They found the first supply train a day later, nearly twenty leagues south of the place they had camped the night before.
The Knight they had captured had left only hours before, managing to cut his ropes thanks to an ‘accidentally’ dropped knife. His false warning was likely sill on its way to Eagleton, but Matt wasn’t planning on waiting to make sure. Sometimes, a man just had to trust that Fortune wouldn’t turn entirely against him.
To his gratitude, it seemed like Fortune was watching out for him again. The carts that traveling along the dusty road west were heavily loaded down with weapons, food, and clothing. There were guards, but they had spread out along the entire column, many of them trotting along on zephyrs—some kind of striped version of a horse—while others tromped along on foot. He couldn’t see any actual banners, so he guessed they were either some irregulars grouped together, or that they were part of a banner that had been broken up to provide an escort against the occasional bandit.
Whatever the guards’ purpose had been, stopping an entire banner of Warg riders wasn’t within their grasp.
Matt had waited until the column had entered a copse of trees, sending a couple of scouts to chop down a tree across the road ahead of them. As the front of the column came to a stop, he led the First out of the hills behind them to hit the rearguard. This time, he kept Nelson a little back from the front, letting some of the Warg riders charge ahead of him. They were more than eager now, seeing carts full of plunder and a gormless set of guards meandering around.
The enemy scattered almost immediately, with half of them turning to run before the First even made contact. Matt saw some even throwing off armor and tossing aside weapons as they fled, clearly hoping that by lightening their load they could escape.
In the end, some of them did, fleeing headlong into the hills. Snolt hadn’t been happy to let them go, but Matt knew it wasn’t worth the time or effort to hunt them down. Scattering them was good enough for what he wanted, and even with the escapees, there were still dozens of the enemy down or surrendered in minutes.
He led Nelson along the column, feeling a little refreshed as he looked over the carts. Some of the Goblins were already busy picking over the loot. He saw at least one squabble start, but the bickering Warg riders looked over at him and abruptly stopped. Matt grinned. At least he seemed to have some semblance of authority among them.
Snolt rejoined him a moment later, his grin wide enough that it nearly seemed to split his face. “Found an officer, sire.”
He glanced back as a pair of Goblins forced a Knight forward, a woman whose armor was dirty and streaked with blood. She was wounded, still bleeding from a slash on her side, though she glared up at him defiantly. “You will not get away with this, fiend. You and your raiders will suffer for what you have done.”
Matt brought Nelson to a stop. “Are you able to surrender the rest of the troops here, Knight?”
She blinked. Her fists clenched, and for an instant he thought she would refuse. Then her shoulders slumped. “Yes. For all the good it will do.”
“Good.” He looked at Snolt. “Get all of them together and disarm them. See that anyone who is wounded gets at least a bandage. We’ll clear one of their carts if they need it to transport the ones that are worse off.”
Snolt blinked and then reamed out an ear for a second. “Sire?”
“Tell the men to take what food and other supplies they can, and then to find torches. We’ll set the carts alight and then move on once we’re sure they’ve burned. We have a lot of ground to cover, and this will only be the start.”
The Goblin captain seemed about to protest—he likely had expected something in the way of plunder—but Matt shook his head slightly. Snolt glanced at the Knight, and nodded. “Yes, sire.”
Matt turned back to the Knight as Snolt led his Warg away, already shouting orders. “I regret that we cannot leave you armed, sir Knight, and we also cannot afford to escort you home. It would be too slow, you see.” She stiffened slightly, and he could see her making the calculations about what the words meant. It was likely that she was expecting butchery, so he knew the surprise in her eyes was genuine as he continued. “If you will all swear to stay out of the war against us for at least a year, then I will parole you back to your home. This means that you are not to fight against any of my people during that time, no matter where you find us. If you do so, then I will kill you, surrender or no surrender. Am I understood?”
The Knight’s jaw worked for a moment. Her too-large eyes were clouded with confusion. “I—yes, but—”
Matt ignored her and continued. “Your oath, lady Knight. I must have it, from you and all your men.”
She straightened up again, a bit of anger coming into her face. “Why are you doing this? Why not just kill us and be done?”
“I will, if I must.” He let those words hang in the air, and then continued. “But I never wanted this war in the first place. It is your leaders attacking my Kingdom, not the other way around. If I can convince you to keep to your own lands by sparing a few of you, then I would do so gladly.”
He saw incredulity and contempt gathering in her eyes, and he continued in a hard voice. “Of course, if that fails, I will kill and burn all of you, to the last banner. Now do I have your oath, or will you and your men be buried here?”
