It had been a long time since Klein had been a member of a council of war. He'd been a member at the tail end of the Faunus Rights Rebellion, having proven his skill in battle and his loyalty by protecting King Jacques during the Battle of Hell's Plain, though he had been unable to prevent the former King from sustaining a wounded arm. He, alongside Nicholas Arc, James Ironwood and countless others had orchestrated and fought in the Battle of Fort Lagune, breaking the spirit of the Faunus Rights Rebellion and ending that bloody, brutal affair.
It had been decades since then, when he had been a young lad with scruff for a beard and more talent than skill. He'd always hoped he wouldn't sit here again, wanting to spend the last of his days knowing that he'd done his duty, that the realm was at peace. As time passed the fear of what conflict might do to his children in all but blood, Weiss and Jaune, was added to the reasons why he wanted never to sit around this gods forsaken table once more.
But it was too late for wants. It was a time for need and action. Weiss needed him, and he would do whatever he had to in order to preserve her livelihood and the kingdom that guaranteed her safety and comfort.
Unlike during the war, there were only four others at the table. Weiss herself, Chieftain Jedediah Stone of the Northern Clans, Lord Branwen of Vulcan and Bragrim the Old, an ancient wizard who had been hidden in the far north under Stone's protection for his service during the Faunus Rights Rebellion. Bragrim had been the one who had cast the fire spell that had cut the Faunus army off from one another and had given that battle it's name, Hell's Plain.
Notably absent was Lord Zeki, who was still recovering from losing one eye trying to defend the Queen. As a reward, he'd been given some of the lands of the traitors and been given a higher title. Instead of Lord Zeki, he was now Duke Zeki of the Northholt Plains, a combination of his old and new lands now made duchy.
Whilst Klein had no reason to doubt any of their capability to help organise and wage a war, Klein would've given an arm and a leg just to have Nicholas Arc and James Ironwood present. Whilst Klein knew that so long they made the right moves and won the right battles they could win the war, if those two were present then it was a situation of when not if.
"So…" Lord Branwen started, tapping the table awkwardly. "What do we exactly? I mean I know this is a war council, and that we organise and plan stuff, but where do we start?"
"Vulcan." Chieftain Stone replied, his deep, rumbling voice little more than an angry growl. "We need to take it back before the Mistrali consolidate their position."
"Lord Zeki reported that Vulcan's walls were being torn down." Weiss pointed out. "Whilst the question of why they are doing so is unclear to us what it does do is provide us time to gather our forces. How strong is our military Klein?"
Klein took a moment to shift through the papers in front of him, looking for the right one. When he found it he lifted his reading glasses, silently cursing his old age, and skimmed over it briefly.
"If the last census is correct then we should have around 45,000 men in total from Atlas alone. However they are scattered across the country and we can't guarantee how well equipped they'll be nor how well trained. Not to mention some officials could have fudged the numbers to bolster their own standing."
"Realistically then?"
"I honestly have no clue Weiss. Your father fielded an army a similar size when the Faunus rebelled, and there has been plenty of time since then for any losses we took to have been replenished. At best I'd say we do have 45,000 men, realistically I'd say 35,000 men and worst case scenario 25,000."
"How strong was Vulcan's forces?" Weiss asked Lord Branwen, who shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm not sure to be honest. Four hundred to five hundred guards I'd guess. Not sure whether they would've conscripted civilians or not or how effective they would've been. Vulcan has plenty of veterans like Klein hanging around, but how many or how well they would've fought I can't say for sure." Branwen replied honestly.
"Lord Zeki believes there are anywhere between 20,000 to 30,000 Mistrali, and we don't know how many reserves they have back home, if they have any, that is." Weiss said, thinking out loud. "I don't want to lose thousands of men in bloody battles we could easily lose if fate isn't on our side."
Klein stared shamefully at the map splayed on the table in front of them. He doubted she was criticising him personally, but King Jacques had been…straightforward when it came to battle plans and the like. The price of that had been numerous casualties, making any battle they'd won a costly one. Thank the heavens Ironwood had been given command of the war effort, because if Jacques, may his soul rest in peace, had been in charge throughout the Faunus Rebellion then Klein had doubts about whether they would've been able to win in the first place.
"What do you suggest then?" Branwen asked and Weiss was silent for a moment, likely thinking of how to articulate her thoughts.
"We bleed them out slowly. Hit and run tactics to frustrate them and cause some losses. Then we lure them away into smaller and smaller groups so they are easier to deal with." Weiss explained, and Klein couldn't help but smile. It was a good plan, one that would likely work, but…
"Those are the same tactics the Faunus used to get the better of us at the beginning of the Rights War." Old Bragrim said, old voice lecturing but kind. "It would likely work well, but the problem is the Mistrali may expect it. They were in close contact with some of the Faunus leaders afterall. Not to mention the Mistrali are incredibly disciplined. It would be hard to trick them."
