Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175
The Broken Blade set out at daylight the next day. Even with only a few, distant trees coming across their cobblestone paths Jeralt made sure everyone was prepped and ready for combat. Everyone kept their armor on and Christophe and the cavalry were set as outrunners just in case. This meant they needed frequent rests to not impair their future combat potential, but it was better than suffering another ambush. Even if the terrain wasn't conducive for such a thing, they never thought the Brigid would be that far north either.
"So, Captain," Alois spoke up after dinner but before they set up camp for the night. "How did Lady Rhea take it when you said you were leaving?"
That kind of question wasn't like Alois at all. "About Byleth?"
"About Byleth."
"She didn't much like the idea."
Alois crossed his arms and nodded at the idea. "That's strange, right? She has no problem with the rest of the students going out and fighting. Why is it only your son she's so apprehensive about?"
"I think she feels guilty about what happened to my wife." Not the full story, but a part of it.
Alois absently nodded along. "I see, I see. I wouldn't much like my baby girl getting involved in all this nasty business either."
"No intent of sending her to the academy?"
"I mean, if it's what she wants…" But a flash of trouble dominated him now. "But as a father I… don't want to see her in danger."
So, that's what he was getting at. "Don't worry. If anyone's gonna survive this, it's gonna be my kid."
"Too true, too true." He nodded, too large to not be intentional.
Had he misread him? Alois was usually so cheery so gloomy thoughts about his old squire didn't register. Just about when his parents died and—of course. "You're gonna make it through this too, you know. This isn't any different from all the missions we've undertaken for the Knights."
Alois forced out a laugh. "Just another battle for old Jeralt and Alois!" He tried to flex at the idea. "But my daughter's so young I just… can't stop thinking about what would happen to her if I don't come back. My wife's strong enough to survive, raise her right. Doesn't mean I can't worry."
Jeralt deeply nodded with his friend's concerns. "It hasn't been easy, trying to raise my kid alone. Even with everyone's help. Your help." Would Marigold's affection been enough to bring out the emotions of his son? "No matter what awaits us, everyone who knows you would be glad to help."
"Are you feeling all right, Captain? Not like you to be talkative about such things. Not sober, anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean? I don't drink on duty." Not since Fhirdiad, anyway.
"Ah, forget I said anything, then."
Might as well.
The rest of the first day and night passed without incident. The closet thing to a problem was Cassandra walloping someone who got too stupid to pester her about her arm. The man was getting a wage cut for that. They'd reach the stopover village shortly after midday, so Jeralt took Christophe to scout it out.
It wasn't good.
It was a small village, maybe twenty buildings and a few outlying pens for animals. Situated next to a large hill with trees growing out of it. The surrounding farmland had been uprooted and the walls torn down by the Dagdan and Brigid troops occupying it. So recent that they hadn't put up sentries yet. A lucky break.
The two managed to sneak in close and observe. See the division between the two countries. The leather-armored Birgids were arguing with the metal-armored Dagdans. Even if he understood neither tongue he could tell things were heated just from the shouts. Hands were pointed at the largest building in town, large enough to fit the entire population of the village. Didn't take much to realize the villagers were prisoners inside and both sides disagreed on how to handle it.
There were about fifty enemies the two spotted. They weren't being lazy with their defenses, they had guys on patrol searching through the village and people looking out, but they were careless in victory. There were minimal signs of damage to the village, doors smashed open and windows broken. But no fire damage. An easy win over lulled them into complacency.
Fifty men was about an even fight. That'd be broken the moment they used the villagers as hostages.
They relayed the information back to the rest of the group. A few quick ideas shot down for being too dangerous. The idea of just leaving the people to their fate got glared down and the man huddled himself in shame.
"We need someone close to the hostages to protect them," Byleth said. The closest thing to a good idea yet.
"How do you suggest we do so?" said Glenn.
"I can pose as a villager and get taken nearby."
Clever little idea. But, "Too dangerous," said Jeralt, "we don't know if they took any prisoners in the first place, or are in the mood for getting more."
"If they try and attack me outright I'll handle them. If they take me in they'll be distracted and you can launch the attack. I'll subdue my attacker and anyone near the hostages. I can hold out."
