[Empire Army 03] - Call to Arms

by Mitchel Scanlon - (ebook by Undead)

There could be only one explanation. The rest of the encampment had fallen. Dieter, the Scarlets and the other units around them were currently the only Hochlander forces still holding out against the enemy.

  As an almost palpable sense of panic surged through the ranks of men around him, Dieter realised they might only be seconds away from being encircled and completely annihilated by the greenskins. If the enemy were behind them it meant the battle was lost. For better or worse, all that was left now were the most basic questions of survival.

  All around him, men began to break ranks. The few fifes and drums left to signal orders to the troops began to beat out the retreat. In the wink of an eye, every last vestige of discipline was lost. Men ran, willing to stumble over the bodies of dead and wounded comrades in order to escape. The army had become a frightened animal, desperate to elude its pursuers.

  As for Dieter, he had long told himself he would never turn from his duty as a soldier. If ever it came to the choice between fleeing in disgrace and facing certain death, he would choose death every time. It quickly became apparent he had lied to himself, however. As his comrades turned to flee around him, the thought of staying to face a brave and noble death on his own did not once occur to him.

  The army ran. Cursing his own lack of valour, counting himself as a coward and a traitor, Dieter ran with them.

  PART TWO

  HUNTER’S MOON

  (Late Erntezeit—Mittherbst—Early Brauzeit)

  From

  The Testimony of General Ludwig von Grahl

  (unexpurgated text):

  …It would become known as one of the blackest days in Hochland’s recent history. Von Nieder’s army was utterly routed. Von Nieder himself escaped, but many of his men were not so lucky. The greenskins killed thousands, spilling enough blood to stain the earth red.

  In the wake of victory, with his enemies in disarray, Ironfang decided to press home his advantage. Splitting his forces, the orc chieftain sent his wolf riders and other light troops to pursue the fleeing human infantry. Meanwhile, he led the rest of his army in search of the Hochlanders’ missing cavalry.

  They found them two days later. Having learned via messengers of the defeat suffered by their comrades in the infantry, the Hochland cavalry attempted to withdraw to safety, to regroup their forces. Ironfang was too wily to let them elude him, however. Forcing the cavalry to meet him in battle, he scored another crushing victory—slaughtering the knights and other riders almost to the man.

  In the aftermath of the two defeats, Hochland was plunged into crisis. Despite my fears for the province’s safety I found much to admire in Ironfang’s generalship. Certainly, the enemy chieftain displayed a remarkable cunning and military sophistication for an orc.

  Of course, in the days that followed, many in Hochland tried to diminish the enemy’s triumphs. It became fashionable to claim the greenskins had “just got lucky”.

  To my mind, such opinions were no more than the mouthings of idiots. A good general must be able to recognise an able opponent when he sees him. Moreover, it was certainly the case that part of the reason for the defeat of Hochland’s army in the field was that von Nieder had underestimated Ironfang’s abilities.

  In the meantime, the change in the military situation had led to a reappraisal at the Elector’s court. Within days of the army’s defeat becoming known, I was summoned unexpectedly to Hergig, ordered to report for an audience with His Excellency Count Aldebrand with all due haste.

  Naturally, I made my way to Hergig as quickly as possible. Arriving at the palace, I heard that the Reiksmarshall Kurt Helborg was also there. We were old comrades, having served together on several campaigns long before either of us rose to the status of general.

  Apparently, the Reiksmarshall had come to Hochland on a state visit. Although the fact his visit had been announced suddenly, with little time for the functionaries in the Count’s palace to prepare for it, had led many to gossip Helborg had come in response to the province’s recent reverses on the battlefield. It is an open secret the Emperor Karl Franz sometimes sends his envoys on such “state visits” to the provinces in order that they can communicate his displeasure on some matter to the local count.

