Swiss Arms 12 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms
Chapter 12

-VB-

Zernez

Terrace stared at the familiar yet unfamiliar man-at-arms, who called himself a survivor.

His father had gone out to subjugate Landwasser for their family, but instead of an army coming back with either the banner of their enemy or … or something to prove that he’s done their house well.

Instead, his family’s remaining and loyal men-at-arms returned with a tattered banner, bruised, broken, and beggared. Some had fled the Alps entirely, screaming and moaning about the Demon Guard of Fluela. The surviving mercenaries also fled, taking their first installment of pay with them.

As of now, House Waldenburg faced a crisis like none other. Only a hundred men-at-arms had returned, never mind the levies who’d probably all gone home or fled the region entirely or died en masse.

The stories the men - his men now, if their words were true - told him about the battle at Fluela Pass horrified him. A fully fortified valley pass, even if it was merely made out of wood and not stone. More than a hundred garrison standing guard, raining down arrows and rocks to kill and crush.

Though all of their accounts differed a little, they all spoke of a demon, a man who jumped down from over fourteen feet of wall, landed on the ground, and slaughtered their men. Then that man struck deep into the command, beheaded each of the men-at-arms in a single swing, and then beheaded his father. The demon then went on to pursue and strike down over a hundred men himself before he broke off to return to his den.

Beside him, his grandfather stood shaking with his cane in his hands.

“H-How could this happen…? Our scouts…! Our scouts must have betrayed us!” he coughed and moaned before-.

“Father!” Terrace’s mother shot forward and caught his ailing grandfather. Some of the men-at-arms, the older ones, also rushed forward to help the man.

Terrace watched helplessly as his grandfather, Ulrich von Waldenburg, let out ragged breaths. His entire body trembled from the shock of the news.

“Get my grandfather to his quarters, now!” he shouted, and those same men-at-arms quickly helped his mother move their former lord.

Terrace watched this all with a grimace and knew that his grandfather Ulrich the Mighty, a man who once slew a dozen knights in a single battle, was not as strong and tough as he had once been. It was up to him, Terrace von Waldenburg, to lead the Waldenburg House and castle to survival.

But how? What survival could they manage when they nearly emptied their treasury, lost two-thirds of their men-at-arms, and lost a greater ratio of levies? He could not see a way out of this, not without spending days if not weeks on finding a solution. Did he have that much time?

“C-Collect the taxes in grain,” he hurriedly spoke out. “Except the families of men-at-arms still working for us. We do not hurt the families of those who work for us.” The men-at-arms in front of him bowed and hurried away. He let out a sigh of relief as he and his family were left alone.

Well, his son, his wife, and he was left alone in the courtyard.

“How many men do we have, milord?” Adelina asked.

He grimaced. “One hundred fifty-seven.”

“... Barely enough to protect our castle. The castle town below…”

“If someone comes to fight us, then we will have to drawback to the castle. That’s why I had the men gather grain. In the worst case, the town will be overrun multiple times and we’ll be put to siege.”

“I see. Should I ask for help from my parents?”

“... I don’t think they’ll make it in time.”

She nodded. “I will send a letter regardless. Better to have help and not need it than not have it and need it, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Then she left.

“... this is a disaster for our house, but we will manage, father,” Hugo told him.

Terrace looked at his son, and then nodded. “Yes. We will survive. Perhaps not as wealthy as before, but we can at least say that we tried when we had the opportunity.”

Hugo nodded. “I shall ready the remaining knights, father. Let no one say that our house did not fulfill its duties, come what may. May God bless you in your endeavors.”

“And you too, son.”

-VB-

Albula

“Is this true?” Count of Sax-Misox, Joseph von Sax-Misox, grinned.

“Yes, milord!” the mercenary scout in front of him affirmed from where he knelt in front of him. “The Count of Waldenburg has le his men out to strike at Lower Landwasser through the Fluela Pass, but his men have returned without him and in tatters!”

Joseph leaned back into his chair within his command tent.

‘This is too good of an opportunity.’