"Not alone you can't."
"Then I'll go with him," Glenn said. "We've both got hand-to-hand training."
"That still won't be enough."
"Looks like a job for old Alois!" The man smiled. "I know a thing or two about village life to make it look authentic."
He'd be the best option. Work up a training ax like a woodcutter's too. Couple others had more humble backgrounds but… only a handful of their entire group had significant brawling training. And one of them only had one hand. Adding in Byleth's magical talents, he was really the best option. "All right, you three will infiltrate the village. Set yourself up like villagers. We'll commence the attack as soon as we can. And hurry."
The three of them set about changing out of their armor to peasant plain clothes while everyone else readied themselves for combat. The cavalry would take point and plow through the lines letting the infantry follow in and break ranks. He made sure everyone was aware of the archers and he would prioritize them in the charge. Dagdans had lots of lances that they needed to avoid but they were spread along the perimeter. Only the group near the town hall was concentrated.
Ready and able, Byleth, Alois and Glenn headed out. Jeralt followed them on foot at a distance. Just enough to keep them in sight but low enough to avoid their enemies. The two made a deal of shouting about the wrecked outer fields which brought Dagdan attention on them. They faked their retreat, and their stumble and were grabbed by the soldiers. No violence yet. The three were led by force and kicks to the village hall, where the enemy commander (assuming from the plumage in his helmet) was sitting.
The outer perimeter was rearranged as a consequence, concentrating the troop division into groups of six. But there was plenty of gaps to ride through. This was their best moment. Jeralt ran back to his horse, saddled up and shouted, "Charge!"
They moved like lightning across the preplanned route and the archers of the enemy shot at them. Deflecting off the armor of horse or man save a few good shots that hurt but incapacitated none. The cavaliers weaved through the thrown together spear lines and lanced through the archers they could. The enemy line broke in half to stop a flank.
The enemy commander was furious, sword drawn he readied it at Byleth but his son was more than prepared. He punched the wrist of his enemy and grappled him to the ground. The three other soldiers around him switched their target but Glenn and Alois were able to strike down two more while Byleth hurled a fire spell at the third. Byleth smashed the commander's head into the ground and twisted his sword out of his hands. The three burst inside the village hall and out of sight.
Jeralt brought his charge around. The enemy had a makeshift square but they didn't have enough troops to tighten it and threaten the horses. They braced their spears well either way. "Switch to javelins!" Jeralt demonstrated by hurling a throwing spear right into the arm of an enemy. The quick barrage opened up a gap and Jeralt led a second charge into the now undefended archers. Their arrows managed a lucky shot someone out of their saddle but this close Jeralt and his group could wreak a lot of havoc.
And havoc was wrought.
Only a third of the archers managed to escape the square as the spearmen enclosed to cover them. Spears pressing in against the horses' flanks. Leaving their own exposed in the process. Cassandra leapt into the fray. Even without Thunderbrand she was a terror, cutting through them like she'd never lost an arm. The rest of the Broken Blade followed in and the quick melee was decisive in its victory. The Dagdans turned and fled. Those that could anyway.
Leaving the clean-up to his command, Jeralt turned his focus to the village hall. Where the Dagdan commander was now fleeing, bleeding from a dozen cuts. Byleth emerged from the hall, an enemy impaled on his sword. He dropped his foe and nodded to Glann and Alois exiting the building.
The Dagdans and Brigid remaining were quick to notice and even quicker to surrender after that. Or it sounded like it from their foreign tongues. They were disarmed, boots removed and hands lashed together in a big group. About fifteen prisoners without injuries and just as many with. Half those close to death. "Do any of you speak Fódlan?" There was a response of blank stares and grim hatred. "No medical treatment if none of you speak," he lied.
The prisoners passed among them looks and only what sounded like curses shouted back. "Make sure they're taken care of," he passed off to Reo. Then to Christophe he said, "Get the horses on a patrol, we don't want any friends of theirs popping up."
Christophe rode off to deliver the news as Jeralt headed to the village hall. An older man, hair graying, cheeks gaunt and wrinkled. Hunched over from years of hard labor, bruised all across his arms. Thanking Byleth and the others profusely. Behind him were forty or so other men and women in various states of injury. Big population for so small a village. Jeralt hedged Byleth to go tend the wounded and talked to the leader.
