Legends Never Die: The Hunt (ch. 23) (Patreon)

I let out a breath and I saw a cloud of fog. The first real sign that the weather was turning. There had been a chill in the air for the last few weeks, but it receded as the sun rose. However, in the early morning, with a rooster crowing to announce the start of the day, the chill persisted. My gaze drifted up above to the cloudy sky, seeing nothing but a curtain of grayish white. I asked Hallstein if it was going to rain today and he said that it wasn’t. His knee wasn’t acting up.

An old injury from when he was a younger man. How he told the tale, he fought a dozen men at once before one of them broke his leg. An injury that should have crippled him based on the scar, or at least left him with a bad limp, but he stood tall beside me all the same.

Looking away from the sky itself, I turned my gaze down to a camp. Two hundred and fifty men, so not an inconsiderable force. They were camped on a slope of a hill, on the very edge of a forest. A good few dozen tents, and sentries already moving about along their paths. An hour's walk from a populated town that I’m sure I would be able to see from the crest of the hill.

“They’re trying to be clever,” I voiced to Thorkell, titling my head at the camp.

“Been the turning of a season. About time for them to start acting clever,” Thorkell returned with a grunt. I hadn’t really felt it, but summer had turned into fall. The last harvests of the year were being collected, and grain was being stored for the people that dwelled in cities and towns. All of which were overfull because of the refugees that had drifted towards them. Survivors of villages that were raided, or people that were trying to flee the fighting to no such luck. “But, they aren’t the group that’s been hunting us.”

I nodded, “They’re trying to box us in.” I agreed. Fall was starting to turn into winter. Not quite there yet, but it would be soon. It was more than long enough for King Charlemagne to form a response to our raiding throughout his kingdom. That response was that instead of concentrating his forces in one place, he had spread them out to patrol the borders of his kingdom. Between the cities and towns and villages. Each group big enough that smaller raiding parties would avoid them while a dedicated force was sent to hunt us down.

They didn’t have much luck in that regard. We moved fast, and that dedicated force was large enough that we could move twice as fast as them in half the time. However, it was large enough that we had no hope of defeating them in open battle. A battle that they were trying to force us into by posting soldiers in and around cities.

“Nearly winter. Can’t keep the pace up for much longer. It’s a question what we’re supposed to be doing as well. Raiding in the dead of winter isn’t for the faint-hearted. Lose more to exposure than the enemy, we would,” Hallstein remarked. That was true. Very true.

“Let's focus,” I voiced. King Widukind gave some instructions before we departed. Not long after we did, Frankfurt was put under siege. A light one, all things considered, but enough to be daunting to attack alone. The plan was to link up with the Saxon army when it materialized. So far, it hadn’t. But I was out of the loop and always outrunning news. For all I knew, the siege had been lifted. Either way, I think we would be returning to Saxony and wintering there. In comfort. “Thorkell?”

“On it,” Thorkell responded, taking a bow that a warrior offered before sticking an arrow in a small flame that we had concealed. Lighting it, he nocked the arrow before tilting the bow up and releasing it into the air. Directly into the early morning sun glare. The Franks missed it, the sentries tired from being up all night, yet not clear to be relieved. Because of it, they were unaware of the signal for two hundred and fifty men to close in.

I moved with them, my hands going to my axes and ready for battle. The tall wheat between us obscured our approach as three separate groups all moved in. As we moved, Hallstein flanked out, getting in position with the archers. The wheat shifted like a curtain until I could peer through it. Almost on cue, I saw arrows leap from the wheat, striking two sentries. One to the throat, another dead in the eye.

The alarm did go out. It was just too late to do anything with it because we were already inside of the camp. My awareness of the battle was beyond just what my eyes were seeing. I couldn't see the third group. Or the archers that were in position. I did see the group that Thorkell led as they came in from the side as we clashed against the Franks. Many were without armor, scrambling for their weapons. Others fled, only to run into one group or be felled by the archers that we had placed in strategic positions.