For generations, his branch of the House of Sax had been losing land and power, not only to the church but the uppity peasants who thought they had rights to the land they lived. They forgot that all of the land belonged to the kaiser, and these lands have been granted to Houses like his for their service. More than that, these lands were what he and his family had developed and raised…

But such histories did not prevent the financial collapse of the House of Sax, and his father, Albrecht von Sax-Misox has had to sell many castles and valleys.

But he, Joseph, clawed his way back. Controlling trade where he could, skimming the tax collection, and falsifying the records allowed him to gather wealth his father with his naivety and honesty had lost over the years.

And then the Prince-Bishop of Chur lost and left his lands open to conquest.

It was too good to be true, for such an opportunity to land in his laps.

Already, he had defeated and slain the Baron of Vaz and his heir, effectively taking the Barony of Vaz completely for himself. To hear that his new neighbor, the Count of Waldenburg, has suffered such a loss?

Oh ho ho ho!

He smelled money and glory. To rise above and control all of the land once known as Raetia as his! To have his house, once humiliated by his peers, stomp them out!

“Good…” he smiled. “You deserve a fine reward for this information. Go to the quartermaster and tell him that you are promised fifty silvers.”

The mercenary’s greedy glints in his eyes spoke well to Joseph.

“Karl.”

His right-hand knight stepped up.

“Tell the army that we will march east. Waldenburg will be ours!”

-VB-

Lower Engadine Valley (Susch)

I let out a steady breath.

Twenty-three volunteers and I managed to get through the Fluela Pass without any encounter or trouble and found ourselves in Lower Engadin Valley.

Further down the valley, we saw a sleepy village.

“We should attack them.”

I looked to my left and saw Derrick.

“We are not going to attack random villages and villagers, especially not when they are our direct neighbors,” I grunted.

“They live under the Count of Waldenburg who just attacked us, Hans! We should be making sure that the count does not have the strength to strike at us again!”

I turned to him, facing him fully, and narrowed my eyes. “If this is the reason why you volunteered, then turn around and go back to my fort. Did I not tell you that as a volunteer, you are going to do exactly as I say and not more? Did you not promise me this?”

He looked away with a grimace. “I did.”

“Then do as I act and say. That village probably doesn’t even know what is going on. No, we move towards Zernez, and we will not attack anyone first. Is that clear?” I said as I looked around.

All of the volunteers nodded.

“Good. Then let’s move. I want to be out of this valley by nightfall and ready to strike Zernez next morning.”

We turned right and headed up the valley, leaving the village behind us.

“Hey, Hans.”

I glanced and saw that it was Arnold who was talking to me. This family really liked to get my attention.

“What is it?”

“What … exactly are we going to do when we get to Zernez?” he asked cautiously. “We will be taking food that we need for the winter, right?”

“We will,” I replied with a nod. “Though you might not know, we actually managed to secure what few supplies the count had with him when he died. It still isn’t enough. I suspect that he expected to loot his way across Landwasser to feed his army.”

Arnold grimaced. “That’s … evil.”

“From what I got out of the few prisoners we had, the count probably spent all of his money on the mercenaries. Godo thing he did, because those mercenaries were useless.”

As we marched onward, I answered him and the rest of the volunteer company. “When we reach Zernez, we will strike without warning. If the castle is open to us, then we will strike. Any grain or money inside will be fair loot for us to take. If the townsfolk hide and don’t bother us in the fighting, then we will leave them alone. Otherwise, we will fight and loot them, too.”

I saw them nod.

“Good. I want all of you to prepare as we march and when we make camp. You are now the attackers. We will be taking food that belongs to someone else. Someone else will die because of you.” I sucked at this speech thing, okay? “But when you take the food from them, I want you to tell them this: your count tried to kill us, so this is fair. We are merely succeeding where they are failing.”

It was a horrible and unfair world, and food was always the most basic commodity unfairness came down to.

“If they hand over supplies and wagons without fighting us, then hopefully, we can leave without anyone dying.”

But that was a pipedream.