"You lead these men?" the man's voice was hoarse. More than Jeralt expected.
"Yes, you lead this village?"
"No - yes, after these invaders killed my son."
"My condolences. We've the training to perform rites, if you wish it."
The man deeply nodded. "Thank you, my savior."
"Not to burden you, but do you know what these men were here for?"
"The well, perhaps? Or our crops and animals. We do not speak their tongue. We do not know."
Damn. "I see. Thank you for the time. Do you mind if we spend the day? Make sure things are taken care of before we continue south."
"It would be our honor, good sir!" The man bowed, causing the rest of his people to do so as well. "I am Mayor Tomaz." What a funny coincidence of a name. "To who do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
Huh, sounds so close to Tomas… "Jeralt. And the Broken Blade." It sounded awkward to announce it like that.
"To our heroes: the Broken Blade!" Ragged but enthusiastic cheers overwhelmed everything.
Christophe came charging back in with the rest of the cavalry. "Captain! Trouble!"
"What is it?"
"Enemies, more of them, coming up south in column." The man visibly swallowed. "I think there's over a hundred of them."
The cheer drained faster than a drunk drank beer. "Do you have any militia?" A desperate ask he already knew the answer to. Everyone left was too old, too young or unaccustomed to physical labor.
"All our fighters dead already."
Forty against a hundred was terrible odds even if a quarter their numbers weren't already wounded. No chance of an ambush and the prisoners would rejoin their compatriots the moment they could.
Byleth arrived. "One of the prisoners said something about a 'High One'."
"You speak Brigid? Or Dagdan?"
"I've picked up a few words from the library."
Taking this "High One" could stop the battle. Royalty? Nobility? Or just a commander? Someone like that would be easy to spot at least.
"Christophe, did they notice you?"
"I think so. Three minutes on horseback but they're all foot troops. No carts or supplies other than what they had on their backs."
Some time to plan and their enemies could be as tired as the Broken Blade. "Did the prisoners bring anything with them?"
"A few carts, yes," said Tomaz. "Had food much food, many weapons but little else."
Were they were trying to turn this into a supply depot? "Tomaz, I'm gonna need your people to watch over the prisoners. I'll keep our wounded with you to make sure they don't try anything. Keep them in line."
The man looked around his people. "We will do what we can."
"Alois, Byleth, Glenn get your armor back and get the reserves up here." Five more people weren't gonna amount to much but they needed every hand they had. "I want you on a wide flank using the wagon horses."
"I'm not the best with animals, Captain." Alois grimaced at the thought.
"You aren't doing a charge, you're gonna be going on foot and hitting their rear, disrupting them as best you can." Or if things fell apart, fleeing. "The rest of us are gonna brace the defenses and hold up a line. If this group's coming here for supplies they're gonna be tired and short-tempered. If we're stubborn enough they're gonna retreat rather than risk annihilation." But if the enemy was stubborn they'd stick in to the last.
"It seems we're taking too great a risk," said Glenn. "If they've no horses we're better off taking the villagers with us on a retreat."
Jeralt nodded. "You've got the right idea. Any normal situation that's what we'd be doing, but we've got injured and a good amount of prisoners. With the villagers and prisoners added on, our supplies are gonna last a third as long. If we encounter any other advance units we'll be forced to defend them on less favorable terrain. Whatever they want with this village has got to be pretty important and we need to find out what while we still can."
"Then we simply report it to the Imperial army."
"Then we've no guarantee they stay here, or their numbers remain the same. If the army even listens. Villagers or no I was barely able to convince the count of our integrity. Time to put it to the test."
Glenn tried to hide it, but there was a nervous twitch in his voice. "I suppose overwhelming odds are a true test of knighthood then."
"Should I bring out the surprise?" asked Cassandra. Her hand twitching at the handle of Thunderbrand hidden in wraps of cloth.
It could take care of this problem by itself. "On my word or death."
"I'll do it before the latter, thank you."
"Get to it, people."