Chieftain Stone mumbled an assent and Lord Branwen shrugged, assenting to Bragrim's words. Weiss turned to get his opinion and Klein nodded with an apologetic smile. She took the refusal well, nodding in turn and focusing on the map.
"What should we do then?" She asked, and there was a long silence as no-one had anything to say. Klein surveyed the map, then the numbers, then the reports.
"We can apply the principles of your plan but change it a bit." He said, and everyone looked towards him as he broke the silence. "Does Lord Zeki know anything about what the Mistrali may do once they are done with Vulcan?"
"He doesn't know much, the security around Vulcan is fierce and the fear of retribution is making people less talkative." Weiss replied. "However he's received enough information and believes they are readying to march along the coast. They want to weaken us by disrupting our supply lines with Vale before winter sets in and neither side can campaign."
Klein nodded. It made sense.
"We have men gathering at Ceywell, Meashire and Cavine, roughly 3,000 men for each city and their surrounding hamlets, villages, towns etcetera.'' Klein said, pointing to the three settlements north of Vulcan but separated by hills, mountains and wetlands. "And there's a permanent garrison of 2,000 men at Fort Reed." Now Klein pointed to the west of Vulcan, where a fort lay at the coast. It dominated the flat landscape that led to the end of the Wolfpine Mountain chain, and could block any advance from Vulcan to the rest of the flat, fertile coast. Then he pointed to a city to the north west of Fort Reed. "Bessemer should have 4,000 men."
"What's your point?" Chieftain Stone asked curiously.
"Bessemer reinforces Fort Reed. So long as they hold out, we can send more reinforcements and they block the Mistrali. We wait for the Mistrali to advance then send the combined troops from Ceywell, Meashire and Cavine to retake Vulcan and threaten their supply lines. Whilst we wait for the Mistrali to move, we gather a larger army from the eastern tribes, the northern lords and from Kingsberg and Titan. How many men can your tribe muster Chieftain?"
"More than a thousand. We are the largest of the eastern tribes, and whilst I can only speculate, I doubt the rest of the tribes can muster more than two thousand combined."
"Lord Branwen?"
"My holdings in the north can muster just under one thousand. I'd guess the others would have something similar."
"And Kingsberg and Titan can muster 6,000 each. That brings our total to 22,000 men." Klein said after briefly doing the maths in his head. "At best." Then he turned to the map, gathering a handful of Atlesian chess figurines and spreading them out across the map. One near Vulcan, one near Fort Reed and one in between the two to the north, near the ruins of Mantle. And trapped between them all were the Mistrali.
"It sounds like a good plan." Branwen said. "Though I don't fancy the idea of fighting near Mantle."
"I concur." Chieftain Stone replied. "But I still think we should retake Vulcan as soon as possible rather than waiting for the Mistrali to leave. If they do leave. You said your spymaster doesn't know for certain what they intend to do, Your Majesty."
"That is correct." Weiss retorted. "However I think it makes sense. The Mistrali can't send their full might against us because it would be an impossibly difficult logistical problem to supply them all, so they've sent a smaller, probably more elite expeditionary force to weaken Atlas over the winter and then strike us when famine and starvation has crippled us in the spring."
"That is in line with the tactics they used during the Great War." Old Bragrim interjected in support of Weiss. "Except this time they are landing troops rather than blockading us, though I suspect our shipping will soon be interdicted regardless."
"Who is in favour of the proposed plan?" Weiss asked. She raised her hand. So did Klein. So did Old Bragrim and Lord Branwen. After a few moments, Chieftain Stone also raised his hand, albeit with a reluctant sigh.
"Good. Chieftain Stone, I want you to rally the eastern tribes. Meet up with Klein near the ruins of Mantle once your army has assembled. Lord Branwen I want you to do the same except you'll be heading north for your own lands. Once the army is assembled Sir Klein will lead in my name. Does anyone object to that?"
No one said anything, though Klein very much wished to do so.
"Very well. Bragrim, I'd like for you to remain here. Whilst I'm sure your services will be much needed for the military campaign there is something else I need you for."
"You won't find any complaints from me Your Majesty." Old Bragrim replied with a wry grin. "I'm far too old to be marching around in the cold."
"Quite." Weiss replied, smiling a smile of her own. "Klein, I want you to go south and organise the forces rallying near Vulcan. The Mistrali have been surprisingly defensive so far but I don't want those forces to be lost in a surprise attack."
"As you command, Your Majesty." Klein replied, bowing his head. Weiss nodded, and he could see her gratitude in her eyes.
"I think that is all gentlemen. I will do my best to ensure our supply lines remain secure and contacting Vale for assistance. Good luck and may the Gods give you strength."
As one they rose, as one they bowed.