The sounds of combat were quick to be silenced, replaced with the cries of the dying and injured. "We need some of them," I voiced, stopping a warrior from beheading a Frank with a Dane axe. "Loot what you can -- food, weapons, and anything warm." I added, earning a thump on the chest from a few warriors before they started looting the tents while others began to grab the horses that they had for messengers.

"Are we taking the town, Wolf-Kissed?" I heard a warrior speak as I passed by, overlooking the short battle. A lot of dead Franks, I saw, as the dying were put to death. I did see the bodies of a few of my men. Others were sporting injuries.

"No," I answered without giving it much thought. The town in question was Djon. A decently sized town. A great deal of wealth there, but our baggage train was already a liability. We had gotten fat and slow. And I overlooked the hill to get a view of the city itself, I felt a net closing in around me. There was no evidence of it now, but less than a full day's march away were our hunters. A thousand and five hundred strong. All on foot now. I personally put down over five hundred horses that they initially had, and we took great lengths to ensure that they didn't get any more.

It was a good trap, I thought. I would attack the city -- lightning quick as I proved I was capable of. No siege of any kind. Just a bit of cleverness. The force we just killed would move into to confront us, either pinning us down or forcing us in the direction they wanted us to go in. Boxing us in until the only option was two things -- abandon our spoils or fight for them. Our spoils weren't just gold, silver, and jewels but food, water, and warm clothing. Everything I thought we might need wherever we wintered.

Only I just cut a hole in that net and I intended to slip through it.

"Three dead. Five wounded," Thorkell informed me as I tore my eyes away from another prize. Raiding Elephant would be possible. And profitable, but I'd rather gain another day of distance between us. Eventually, snow would slow us both down and being two days away from us might as well be across the kingdom. "A good battle for us. Fifteen thralls should do the trick."

We needed the extra hands to pull the supplies. Information was useful as well.

"They've been closing in," I voiced now that Thorkell was alone with me. "That wouldn't happen if there were many other distractions to divide their attention." I ended up taking in about five of the raiding groups, but our numbers didn't grow a great deal. Mostly, we made up for our losses. However, everywhere we went in the past few weeks told me one of two things -- either King Charlemagne had raised a great many men, or he could divert a great deal of men to focus solely on me.

"Makes sense. I imagine he hoped to get us by now, but he certainly doesn't want us to winter inside his borders. Even if there are any others out there, my bet is he's focusing exclusively on us," Thorkell offered his counsel. I was of a similar mind. With King Widukind tied up in Frankfurt? I was possibly the only one still actively fighting in the war.

Two hundred and fifty men was a considerable fighting force. I had proved that much over the past season.

Tactics rapidly went up -- though less so now. Just like Prowess. But, I gained two gifts from the gods in tactics and Tyr's wisdom was incredible.

Organized March

Logistics is the backbone of war, and organization is the language of logistics. Increased movement speed when marching.

Sharpshooters

Less can be more. Instead of focusing on volley tactics, sharpshooters can pick off the enemy.

Warning: Perk is only activated when archers are less than 5% of active fighting force.

Maximum allowed archers with current force: 12

Organized March made us faster than we should be. Simple enough. Like Blistering Speed, our marching never encountered difficulties. No broken wheels on the wagons, no soft ground, and the mud was never so thick that it hindered us. A fact that we used more than once to keep ahead of Charlemagne's hunters.

Sharpshooters was an interesting gift because it was the only one I encountered so far that had stipulations. I didn't know what a 'percent' was so it gave me a number that I could understand -- I could only have twelve archers with a fighting force of two hundred and fifty men. Very few, admittedly. But it seemed worth it if it meant that the arrows actually did something. And thus far, it worked out rather well.

"We need to head back to Saxony," I decided. "The weather hasn't turned on us yet, but better to start heading back now before the snow gets us."

"King Widukind won't be happy," Thorkell remarked. To that, I shrugged.

"We can't win his war for him if we're dead," I returned, earning an agreeing grunt from Thorkell.

"Let's move."

