Enlightened Empire

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.

"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.

"Nonsense!" he shouted. "So long as we stand firm and avoid rash action, no tricks will be able to overcome our forces. Rather than expect a trick if we fail to act, maybe we should expect one if we do. Could the southerners not hope for your very plan, Lord Rupilo? Once our forces are divided, the southern dogs can rush us and take down our split troops one by one. How can a lord fail to see that this was their plan all along? Do remember how strong their troops were in our first probe. No, it would be foolish to risk a fight without advantageous numbers."

Of course, he wouldn’t mention the second reason for his conservative actions. Pacha really didn’t want to face his brother’s tricks without some sort of advantage. If he gave up his numerical strength, he was afraid he could give Corco another chance to steal his assured victory. Just as the king thought he had silenced all doubters, another fly buzzed in.

"According to reports we have received, the southern king’s men carry their own supplies, with no mass of worthless commoners behind them. As a result, their troops are much more nimble than ours, but they are also much more dependent on procurement. Where else but from within our lands would they take all the food to feed their thousands of mouths throughout the winter? If we cannot corner them soon, they will succeed in their malicious ploys, and our harvest will be swallowed up. If we fail to take them, they will become ever more bold. They might even forego the villages and attack the poorly defended towns further inland instead."

This time, Lord Fulcinius had spoken up to defend his precious harvest. Really, what had Pacha done to deserve these hyenas as subjects? If only these lords would think about the good of the kingdom for a moment, they might offer some practical advice, rather than only complaints. With their combined talents, they would have found a way out of their dilemma by now, Pacha was sure.

"Then may lord tell this king how to strike down the enemy with only a third of our troops? Go on, Lord Fulcinius, do enlighten this dim king."

Forced to make an actual contribution, Fulcinius shied back and lowered his head. Pacha snorted in derision. All these fake lords could do was complain about his decisions. None of them would give any concrete advice. After all, if they said anything of substance, they could be held accountable for their faults.

Just as Pacha was about to explode again, a third voice spoke up. This one was colder than ice, and made the king’s stomach cramp in anxiety.

"We will not need to wipe them out." Although his accent was still choppy, Duke Herak had already mastered quite a bit of the Medalan language. "All our army third has to do is hold them in place until the rest of our army arrives. And you are looking down on my men too much."

This time, Pacha didn’t dare speak out against the vague complaint. After all, Herak was not only intimidating, he also had a strong force behind him, and had handed the king the same modern weapons which had worked to such wondrous effect for Corco.

"What does Lord Herak mean?"

Behind the mask, the cold eyes narrowed.

"That little merchant king doesn’t have any more muskets than we do. It just so happened that his modern troops were up against those antiquated armies of yours."

Although there were some groans and complaints under the breath of the surrounding lords, a single look from Herak reestablished peace.

*Cowards,* Pacha thought, silent himself.

"What great warriors you lot are," Herak continued. "If some here had not insisted on their right to attack first, we could have sent my men and would have secured those border villages without any losses. No, you had to be first, just so you could secure the biggest part of the spoils, and it’s ruined our early advantage. In truth, our troops are much stronger than you believe, king. Not only are our numbers greater and our weapons in no way inferior than Corco’s, we also possess much more experience. The men of Borna and Cahlia have waged war with the help of these new weapons for years. Most of that kingling’s people are fresh recruits, barely fit for combat. In a direct engagement, their morale will crumble, and we will smash them to bits."

Somehow, the beast’s confidence managed to infect Pacha. Indeed, they had only lost the early engagements because they had attacked fortified positions of muskets with only warriors of the cowardly lords. In fact, wasn’t this a chance? If Corco underestimated their troops as a result of his early victories, he would be more eager to attack a small part of their army and fall into their trap. After a few seconds of deliberation, Pacha nodded slowly.

"In that case, we shall split our troops into three battalions. Each one shall include a sufficient number of muskets. This king will lead the first, and Lord Herak will lead the second, partially comprised of his own troops."

Satisfied with the answer, Herak nodded his head, his eyes still cold as ice. Since Pacha had dared to hand command power to an outsider, there was some discontent among the nobles around them. However, not one of the cowards dared to speak out, lest they be bestowed the honor of command instead.

"Who among my lords shall be granted the honor of fighting alongside us?" With great satisfaction, the king raised his head and let his eyes drift across the row of cowards who dare call themselves lords. One by one, they lowered their heads. Some trembled to show weakness, to make sure they would be overlooked. In the end, Pacha’s eyes landed on the worst among them, the one who managed to look the weakest and most pathetic. With a grin, he sealed the man’s fate.

"Lord Rupilo, since splitting the troops was your idea, you will have the honor to lead a third of my men. Do not disappoint this king’s trust."

It seemed like he wanted to refuse at first, but the surrounding lords were eager to praise his bravery and the king’s wise decision. In the end, he had no choice but to accept his duty with slumped shoulders.

"Very well, King Pachacutec. This Lord... will do his best."

This time, Rupilo didn’t need to fake the tremble in his hands.

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