Chapter 195 - Guerilla Tactics

As  soon as Fadelio's convoy entered the woods, everyone inside could feel  the enemy's presence. The eerie silence of winter had formed the  impression and the messy shadow of the twigs above their heads only  intensified it. They had only taken a few steps inside and already their  scouts managed to find several snares and even some nasty spike traps  hidden under the winter snow. Despite all of their care, the enemy  trappers only had to succeed once to create trouble.

“Aaaah!”  A loud shriek of pain broke through the hibernating forest. One of the  warrior guards stationed around the convoy had been careless. When  Fadelio rushed over, the damage was already done, and the trap was  revealed. A rope had been tripped, which had released a row of tensed,  sharpened sticks of bamboo at shin-height. The weapon was as primitive  as it was nasty. A sharpened bamboo stick had almost run the warrior's  leg clean through, despite his super-human powers. Blood flowed freely  from the stick's opening, like a macabre drinking fountain.

Annoyed,  Fadelio watched as the men fumbled with the wound. Just as he arrived,  they even removed the bamboo, which only caused further lacerations and  more pained shrieks from the victim.

“What  the hell are you doing! Out of my way.” He roared and pushed the others  out of the way. “Quiet down, I will take care of him. You, Naoka, get  me our medical supplies.”

After  the warriors had stopped panicking and made some room for him, Fadelio  kneeled down and inspected the horrific incision left by the bamboo.  Then he turned to the still howling warrior.

“Get  a grip man! Don't disgrace your ancestors!” he shouted in the injured  warrior's pale face. Reminded of his status, at least the man managed to  reduce his cries to a whimper. Although Fadelio's master would never  approve of this kind of treatment, nothing was more sacred to a warrior  than his honor. He had no time to care about the warrior's feeling  either, since the commoners behind them were scared enough as was. They  didn't need another reminder of the pain they could face anytime on  their march through the forest. Now that the problem of morale was  solved for the moment, Fadelio began to take care of the wound. Not a  moment too early, Naoka came back with the medical supplies.

“Go tell the others. We're taking a break until I've finished the treatment,” Fadelio said as he took the familiar tools.

Over  the years, he had learned to deal with injuries just as well as Corco,  which was to say: 'barely better than the average doctor'. Still, he  somehow managed to slow the bleeding by applying pressure and sterilized  the wound with some alcohol. Then he began the slow, bloody process of  suturing the gaping wound. Though he somehow or other managed to save  the man's leg - even though he might have some problems walking in the  future - the entire operation took him over an hour.

He  wasn't quite finished when the next problem was added to his pile of  worries. From across their formation, he could hear another scream of  pain, though at least it wasn't a desperate shriek this time.

“Ambush!”  someone shouted in the distance. Fadelio's eyes darted back and forth  between the indistinct movements in the distance and the half-sutured  wound right before him. For now, the injury had stopped bleeding too  badly, so it was no longer a high priority.

“Hold  this and apply pressure, or you will lose too much blood.” Before the  injured warrior had pressed the piece of clean cloth against his leg,  Fadelio was already up and away to deal with the next problem.

“Tell me what in the hell is going on!” he shouted as he pushed through a small crowd to reach the source of all the noise.

“Young  master, we have been attacked by archers.” His second-in-command was  already on the scene. “There were three shooters. They wore white furs,  so in the snow they managed to sneak close without our knowledge. They  had already injured one of the guards in our periphery before we could  spot them. Our men tried to pursue, but decided against it once the  shooters retreated back into the forest.”

“Good. Don't follow them. If we blindly give chase, they'll only take us down one by one. That's exactly what they want.”

Fadelio  ground his teeth as he looked at the injured warrior. Although his  injury was a lot less severe than the punctured leg of the first one,  treatment would add even more time to their stop. If this continued,  they would never make it through the forest.

“Load  the injured onto a wagon,” he decided in the end. “We're taking them  with us and I'll take care of them on the go. We need to get moving if  we don't want to be easy targets.”

Once  his mind was set, the convoy began to make progress again. Even so,  each step felt like they got stuck deeper and deeper in a mire. Over the  following hours, they became victims of repeated attacks. Although they  lost no lives, the number of injured kept increasing more and more,  never giving the commander any time to rest between treatments. At this  point, they were almost out of not only medical supplies, but also space  on the wagons.

First,  Fadelio had asked to dump some of their extraneous supplies to make  room for his warriors. The craftsmen had brought a lot of expensive  goods to start their new life in Saniya, and Lord Nasica had sent them  off with even more useless luxuries so his warriors would travel in  comfort. All that stuff had to go.

Unlike  the warriors, who were used to hardship, the craftsmen had protested in  loud voices. They had calmed down as soon as Fadelio had split a log  with his axe and promised them compensation once they reached Saniya.  They didn't look convinced by his offer, but could only obey in the face  of Fadelio's superior military power.

Not  long after all the wagons had been emptied of the useless supplies,  they were forced to have the children and elderly get off and walk to  make room for the ever-increasing ranks of injured. At this point, even  some commoners had been wounded by hidden traps, though the ambushes  still hadn't come close to their convoy. By the time night fell, they  had only made it a third of the way through the forest, far less than  they had anticipated.

