Manager of Misfits - 5: Imperial Entanglements

While they waited for the next shipment, Tullund took care of their spoils from the first raid. He gave one of the Hatharen directions to a spot and a time to be there by. She departed on one of the horses, the rest following in a line. A member of the group to the north would arrive at the same spot and take the horses further north, out of the empire and into the independent lands, where they could be sold. Tullund knew how to handle the big, heavy workhorses. If they somehow captured cavalry steeds, he’d be less sure of what to do with them.

They did what they could with the food, using it to spend less time away - despite their camp’s distance from any settlements, hunting and foraging did increase their chances of discovery. There was no way the handful of Hatharen and Tullund could eat everything they brought back before it spoiled, but they accepted some amount of loss. As long as it was out of Celgni’s hands.

A week after the first raid, the scout came back with news of the second.

“Ten wagons and twenty guards.”

Tullund frowned at the news, sitting down and rubbing his face. He had grown stubble - shaving gear was not something he packed. He moved his hand away from his face, annoyed. “I’ll need four archers.”

Nenhal looked at him, confusion on her face. “That’s not enough to take out twenty. If all of us go, we can win easily.”

“They will be more alert now, and might have more hidden. The twenty are to send a message that they will not tolerate us and we shouldn’t attack. If we do anyway, they are prepared to crush us. That’s how they will operate.” He had spent a lot of time talking with Lily about this. She had learned a lot by listening to Alref and gave her insight into military workings.

“So what will four do?”

He traced his finger along the road on the map. “We hit them here. Take out four, and leave. Then we hit them again, here, and again, here. We do it all from the south side,” He tapped the far side of the road from their camp, “and have an observer to the north. Watch what they do between each strike. When we wear them down enough, we hit them properly, take them all out.”

Nenhal nodded. “So three archers with you, the last observing? I’ll go with you.”

Tullund shook his head. “I need you here.” He tapped a spot further back from the first ambush spot, where the caravan was coming from. “If any of them turn back and head for the town, take them out.”

The Hatharen frowned, but didn’t object.

Three of the soldiers fell to arrows from afar, the fourth missing. The first spot was further from cover, but Tullund had accounted for that. The soldiers rushed to the south, but his team was already moving away, out of sight. They all ran forward, and met with the observer. There didn’t seem to be any hidden troops, and the wagons were steadily moving forward.

All four arrows found their marks at the second point, and Tullund and his Hatharen archers once again faded away, leaving the guards frustrated. The observer reported that they were speeding up, and the remaining guards were spreading out further to the south.

This only made the third hit easier. Armored soldiers walking through the underbrush were far more vulnerable to the Hatharen. Watching them move effortlessly through the trees made Tullund uncomfortable. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe the woods were haunted. He’d hear a footstep, turn to look, and see nothing. They were on his side and he was unnerved by it.

After the third attack, which took out five of the guards - one taken out without alerting the others - the observer reported that they had stopped, the guards pulling together and waiting. Tullund had the observer collect the force waiting further down the road, and the eight of them struck, taking out the equally spooked guards and wagon drivers. This time, he took two of the wagons off the road, had the Hatharen load up the horses, and set fire to the rest.

“The wagon we left in the woods last time is gone.” One of the Hatharen reported. He waved his hand.

“They’re close enough to settlements that someone would find them. That’s why we dump them on the wrong side of the road. If they are gone it is better for us. Let’s get these horses out of here.”

“Time to move.”

“We’re letting this one go?” Nenhal asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

Tullund nodded. “I’m sure you’re all tired of crouching under this. I certainly am. The cavalry force following this one is not something we are going to play with. We’ll be risking too much. Let the supplies reach the frontlines, this time. This amount won’t make up for what they are missing from our work, and we have to hope that the others have been just as successful. We’ll move up the road and hit the next one at a different spot, days away from here. If we’re lucky they won’t be prepared at that point and we can keep causing damage.”

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His second in command tilted her head. “And if not?”

“We pack it up and leave. Meet up with one of the other groups, double our forces, and then use that to keep going. It is up to Taradira to capitalize on the damage we do here. They say that war was finally declared, so I expect Ettsgras to be on the move.”

She grew silent, turning and stepped out of the shelter into the starlight. Tullund watched her as she looked upwards, her eyes scanning the night’s sky. He didn’t know what Nenhal - or the rest of the Hatharen, for that matter - were thinking. They were secretive about their history and their purpose for being here, aside from wanting to learn from Linara and help her. They talked about things he didn’t understand, and they didn’t explain them to him when he asked, so he eventually stopped.

“Let me lead an attack.” She said, stepping back towards him, squatting under the stone outcrop. “Just me and two others. The rest of you can move to the next camp. We’ll catch up with you. We’ll pick off a few.”

