Swiss Arms (vagabond)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 128

-VB-

Hans von Fluelaberg 

“And now.”

“WAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Warcries rung out throatily and fires were lit all around the western areas of the town outside of the walls. War drums rang out and we kept on shouting.

The garrison on top of the battlement hastily got ready to fight back, and some even began to loose their arrows at the fires and shouting men. 

I watched far from the Munich city walls as the defenders kept trying to shoot at us but we were too far, and the arrows loosed by the defenders landed in the bundles of straws we used as our shield while we continued to beat the drums and shout. 

“LOUIS IS A DUMBASS, HIS FACE IS AN ASS!” 

“LOUIS IS A DUMBASS!” my rangers cackled as they jeered along with me. 

“HIS FACE IS AN ASS, HE’S GOT NO ASS!”

“HIS FACE IS AN ASS!” 

“LOUIS IS MAIDENLESS, HE IS SO CHARMLESS!”

“MAIDENLESS! CHARMLESS!” 

And my arms swung. The drums beat. 

And they continued to beat into the night as our throats grew hoarse. 

---

“You are a devil.”

I grinned before I took a long sip of water. I may have the endurance of a superhuman, but that didn’t mean that after all of that shouting, my throat didn’t go dry. 

Unlike me, my rangers rotated out every hour or so using the cover of the night. 

“Oh? How so?” I asked Duke Albert, who was looking at me with the gimlet eye that carried with it both respect and disgust. 

“It’s been over a week, Hans. A week of you harassing the western gate and everyone there with your … chants.”

Rudolf snickered. When Albert turned to look at him, he quickly recovered and cleared his throat loudly. “What?”

Albert turned back to look at me. “It … this isn’t how I was taught wars are fought,” he began. “But you’ve had more experience with war than I’ve ever had, so who am I to gainsay the effort you’re putting in?” 

I hummed. “Anything in particular you find distasteful?”

“We may be trying to reinstate our duke here as the rightful duke, but emasculating Duke Louis in front of his subject feels … wrong. He is our peer; I believe he just deserves more respect than that.”

Rudolf looked begrudgingly on Albert’s side on this. 

“I disagree,” I replied respectfully. “May I explain myself?”

“Go ahead, count.”

“Are we here to win or are we here to have a practice match?” 

My words brought silence to the tent. 

“Our people die every time we make the wrong choice,” I continued once I saw that they were willing to let me talk. “I am a count, yes, but my territory has the least number of people to draw upon. I only control Rheintal and Fluelaberg directly. All other territories within the Compact are member states and town that are not involved in this war. Each person who die under my command is not a knight but also a near irreplaceable citizen of my county. I cannot make choices that see any of them die unless I gain something far more out of it. 

“As an oriental philosopher of war from beyond the lands of the Muslim once said, ‘appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.’ The truth that I tell you two is that should a true gritty war break out, my people will lose even if I can go on fighting by myself until my enemies die. But what is the point of a war if all that is left is me and a pile of ashes?

“My tactics so far have resulted in two advantages for us and three disadvantages for the enemy. One, we are well rested while our enemies are not. Two, we are losing nothing but time doing this, which works in our favor as they are cut off. As for disadvantages for the enemy, they are losing arrows trying to kill us. You’ve seen the piles of arrows I’ve brought in each night. The defenders of Munich have so far, over the course of a week, wasted more than a five hundred quivers. But because most of those arrows hit the ground or our hay bales, we can use them against them. As stated before, time is running out for them. And lastly, while knightly conduct may get me points… please remember who I am.

“I am the Count Killer. I have bled nobles who thought themselves prim and proper, who thought to gambled away their men’s lives. And look at me and mine now. Who decries me for winning? Who is left to tell me that I was wrong to have killed your peers? 

“Understand, my lords, that the only reason I don’t sneak over those walls at night and kill Louis in his own bedchambers - after all of the grief he’s caused for me and mine - is because you, Duke Rudolf, asked me to spare your brother that fate. The quickest path to victory is thus waived and I must risk my men. The lives of nobles are as expensive and cheap as that of a peasant when they are my enemies.”

I stopped for a breather and then looked at them both in the eyes. 

“Do you have objections to my thoughts?” 

Albert and Rudolf looked at me and then glanced at each other. 

Rudolf spoke up.

“None.”

Albert hesitated before he spoke. “I have none, but you must also see that as long as you continue down this path, you will find no more allies.”

“As long as you and your house remains my friend and ally and continue to treat me and mine fairly, I see no reason to look elsewhere,” I replied and switched back to more informal speech. “Now, I and my men have to sleep to make hell for them tonight.”

-VB-

Louis von Wittelsbach.

Two weeks. 

Two weeks of hell.

“LOUIS IS A DUMBASS, HIS FACE IS AN ASS!” 

“LOUIS IS A DUMBASS!” 

“HIS FACE IS AN ASS, HE’S GOT NO ASS!”

“HIS FACE IS AN ASS!” 

“LOUIS IS MAIDENLESS, HE IS SO CHARMLESS!”

“MAIDENLESS! CHARMLESS!” 

He even heard some children repeat that in the streets during the day! 

If it was just the insults… then fine. He could handle it. He’s handled worse. He’s dealt worse. 

But then it was the nightly attacks. 

The shouts and hollers. The threats of it made his men shoot their arrows. 

And now, they had less than a hundred quivers of arrow left.

Food was also running low. Not enough to make anyone go hungry but enough that rumors were starting up. 

He held his head between his hands as the morning sunlight rose up.

The city … was restless. 

Louis started to doubt his own men. 

The townspeople avoided him.

The few who didn’t were sycophants with no thoughts of their own. 

More than one fight had broken out in the town square over the price of food. 

Everything… Everything had gone wrong… because of that damned mountain peasant playing at nobility. 

Count Hans von Fluelaberg was the source of all of his woes. No bishop wanted to listen to his calls about the count’s witchcraft, the obvious superhuman feats he performed. No lord wanted to listen to him. Even his own subordinates feigned ignorance as they counted the toll tax from trade going to and from the “Compact.” His allies … had remained silent. 

Over two weeks of siege. 

No one had come to help.

He was alone. 

And from the supplies he saw and the enemy army outside that only grew in size with each passing day, he knew he was finished. 

But he would be a fool to go out quietly. 

If they wanted to torture him at night, then so be it. He’ll go out and deal with them.