When  they set up camp, they erected giant fires and put up strict guard  posts to protect their position. Even though they managed to prevent a  night ambush by staying vigilant, they still weren't free from the  enemy's harassment. Hidden in the darkness, the bandits marched around  their camp and beat their drums all throughout the night.

While  the warriors had gone through military drills and managed to get at  least some sleep, most commoners didn't get a wink. By morning, they  were already at the end of their rope. As Fadelio got up to get their  trek ready for the day, he was approached by a familiar face.

Rimaq  the paper making master was one of the first people he had recruited  for the trek when he had first reached Arguna. Over the course of their  journey, he had become something of a representative for the craftsmen  in the convoy. As a result, they had become well-acquainted during their  time in Rumas. However, when Fadelio saw him again after only a few  days of travel, he almost didn't recognize him. With dark bags under his  eyes, a haggard physique and slumped shoulders, the paper maker looked  like he already had one leg in the grave.

“Master Rimaq, what do you need?” he asked as he forced a confident smile.

“Lord  Fadelio... how are you this morning?” More than only tired, the paper  maker also looked cramped. It was clear that he had some unpleasant  issues to talk about.

“What's on your mind? We can speak freely.”

“Maybe this entire migration was not the best idea,” the paper maker mumbled and lowered his head.

“What do you mean?” Fadelio frowned.

“...I am sorry, I truly am. However, we cannot go on any longer,” Rimaq said with tears in his eyes.

“Cannot go on? What do you mean? We're almost there.”

“...the  women and children are tired. To be frank, I am tired as well. We  appreciate all Lord has done for us, but if we have to go on much  further, I am afraid every one of us will just die here. Since the  others have chosen me as their leader, that is not something I can let  happen.”

“So?  What do you expect me to do?” Fadelio's voice had gotten sterner, as  had his face. He considered the commoners ungrateful for his effort, and  for his master's considerations.

“Maybe, we could-”

“We  can't turn around and go back. You should know that. All that awaits my  warriors on the road back is a swift death.” Fadelio brusquely cut off  the paper maker's plea. “So, since that's not possible, what do you  expect us to do? Leave you behind and hope everything will end well for  you? Once these bandits get their hands on you guys, they will kill  every last one of you, just to set an example, or to gain the favor of  their king.”

“However,  at least there would be hope. Our current path will only get us killed  as well. Please understand. We are no mighty warriors. We have our  limits.”

When  the paper maker tried to get on his knees and beg for their freedom,  Fadelio's stern facade faded. With a sigh, he helped up the craftsman.

“Everyone  has limits. Don't you hear the screams at night? Most of those are from  my warriors, or Nasica's warriors. We're all in this together.”

“...you  have done so much for us, and we are deeply grateful, but we can no  longer hold out. Maybe if we could surrender now, there is still a  chance-”

“Now?”  Fadelio got annoyed again, and just as he had felt sorry for the  commoners. Really, these people had no backbone. “After all we have  done, all we have sacrificed? No, I won't allow it. Not ever. I can  double the rewards I previously promised for when we make it to Saniya,  so tell your people to hang on. Just one more day and we will make it  through the forest! The rest will be easy!”

“I understand, lord. But-”

“No,  you don't understand! King Pachacutec has started a war so some  craftsmen won't join King Corco's lands. Those craftsmen, that's you  guys. That means, officially, you are traitors to the central kingdom.  Even if you surrender, do you think he would let you off after all of  this? How many of his men died in the conflict so far? How much of your  blood would be enough to pacify that king? You know about King Pacha's  reputation, don't you?”

Rimaq's  face managed to lose even more of its color. Of course he would be  aware of Pacha's reputation. Ever since the ghosts had spread those  rumors during the succession war, everyone was. Strong, ambitious,  cruel, vain and heartless, those words were used to describe the king in  rumors on the streets. It didn't help that he had allegedly killed his  own father. Behind everyone's back, Tama had even spread some rumors  about Pacha having an unethical relationship with his own mother.

Now  that Rimaq was aware of his own predicament, Fadelio calmed down again.  Although it was the easiest method, forcing these people into  compliance wasn't the best method. They were an important puzzle piece  for Saniya's future, so he would have to keep them at least content and  refrain from kidnapping them. With a sigh, he put a hand on Rimaq's  shoulder.

“I  understand your worry, but in our situation, we can't do a lot to help  your people out. Tell you what, we've still got some wine left for the  warriors, and some leftovers of the good food. Tonight will be our last  night in the forest, so let's use up our remaining supplies and have a  celebration. We'll party away all of our worries, and then tomorrow,  we'll get through the final stretch with renewed power.”

__________________________

On  Fadelio's order, the women of the craftsmen took the last good food  they were left with - together with all the wine meant for him and the  warriors - to prepare a feast. At the same time, the men collected  enough firewood for a giant bonfire. As soon as noon turned to evening,  the warriors began to enjoy themselves to song and drink. All throughout  the night, the warriors would sing songs and use whatever they could  find as musical instruments. At first, the commoners were still  inhibited, but soon they were infected by the atmosphere and the wine  and joined in. The merriment drove away the night and drowned out the  noises from their attackers, while scouts all around their camp kept the  bandits at bay.