…

Our speed was only slowed by the baggage train. Wagons upon wagons that were stuffed full of goods. We made a mistake during our raiding, a fact I realized only in hindsight. We had looted too much at Worms. The church had been stuffed to the absolute brim with gold and silver and it alone would have been more than a haul, but we took more in terms of supplies. If we looted the dozen towns and two cities like we had Worms? We wouldn’t be able to move an inch.

The only reason we weren’t was because of the horses. I had a near herd of them now. Workhorses to war horses. My men were all seated on one. The wagons were all being pulled by about four that were all tied together to help the animals keep pace. The thralls pushed the wagons or they carried items that we couldn’t afford to stack on a wagon.

A gift from the gods was the only reason why we hadn’t started dumping loot.

Effective Packer

Items and goods just seem to snap together, making packing very efficient.

A stewardship perk. One that I never could have guessed the value of before I ran into the issue of just not having enough room or enough wagons. Now, all the wagons were heavy with loot, and the thralls carried what we couldn’t fit in the wagons, or because we lacked the wagons or horses to pull them.

And yet…

“Too slow,” I muttered, seeing the smoke drift up over the trees as we made our way back toward Saxony. A week had passed as we trekked back through the area we had raided in. A number of burnt-out villages littered the way back. Crops were left in the field to rot because the people to sow them had been killed or driven off. Frost had been on the ground, but it had melted in the early morning. Towards dusk, however, the chill had returned. Enough so that our hunters had decided to light campfires to keep warm.

We had slipped the net, but they were still closing in.

As if to confirm it, I saw one of our scouts returning from the road ahead. Based on his expression, I saw that he didn’t have good news. He made his way through the camp for the night, past the sounds of laughter and mirth. My mercenary band was in high spirits and they had been for some time. Few things raised men’s spirits more than victory and loot. “Wolf-Kissed, they have two bands on the road. I got a quick count, but their number doubles ours. Seemed like they’re setting up for an ambush.”

Meaning that there were two thousand Franks that were closing in on us. Not a number that we could deal with and who knew what lay beyond this net? Or did we stumble across something of a success in our attempts to sow discord among the Franks?

Our prisoners conveyed that some lords had raised up in rebellion against King Charlemagne. Some of them were familiar names. However, from what I heard, that rebellion wasn’t the fracture that King Widukind had envisioned. Only one Duke had openly declared a rebellion. The rest seemed to be quietly ignoring the King’s words or withholding supplies. Challenging his authority rather than fighting against it. Still useful, but not what we wanted.

We couldn’t take the risk, so we had to assume that both bands belonged to King Charlemagne.

“We’ll go around them,” I decided. We couldn’t challenge them. Ambushing an ambush was doable, but it would take time to set up that ambush. To prepare for it. Time that we didn’t have.

“They’ll discover us,” my scout informed me, making me glance over my shoulder. He was one of my archers. He was a few years older than me -- dark hair, green eyes. Handsome face that had a thin patchy beard, but his expression was serious. Authun Osvifsson. “One way is to skirt around a bare hill. The other is through the forest.”

I nodded, seeing what he meant. “Out in the open or they’ll find us because of the noise,” I ventured, earning a nod from Authun. Taking the baggage train through the forest would slow us down, but my perks wouldn’t work out in the open. I had gained two in Plotting in the past season.

Subtle Touch

The best agents are those that no one knows are there. Decreased Agent detection chance by 10%.

Actionable Intel

With the right eye, spotting any trail is possible. Agent Plot Discovery chance increased by 10%.

My scouts were considered Agents. Effective ones, I’ve found. Because of them, we hadn’t encountered an ambush before it was too late and they themselves hadn’t been discovered. All of them were good at what they did, and Subtle Touch simply aided them in doing it. However, those perks only applied to my 'Agents', not my army.

I made a decision. “We’re breaking up camp,” I told him to spread the message. Walking away from the small hill I stood on, I headed down to the camp while the merriment was still ongoing. Francia was hilly and there were a great many trees, so the forest we were in covered our position rather well. My mind was racing, drifting back to a conversation that I had with Thorkell at the very start of the expedition.