Everyone split to their new orders. Byleth, Alois and Glenn running off to get kitted. Everyone else making preparations by stockpiling wood and dirt to make up a barricade the village once had a shadow of. The prisoners were forced into the town hall with Tomaz's people. Armed with extra daggers and weapons, the Broken Blade wounded went with them even after Byleth and others passed a round healing them.
The horses were put together in a makeshift pen down the way on the town hall's south side. Covered in brush, the enemy wouldn't be able to see any of the warbeasts when they pressed in. Lure the enemy in as best they could and hit them with a flank.
The Broken Blade gathered up in the gap between hill, town and barricade and waited. Between their shields they saw eventually the column of approaching enemies. They'd carried their combat packs on their journey and now set about putting them down and arming themselves. A rain of arrows striking into the position within a minute. "Hold fast," Jeralt commanded. The flank team weren't here yet. "Hold," he repeated.
The enemies slowly spread out as the archers continued to fire. Almost all of the arrows struck nothing living. The only impacts on shield, armor, wood or dirt. Only two shots broke past their defenses and neither were more than grazes. They'd have to get into melee to be effective. The enemy had just as little scouting as Jeralt's men. Trying to turn this into a siege would be careless and too dangerous.
A detachment of soldiers broke off from the main group and walked the greater perimeter of the battlefield. Quickly they found the gaps in the makeshift wall that Jeralt deliberately left open.
Know your weaknesses and you'll know where the enemy intends to strike.
Word was clearly passed between the commanders and a troop of thirty men were sent around to exploit the opening. Ten were archers who continued to fire to little effect but they kept Jeralt's men pinned down as their compatriots advanced into the opening.
They were cautious and kept a slow pace. A simple ambush wouldn't have worked on them. Whoever was in command had top quality soldiers. The main force also began to advance in tandem, the ultimate goal of a pincer attack becoming increasingly clear. If Jeralt made a charge the enemy's lighter armor would mean they could escape easily and under arrow cover. If they stood their ground they'd be surrounded and easy to subdue.
"Now."
Shields fell down as bowmen brought up their stolen weapons and loosed arrow after arrow into the enemy positions. Packed together, lightly armored, they should have been simple targets for the quick and close shots. But they only had a handful of experienced archers in the Broken Blade. Though this close accuracy matter less, not as many enemies fell as he'd have liked. Half the front force fell down stuck with arrows and the volleys the enemy got off only numbered one in return. A volley with one fatality.
With a shout the forward enemies command broke into a scattered run and the flanking force did the same. Arrow fire found less targets as the enemy closed in.
"Now."
Round two fired off as the few mages sent fireballs into the midst of the enemy. Their advance slowed in sheer surprise and a few more lost. Maybe fifteen taken care of in the front and two on the flank.
"Fall back!"
On word everyone dropped their positions and bailed. The enemy's missile fire had slowed due to the closing ranks but picked back up and three men didn't make it back to the rally point and half of everyone left had an arrow wound or arrow in them. They recovered in front of the village hall, protecting themselves with another knee-high dirt wall with a ditch on one side. "Catherine, hold the point. Christophe, cavalry, with me."
"We'll show'em Fódlan pride!" her roar was reciprocated as the riders ran around the north side of the hall towards their hidden mounts. The Brigid ran in, clashing ranks with defenders. A few broke off and pursued. Only a handful, which they handled with minor wounds taken. No more came, letting Jeralt and company mount up in peace. Through the gathered foliage he saw the two sides locked in vicious melee combat. The enemies were lightly armored but it was still enough to stop slashes and they were fast. Ducking between blows and striking at joints or lightly armored sections.
The invaders pushed in, driving the defenders back with blood and committing their second wave. "Now." Cain pulled away the brush and the five remaining cavalry thundered out in all force. The enemy only had speed on its side, not a single spear. They couldn't form a proper defense against charging cavalry. The incredible force of the charge blasted through like lightning and shattered their line in two. Fódlan and Brigid redoubled their frontal efforts while the rear guard chased after the existing horses. They had no chance of catching them but the pursuit made it more difficult to come around for a second pass.
