunshots increased further.
“Hold steady! There's almost none of them left!”
One of his men shouted from somewhere in the center of the village, but Nahlen still couldn't see them. After he had drawn his sword and shield, he rushed ahead, always aware of the countless fretful eyes which observed him from within the houses.
When he arrived in the village's central plaza, he found his men in a secure, defensive formation, with halberdiers on three sides and musketeers in the center. All around them lay the local villagers, the brown-skinned barbarians of Medala. As they drowned in their blood, Nahlen stepped over their bodies, never focused on the dying men themselves, but on their equipment.
Axes and swords, leather and chain mail. Somehow, these barbarians had equipment almost on the level of a proper army.
“What by the blazes happened here!?” he shouted out his anger and fear. “Why are you driven back by some peasants!?”
“Commander, something is wrong here!” Ulrik said, one of his last few loyal men. Behind the mercenary sat the rest of the formation, which enclosed a pile of injured wolves within. Only once Nahlen had motioned Ulrik to continue did he speak up again. “At first everything went well. When we came to attack the villagers, they lost their heads right away and rushed into the center of the village. Looked like they didn't plan to defend at all. We spread into the alleys to do our thing and make some coin, but a couple of us took after those locals to make sure they wouldn't do anything stupid. Who knew that they would dare lay an ambush against us here, out in the open where our formation would matter less?”
As he understood the severity of the situation, Nahlen swallowed heavily. Maybe there really was some illegitimate son here, and these were warriors in hiding, willing to protect their lord's child? If that was the case, it could spell his end in this land where status mattered more than anything. Even though he was technically considered a warrior, he could imagine what sort of fate awaited those who dared kill a high noble of Medala.
“What's with those excuses? Can't you deal with a handful of peasants by yourselves?” he deflected away from his own fears. In response, Ulrik only lowered his head. “Where are those attackers now?”
“They were surprisingly resilient, and fought almost to the last man. The few who survived the attack ran to the north.” He motioned down the now empty road, away from the formation of the wolves. As Nahlen's mind churned, his chest grew tighter and tighter. Maybe this wasn't the end yet. This could still be salvaged.
“You organize a small team and make sure those warriors don't get out of here alive!” he barked. “And call on all the remaining wolves to assemble here.”
“Sure thing, boss, but-”
“Didn't I say no more excuses!?” After he had shouted Ulrik down, Nahlen saw his minion's face, terrified and conflicted. Anger wouldn't help any. As it was, he was already running out of allies fast. Rather than blame his useless follower for his obvious mistake, he had to stay calm and reduce the damage caused by this blunder.
After he had breathed twice to cool his head, he said, “fine, speak.”
“I'm sure you've heard, boss, but we've already blown the horn and pulled all the men together.”
That was when Nahlen remembered the sound which had first brought his attention back to the village. Wasn't this their newest piece of equipment, provided by the king to be heard over vast distances? With horror, the commander pushed through the dense formation of his men, whose eyes still flitted all across the surrounding alleys, still focused on an invisible enemy. Right behind them he found the mountain of his wounded men. Yet beyond the injured lay another pile, one of good Arcavian soldiers taken long before their time.
This wasn't just bad, it was terrible. Weren't this at least ten of his men? Not only had he lost more of his wolves. Not only would this harm his reputation within the company even more. No, by all right, these were the king's troops, not his. If he came back to the camp now, he would be a traitor, someone who had disregarded orders and gotten the king's soldiers killed in the process. That alone was reason enough to cut off his head.
Calm down. You can still get out of this.
Yes, wasn't this the place of the local lord's son? Wasn't it an achievement to take out the local warriors in a skirmish, losses be damned? These were hidden experts the king's own spies had overlooked, but Nahlen had bravely stepped ahead and sacrificed his own men to remove the hidden nail, in service of the king. He would have loved to inform the king, but all he could have offered was a hunch, not enough to bother the great ruler with.
If anything, his loss of men would be considered honorable, nothing less. Wasn't this the story of a hero, of someone who deserved a reward? With that gain in reputation and the reward, in addition the still-hidden treasure of the local lord somewhere in the village, he could still put together the time and resources he needed for that second chance at glory. He just needed to turn his fictional hero's tale into reality.
“We'll need to surround the village,” he said, as if in a trance. As he spoke, his eyes turned cold, and his voice firmed up. He wouldn't die in some barbarian land, and he wouldn't die poor either. “Surround this place and burn it to the ground. Let no one live. Remember this well: If anyone speaks of what really happened here today, all of us will be dead men.”