27 Tavorhel. The fifteenth day of the eighth month.
General Arael sat anxiously in his tent, his hands crossed together as he stared blankly at his lieutenants. Outside, tens of thousands of troops, hastily gathered from nearby regions, were only beginning to settle down, the armies still under reorganisation and regrouping.
The newly formed Northern Army, made up of Arael’s personal corps and the reserves from Vil and Tecullia, were encamped outside the city of Maerila. Supply wagons went to and fro, shipping the supplies from the city to temporary storage depots in the camp. It took only a little more than a week to mobilise and gather the troops together, a testament to the efficient Trelvenese road networks. Furthermore, they were reserves, having their own lives outside of the military. Essentially, this was an army of farmers, artisans, smiths, scholars mixed with the professional soldiers. It was a logistical feat in its own right.
However, gathering them and utilising them as a single unit were completely different things. Arael looked at the pile of letters and documents on his desk, many of which were from the royal palace in Trellien. They were letters of urgency, rushing him to quickly dismantle the rebellion. Some demanded the confiscation of weapons from the rest of the mercenaries, some of whom hadn’t even heard of the rebellion yet. Others urged him to regularly report any and all details regarding the organisation and movement of the army, even if they had nothing to do with the military. And still others were asking about the progress of battle, assuming he had already engaged the Foresters.
All of these were irritating stressors which only served to make him more agitated, as if he wasn’t having a big enough headache already organising troops at an urgency he had never experienced before.
He had even sent a letter to Crown Prince Amovishel, a figure everyone knew was more sympathetic to the Foresters, for his aid. Back then, he had believed the entire Forester force in the region, numbering over ten thousand, had revolted. Amovishel was supposed to be the delegate to at least make time for Arael to organise things. Fortunately, it was only a small contingent numbering around 100 people that revolted, not enough to even make an impact against Arael’s troops.
The capital definitely overreacted with sending all available reserves from the nearby regions, but there was a good reason for the initial panic. With the summer campaign in full swing far to the south, they couldn’t afford to have any disruption, especially from their interior. Their assumption that all the Foresters revolted only added to the panic. Arael had to kill the rebellion as quickly as possible. Even if this was overkill, sending tens of thousands of troops against a mere hundred rebels, he couldn’t completely relax.
That one hundred Foresters had already destroyed the small fortress town of Norerila less than a week ago, probably around the time Arael’s letter reached Amovishel. The place was stationed with around the same number of soldiers, but although they were made up of weaker veterans and new recruits, they were still regulars.
Most surprisingly, the rebels just disappeared after that. No news, no reports, not even rumours. They simply vanished. He had prepared for the looting of fields, villages and even towns, but there was nothing. His scouts had returned empty-handed every day since discovering the ruined Norerila.
He didn’t know where they were. The lack of information was far more worrying than the tiny numbers of the rebellion.
He only hoped there’d be at least some clue of the Foresters’ whereabouts. At least then his massive army wouldn’t sit here and waste supplies. Even a rich provincial capital like Maerila had its limits, after all.
‘Alright, let’s go through our agenda for today,’ he began, attempting to hide his stress before his subordinates. ‘First, our organisation of forces.’
A lieutenant stepped out and delivered a document, adding to the pile of clutter. ‘All troops from the entire province have arrived and in their correct stations, General. Reinforcements from Vil and Tecullia are arriving in a week or two. The cavalry and archers have been divided from the infantry, though we still need time for a list of all commanding officers to be compiled. Supply issues are the same as yesterday, nothing changed. The troops are just idle.’
‘The mercenaries?’
‘They’re secured in their quarters. No desertion reports so far.’
Arael had control of all the Forester mercenaries in the region. They were wasting his food, yes, but at least the rebellion wouldn’t be able to strengthen their numbers.
‘Alright, that’ll be enough. Next, our scouting corps.’
The lieutenant saluted and returned to his seat. Another lieutenant soon stepped forth, and just like the previous lieutenant, handed another document into Arael’s hands. ‘We’ve received reports of a wheat field being burnt almost a day’s riding distance away to our northwest. One of the scout teams noticed an encampment nearby, most likely belonging to the rebels.’
‘Finally!’ Arael exclaimed. ‘The northwest… Will the armies from Vil and Tecullia pass by the area?’
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‘They’re coming from the southwest, not the northwest, General.’
‘I see…’ To think the rebellion was already that close was quite the surprise, but given their small numbers and light burdens, it wasn’t too much out of his expectations. In fact, this was even better for him. There was no longer any need to spread out his scouts in a wide search. He could simply redirect them to track and harass the rebels before the main army gradually suffocates them from all sides, leaving no chance for escape.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he could focus his forces and bring an end to this farce.