Their flight out of village was met by a volley of arrows and Cain, southmost among them took the brunt and fell. "Come about now!" The archers weren't Jeralt's concern. Byleth could handle them. Not his concern even as an arrow pierced Jeralt's leg as they came and leveled their lances anew. Three more felt the sting of arrows before the horses smashed into the enemy's flank once more. Crushed between the two Fódlan groups, the Brigid soldiers lost their composure and scattered. Some tried to make it into the village for better cover but a rampaging Cassandra wouldn't let them. Her blood-smeared blade dancing like her relic without the glow.
A rain of arrows covered the retreating Brigid. Cassandra took a nasty shot to the thigh and stopped her own pursuit as a few more Broken Blade died. "About, about and charge!" Jeralt and the horses were so entangled in melee another three volleys were sent before they came about. The archers' volleys emboldening their frontal soldiers. They couldn't wait for Byleth any longer! "To the archers, now!" With a kick the flagging strength of the horses was expanded even further as they charged afield.
Christophe's horse was targeted and he fell to the ground. Four horses left in the charge against fifty enemies. He'd taken tougher!
The archer line was suddenly thrown into chaos as Byleth, Glenn and Alois tore into them! The sudden surprise paralyzed the entire line and five were cut down before another volley. Those without swords scattered while those armed for close combat drew their steel and engaged. To good effect. A normal archer was so concentrated on the bow they easily neglected their swordwork, but the Brigid troops took to it with gusto. Not that they were a match for his son. His son plus others even less a match. The fleet-footed archers couldn't match the quality of those assailing them and were quickly put on the back foot.
Jeralt and the cavalry stuck to picking off the archers who'd ran from the melee. Again and again their lances found strong purchase even as desperate arrows continued to find their mark and nearly did the lance slip from Jeralt's grasp between bouts of pain. But they could endure more and slowly did it finally turn. Everywhere in sight the enemy was fleeing, save one.
Byleth, Glenn, and Alois had taken care of most of their foes but one remained. A hooded figure with two swords of fine silver. Perhaps the High One, as Byleth called him. Certainly he moved better. Few could go even with Byleth, fewer still him and Glenn. With Alois too and Jeralt could count three alive that could manage it.
Now four.
The man dodged each sword strike aimed at him by a hair or deflected an ax head with incredible precision. His counters were swift as the wind and each drew blood, even if no blow was fatal. Though he might succeed against any one alone, the three could simply wear his stamina out. Every narrow dodge sapped muscles already to-be screaming after a march carrying pack. Even then, to his credit his movements were minimal and precise. Only when necessary did he act in force. Whenever they tried to surround him he'd focus effort on one and battle his way aside.
He would be quite the prize to present to Count Bergliez.
Jeralt finished his impromptu rest and trotted his horse forward. A charge would be too reckless. As we slowly walked over the battle between three and one continued. Though the commander had preserved his stamina remarkably he was slowly being worn down on sheer number of attacks he had to dodge. None had drawn blood yet but slices had been drawn in his armor. His arms swept wide to deflect an attack and Glenn charged in at the exposure!
Only to get a kick to the stomach and a shoulder to the face. The man focused all his attention on Glenn while Byleth and Alois were ten steps away. Jeralt kicked his horse back into a gallop but there was no chance of arriving in time. The Brigid locked swords and smashed Glenn's out of his hand before pummeling him to the ground. Sword tip aimed at Glenn's throat he stabbed downwards—Byleth tackled him aside! narrowly saving Glenn's life.
The three rose back up, Byleth sharing his blade with his friend and assuming a brawling stance. The enemy's hood had been knocked aside. Thick purple hair in a multitude of braids now pouring out from beneath the cowl. He took stock of the situation. His enemies. His allies. And ran.
Byleth sent a fireball after him but he dodged it. In his native tongue he barked commands for anyone who could still move and the dozen or so survivors made south.
Jeralt could run them down. Take the rest prisoner. But an expertly aimed arrow from the fleeing commander struck his horse and flagged its strength even further. It was too risky now. He was one of a pair of horsemen left on his mount. A lucky shot on his flagging horse could completely upset their command. Harsh as it was, they had to let him go. A damn shame. Depriving their enemies of such a leader would have been an enormous boon.