An hour later, the First rode east. Behind them, a column of smoke was rising from beneath the trees. By the time they had ridden out, every single one of those carts had been burning merrily; even if the paroled Knights tried to salvage something from them, all they would get was smoke inhalation and ashes.
Beside him, Captain Snolt was still sulking. When he caught Matt glancing at him, the Goblin shrugged. “It was a good supply train, sire. The men would have normally expected plenty of loot to take there.”
“They will have plenty of chances, Captain.” Matt gave him a conciliatory gesture. “Besides, that was only the first one. I plan on hitting plenty more than just that in the coming days, and if we take too much from all of them, our Wargs would be trying to waddle into battle beneath the saddlebags.”
He’d said it loud enough for the closest riders to catch it, and he heard a few muffled chuckles. That was good; soldiers used to plunder were not good traveling companions, especially far from home. There had been more than one Roman Emperor pulled down by his own men when he disappointed them in their expectations.
As if to underscore his worries, Snolt sighed and continued. “Still, sire, all that gold…”
“There’s plenty of gold waiting for us back in Redspire. For the carts, and for the battle at the River Crimson.” Matt kept his voice just loud enough for the eavesdroppers around him. “If we take three more of those, I’ll give every man an extra mark. Six more, and I’ll double it. What’s more, you’ll have the fame of being the Royal First, the Warg Riders that brought the entire army of the Noble Races to a halt with a single banner. How do you think they would receive you back at the city?”
Snolt grinned. “I suppose I could think of a woman that would be rightly impressed.”
“Well, if you want to see that, then trust me on this. We move fast, take only what we need, and we burn every cart they can drive our way.” Matt forced a little extra confidence into his voice, knowing that every word was going to count. “Stay true to me, boys, and we’ll leave them a lesson that none of these fools will ever forget!”
The next two days became something of a blur.
They found another supply train only two hours later, with similar results. The guards scattered in fear, while those who stood still fought for a while, and then surrendered in despair. Their captain was a grim, greying man; Matt thought the Knight’s eyes might have been about to fall out of his skull when he heard the terms of parole. Again, they left the carts burning, and this time, there was far more excitement among the riders around him. Matt even thought he heard some of the scouts placing wagers among themselves on who would find the next target.
The pattern repeated for the next three caravans, all scattered across the roads heading to Greymouth. Each time, his troops left the supplies burning, while the escorts ran for the hills, or slouched east with no arms and armor, under oath to avoid battle with the Kingdom. It was everything that Matt could have hoped for, to the point that he wondered aloud if the whole thing was some kind of trap.
“Trap, sire? No, I don’t think so.” Snolt shook his head. “I can’t think of a single thing they would gain by leaving these wagons out for us to burn. Not even just setting you up for the fall, if I’m honest.”
Matt gave him a crooked grin. They were riding away from the fifth destroyed convoy, the smoke still reaching for the skies. “That’s comforting, I suppose. Why do you say that?”
“Judging by the number of carts, I’d say that they went up to Greymouth only partially prepared. Maybe they wanted to catch the fortress by surprise, but more likely they were counting on being able to support their troops before their food started to run low.” Snolt gestured to the smoke still stretching towards the sky. “So they got the men marching with the bare minimum of supplies, and put together these convoys to try to make up for the lack of preparation.”
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The full impact of that statement dawned on Matt as they continued to ride away. “You’re saying that they just got the soldiers moving, and didn’t worry about having them take supplies with them? Because they were just going to ship things to them as they were needed?” The Goblin laughed and nodded, and Matt turned his attention to the road ahead, his mind whirling.
He’d expected to inconvenience the forces around Greymouth—that was the whole point of the campaign after all—but he'd also expected it to take quite a lot of time before he made any real dent in their supply chain. His banner of Warg riders had set out from Redspire with wagons of supplies, and when they had broken off, each rider had taken enough food and other supplies for at least ten days of travel. It had been a ridiculous level of risk, given that if those supplies had run short, he and the riders would have been starving to death within the next two weeks. If Hethwellow hadn’t even managed to plan that far ahead…
“Captain Snolt, how many banners did that last Knight say were up around Greymouth? Was it fifteen or sixteen?”
“Sixteen at least, sire. Though I’d place my bets on it being even higher than that.” Snolt chuckled again. “Those carts were loaded with plenty of fodder and food. Enough to keep at least twenty banners fed for at least a few days. Given how many of those they were sending, I’d say they took maybe a handful of days’ supply with them, and were hoping the carts would catch up to them after.”
