Chapter 2
Erik von Balensburg watched his soldiers inspecting a merchant vessel with bored disinterest.
He had been forced to agree to let merchant vessels pass, even official Imperial ones, so long as his men were allowed to inspect to make sure there were no soldiers or weapons. It was an order given to him by the Baron von Bickenstadt himself, saying ‘The trade must flow’, so there was nothing he could do but follow through. Because of this, merchant vessels were passing through, and the Empress was far less frantic to break the blockade.
Erik sighed.
“Is there even a point in having a blockade? I thought we were trying to strangle their economy.”
His aid, a young sailor who showed great promise, nodded.
“I was wondering about that, sir. Also, do slave ships count as merchant vessels?”
Erik shook his head.
“No, and even if they did I would sink them, after unloading their precious ‘cargo’ and shipping them back home safe, of course.”
His aid had a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Do you have something you want to ask, son?”
His aid slowly nodded.
“Well…I was just wondering…why do you hate elven slavery so much? They’re not even human.”
“Well, quite frankly I don’t care if they’re human or not, I believe slavery to be immoral, no matter who it is done to.”
“What about the enslavement of cattle?”
Erik opened his mouth to respond, then closed it as he thought. He nodded his head as he came to a conclusion.
“Well…the difference is sapience. Cattle are nothing but animals, but elves are thinking, feeling beings, just like you and I. I’ve met enough of them to know that much.”
His aid tilted his head.
“So, do they deserve the same rights as us?”
“That, my boy, is a far more complicated question. I argue yes, others argue no. I have heard their arguments, and honestly, they’re dreadful.”
He crossed his arms as he watched his soldiers bring up a long wooden crate with its lid off.
“Hm, seems they’re smuggling something. By the length of the crate my guess is weapons.”
He left his spot and swiftly walked over to the other ship, gesturing for his aid to follow.
“Most likely this is going to pro-Imperial radicals within our territory. They’re always waiting for a good opportunity-MEN! We’re doing a deep search of this vessel. Open every crate and inspect the contents thoroughly.”
The owner of the vessel, a old merchant from Grössenstadt, walked over and got down on his knees.
“Please, sir, just take the weapons. The Empress required that I bring them along with-I-I-I had no choice! Sh-sh-she wouldn’t let me leave without them, I swear to the gods!”
Erik crossed his arms.
“...that does seem like the sort of thing the Empress would do…tell us where everything is hidden and hand it over, along with a five hundred Reiksgeld fine for smuggling. On that condition you may keep your cargo and continue. Incidentally, where are you sailing to?”
The merchant shot up with energy befitting a young man.
“Thank you so much sir! I am forever grateful! I am taking good Imperial textiles and lumber to the Assai’id confederation! They are in high demand there!”
Erik held out his hand.
“Your ship’s manifest, please.”
The merchant took out a small booklet from his inner breast pocket.
“Here, everything that the Empress required me take is marked with two periods at the end. I am carrying with me four hundred muskets, eight barrels of black powder, and an entire crate’s worth of shot.”
Wow, he’s really cooperative. Cowardly? Or something else?
Erik looked the merchant up and down. He looked extremely relieved, to an extent that only a peerless actor could pull it off convincingly.
Most likely a coward. Cowardly merchant, what’s new?
“We appreciate your cooperation. We will still need to check through your cargo to make sure there are no more discrepancies.”
The merchant’s smile faded slightly and he nodded.
“Yes, of course, and, about how long should that take?”
Erik rolled his eyes.
“An hour at most, my men are efficient.”
The merchant sighed with relief.
“Thank the gods, the harbor police in Grössenburg are so slow!”
Erik raised an eyebrow.
“You really are awfully cooperative for a Grössenstadter, and strangely positive towards us. Do you have no opinion on who should win this conflict?”
The merchant smiled.
“Well, I would prefer the Empress continue to run things, the Baron’s policies on workers would cost me a a few extra thousand Reiksgeld per month, however, so long as trade is allowed to flow I will be happy. Foreigners are always happy to see Imperial trade ships docking in their harbors.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Well, not quite a Mitlaufer, but you’re bordering on it.”
The merchant rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well, I would describe myself as a conservative. I wish to conserve the status quo if I can help it, however, I am practical. If it changes, then I must as well. That is what we merchants do, adapt to the situation at hand.”
So he lacks principles, is what I’m hearing.
“Well, this has been a nice talk. I look forward to doing business with you in the future.”
Erik extended his hand.
“If you truly don’t mind who wins or loses, why not run things for us in the future?”
The merchant smiled nervously.
“W-well, I suppose I could, depending on what it is.”
Erik smiled.
“Well, you have to return through here anyways, do you not? We’ll have something for you to do then. And of course there will be Reiksgeld in it for you.”
The merchant looked at his hand for a few seconds before tentatively grasping it.
“P-pleasure doing business with you.”
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May 26th, 1663. Größer Teilanderfluss, Grössenstadt side.
Fergus stalked through the thick underbrush of the Dunkwald alone, farther behind enemy lines than any regular scout would be willing to go. The forest extended through three different provinces, Holenstadt-Bickenstadt-Grössenstadt, broken up occasionally by mountains and rivers.
He had seen fewer Imperial scouts and soldiers as of late, which made him feel antsy. They had to be planning something, there was no other explanation for why they’ve all but disappeared. He checked over a path Imperial skirmishers were known to frequent and found very little signs of travel. He shook his head and turned back to link up with his men.