So it was victory. After a fashion.
"Take prisoners and take stock!" Jeralt yelled. And the drudgery of victory went about without a single shout of cheer.
The enemy didn't come back later in the day or at night. Putting exhausted people on watch didn't sit well with him but it had to be done. Everyone had taken injuries in the fighting. Every last person. Twelve had died and three more were on their way despite Byleth and the faith healers' best efforts. They were already down to half their number. So much for breaking the enemies' future.
Half the horses had gone down as well, including Christophe's, though thankfully the young lord Gaspard survived, even if his arm needed a sling from the broken bone. Cassandra wouldn't be walking for weeks among five others. Byleth, Glenn and Alois had gotten off light, just some bad cuts and a nasty stab to Alois's foot which he could still walk on. Jeralt's left half bore a good many wounds even if he could fight through it and the right wasn't much better.
He'd been through worse. He'd been through better.
The townsfolk were an explosion of gratitude however. They took over every piece of care and concern the wounded and exhausted knights couldn't. They fed, watered, clothed, bandaged and escorted anyone anywhere they needed to be. Hungry eyes looked upon rescuers which thankfully no one took up.
It didn't make up for the dead. But nothing ever did.
The ambush meant they'd completely skip the timing window for meeting Count Bergliez. Still, they had nearly forty prisoners. That was worth a bounty all its own. Jeralt sent out a messenger to hopefully get some support from the count, or anyone in the army. Forty prisoners was a lot, more than the Broken Blade had left entirely. If they tried an uprising they might have succeeded. So Jeralt set a double rotation of sentries and watch just in case.
The Dagdan and Brigid prisoners were docile. Too docile. But as the days passed by, they attempted nothing beyond chatting in a tongue Jeralt didn't understand. Byleth knew too little to translate beyond a few words of no impact.
Everyone settled as much as they could. Keeping morale up as wounds healed and they waited for a response.
Third day after the battle, Jeralt caught Glenn skulking around the prisoners in the town hall. "You should be resting," he told the boy.
"So should you," the boy cracked a wry smile. "But from one man who should be resting to another, let me ask you something."
"What is it?"
"Why did you take these prisoners?"
"They'll be worth a lot."
"They killed your men. Tormented these villagers. Yet you do not let ours or theirs enact retribution."
That cursed-damn thinking… "Yeah, I don't. They're more valuable to us alive."
"Even when we spoke of retreat, you insisted they come with us. Even knowing the danger it presented. It would have been a simple fix to execute them and buy us more time afield. It would have let us muster the villagefolk as militia."
"You weren't arguing to have them executed, why do you care now?"
"Because, your actions… they are not the same as the church's." He fell into a hard grimace. "Or the kingdom's."
"Well, Lady Rhea may like the 'take-no-prisoners' approach but I don't."
"Did you know? Never did the honor of the Blade Breaker enter the tales. Only your prowess, your lance-arm. Yet here I stand, a man who embodies knighthood at its finest."
Jeralt waved off his nonsense. "There are no tales. I'm just a guy swinging his spear, doing what's best for me. If that means taking a few prisoners, that's that. Don't read too much into it."
"I'll read what I will. And the virtues you've instilled into your son, as well."
"Virtue" and his son often didn't get lumped together like that. "You've thanked him enough."
"It is not simply my life he saved." Glenn looked off, towards the north. His homeland. "This journey, these battles, have taught me much. Even if only a pair they are. You're still teaching, even if you were never a professor."
"Yeesh, kid, you're embarrassing me here."
A flicker of a smile touched his lips. "The lessons this has taught me… will be necessary to save the soul of Faerghus."
Well, that sounded ominous. "What's that mean?"
Glenn forced a laugh out. "Nothing untoward, I assure you. But, perhaps something best left unsaid."
If that's what he wanted. "All right then."
It took a week before a dispatch of Imperial troops arrived in the village. A good fifty, mixed between cavaliers and paladins. The village wasn't important enough to warrant such a quality response. Not unless the "High One" was as big a prize as he assumed.