The  next morning, most commoners were either still asleep from the wine, or  so hung over that they couldn't complain any more. Meanwhile, on  Fadelio's order, the warriors had held back and were still fine. Now  that all the remaining carts had been emptied of the last food and  drink, the corpse-like commoners were loaded up and the warriors made  their way through the forest once again.

Of  course, none of this was accidental. This had been Fadelio's plan: Get  the commoners to shut up for long enough to force a speedy march through  the forest. At the same time, they dropped everything but their weapons  and armor, so they could move much quicker. With their burdens stilled  and no more reason to conserve energy, they managed to speed up once  again.

Yet  as soon as they continued their march, they were once again attacked by  a constant trickle of arrows from within the dreary trees. As the day  went on, more and more of their men suffered under the arrows and traps.

In  return, Fadelio sent out smaller groups of ten warriors each to rush  after the enemies and drive them away. Although they could get ambushed  in the process, it was a risk Fadelio would have to take, and a  calculated one. In the end, they were still professional warriors. Ten  of them were more than enough to preserve their own lives even against  superior numbers. After all, even with all the sneak attacks, their trip  would have never been a problem had they not been burdened with the  commoners. Now on their own, they would fare much better.

By  noon, Fadelio had sent three groups of warriors to hold off and busy  the enemy bandits. They had to get proactive, so he sent out more and  more to shoo the attackers far away from their main group and ensure a  faster march.

For  a while, it appeared as if Fadelio's bold all-or-nothing plan was a  success. They had managed to drive off the bandits for a while, and the  commoners were pacified. But of course, Fadelio knew that his strategy  was only buying them a bit of time. Now that they were out of food, the  warriors would soon run on empty. At the same time, the commoners would  also sober up again sooner or later, hungover, hungry and in a worse  mood than ever. Worse yet, they were quickly running out of warriors to  drive off the bandits.

When  Fadelio broke through the dense shrubbery into an opening, he first  thought that they had made it through the forest. However, once he got  used to the naked sun on his face, he realized that they had only  reached a clearing, and that there was more forest left to go.

Worse  yet, the clearing smelled of danger. Right away he realized that the  surroundings were too quiet. As they pushed the bandits farther and  farther away from them, the sparse sounds of winter had slowly replaced  the eerie quiet from before. Now they were gone again. Once more, he  felt like he had two days ago, back when they had first entered the  forest. With a frown, he realized that this clearing was at the bottom  of a basin. With their reduced numbers, this would be the perfect place  to surround them and wipe them out should the bandits decide to group  up.

They  still had around forty warriors with them, but if the bandits brought  all of their men together, they would have to fight for their lives. As  he considered turning and circling the clearing, the crunching sounds of  snow mixed with the sounds of clattering and murmurs approached them  from the front. His telescope reinforced his worst fears. In between the  trees, he could see dark shadows move back and forth in a rhythmic  motion. These shadows were moving in formation, and made no attempt to  hide it. Were Pacha's bandits truly so bold? Didn't they care that no  one would believe an army of warriors being wiped out by bandits? Had  Pacha truly forsaken the last of his honor?

“Enemies  from the front! Defensive positions!” he shouted. After they sent a  flare in the air to inform their remaining men in the forest to return  to the main formation, all remaining warriors formed a tight semi-circle  around the carts overloaded with passed-out or headached commoners. The  noise woke some of them, but they didn't even have time to complain.  They were pressured by the serious, determined atmosphere of the  warriors and soon sank back into the imagined safety of the carts.

Despite  their disadvantageous position, Fadelio was glad they had forced a  frontal engagement out of the bandits. After all, they were not only  superior in terms of equipment, they also had the right personnel for a  proper fight. This was what the warriors lived for after all. All the  constant sneak attacks and traps had eaten away at their morale. They  were much more at home in the thick of battle, and much better at it as  well.

As  he prepared a little speech to lift the spirits of his men, he could  see the shaky, tired expressions lift from the faces of his warriors.  The anticipation of a proper war returned, and with it the hope for  honor and strength every good warrior would live for.

Fadelio  was sure: Even if they didn't win, they would be able to sell their  hides for a hefty price and make Pacha's hidden elite bleed. Yet when he  finally saw the enemies, all tension fell off him.

“Ahoy  there, mountain giant. Heard you need some help?” the casual voice cut  through the tense atmosphere and drained the last of Fadelio's strength.  Exhausted in body and spirit, he sat down right in the snow, and many  of his men followed his example. Before them, an army made up of Medalan  warriors and foreign mercenaries broke through the treeline. And in  their front stood Dedrick, commander of the wolf mercenaries, with a  wide grin on his face. Their reinforcements had arrived not one moment  too soon. Now the handful of bandits were nothing more than a  triviality. For the rest of their journey south, they weren't attacked  even once.

Hermit's Notes: Is the solution a bit too weird maybe? I wasn't sure I communicated my idea well, but I really didn't want to go into more detail and spend another chapter on this arc. Tell me if it feels too rushed.