Men were reluctant to leave behind what glittered and shined, even as a wolf was snapping at their heels. I was reluctant. The wealth that we had gathered was enough to buy a kingdom it felt like. But, we wouldn’t be able to keep it at this rate. Meaning that we had to take action.

I gave a few orders as the merriment came to an end, much to the displeasure of my men. However, they loaded everything up with practiced ease, knowing that we were going to march through the night to avoid a battle. Not something anyone wanted in the cold and after a long day of riding. While they did that, I made my preparations. The thralls that were gathered over the season were all fetched. As was the wealth.

And we did the only thing that we could do.

“Sure about this?” Thorkell asked me as we watched the thralls dig a hole. A large one. Our men were already heading around the ambush through the woods. They should get around with little difficulty now that they were several wagons lighter without anyone left on foot. To make sure that they would get away, I had something in the works. Something that I hoped would give us the breathing room that we needed to get back to Saxony.

“We’re not moving fast enough and we need to shed some weight,” I voiced, scratching at my cheek to find that I had a few hairs on it. It wasn’t even enough to be called a beard yet. But I hoped that it would soon grow into one. A red one, like my father's. It was one of the hints that I was becoming a man in body at long last. “And I trust you.”

Thorkell chuckled because he would be the only one who knew about the treasure. The rest of my men would only know that we left it in the area. As for the thralls…

“I meant this. You have a habit of mercy,” Thorkell remarked, earning a small shrug from me. I understood what he was saying. It was common enough talk amongst the men at this point.

“I’m merciful when I can be. I can’t be with this,” I returned, knowing exactly what he meant. The thralls stopped digging before they started carrying down chests. A great many of them. We weren’t leaving all the wealth behind -- I still needed some to pay my men -- but we were leaving the bulk of it. The total came out to three hundred pounds of gold, twelve hundred pounds of silver, and fifty pounds of precious gems. All that was being buried.

Thorkell grunted in acknowledgment, “Fair enough.” We watched the thralls work in silence after that, all the other preparations already made. The chests of wealth were stacked on top of one another and in packed together rows. Each was wrapped in linen and pelts to stop the iron from rusting because I had no idea when I could come back to get the horde. The thralls were exhausted after digging the hole, but filling it up proved to be just as tiring for them.

So, I gave them rest.

They didn’t seem surprised when I got off my horse with my axes. They sensed it coming from the beginning. They did their best to fight with shovels, but they stood no chance against me and they knew it. Their bodies soaked into the dirt before they too were buried under it while Thorkell spread out the excess dirt and sprinkled the dead leaves over the ground that we gathered clearing the area.

I had picked out a rock to mark the space that I set down on top of the hoard and I took a look at my map of Francia. It was marked on the map with a small x.

With that, I started to cover our tracks. The wagons that we brought were all loaded up with tinder -- leaves, wood, and so on. Oils had been spilled on and around the wagons to make sure that the fire spread. Taking out a piece of flint and striking it with my axe, the first of the wagons caught fire, suddenly illuminating the pitch-black forest and making the shadows dance. The fire quickly spread to the trees, sending up smoke and sparks that would carry the fire all on its own.

Getting on my horse that was easily baying at the fire, I rubbed his neck to see that the fire was spreading nicely. There was plenty of foliage to set alight  There hadn’t been any rain for a week, so things were dry as well. Perfect conditions for a burn.

I watched it for a moment, the smell of smoke and the sounds of crackling fire dominating my senses. The fire spread to the rock that I had placed, burning the leaves, so even if anyone passed by here? It would be no different than any other patch of burned earth.

Without a word, I turned away from the fire and started to gallop away with Thorkell right behind me.

…

The fire ended up getting out of control as far as I could tell. Smoke drifted up to the sky in thick columns, and there had been a day when the world seemed to be entirely red. An omen, many of the men thought, but it seemed to be a good one for us. The entire forest seemed to be burning, protecting us from the ambush and the hunters because in the week we marched back to the borders of Saxony, we saw no hint of them. They were left dealing with the fire that we caused.