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Hours after the war council had ended, Klein rode out of Nördliche Burg with a retinue of six guards, four servants and two rangers, professional guides through the wilderness of Atlas. The situation was unstable and there were numerous unknowns. Snowmire had rebelled against the Crown during times of instability in the past and it wasn't clear if they would repeat their mistakes once more, so Klein and his small company would take a shortcut through the Snow Mountains and emerge onto the Great Ice Plains that stretched to the Wolfpine Mountains. The ruins of Mantle lay at the southern edge of the Great Ice Plains, and even though they were far away Klein touched the hilt of his sword to avert evil spirits. Mantle was a cold, dead place, haunted by the spirits of the damned. Or so the stories said.
They made good progress. There were a few delays caused by hindrances such as fallen trees or patches of ice on the Solitas Road but they set a hard, consistent pace. Several days passed and they reached the small, secluded valley that led through the Snow Mountains. Their progress slowed due to the rocky terrain and meandering nature of the path through the valley. But soon they found their rhythm and on the fifth day of the second week on the road they exited the valley and made it to the Great Ice Plains. They camped there for the night before setting off once more. One of the servants caught a cold, slowing them considerably for two days before he died. Unable to take him further or retrace their steps, they buried his body and tried their best to give him the proper funeral rites needed for his soul to continue into the Otherworld.
After that miserable affair they made good progress. Their horses were Atlesian born and bred, used to the cold and were hardy creatures. However, the journey on the fringes of the Great Ice Plains took their toll even on them and Klein wondered how the eastern tribes could live in such stark, dire conditions. By the end of the third week the dark ruins of Mantle were sighted in the distance and grew bigger and bigger as they passed them. There they sharply turned eastwards and followed the Wolfpine Mountains until they reached Iglodon, a frontier town. The rangers bid them farewell before heading eastwards, not so secretly hoping to avoid the war. Klein gave them a hefty tip of Lien for leading them there in record time and after a meeting with the mayor of Iglodon and arranging lodgings for the night he bought goods from the locals to replenish their spent supplies.
The next morning they set off once more, Klein setting a gruelling pace out of fear he would get there too late, that the Mistrali had finally moved and destroyed the mustering Atlesian forces before they could rally and become a threat. After four more days of travelling through countryside that went from stark white to dull grey with patches of green, he finally reached Ceywell.
The town was close to being a city, but due to a lack of investment and a poor strategic position it was doomed to always be an in-between, close to being a city but never quite there. Nevertheless it had substantial sway over the region around it and if lost would be a boon to the Mistrali war effort. Fortunately for Klein, the Mistrali either did not know this or ignored it over their apparent plan to seize the coast and cut off Atlas from its shipments of grain and over foodstuffs from Vale.
"Greetings, Sir Klein." The Alderman of Ceywell, Serill Blackvein, greeted after Klein gave him his identity. "I must admit I'm surprised you arrived here so quickly but I cannot complain."
"How goes the war effort?" Klein asked, tired and short-fused after so long in the wilderness with no information. For all he knew the war was lost already.
"Ah, w-well the militia has been fully re-equipped and training the levy. Ceywell has managed to muster nearly 3,000 men from both the town itself and the surrounding areas. However, we are running low on supplies to make new armour and weapons. The loss of Vulcan has disrupted trade significantly."
"Any news from Meashire or Cavine? Vale even? What of the Mistrali, what have they been doing?" Klein interrupted, not wanting to hear a rant about a loss in profits. He'd heard plenty of those from King Jacques. May he rest in peace.
"Meashire and Cavine have gathered their own forces. From what I've heard they plan to gather at Meashire and await my…your…our forces there, as it's closest to Vulcan." The mayor replied, flushed by the sudden barrage of questions. "We haven't heard anything from Vale, though there have been rumours of Mistrali ships raiding the coast there and trouble on the border with Vacuo. But I cannot state anything as the truth however. As for the Mistrali, well they haven't done very much. They've constructed a palisade around Vulcan and have sent out some raiding parties to harass Meashire but they haven't attacked us or made any demands or anything of the sort."
"Thank you for the information Mayor Blackvein. I want to see the troops."
"I thought you might say that, if you would follow me."
Klein followed the mayor towards the outskirts of Ceywell, where a vast camp had been erected. There were training areas, small arenas, gambling dens, makeshift brothels and a small but clear difference between different areas of the camp, likely as a result of cliques forming. To put it simply, it was a leaderless mess.
Once more, Klein wished he could give up an arm and a leg to have Ironwood and Arc senior there with him.
The harsh bark of a grizzled captain brought him from his wishful thinking. The squares of militiamen, levies and likely some volunteers saluted. It would've been a grand sight, but it was out of rhythm, the equipment was poor and there was a lack of… energy. The energy that was needed for soldiers, for men willing to fight and die and to take out as many as the enemy before they did so because it would mean their families would live, their comrades would live and their country would live.