The math checked out, more or less, especially since some of the Knights had mentioned other members of the Noble Races already joining the fight at Greymouth. Some of them might have prepared better than others, but unless a lot of wagons had already passed them by, the entire siege force was going to have to ration their food before the week was out. What had been a desperate plan—combined with a petty desire to make Hethwellow look like the fool he definitely was—had suddenly turned into a very viable strategy for beating back the entire invasion from the east.
Matt nodded to himself and then glanced back at Snolt. “Well, then let’s make sure none of those convoys slip past us, shall we? I wouldn’t want the men to miss out on their rewards.”
The riders of the First raised a ragged cheer, and they continued to ride east and south along the roads, with the scouts still watching for their next target.
Unfortunately, by the start of the third day, it was clear that the enemy had caught on to the situation.
“They turned back?” Matt couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone. The Goblin scout grimaced and nodded.
“Yes, sire. The grooves in the road show a lot of carts pulling off to the side and reversing course. They were all going back the way they came.”
Snolt’s face had turned grim. Matt could read a bit of frustration in the captain’s eyes. “They must have caught on. Seen the smoke, or maybe run into some of those paroled Knights.” He glanced at Matt and shrugged. “I guess it was never going to last forever. If they are turning back, it means they are going to wait for heavier reinforcements before trying to push on to Greymouth. We’ll be looking at two to three banners per set of carts, and they’ll be watching for Wargs in the shadows the whole way.”
Matt turned back to the map. He was holding it unfolded against Nelson’s saddle, thinking through the problem. His own banner did not have unlimited supplies, and it was only a matter of time before the Knights started to close in on him. The enemy’s supply situation might be as desperate as Snolt suggested, but that didn’t mean he could afford to throw his men away if they got caught, and he couldn’t afford to wait for the convoys to get sloppy again, either.
Which meant the fun of burning supply carts wouldn’t happen anymore. It was time to move to the next stage of the plan. He took a deep breath. “Okay. They are going to keep pulling back until they get reinforcements. That works to our advantage; the further away we can keep them from Greymouth, the longer the enemy army starves, and the longer our troops can hold out. It’s going to tie up more of their troops to escort the convoys, and they’ll go slower too. All of that helps.”
He folded up the map. “What we need to do now is push them even further back, and make sure they can’t resupply. They’ll still probably be able to run, for now, but I want them running east rather than west. So here is what we are going to do…”
The village was a small one, barely worth the name. The Order of the Griffon had established it only a century or so ago, despite the continued aggression between the Knights and the Kingdom. They had weathered dozens of raids over the years, and the farmers’ militia was more than capable of calling together the people to defend them against whatever handful of Impish bandits had attacked.
They weren’t ready for an entire banner of Warg Riders, however. Snolt led his cavalry in a charge that scattered the farmers, driving them back to the hastily fortified town hall. Then the Riders roamed through the town, harassing those few stragglers until the peasants were all gathered together in one spot.
Matt arrived in the village square not long after. He could see the signs of heavy carts dug deep into the dirt of the roads. One of the missing convoys had been here, and had just as clearly run for it the moment they’d seen the first sign of his banner.
He shook his head over the retreating Knights and then turned his attention back to the town hall. Snolt was waiting for him there, with a handful of Riders on panting Wargs. “Captain?”
“They ran for it, just like you said. A few put up a bit of a fight, but well…” Snolt shrugged. Matt hadn’t expected the captain to be upset over a few Knight peasants, but his stomach still twisted a little.
“You didn’t ride down the rest, right?”
“No, sire.” Snolt’s expression twisted in distaste. “I still say you’re being too light on ‘em, sire. They wouldn’t hesitate to butcher a whole clan if they had the chance.”
“You’re thinking of their lords, Snolt. These are just farmers. The only thing they butcher are cattle.” Matt looked back at the town hall. “Besides, we have a better use for them than slaughter.”
Snolt shrugged, and although the other Goblins still looked disgruntled, they didn’t openly protest. Matt ignored them and urged Nelson forward. There was no guarantee that a farmer might not try for a lucky bowshot, but he doubted it. More likely they were trembling in fear, hoping against hope that the raid would finish when the Goblins had carried everything else off. It would be enough for them if they would still have the lives of their families by the end of the day.
Hopefully, they would.
Matt led Nelson up towards the building. It was a simple structure, built from wood and left without ornamentation. It was clear that the place had been constructed with raids in mind; the walls were thick, and the tower had openings where he could see archers peeking out. The doors were heavy and bolted shut. All in all, it looked almost as much like a small castle keep as it did a gathering place for peasants.