Still, I didn’t let up. It took another two weeks of marching to get back to the Rhine River. Crossing it turned out to be far more difficult than it had been the last time because of the wagons and horses. A rope bridge had to be constructed to get us over it, and that had slowed things up pretty badly. Still, as we destroyed the rope bridge behind us to make sure that we couldn’t be followed over it, there were no signs of our hunters.

But, I also wasn’t sure how much that was actually worth. There were a number of burnt out villages on the Saxon side of the Rhine. Some villages I recalled us sailing past. There was always going to be some level of give and take when it came to raiding, but it could very well mean that the Franks had an army outside of the one that was besieging Frankfurt. The crux of the issue was the lack of information -- I didn’t know what was going on overall. I had just been raiding and doing what damage that I could.

It wasn’t until another day had passed that we finally found a village that had been spared of the raiding. Naturally enough, people immediately went indoors to prepare for the worst when someone warned them that we were coming. When I left the bulk of our men outside the village and continued inside with only Thorkell and Hallstein, only then did someone venture out.

“You aren’t Franks!” I heard a man shout, the door to a house creaking open and it was shut almost the instant that he stepped through it. His family, I suppose. He was a graybeard, I noticed. His beard was either gray or white, his hair long since receded and was the same colors. A face full of wrinkles while he stood with a slight hunch from a lifetime of farming.

“I’m Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed. We just got back from Francia. We came here in the hopes of getting news. We have food to repay you,” I voiced, making the graybeard look from Thorkell to me with an expression of surprise and doubt on his face. His eyes flickered between Thorkell and Hallstein before eventually settling on me. To prove my words, I reached for a bag that had been hung over the side of my horse and tossed the man a loaf of bread.

He caught it with fumbling fingers, hunger showing in his eyes as he clenched it close to his chest. Licking his lips, he looked at me with far more respect. “O-of course! What can I tell you?” He questioned, sounding like if he had a single secret in this world, he would reveal it for another loaf of bread. Shameful. Age was a hard thing to determine with just a glance, but he seemed to have long since reached the age to commit Ättestupa.

It was one thing to continue to live when your family and grandchildren had plenty. To continue to do so in times of hardship was cowardly.

“What’s happened to Saxony since the fall began? Is the Frankish army here?” I questioned and the gray beard shook his head slowly.

“No. I don’t think so, my lord. Just some bands of them that have been raiding around for supplies for that army that’s around King Widukind, or so I hear. We thought you were one of them,” he admitted, meaning that the bands of Franks had been in sizable numbers. “But they’ll be shown right out soon enough! Some lads came here not that long ago, lookin’ for fighting folk. Wanted us to go to Sigiburg to join up with an army.” That was the news I was looking for.

An army was gathering at Sigiburg? Odd timing, I thought. Winter was almost on us. The chill in the air was getting more consistent and the morning frost lingered a little longer each day. The only use for the army, this late in the year, was to relieve the siege of Frankfurt.

“How many of your men went?” I questioned, thinking the information over. “How many did they say they had?”

“Well, they said that they had an army of thousands and thousands, my lord, but… that’s young folk talk. To me, it sounded like they knew no one would go if they said hundreds. Not against the Frank army, and ‘specially not with winter around the corner.” The graybeard continued, not answering how many fighting men this village had sent.

I had more questions, but I didn’t expect answers to them. Not from him. I would find them at Sigiburg. Beyond getting a general direction to the fortress that I took what felt like a lifetime ago, he had nothing to offer. Still, fulfilling my word, I gave the village a helping of grain that we had taken from the Franks before continuing on our way.

As it would turn out, we wouldn’t need the directions because as we left the village, there were a lot of signs of people moving in the same direction that we were. Grass had been trodden down until it became dirt from a great many feet, telling me that the Saxon army wasn’t inconsiderable. All the same, it was another day before we caught sight of the fortress and the army around it. We heard it first. And smelled it.

The general clamor of a great many people. Sounds of revelry as people celebrated Yule while they still had the chance. When we finally caught sight of the fortress, I almost thought that it was under siege. A large army was seated outside of the fortress because it wasn’t large enough to house everyone. Thorkell let out a low whistle when he saw the army.