He retraced his steps and found the hidden encampment they had built around a mile behind Imperial lines. It was in a particularly dense thicket of trees and bushes, hidden from the outside as the overgrown plants created a near impenetrable wall of flora.
“Still next to nothing here. I even saw a deer! They’re planning something, they have to be.”
Fergus’s men all nodded.
“We’re gonna go a lil deeper lads.”
They all acknowledged his orders and stood from their spots.
“Right, let’s-”
A loud screech echoed around the surrounding area, causing everyone around to involuntarily flinch. They all drew their weapons and looked around, pure fear evident on their faces. Overhead they heard a loud whoosh and their heads shot up. Flying a hundred feet above them was a massive and majestic beast, with the body of a lion and head and tail of an eagle, as well as sparkling armor buzzing with enchantments. It was a Demigryph, the most revered and respected animal on this continent.
A Demigryph was said to be even more intelligent than humans, though they could not speak any language known to Imperials. Any man who could ride a Demigryph had to do so with their express permission, and their massive frames along with razor sharp beaks and claws made sure that their wishes were respected. The Demigryph knights were a legendary group, said to be able to defeat entire armies through their terrifying presence alone.
They all crouched involuntarily as more flew over their head, all of their nerves firing at full blast to desperately send a signal to their brains: RUN! Fergus grit his teeth and planted his feet. A tear nearly escaped from his eye as he bit the inside of his lip, trying to focus his mind.
Soon, all of the riders had passed, and the Berzerkeri calmed. Fergus was shocked, he hadn’t felt fear like that for years. It was a deep, biting, debilitating fear that shook him to his core.
We’re about to lose this side of the river, aren’t we?
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Fergus crouched on a thick branch, overlooking the Imperial camp. They were a couple dozen miles north of the ferry stations, close to a major road out of Grössenstadt.
Their camp extended out as far as the eye could see. He was having trouble estimating the exact numbers, but so far as he could tell they were bringing around seventy thousand men to kick the rebels out of their beloved province.
He watched a procession of wagons carrying ammunition and horses dragging dozens of artillery pieces into the camp. He could see soldiers drilling and horsemen practicing their craft, riding around posts and slicing cabbages in half. Military engineers tinkered with muskets and rifles, making sure they were in perfect working order.
And in the center of the camp was a massive purple tent, larger than the average hovel that Imperials slept in. It was the Empress’s tent, made of enchanted wool able to stop anything thrown or shot at it, even cannonballs. Next to it were sixty massive nests in which Demigryphs were sleeping, their riders mulling about nearby.
Fergus made some hand signals to a nearby scout and they immediately ran off to relay his orders. They would need reinforcements, and soon.
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May 30th, 1663. Leibenstadt.
Garrison Commander Dietrich Hasselbach brought a telescope to his eye, watching a small skirmish unfold down the mountain.
An Imperial skirmisher fired his musket and nailed a rebel dead in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. He ducked involuntarily as the rebel’s comrades fired back. Another Imperial skirmisher grabbed his comrade and the two made a break for the safety of their outpost, part of the citadel’s first defensive line.
He watched the rebels hooting and hollering, celebrating that they had driven back another wave of skirmishers. The Imperials were indeed repeatedly pushed back into their citadel after every sallying out, but they were causing casualties all the same, while taking few in exchange. In a siege, attrition was the name of the game. All they had to do was outlast the rebels and they would survive.
He could feel a buzzing in his inner breast pocket and pulled out his sending stone, holding it up to his ear a second later.
“Ma’am?”
After a few seconds a voice came, clear and smooth, perfectly audible.
“...Hasselbach, soon we will knock the rebels out of Grössenstadt. Soon after that we will cross the river, and then it should be a simply matter of time before you are relieved, if our logistics hold up. Make sure the men hold strong, and that they know their Empress is coming for them.”
Hasselbach smiled.
“Yes ma’am, I’ll get right on that. Long live the Empire.”
“...long live the Empire.”
Suddenly, he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet, and a loud boom behind him. He gripped his saber tightly and ran across the battlements to the southern side, seeing a large column of smoke erupting down near the foot of the mountain, at the start of the defensive line on the southern side.
He could faintly hear the cheers of the Ottomans who came to assist the Baron von Bickenstadt over the howling of the wind that came from being near the top of a mountain. He cursed under his breath and looked again through his telescope.
The center of the blockhouse had a massive crater, and the enchanted walls around it lay in rubble. He could see arms and legs sticking out of the rocks, and dust settling on bloody faces. Ottomans were already beginning to flood the area and finish off anyone they found that was still breathing.
He turned to a nearby soldier, enchanted by the smoking rising in the air.
“Go tell the skirmishers to harass them! Whatever they do, I want it done under an iron hail!”
The soldier saluted and ran off to relay his orders.
He looked through his telescope again and nearly marveled at how quickly the Ottomans began working. They were already setting up palisades and shoveling debris out of the way. Soon, they were doing so under gunfire. Not particularly accurate gunfire, but gunfire nonetheless.
Over the course of thirty minutes he watched the Ottomans fortify their position and occasionally drag a wounded comrade away to their medics when an Imperial soldier got lucky. They had a line of wooden stakes and walls facing the defenders, retaking their position would be a bloody and costly endeavor. One that was likely not worth the trouble.
Hasselbach sighed and turned on his heel.
“This is going to be a lot of work.”