He was about to protest, but remembered the unease he felt seeing the Hatharen move through the woods. “It might make them think we are still in this area. Tired of staying behind?” She nodded. “Then go. But make sure you hit the guards, not the cavalry. They’ll probably know we spotted them, but it’s better to leave a bit of doubt. They don’t know our full numbers. The rest of us will get moving. This is our next stop.” He tapped a spot on the map - the abandoned tavern. He glanced at the other road on his map, the one to the north of their camp. Tullund and Lily both agreed that the empire might redirect the supply shipments to that road, but they hadn’t. The ramping up of guards felt like a direct challenge to Tullund.

Nenhal’s raid went off without any problems, but also not much success. She reported only one confirmed kill, and the woman seemed rather upset at the fact. Some of the other Hatharen had started counting their kills, embracing the bandit lifestyle. Nenhal, it seemed, didn’t like losing, and she appeared to be unaware of it. He wondered if his plan was a bad influence on the Hatharen.

The fourth week, a fourth caravan was spotted. There were riders with it, rather than following it. Less than the previous week. Tullund figured the guards were assigned to different legs of the journey, and they had moved west enough to be attacking in a different jurisdiction. They were ready for an attack but clearly not expecting it.

Tullund brought eight with him, Nenhal included this time. His hunch was that if he didn’t take her, she would have protested. The spread out, five, Tullund included, with bows and four with spears, ready to strike. The trees were sparser here but taller, and he watched some of the Hatharen ascend them, vanishing into the branches above him. The thought of a predator larger than him lurking above gave him chills.

Eight wagons, sixteen guards on foot, eight on horseback. Tullund took aim at one of the mounted men and loosed. The arrow punched through the light armor on his chest, and he fell from his horse. Three other men fell, and one horse fell over sideways, smashing its rider into the yoke of the two draft horses beside it. Chaos erupted in the enemy’s formation, this time the pack horses squealing, pulling against their restraints.

The four spear-wielding Hatharen attacked, materializing next to the soldiers, causing even more panic and confusion. Tullund notched, aimed, drew, and loosed. While the soldiers did their best to respond to the threat, the wagon drivers had a much worse time. One got pulled off the road and caught in a ditch, sending the horses tumbling down. The horses of the leading wagon charged down the road, even as their driver was drawing his sword to help the guards. He fell off and hit the road, rolling a few times before Tullund shot him.

Eventually, the fighting stopped. Tullund took a deep breath, and moved onto the road. The Hatharen were ahead of him, standing in a cluster. Seven of them. Tullund hurried over, his mouth dry.

Farathal knelt on the ground, a sword through his stomach. His hands, soaked in his own blood, grasped at the blade. Tullund watched in horror as the Hatharen pulled it out, tried to stand up, and then collapsed, going still. One of the others knelt down and tried to pull him up, but the body was completely limp.

“Farathal?” Nenhal asked, turning him over. “Farathal?”

“He’s dead.” Tullund said. “Get someone to take his body back to the camp. We’ve got to take care of this mess.” He said, gesturing to the scene around them. He knew he was being hard, but-

He stopped, looking at the Hatharen again. There was something more intense about the shock, the disbelief they were showing. “All of you, take him and get out. I’ll handle this.”

Nenhal nodded, then issued orders to the rest of the Hatharen. She was slow, sluggish. The rest of them acted the same way, but they did pick up Farathal’s body and move into the woods. Tullund looked at the two horses that pulled the wagon into the ditch, and put them out of their misery. He cut the others free. The warhorses of the mounted soldiers were gone. Tullund found a soldier still alive, his leg crushed by his own horse, one of his arms crushed when the runaway wagon ran over it. Nonetheless, he was pulling himself along, trying to reach a weapon.

Tullund picked up a discarded sword and drove it through the man’s back.

“Never?”

“Over two thousand years.” Nenhal responded. The Hatharen were still, silent, most not even sitting down, just awkwardly standing around the dining hall of the old tavern. Tullund tried to imagine the amount of time they were talking about.

A Hatharen had not died in the two thousand year history of their village. Nenhal’s ancestors - ancestors that were still alive today, Tullund had to remind himself, the concept alien to him - had fled from a war to be there.

Nenhal and the others apparently hadn’t fully understood that they would die in the war. Or the reality hadn’t sunk in yet. Not until Farathal.

“Do you want out?” He asked. Taradira had dismissed him from the army, so he was in complete control here. They didn’t have to stay if they didn’t want to. If the Hatharen were unfit for fighting, Tullund could just rejoin one of the other groups on his own.

Nenhal, however, stood up straight, faced him, and set her jaw. “We will fight.”

The rest voiced agreements, moving to stand with their leader. Tullund simply looked at them and waited.

“Our people - those that our elders abandoned - are dying to the far north. Taradira can help them. We will fight to correct the mistake our parents made.”