  That Helborg had come on such a mission was soon made clear. As I was taken to an anteroom to await my audience with the Count, the Reiksmarshall contrived to arrange an “accidental” meeting between us in the corridor. Greeting me as an old comrade, he insisted we should go for a walk in the palace’s ornamental gardens, to “catch up on old times”. Wary of provoking an incident, the Count’s servants were powerless to dissuade him. They waited unhappily, out of earshot, as Kurt and I walked in the gardens.

  “It’s a mess and no mistake,” Kurt said to me, once he was certain no one was listening. “I needn’t tell you the Emperor is furious. Naturally, he respects the Elector’s independence, but he thinks your Count has made a right pig’s ear of the situation. Who was this idiot von Nieder, anyway? I don’t remember him from the old days. Someone’s brain-rotted cousin or bastard son, no doubt?”

  I said nothing. Reading my mood, Kurt smiled.

  “Heh, it’s all right, Ludwig. I know how loyal you are. I don’t expect you to say anything against your Count or his officers—not in public anyway. But this is just two old comrades having a private conversation.”

  His face changed, growing more serious.

  “Tell me, how bad is it? Can the situation be saved?”

  “You have to understand I am no longer part of the command staff,” I replied. “I haven’t seen any of the dispatches from the front, nor read the scouting reports. All the information I have is second or third-hand, most of it gossip.”

  “Yes, yes,” Kurt waved a hand impatiently. “But you must have an opinion? You’re forgetting I know you of old. You’ll have been following the progress of the war, even if you have to interrogate some general’s wife’s scullery maid’s husband to get information.”

  “We stand on the brink of disaster,” I said. There seemed no reason to coat the facts in honey. “Von Nieder’s cavalry have been slaughtered, while his infantry are broken and scattered. With this defeat, the better part of the province’s standing army is no longer available. If we are going to fight on against the orcs, the Count will have to call a general muster, conscripting every able-bodied man between the ages of sixteen and forty. Of course, such a muster creates its own problems.”

  “Go on.”

  “It is autumn. Harvest time. If the Count calls all the men away to fight in the army, the fall in manpower will affect the harvest. Crops will rot in the fields. The Count has no choice—if he doesn’t call a muster, the orcs will overrun the province and it won’t matter about the harvest. But, by calling the muster, he risks creating a famine.”

  “Agreed,” Kurt nodded. All through my speech he had looked at me intently as though trying to read something in my face. “But you said there were problems. Plural.”

  “I did. The other problem is that it may all be too late. You don’t create an army overnight. Even if the Count musters every man he can, it will take time to train and equip them. And time is the one thing we don’t have at present. Based on his behaviour so far, the orc chieftain Ironfang isn’t stupid. Having defeated Hochland’s army in the field, he’ll press south. It’s only a matter of time before his army is at the gates of Hergig.”

  “Is there no way to stop him?”

  “Certainly. The orcs may have been victorious against von Nieder, but they are hardly invincible. Hochland will need help from her neighbours, however. If the surrounding provinces agree to create an expeditionary force and come to help us…”

  “No.” Kurt shook his head. “It won’t happen. Count Aldebrand has already contacted the neighbouring provinces, asking for help. He has also contacted the grand masters of several of the knightly orders. So far, all he has received are apologies and excuses. Frankly, your neighbours realise Hochland is on its knees. They don’t want to commit
troops to what may be a losing cause. Then, there is the matter of self-interest. They are hoping the orcs will exhaust themselves and sate their bloodlust on Hochland, then disappear back into the mountains with their booty. I wouldn’t expect help from anyone, at least not anytime soon. Do you have any other ideas?”

  “Perhaps. Strictly speaking, defeating the orcs is not the issue at the moment. We need to buy time for a muster to be called, and for the new recruits to be trained and equipped.”

  “And if the Count asked you for an opinion on this? If he asked you how he should buy this time, what would you tell him?”