He brought Nelson to a stop before the doors and looked up. “You in there! I wish to speak with whoever is in charge of this place.”
There was a pause. Then someone shouted back at him, a voice that was high and thin from fear. “And who are you? Why have you brought those monsters to our home? What do you want?”
“I am King Matthew, of the Kingdom of Iron.” He let that answer ring in their ears for a moment before he continued. “I want to know if you intend to surrender, or if I will need to burn you out.”
The statement provoked another pause, though this one was hardly silent. Matt could hear the muffled argument in the tower, though the words were still too indistinct to make out completely. Then another voice cut across the bickerers, and Matt smiled a little as he identified the gruff authority behind it. A moment later, he heard someone yell out in a strong, deep voice.
“My name is Goodman Tarls. I am the mayor of Genfeld Oaks. What do you want?”
“I want your immediate surrender.” Matt gestured to the Warg Rider that waited a bit further out of bowshot. “My men are ready to set that hall on fire, and you’ll all burn to death inside it. I don’t want that for you, though. We’ve already seen killing enough.”
The voice took on a bitter sort of anger, one that knew it was helpless to fight, but resented the world too much to just give in. “So you’ll take us as slaves, will you? We’ll live, but in chains under your rule?”
“I have no use for slaves, Goodman Tarls.” Matt looked around the village. “Do you know where your defenders are, Goodman? Where are the Knights of the Griffon?”
There was silence at the question, so Matt answered it, letting his voice grow hard. “They aren’t here to protect you because they march on my people, Goodman Tarls. They brought war to my Kingdom, even though I wanted peace. I warned them, when they threatened me, that they would regret it. That they would see blood and fire for their reward.”
There was another silence, and the mayor spoke up again. “We had nothing to do with that, King Matthew. We are only farmers.”
“I know, Goodman Tarls. I know.” Matt sighed. “But I cannot allow your village to continue to provide my enemies with food. To give them a safe place for their supply carts and a spot to sleep on their way to burn my home.” He looked down and adjusted Nelson’s reins. “If you surrender, I will let you go. Each of you will be allowed all the clothing and food you can carry on your backs, and any personal items as well. Those who stay will burn, along with all the fields, granaries, barns, and carts. We’re even going to sully the well, though it shames me to do it. Do you understand, Goodman Tarls?”
There was a long quiet. When Tarls spoke, his voice shook. “Yes, King Matthew. We understand.”
“I will give you half an hour to decide. We cannot wait any more time.” Matt turned Nelson around. Then he paused, looking back. “Good fortune to you, Goodman Tarls.”
There was no answer. He hadn’t expected one. After all, there was only one thing any of them could really say.
Within the hour, the people of Genfeld Oaks were on the road leading east. Behind them, the village burned, while the Warg Riders of the Royal First sped further into the night.
Genfeld Oaks was only the first.
Over the next four days, Matt ordered his banner to put six more villages to the torch. Most of them were surrendered the same way that Genfeld Oaks had been. Trepford, Nem’s Hall, Cubborston, and Silfeld all fell so easily that some of the riders began to grumble it wasn’t even a fun challenge anymore.
At Tresfeld Downs, most of the villagers surrendered and left, but there remained a group of stubborn defenders in their fortified hall. Matt ordered it burned anyway, and those inside died as they tried to escape the smoke. He tried not to think about the screams, but they troubled his dreams the next night.
It was at Erbel’s Ridge where things became truly interesting. When they arrived, the First found that a pair of convoys had stayed too long in the town. A disorganized banner of caravan guards tried to put up a resistance, but combined with the panicking townspeople and the fact that the guards were scattered throughout the village, they fared little better than the other caravans had. Matt managed to ride in on them himself, this time, his mace flashing out to knock an officer from their greatelk. In the end, the defenders fled, and those few villagers left surrendered, just as the other had. Both carts and homes burned as the First once again vanished into the night.
They did so just in time. His scouts reported that a banner of mounted Knights rode into the burning ruin of Erbel’s Ridge only an hour later. Apparently, the Knights spent some time trying to extinguish the flames, but the fire had already destroyed the supplies. The scouts had left before seeing if the Knights had managed to prevent the town hall from burning all the way to the ground.
At that point, however, Matt knew it was over. Had the guards been any more organized, they might have fought hard enough for reinforcements to come. The First had managed to put the caravan guards to flight, but if that banner of Knights had ridden in while his men were busy destroying the town…
His raiding party was running out of time, and the Knights were hunting them. If he didn’t break off now, somebody on the other side was going to get lucky. It was time to go.