About half the Broken Blade were healthy by then. Jeralt engaged with the captain of the knights regarding the state of things. The village, battle and war were all exchanged in increasing detail. Their captain was patient and understanding for a man this deep in a war. To Jeralt's genuine surprise he accepted the idea of escorting them and the prisoners to Count Bergliez's command.
The villagers were sad to see them go, but certainly glad to be rid of the despoilers of their land. A small group of ten were left behind by the Imperials. Enough to prevent a small counter and make sure any large enemy movements were spotted well in advance for an evacuation.
So the Broken Blade bid farewell and marched eastwards.
Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1175
Count Bergliez took a swig of something strong enough Jeralt could smell it across the table. "My scouts tell me that the man you encountered was Brigid's commander-in-chief." He let the mug rest on the table swamped with papers. "He's a crafty opponent who's caused no end of trouble for us." The man himself looked like he'd just come from a battle. His armor still bore marks of dirt, his cape was torn and matched the poor condition of his cloth underneath. His beard was wild with a few drops of booze glinting in it. His bluish-hair was pulled back into a single tie but plenty of strands were breaking out.
"It's only been a month, how much trouble could he have caused? Especially leading from the front like he is."
Bergliez nodded. "Brigid don't act like conventional army. Not like Dagda does. They move in packs. Small, efficient. They can last the month on their own just by hunting. An ambush here, and ambush there and suddenly our supplies aren't where they're supposed to be. Taken or slowed down. If we run an escort they poke and prod but never throw themselves into a real battle. Damn frustrating."
"Any idea why they did it with my team?"
"Thought they could take you, I wager." He nodded along. "Gives me an idea, it does. But that's not for your ears."
"Well then, what did you call me here for?" After all the pretentiousness from Count Hevring, forthright nature of Bergliez was a welcome repose. The office was small, almost ramshackle in ways. Wooden constructs that were visibly aged, a table smaller than Jeralt and chairs that creaked with each lean. Only a few candles for poor light when the giant window wasn't opened.
"Not many survivors of run-ins with Prince Brigid there. Less than your band across a dozen fights. So you and yours are of great interest for coming out on top. I won't be sending you to hunt but I can use a band of your caliber around tipping the weights so to speak."
Now they were getting somewhere. "Exactly what I wanted to hear."
"Good, good." Bergliez buried himself in maps and pulled one out. "This here's Port Nuvelle, the central base for the invasion forces."
"You can't be expecting a direct attack to succeed."
"Of course not. But if we know where the trunk of this invasion is we know where the branches go." He dragged out another map and placed some wooden circles around Imperial territory. "The Brigid act as scouts and raiders for the Dagdans who come up and hit cities with supply issues. If we know where the Brigid are we know where the Dagdans are gonna be next." He pointed at a familiar spot. "That village you saved puts them on the path to attacking the city of Ilia." He traced his way to a city to the north. "If they take it they can begin hitting the southern reaches of Arundel territory."
"Which might give the Kingdom a chance to intervene."
Bergliez nodded. "I don't expect the Kingdom to side with them. Not after Sreng and Duscur, but take advantage for their own purposes? Yes indeed." The man relaxed into his simple wooden chair. "Taking out that scout party's put us in a pretty position."
"Can't they just circumvent around anyway?" Plenty of open space around the mountain ranges.
"Maybe, but." He pointed out a Dagdan-occupied city of Lycia. "This is their closest territory to Arundel. They try and head out from there they'll run out their supply lines."
"Not if they pillage and forage."
Bergliez shook his head. "Dagda doesn't leave anything on its flanks. Brigid could get away with that, but Dagda won't. It's why I said trunk earlier. They route all their supplies through Nuvelle. Take that out and their entire war effort flattens."
That was incredibly dangerous. Even if the city was ironclad in guard a siege could completely shut off their entire supply track. "Why are they taking a risk?"
"Security maybe. But it's working." Bergliez leaned back in his chair. "Not for long if I have something to say about it."
"Sounds like you've got a good plan in the works."
"We'll have them out of Fódlan before the year's up."
Damn ambitious then. "If you've ever need a band of mercenaries, I offer the services of the Broken Blade."
Bergliez grinned big and wide. "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say."
AN: Hopefully this gets a bit more reaction...