  “I’d tell him that even after the defeat of von Nieder’s army, Hochland still has men under arms. All the major towns and forts have their own garrisons. Then, there is the garrison of Hergig itself, as well as the city watch, the Count’s greatswords, the Talabec river patrol, the sewerjacks, the road wardens, and so forth. Add in the local militias. If you scoured the taverns and brothels in this city you’d find a fair number of men who know one end of a sword from the other—adventurers, bounty hunters, mercenaries, criminals and the like. Put them all together and you’d have a pretty sizeable force. You could march them north, with orders to press-gang every man they meet along the way—most villagers out in the wilds know how to use a bow to hunt with, if nothing else.”

  “And you think an army like that could defeat the orcs?”

  “Not defeat them, necessarily. Remember, all they have to do is slow the greenskins down in order to create more time for the muster. At the same time, if you sent a new army north, they should be able to collect up the remnants and survivors from von Nieder’s force.”

  “A rattlebag army, then. A ragtag force of garrison troops, undesirables, peasants, never do wells, and the demoralised, exhausted soldiers of a defeated army. Not a very promising prospect for their commander. Who would you recommend to lead them?”

  “I don’t know. He’d have to be charismatic, a good leader and a good tactician. And he would need to be tough. A man ready to do whatever it takes to achieve his objective.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Kurt smiled again. “That’s why I recommended you for the job.”

  I should have seen it immediately, but I was not summoned to Hergig to be consulted on matters of strategy. I was summoned to be given a new command.

  By the time they ushered me into the Count’s presence, it was clear he was quietly furious. I do not know how much of the new strategy was of the Count’s devising, and how much was forced on him by Kurt Helborg acting in the Emperor’s name, but it seems I am to get everything I spoke of in my conversation with Kurt.

  Whatever the reasons, I am reinstated to active duty. The task ahead of me is dangerous and onerous, but still I rejoice. I am a soldier once more.

  Before he sent me on my way, the Count made a couple of grand gestures— perhaps hoping to reassure me my plans had his blessing. He assigned me an escort—a dozen templars from the Knights Panther. There is a long-standing pact between Hochland and the Panthers, whereby the order sends a group of knights to act as the Count’s personal bodyguards. Effectively, the Count was giving me his own bodyguards—a brave gesture in time of war.

  Secondly, he has ordered his personal prognosticator—a wizard of the Celestial Order named Emil Zauber—to travel with me. Zauber seems a shy, bookish man, more a scholar than some mighty wizard, but I am assured he is a powerful mage. I hope he will prove useful.

  Given the scale of the task ahead, I fear I shall need all the help I can get…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  QUESTIONS OF SURVIVAL

  The wolf stood at the head of the trail, its nose raised as it warily sniffed at the air. The goblin rider on its back waited patiently, eyes darting quickly from left to right as it scanned the forest on either side of the trail.

  “Move, you bastard,” Hoist said, whispering quietly so neither the wolf nor its rider would hear him. “Get a move on, before the wind changes and it ruins everything.”

  Finally, the wolf came to a decision. Satisfied, it lowered its nose. Taking its behaviour as a sign, the goblin spurred his mount on down the trail, simultaneously turning to signal to the other unseen riders behind him that the way ahead was clear.

  “Now we wait,” Hoist said, his voice barely audible. “Give them time to draw abreast of us, then it’s wolf stew on the menu.”

  Crouched beside him as they hid concealed in the undergrowth at the side of the trail, Dieter waited with bated breath. The situation brought back memories of the times in his childhood he had spent on hunting trips with Helmut Schau, stalking deer and other wild game through the forest in the lean seasons when the summer was over and the harvesting was done. The difference was he had never known such danger when they were hunting deer, nor been so hungry as he was now.

  “Nearly there,” Hoist spoke in a barely audible murmur as the goblin scout and his mount padded past them. “Let Rieger take the scout. We’ll take the leading riders in the war party, and let the others take the rest.”

  Following behind the scout, another half a dozen goblin wolf riders rode into view. They came down the trail at a brisk pace, unknowingly moving closer to the ambush.

  Dieter heard a sound like the cry of an owl come from further down the trail. Confused at hearing a nocturnal bird make its call during the day, the wolf riders looked dumbly around them. Too late, the significance of the call dawned on them.

