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83. Spreading Wings
🕑 Added 2024-10-10 22:57:57 +0000 UTCDozens of wagons set out early the next day for the four fiefs. Mark could have dropped his people and some of their gear off with his throne ship, but he wanted them to take the task upon themselves. It might have seemed unnecessary, but his lords were picked because he believed they were people who could work and succeed autonomously and aid his kingdom in its growth. The first challenge to achieving that was making their own way to their new settlements, and if they couldn’t do that, he didn’t really see what value there was in delegating so much power. If he needed to fly around constantly to keep them afloat, they might as well remain under his direct command.
The task ahead of Reida and Trumus was undoubtedly significantly harder than that of the other two. The mine alone would aid in developing a healthy settlement in the north since it was already attracting migration. At the same time, Frostwind had tall walls and the second-largest garrison, which attracted many people.
Leonard was an unpredictable choice. He had caused issues on multiple occasions. However, not only was Frostwind a majority Imperial, but it was also an important trade hub, and Mark hoped that it would regain that status once the war was over. That meant it was likely to see many Imperials passing through, especially since they would likely be their only external trade partners, assuming they could find peace with the Imperium once they had defeated their enemies. Because of this, Mark had decided Leonard was the man for the job. Although, as with all his vassals, he could rescind his appointments if necessary.
Close to a hundred people left with the wagons, including dozens of the poorest people who had been offered bonuses to help develop the new settlements.
Trumus had left one of his lieutenants in command of Winterclaw’s guard, and Mark allowed it. The last thing he wanted to worry about was who was policing the streets when he had an army to build and a war to win, and at least he knew Trumus to be competent.
These were issues he hadn’t time to worry about with the reports coming from the front.
His scouts had advised that fewer and fewer Imperials were spotted in the region, and they barely saw a single flyover from throne ships each week now.
Having the Imperium off his back was a great relief for the long term, but if they fell back to their impenetrable fortress in the mountains or even behind it, that could cause a massive problem in the short term.
Mark doubted the Clan Federation could defeat the wargs alone, and if they fell, it would be him against the combined forces of the warg armies alone. Not only that, but Mark was becoming more and more convinced that he would have to bring as many of the Eastern clans into his sphere as he possibly could if they were to win their independence long-term—which wouldn’t mean much if the clans had their armies crushed by the wargs.
If the Imperials were really falling back, he would need to find a way to buy some time.
He doubted the clans would bow to him with the pathetic size of his current army. However, that might change once the Western clans arrived and bolstered his numbers. Until then, he needed to make sure the federation survived.
Looks like I’ve no choice. I need to get a better understanding of what’s going on down south.
Mark eyed the reports. His scouts had done well, but they weren’t looking for vulnerabilities to expose, especially not unconventional ones. They simply advised on numbers, positions, and daily operations.
But just as he was about to fold away one of the reports, his eyes caught something. The scout had detailed how the wargs were stretching their encampment out further and further as they hunted the nearby forests for game. Wargs were exceptional hunters, but armies a few thousand strong ate a lot, and it hadn’t taken them a lot to empty the surrounding lands of their animal populations, and to keep themselves from starving, they had been forced to travel further and further, leading their forces to be quite thinly stretched.
However, this could be misinterpreted as a vulnerability since, at full running speed, the wargs could move at a similar speed to light cavalry, quickly reinforcing a weak point where needed.
But Mark wasn’t planning to attack a weak flank. Reading the reports, he realized they had gotten lucky with their battle against the mutants, and he doubted the wargs would let them get away with that again.
If we could affect their ability to find food, that would force them to spread even thinner and distract them from destroying the clans.
Mark had his people fill barrels with his Greek fire and load several wagons. He ordered them to go to several spots throughout the forests surrounding the warg positions. They were to tar the trees with the substance and then light it.
In the blistering cold, Mark didn’t expect to start a forest fire, but the flames he had created were remarkably resistant. If they set enough trees alight, they might be able to convince the wildlife that there was a wildfire and, with any luck, send them fleeing from the area.