Klein surveyed the army with a critical eye, before raising any eye at the captain. The veteran had the decency to blush at least, but Klein didn't blame him for struggling. Leadership didn't come easily to many, especially when they were essentially asked to lead an army of peasants being forced to fight.
"I came here." Klein drawled, striding toward the first rank of soldiers calmly. He walked lengthwise as he spoke, meeting the glares of the defiant with an ease that came with experience dealing with upstarts. "To lead the armies of Atlas to victory, not just on behalf of our Queen, but on behalf of the survival of our very nation. Of our culture. Of our society. Of our lives and our families. And what do I get when I get here?"
The wind blew. Flags flapped. No-one answered.
"A pathetic gathering of drunken louts, whores, gamblers and green boys who look like they want to surrender already!" Klein bellowed angrily. Some bristled. Most were silent. Some looked ashamed. "This isn't a story! This is real life! Our past, our present and our future are all being threatened and what do you want to do about it? Surrender? Give up and go home already?"
No-one challenged him. He was one man stood in front of hundreds, but not one of them spoke up and not one of them stepped forward to challenge him.
"Do you know what will happen if you give up? If you surrender without a fight? Do I really have to tell you what will happen to your wives, to your mothers, to your sisters, to your daughters when Mistrali soldiers come sweeping through the country? Do I?!"
"No sir!" Some of the men chanted in reply. It was weak, a cry from those who realised and were brought to anger. It was unorchestrated but the next one would be louder.
"What was that?"
"No sir!" Came the reply, stronger this time. Good. He could see flushed faces, heavy breathing. Adrenaline was starting to pump.
"Well what are you going to do about it? Roll over and show your bellies like a dog?"
"No sir!"
"Welcome the Mistrali with open arms and open doors?"
"No sir!"
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Kill!"
"That's right! You are not farmers or guards or miners or merchants anymore. You are not fathers or sons. You are brothers! You are soldiers of Atlas! And by the end of the year everyone of you will have earned Mistrali loot to bring home and show off to your families!"
The soldiers cheered. The cheering inspired more cheering. Armour jingled, weapons rattled as they were shook in the air. The promise of loot and glory was enough for most, if not all, men. The silence slowly died. They waited for him to speak with bated breath.
"I will not lie to you. As you are brothers to one another I am your brother as well. The fighting will be hard. Some will die. Some will wish they died. But I swear to all of you by the time we are finished with the Mistrali the dogs will be running back home with their tails tucked between their legs!".
They cheered again. It was longer but weaker. The stark reminder of death had broken the mood for some. Good. If they were going to desert he wanted them to do it sooner rather than later. He could make examples of them, and there was nothing that shattered morale worse than waking up the day before battle to see a significant group of men who you were willing to fight and die beside suddenly disappeared.
"Tonight is your last night to appease your vices. Tomorrow, we will march to Meashire. After that, we retake Vulcan!" Klein declared after the cheering had died down, and now it erupted once more. He nodded at the veteran to dismiss them and turned to the mayor of Caywell, who gave him a relieved and somewhat awed look.
"I'm not going to ask how you did that, but I'm thankful you did." The mayor said as he neared. "I was starting to worry they would riot."
"I'll whip them into shape in no time." Klein replied with a confidence he hardly felt. "There's nothing like a battle to mature a man."
"I don't doubt it." The mayor replied. "But I'll leave the war planning to your august self. Unless you have other business to attend to, I can show you your lodgings?"
"Just point me in the right direction, I imagine I have a lot to do before I can rest."
Klein was more right than he thought was true. He met up with the de facto leaders of the ragtag army, reorganised the leadership so the more effective leaders were in charge. He acquainted himself with the quartermaster and did what he could to aid the poor man's burdens, ranging from a lack of baggage mules to a shortage in mead. After what felt like a whirlwind of activity, he let himself get dragged into one of the local inns by the guards who had accompanied him and had become close friends over their arduous journey.
He wondered how he could send word to Weiss or Lord Branwen or Chieftain Stone that he wouldn't be able to head straight to Mantle's ruins. If what he'd seen was any indication of the state of Meashire's and Cavine forces, he'd need to do a lot to instil basic training, a modicum of discipline, re-equipping the poorly equipped soldiers and finding a suitable leader to command the host whilst he was away.
But somewhere after the fourth drink his worries began to fade and the next thing he knew he was in bed with a woman he did not know and a headache pounding at his skull. He drank water, ate some food, dressed, and left the woman a pouch of Lien in case the activities that presumably occurred the previous night left her with child, before he proceeded to leave the inn. It took until noon until both he and the army had recovered from the previous night's festivities, but shortly after the sun reached its ascendancy in the sky the ragtag army of Atlas, one of many, marched south towards war, bloodshed and loss.