Without armor or weapons to mark their rank, or in this case allegiance , Lucius and Marcus moved silently among the lines of workers, indistinguishable from the peasants toiling in the fields or hauling timber. The air was thick with the pungent blend of sweat, damp earth, and the faint tallic tang of tension—a sll they knew all too well. It was the odor of a battlefield waiting to happen.
They were young, neither yet twenty-five winters past , but their youth belied their experience. Five battles had already etched their nas and skin, and with them ca an intimate familiarity with this grim atmosphere. The rhythmic grunt of laboring n, the scrape of wood against stone, and the muted clang of distant hamrs filled their ears. They knew this song by heart—it was the orchestra of preparation, that preluded bloodshed
Lucius stole a glance at Marcus, his jaw set in that sa resolute grimace he wore before every battle.
The peasant army had claid a hill as their last sanctuary where they would decide whetever they would live or die , their last bastion before the storm of battle.
It was a choice made by Lucius for he knew that their ragged force, composed only of footn, could not face cavalry or disciplined soldiers on even ground. Here, atop this rise, they could turn their disadvantage into an equalizer.
The hill buzzed with activity as the peasants worked tirelessly, their sweat-drenched faces illuminated by the fading light of day. They carried heavy trunks of wood up the incline, their shoulders bowed under the weight. These would beco palisades, crude but effective defenses against the enemy. Others crouched near the trunks, wielding axes with practiced rhythm, sharpening the ends into jagged spikes. The harsh, repetitive thunk of blade against wood echoed across the camp like the heartbeat of the army itself.
So peasants wielded shovels instead of axes, their muscles straining as they dug into the stubborn earth. The soil was hard, resisting their efforts, but they labored with a grim determination to soften it, knowing that loose dirt would make it easier to plant the sharpened stakes. Sweat poured from their brows, mixing with the churned-up soil to create a muddy ss that clung to their boots and tools.
Ahead of the main lines, the fruits of their efforts were already visible. Several rows of palisades jutted out from the earth like jagged teeth.
Lucius and Marcus observed the scene with quiet satisfaction, the lines of defense slowly but surely transforming this hill into a fortress.
Marcus wiped a streak of mud from his cheek when he had fallen into the ground ,as he turned to Lucius, the sound of axes and shovels providing a constant backdrop. "Alright" he said, his tone laced with curiosity. '' I am curious . We've never used anything like this before.How did you co up with it?" He gestured toward the crude but effective palisades taking shape on the hill.
Lucius smirked, arms crossed as he surveyed the laboring peasants. "I didn't " he admitted. "Our liege provided with a set of... suggestions. One of them covered tactics for leveling the field when you've got nothing but footn. High ground, palisades, defensive lines—it's all in there." He glanced sidelong at Marcus. "Though I suppose you'd know that if you'd been paying attention."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Suggestions, huh? Lucky you." He shrugged, his expression turning wry. "Not that it matters. You're a decurii; you're supposed to know this stuff."
Lucius chuckled and clapped Marcus on the shoulder. "Marcus, we're both decurii now. That's what's expected of us—thinking a step ahead, making sure the poor sods we lead don't get trampled like wheat under the enemy's boots. Which ans, my friend, you should've finished reading the book they gave us."
Marcus groaned theatrically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "I started it, alright? Made it through a chapter or two, but..." He trailed off, waving a hand toward the chaos of the camp. "There's been a lot going on, and, well, it's not exactly a thrilling read."
The book in question was Strategio, a concise yet invaluable manual penned by Alpheo during the winter months. Within its pages lay a collection of battlefield strategies, ranging from pincer maneuvers and feigned retreats to arrowhead formations and defensive tactics. It was more than a guide to tactics, however—it also outlined the strict military code of conduct expected of every soldier, complete with the corresponding punishnts for those who dared to stray from its rules.
Since there was no printing press , the original Strategio had been painstakingly handwritten by Alpheo himself, with every subsequent copy reproduced by skilled scribes. In total, fewer than sixty copies existed, but that number sufficed, as the book was intended solely for the upper echelons of the military hierarchy. Given its limited audience, there was little need to employ additional scribes to produce more copies.
Marcus adjusted the strap of the satchel slung across his shoulder and glanced sideways at Lucius as they walked past another group of peasants sharpening stakes. "So," he asked, his tone casual but tinged with unease, "what do you think our chances are, really?"
Lucius sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Not very high. That depends on a few things. For one, the army we're up against consists of 600 footn and 70 knights. anwhile, we've got 1,100 combatants. Maybe 1,300 if we press the won into service with slings, but even then..." He trailed off, casting a glance at the palisades in progress.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying there's a chance?"
Lucius smirked faintly. "Slim, but not impossible. We've got the hill, the preparations are coming along, and the palisades will make it hell for their cavalry. But make no mistake—it's uphill for us. Literally for them, figuratively for us."
Marcus exhaled sharply, kicking a loose rock on the path as Lucius continued explaining
''As for their morale it is sky-high. They've won six battles in a row, though I hear most of them were walkovers. They ambushed other bands with ease—no mounted scouts to spot them coming. That would've been our fate too if we weren't supplied with the resources and information we were given."
Lucius stopped and turned to him, the faint grin gone. "Listen, Marcus. We're not facing amateurs, and this isn't a ragtag militia we're up against , like the initial bands of starved peasants we fought off from taking our supplies. They're apparently quite well equipped and riding high on their victories. But," he jabbed a finger toward the palisades, "we've got the terrain, the numbers, and enough sense to use them. So keep your head in the ga and your doubts to yourself. We've got a shot—however slim it is, it's better than none."
Marcus shrugged, a wry smile creeping onto his face. "Fair enough.Should I still keep planning our escape route then?"
''Do that, Marcus.No use linking with ropes two ships on a storm."
Marcus and Lucius both understood, deep in their hearts, that their commitnt to this rebellion was conditional not linked to ideology or loyalty to the peasants they now commanded, but to the ambitions of their prince.
Their fate was not tied to the success of this uprising. Should the tides turn against them, they would have no qualms about abandoning ship.
This rebellion was, after all, a ans to an end. Their prince cared not for the peasants' cause but for hisobjectives. The campaign against Herculeia and its allies was ticulously planned, and securing the twin fortresses was the only small obstacles that he would have had to bypass with his army .
Lucius had obviously been told of the main object , his fingers tracing the map's lines as though drawing blood.
"An uncontrolled fortress is a dagger at the side at all ti" the prince had said, his tone as sharp as steel. Even though several kiloters separated the fortresses from the planned path of their supply lines, the re potential of hostility made them intolerable as for a siege to continue their supply lines had to be immaculated.
As soon as they had sent their missive regarding the mission success, Alphoe had with the sa speed congratulated them while promising them rewards once they returned to Yarzat. After all the fall of the twin fortresses was no small feat, and the prince had made it clear their success was integral to his broader designs.
But with that victory now behind them, their presence in the region had shifted in purpose , into dealing as much harm as they could. The longer the unrest roiled, the more damage the prince of Herculia would face.
For Lucius and Marcus, their role had morphed into one of opportunistic puppeteers—nudging the rebellion along, stoking its embers just enough to keep Herculia off balance. After all, it wasn't loyalty to the rebels that held them here. It was loyalty to their prince and his vision of a map redrawn to his advantage. Hence they had no internal conflicts into throwing the rebels under the bus....
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