‘That’s all I need to know,’ he said. ‘Recall all the scouts to the supposed Forester encampment now. Continue to track them for the upcoming days. That is all. You may leave first.’
The second lieutenant also gave a salute before heading outside the tent.
‘Next, to discuss our overall strategy from this day forth—’
The second lieutenant entered again, his face clearly troubled by something from those short moments. ‘General, I apologise for disturbing you again, but…’
‘But?’ Arael looked at him, perplexed at this rapid change in expression and demeanour.
‘... I’ve just received reports that there are multiple field fires from the northwest to the northeast of the city, the closest one only two days’ marching distance away to our northeast.’
‘Isn’t that—’
‘It’s near where the closest Forester settlement is, General.’
Arael looked at the lieutenant in disbelief. ‘Surely a hundred-man strong unit couldn’t spread itself that wide just to cause mayhem around us? Do they even know how many we have within their vicinity? Surely they hadn’t…’
It was practically common knowledge that almost all able-bodied Foresters, men and women, were sent to the Guild by the age of sixteen. The rest were either children, disabled, or Forester women excused from service for the sake of bearing and raising children. None of them would be fit for fighting.
But the rebels couldn’t have caused this much havoc without increased support.
‘... They must’ve recruited more from the settlements,’ Arael finished his thought. ‘There’s only so much they can do before they spread themselves too thin.’
‘General, aren’t you reaching a bit with your conclusions?’
That annoying voice. Arael looked to the direction of the exit, and sure enough, there stood Amovishel, his clothing filled with dust, his white hair unkempt from days being ruffled by the wind. Arael had no idea when the Prince had arrived, but it was certainly very recent.
‘I thought you were facing a complete Forester revolt in the region from your letter,’ Amovishel said, not-so-subtly hiding the irritation in his voice. ‘And when I arrived, it turned out there’s only a hundred-ish rebels for your massive army to handle. For this I rushed from the capital with practically no rest in between… Do you have any idea how stupid I feel right now?’
‘Well, I…’ Arael and several other high-ranking officials particularly disliked Amovishel for this particular reason, even if the Crown Prince was one of the most competent people in the entire kingdom. The young man’s way with words was pressuring, his speech fast and his tone demanding. Arael couldn’t even catch a breath.
‘I apologise,’ was all he mustered in the end.
‘Apology accepted,’ Amovishel sighed. ‘Anyway, regarding your suspicion on the rebels recruiting the Foresters from the nearby settlement, General, I personally think you’re jumping to conclusions.’
‘It’s impossible for them to cause such chaos with their numbers,’ Arael argued. ‘No unit would spread themselves that thin.’
‘And what would you do, assuming your speculation is correct?’
‘Attack the Forester settlement, which we already know the location of, and force the rebels to concentrate there in order to protect their people,’ Arael answered. ‘On the way, we’d set up ambushes to easily take them out. We wouldn’t even need to use a hundredth of our numbers.’
‘It’s a fine idea, but what if your speculation is wrong? The Mercenaries’ Guild is particularly sensitive about kingdoms encroaching on their lawless spaces, and if it turns out we made a mistake, we’re risking the Guild completely severing ties with us and doing business only with Rhinn and her allies.’
That was certainly a dangerous possibility. The Guild’s impartiality was what kept the war at its delicate balance for this long, offering Forester mercenaries to both sides while reaping massive profits from contracts and bribes. If it ever decided to side completely with either Trelven or Rhinn, the war would swiftly end. For all the nobles’ selfish ambitions, none would want Trelven defeated in a war they invested in for too long. Arael was aware of all this.
But there was also immense pressure to end the rebellion as quickly as possible. Arael simply couldn’t ignore this just for the possibility of a worst-case scenario.
And he couldn’t allow himself to look too weak against someone twenty years his junior, even if that person was the future king.
‘... I’ll shoulder the consequences,’ he answered. ‘We’ll march towards the northeast tomorrow. And by we, I mean you, dear Prince. I’ll give you the chance of glory to crush a rebellion, while I’ll bear the consequences if anything goes wrong.’
‘I’d rather give the glory to you, General,’ Amovishel sarcastically replied.
‘Then at least be part of the rear guard,’ Arael suggested. ‘The presence of the Crown Prince should be enough to raise our morale.’
‘Using the soldiers’ sentiments against me now, General?’ Amovishel said. ‘Well, if you insist. I wouldn’t have much use here otherwise.’
The Prince was surprisingly obedient this time around.
Satisfied, Arael faced his lieutenants again. ‘Pick the finest cavalry troops from our ranks. As for infantry and archers, I’ll only need a hundred-man unit from each of you. The rest can wait for further orders. Tomorrow, we march!’
Amovishel still had a slightly disapproving expression, but Arael could care less about that now. There was finally an opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.
The forest was waiting.