Fast Counter wasn’t perfect for the job, but I knew what a thousand men looked like. This was double that. Two thousand men, give or take a few hundred. Possibly more inside of the fortress itself, which could hold about five hundred men. I underestimated the turnout as we approached, taking a broad path that would ensure that the fortress scouts would be able to see our approach.

Our own scouts seemed to have passed the message of who we were on because we were greeted warmly as we passed through the camps. Saxons cheered as we approached, but that just could be because they were in a good mood. Or they were happy to have more fighting bodies. Almost everyone that I saw looked like a Saxon to me, and the speaking of Germanic was a dead giveaway.

However, as we were led up to the gates of Sigiburg, I noticed that there were more Norsemen. How we approached had hidden them, but there were a lot of them. If I had to guess, I’d say up to half of the Saxon army was actually Norse. Some of those could have been the men that were left behind to man the fortresses. They had been Norse exclusively since the Saxons were drumming up support for the rebellion.

A knot of tension formed between my shoulder blades as I approached the entrance of Sigiburg, seeing that it was filled with Saxons. “Wolf-Kissed!” Someone greeted me as I got off my horse. A man with dirty blonde hair and a long beard with a long scar that started at his hairline and traveled the length of his face, taking out one of his eyes. “We’ve been trying to find you for weeks!” He announced with a laugh, approaching me and clasping my forearm warmly.

“We must have outrun the messengers,” I returned, the tensions not leaving despite the warm reception. That was a lot of Norsemen. Enough so that the idea that they were just all mercenaries was hard to swallow. Especially considering that the war for Denmark should still be going.

“Franks must be a slow lot! Words traveled about your band taking cities and slaying armies. We were getting worried you’d win the war before we got to spill any Christian blood!” The Saxon said, throwing back his head and laughing loudly.

I gave a wan smile, “All the same, I’ve arrived. Two hundred and fifty strong. I take it you are the commander of this army?” I questioned him and I saw it. The hesitation in his eye and the expression that flickered over it.

“Aye, one of them,” he confirmed. One of them. “King Widuking managed to get a message to us. He wants us to gather up here and march on Frankfurt. Break the siege and send the Franks running. We’ll winter in Frankfurt and come spring, we’ll march on the Franks,” he said, sounding excited for it, and the plan was more or less what I thought it would be. A sound plan as far as I could tell.

“When do we march?” I questioned.

“Now-”

“You’re smaller than I expected, Wolf-Kissed,” I heard another voice loudly proclaim, near shouting. My gaze instantly darted to the man that spoke, seeing him walk down the stairs I had slaughtered my way down. A Norseman. Tall. Broad shoulders. Fine clothing, nice boots, and a sword at his hip that one hand rested on. He looked down at me as he approached, the slight smile playing at the edges of his lips not quite matching the look in his eyes. “From the tales, I expected a man fully grown. Taller than a house, eats a horse for lunch, and slaughters armies alone.”

My heart started to pound in my chest, blood surging in my veins as I looked at the man. I didn’t know him. I’ve never met him once in my life, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind that I recognized him. Not because I saw him before… but because of a family resemblance. Dark hair and dark blue eyes. He favored his father because I knew exactly whose son he was with the quickest glance.

“One of those things is certainly true,” I returned, trying to control the snarl in my voice, gripping an axe at my belt hard enough that I delivered a fatal crack to the wooden shaft.

Horrik had more daughters than sons, but Thorfinn hadn’t been Horrik’s only son. He had five sons. I knew their names even if I never met them before. As far as I knew, all of them had their own families and land, or they roamed the seas as mercenaries. Thorfinn was the oldest and the heir. The next oldest, I believed…

The son of my sworn enemy came to a stop directly in front of me, towering as he looked down with a sneer in his eyes. “Ha,” he returned, his voice devoid of humor.

Hate shone in my eyes, my lips peeling back into a snarl. “Which son are you?” I asked him, wanting to know which son of Horrik’s I was about to blood eagle.

To that, he smiled.

“Grimar Horrikson.”