His plans didn’t have to land a killing blow to the wargs. He just needed to make their lives more difficult. Give them things to think about. Problems to solve that would slow their march.
On top of this, he had his people make pellets using a combination of rigar, ground-up root vegetables, and hemlock.
He had noticed the dried, tiny white flowers hanging in Mira’s cabin previously, and after asking her if they were what he thought they were, he requested that she ground them up and add them to the pellets he was making.
Mira had been concerned about using the poisonous plant. After all, she was a healer, so Mark ordered her to hand the plants over to someone else to do it for her.
Once the poisonous pellets were prepared, he had them scattered across the wilderness near the warg encampments and ordered that hunting in these regions was strictly prohibited.
Even if the pellets simply poisoned and killed the wildlife, that would be acceptable, as it would achieve his goal. However, with any luck, he would take out a few hungry wargs in the process, as the poison was likely to remain in the bodies of whatever it killed.
The third part of his plan was to help the clans. Conventional weapons weren’t much use since most of the clans were still more established than Winterclaw and had weapons of equal or greater quality. But Mark had things they didn’t.
He planned to start supplying them with the grenades they had been making with Greek fire, but a serious clay shortage hampered that idea.
His people did mine the stuff, but with the river beds frozen over, that was no easy task. In the end, he had people create fires over empty gullies and dig into the dirt to collect the clay, diverting some of the manpower from his keep for the project.
It was a distraction he didn’t need, but making sure the clans didn’t fall was far more important than finishing the keep.
***
Stepping into the keep’s cellars, Mark waited for a guard to grab a torch and lead him into the below cells.
“This way, me lord,” the man said, leading him down a damp, spiral staircase.
It was impressive how far the place had come, though it only took one look outside to see how much work remained for the above-ground levels.
A metal shortage meant that none of the cells had iron and were instead just enclosed by windowless stone walls and a single timber door.
Passing several cells, they reached one at the far end of the lowest level. The guard standing to the side of the cell turned and unlocked the door, pulling it open for Mark.
Inside, the two giant brothers who led the mutant army were chained to opposite sides of the wall, with several untreated wounds across their bodies beginning to fester.
“Raise yer stinking heads for the King, ye bastards,” one of the guards barked.
The two brothers groggily raised their heads toward him, clearly having seen better days.
“You two don’t look too great.”
“Look ‘ere brother, we got ourselves a smarty.”
“Hey, be respectful,” one of the guards said and kicked the giant man.
“I haven’t come to taunt you. I have come to offer you redemption.”
“What redemption, Mr. King, man? Yous gone and humiliated us when you should have just killed us on the battlefield.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mark rolled his eyes. “Tell me, you are human, aren’t you?” Mark raised a brow as he studied the expressions of the Neanderthal-like brothers and waited for a reply.
“Partially,” one of them grunted.
“Don’t want ta know what me moms was,” the other smirked.
“I’ll take your word for it. But you are part human, at least. So, why not be part of a human victory?”
The brothers chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You think because ye beat us, ye can win? Funny little man.”
“Tell the puny bugger, brother.”
“You don’t understand anything—puny man. Me and me’s brother didn’t even sit at the table with the other lords. We’s the scum of the warg army. Leaders of them scums nobody wants to lead. We’s the leader of meat-bags for the slaughter. Nothings more.”
“Aye, brother. We’s the scum of the scum.”
What an absolutely delightful bunch.
Sighing, Mark shook his head. “Damn, if you two aren’t depressing. Look, work for me, and make something of yourselves. Hell, you might even be able to elevate yourselves to something above scum. Come on, It would be a shame to waste your strength rotting away down here.”
“And what’s to stop us from ripping them heads off ye puny guards and escaping?”
“Shut up, brother. We’s got a chance.”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that my puny guards that will be looking after your sorry asses are trolls?”
“Trolls?” The two brothers said in unison, turning their monobrow faces to look across at each other. “How dids weak little man make trolls his servants?”
“Perhaps I’m not so weak, and perhaps our chances of defeating your precious wargs aren’t so low. So, what do you say? Ready to get to work, or would you rather remain down here rotting away?”
