184 Strategic Maneuvers (1/2)
In the distance, a long trek snaked its way through the snow. The silver triquetra drawn on the blue flags at the forefront of the formation had once denoted the power of Medala's Emperor. Now however, it only served as a false king's claim to legitimacy. Despite King Pacha's dubious status, a great army followed the banners, made up of those in search of benefits, and those blinded by loyalty. Behind them walked a near endless mass of commoners, ready to pick up the scraps the army left behind in their destructive path. Once the scout put down his spy glass, the people turned into tiny black dots in a sea of blinding white.
*Better not look for too long.*
As he raised his view to the sky, he remembered the king's tale of a strange illness: snow blindness. In this weather, it was a real threat, especially to someone with eyesight as strong as his. At least the snow was a much bigger disadvantage to their enemies than it was to him. After all, the new, white fur coats of the ghost warriors would make them almost impossible to spot even by the enemy's eagle eyed. Once he factored in the incredible effect of his spy glass, avoiding detection and slipping through the enemy lines had been easy.
After he had finished his work, the scout put his amber glasses back over his eyes, before he turned and rushed down the mountain. The ski on his feet made the way back a breeze. Even if he had been spotted, not just anyone could follow his speed. In fact, as one of those chosen by the king, he was confident in his strength even if someone were to follow.
Once the first snow had fallen, the king had called all of his scouts together and presented them with these tools. Since he had proven himself as one of the most talented in the use of the ski, he had been given the honor to scout out the front lines. He was even bestowed a rare spy glass, a secret device only close allies of the king were aware of.
The scout created some distance between himself and the enemy, before he stopped between a dense group of trees. With his fingered gloves, he retrieved a crude map, compass, coal and paper from his backpack, to put down the position and heading of the enemy force. All of this would be vital information to the king, so he took great care as he wrote the new letters his lord had created. With his duty completed and his tools stowed away, he picked up the wooden sticks at his feet and pushed himself forward through the snow. Soon, he would have made his way back to the king's army.
In this way, King Corco's men always remained a step ahead of their enemies. Time and again King Pacha would march his troops straight to their position, only to be spotted right away. Once the information was relayed through a series of ghosts, King Corco could simply adjust his course and increase the distance once more. With their movement slowed in the snow and their scouts inefficient, every course correction of Corco's would force Pacha's army to halt and reassess the situation. Otherwise, they might march in the wrong direction for days, or even fall into an ambush and get wiped out. In their game of cat and mouse, the combatants had already wasted several days. No members of Pacha's army had so much as seen Corco's main army, let alone come close enough to force an engagement. If things continued like this, Pacha would never catch them, and the war would end without a fight.
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The cold determination on King Pacha's face mimicked the weather around him. Again, he stared out into the distance. As a king, the warriors should see his glory project upon them, so at the start of their campaign he had decided to reside in an open palanquin. It was a smart method to show off his prowess and inspire his men at all times. Whenever they felt tired or weak, they could all gaze upon their king's mighty form and be inspired. However, Pacha's genius strategy had come with some drawbacks.
First, he was unable to disregard his dire reality even for a second. Without any curtains, the endless snow all around them was in full view, the cursed weather that made their journey so much more arduous. At the same time, the horizon taunted him with promise of Corco's army, never to be fulfilled. Even worse, without curtains he had no insulation from the insipid and worthless advice of the so-called lords beneath him.
”King Pachacutec, this slow march will lead nowhere. We need to strike the southern troops soon, and in decisive fashion!” Like so many times over the last few days, the same annoying voice once again complained for no good reason. As always, it had nothing but complaints to offer.
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”And how does Lord Rupilo suggest this king execute said strike? This king is certain that all present would love to hear lord's valued opinion” Pacha's voice was devoid of emotion, but his words were harsh. Who didn't know that Rupilo wasn't talented in strategy? All Pacha wanted was to humiliate the oaf a bit, and make sure he wouldn't make any more unqualified comments lest he be embarrassed again. Yet for some reason, Rupilo insisted on being heard.
”We could split up our men...” Although his voice was tiny and wavered from insecurity, the lord's words were no less outrageous than the king's. At the suicidal idea, Pacha turned and gave Rupilo a vicious stare.
”Is that what you call advice? This king will not have his troops split into pieces, to be conquered one at a time. Everyone should be aware now that this battle will not be an easy one. Our raiding parties have reported back the size and strength of the enemy forces. With their new equipment and novel tactics, they are in no way inferior to the warriors of the central army. How will we fight them if we split our men and further weaken ourselves? Since they hold an advantage with their modern weaponry, we will need the advantage in men. Is that understood?”
”However... if this endless march continues, our defeat is all but assured. The plans of the southerners are no secret to us. Now that the central troops have left the Narrows, their servants who are stuck in Lord Nasica's home will attempt to make their way back south.”
Even though Rupilo shrank back in his own palanquin, he still wouldn't keep his mouth shut. Pacha frowned as he understood that the lord was more afraid of Corco's retaliation than he was of the wrath of his king. If he couldn't win the lords over with fear, Pacha would have to use his intellect.
”Then tell me, Lord Rupilo: How will they make their way through all the bandits in their path?” Pacha showed the confident grin of a victor. If he wanted to, he could be just as clever and sneaky as Corco. ”This king is no fool, so the southerners will not be allowed to act however they please. Since the trapped troops cannot break through the encirclement around Rumas by themselves, what are they to do? With the troops they have left in Qarasi Castle, they could try and break through our own encampment in the Narrows to create a connection between the two territories. However, how many men can they have left in Qarasi, considering the size of their army here?”
To convince himself of his words, Pacha nodded emphatically.
”Whatever is left of the castle's manpower will never be enough to break through the Narrows. We have wasted so much time and men trying to force our way past their walls, let us turn the tables and have the bastards try their luck at our defenses instead.”
The more he thought about it, the more Pacha was convinced of his decisions. Still, others were not as confident in their warriors as the king was. Least of all, Rupilo.
”But... what if there are further surprises and the enemy has come up with even more tricks?”
Though Rupilo was vague in his words, his meaning was obvious. Ever since the start of the war, nothing had gone to plan, always foiled by some clever tricks. With his sneaky brother around to spin secret ploys, could Pacha really guarantee the safety of his camp? Still, he had to show strength in front of his men, and inspire them like a good leader should.