  “There’s the signal!” Hoist yelled. “Attack!”

  Dieter was already ahead of him. Leaping from the undergrowth, he attacked the nearest target. The wolf and its rider tried to turn to face him, but he was already thrusting with his sword. The blade caught the wolf in the side of the neck, silencing the growl building in its throat. Raising his shield to ward off the blows of the goblin rider, Dieter thrust his sword forward again, stabbing the wolf deep in the heart. As the creature fell he lashed out his sword at the falling rider, killing the goblin before it hit the ground.

  Elsewhere, his comrades had been just as successful. It was over quickly. Along the trail, the wolves and their riders were dead. The ambushers had killed their victims without suffering a single casualty.

  “All right, that’s good work,” Hoist said, casting an eye back to the head of the trail to see if there were any more goblins following behind the ones they had killed. “We’d better get to business. Throw the goblins into the undergrowth at the side of the trail. We’ll take the wolf carcasses with us and butcher them back at camp. Now, get a move on. I don’t like to be out in the open like this.”

  It was the wolves they had wanted. Later, as the men marched back to the camp with the limp bodies of the dead animals strung upside-down from carrying poles, Dieter wondered at the ironies that had made him a huntsman so soon after he had finally achieved his dream and become a soldier.

  He had survived the army’s defeat in battle by the orcs. He thought it did him no credit, but by joining in the general flight and panic once the enemy got behind them, he had managed to save his life.

  Dieter and his fellow Scarlets had been lucky, he supposed. Although they had lost men, the regiment had survived the defeat and the subsequent massacre in a better state than most.

  Of the men who had been lost, the one whose absence was most keenly felt among his men was Captain Harkner. No one had actually seen the captain die. He was missing, presumed killed, but currently there was no real expectation among the soldiers of the regiment that their commanding officer would ever be seen alive again.

  In the wake of defeat the Hochlander army had scattered, its once-proud ranks splintered into ragtag bands of survivors whose main concern was staying ahead of the pursuing orcs and their goblin allies. In the weeks since the defeat, questions of survival had been the most important consideration. No one talked about fighting the greenskins anymore. No one talked of their duty to Count Aldebrand or to the people of Hochland. No one talked of the honour of the regiment. No one cared, or if t
hey did care, they put the value of staying alive above any such insolid and intangible notions as duty and honour.

  In common with many of the other demoralised groups of soldiers they had met on their journey, the Scarlets were headed southwards. There was no great tactical thinking behind the choice; it was simply that the province’s capital and more populous towns lay in the same direction. It stood to reason they might find safety there, behind stone walls that they hoped would prove impervious to orc siege. In a time of defeat it was hard to argue against even such forlorn hopes.

  It took no more than an hour for Dieter and the others to find their way back to camp. Given that they were carrying fresh meat, they were greeted with something approaching eagerness by the dirty-faced dispirited men who were all that were left of what had once been a proud, imperious regiment. The thought he had joined the Scarlets just in time to see their decline and destruction bit painfully into Dieter’s heart. He knew it was nonsense, but some small part of him wondered if he was somehow to blame. He had joined the Scarlets and from that point forward everything had gone wrong.

  “Well done, all of you,” Gerhardt said, striding forward to greet the hunting party as they returned to camp. He cast an appraising eye over their catch. “At least we won’t starve tonight. Did you have any troubles?”

  “Nothing worth reporting,” Hoist shrugged. “We slew the goblin scouts and their mounts to the last, so we’ve no worries of their carrying news of our location to their chieftains. Still, it would be better if we move on tomorrow. I wouldn’t like to be here longer than tonight, just in case they send more riders to see what happened to their scouts.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be,” Gerhardt replied. “I’ve just been discussing the matter with Sergeant Bohlen. We break camp first thing in the morning.”

  “How’s Kuranski?” Hoist asked.

  “No better,” Gerhardt shook his head sadly. “I’ve given him food and water, as much as he could hold down, but it seems to make no difference. He’s starting to develop a fever.”