Spring, 1424

Jayna sat alone. Mera didn’t even need to look to tell she was biting her lip.

“Planning how to extricate us from another unwinnable fight?” The dragon asked.

The Arcadian leader looked up at her companion. She looked tired. “The odds keep stacking against us. I don't know how we can hold them back even longer. Pometia has been fought over four or five times now. Villages are in ruins. The land is devastated. The people are exhausted.”

“Perhaps it is time to move.”

Jayna was up in an instant. “What? Give up this place we had fought so hard for, that we all had bled and died for? Let the civilians get slaughtered?”

“Evacuate them. Which is more important? Your home or your people?”

“We're not dragons, Mera, we can't easily move about. Any journey will be rough. Many young and old will die.”

The dragon shrugged. “Well, it's a chance. Perhaps they can be moved elsewhere.”

The Arcadian leader began pacing, muttering about Tulusculum, Corioli, avoiding patrols and supply lines. After a few minutes she stopped. “I got it!”

“Oh?”

“We'll try the Overmountains.”

“The Overmountains?” The dragon cocked his head sideways.

“The great valley on the other side of the Southern Ranges.”

“The Back Valley.” Mera replied. “The land of the Sabines.”

“Well, it hasn't been Sabine in decades.”

“I've not focused on human politics in decades.”

“Emperor Nicholas seized the area after the Fifth Sabine War.” Jayna explained. “Auxian settlers have moved in and have turned much of the forest into fertile farmlands. We should be safe there. “The Revolution can regroup, and when it's ready, strike down from the mountains North, South and West.”

“Well, Logan and I have gone over to this Back Valley/Overmountain at varying points.” Mera scratched his neck. “Results were…mixed.”

Jayna half threw up her hands. “Well, it seems like the least worst option. Perhaps things are better now that these are human territories.”

“One can hope.”

***

“We're retreating?” Chagraff asked.

“We're shifting our base of operations into the Overmountains.” Jayna replied.

“We're retreating.”

The Arcadian leadership was assembled again at camp near Goldsboro. The mood was somber, if not exactly poor; the army had already gone through this twice, if not thrice, before.
Jayna pointed to the dispositions on the map. The red flags approaching their positions looked like a pike about to consume a dace.

“We're outnumbered more than three to one, perhaps five to one. We have done very well defending Corioli. But we can't win this here. We can’t keep playing the same game, hoping that the Dominion will just give up. Fending off attacks is a slow death. We need to take a gamble and try to seize the initiative.”

“The Old North Road has been neglected for decades.” Hassan questioned. “We don’t even know if it is still passable.”

“Roza can scout and explore and blaze paths if necessary.”

“The mountains will be rough. Can we even cross them at this time of year?” Cutler asked.

“It will be. We will need to rest and regroup before trying it. Some soldiers will remain behind to maintain our presence in the South. The least willing or least able to make the climb will be assigned there.”

“And the civilians?” Price asked.

“We'll move them to the Moorlands. It is isolated and the swamps should protect them. Meratezatgh knows of the location of former human settlements they can seek shelter in, and our rearguard forces can protect them if Imperial attacks occur. The dragon can also occasionally patrol.” Jayna forced a smile. “Besides, Pillow isn’t after them, he's after us.”

“We will look weak retreating.” Murray grumbled. “Our support will ebb as we are labeled cowards.”

The Arcadian commander sighed. “That cannot be helped. There’s no use for the revolution dying proudly.”

Questions stopped, though the leadership clearly remained uncomfortable. Chagraff was muttering as he scribbled into his parchments, Cutler and Murray were discussing on the side, Price was staring at the sky, Hassan was frowning as drew on the ground with a stick, Wheaton shrugged, Ord was lost in thought, Devin was inscrutable as always, Athur was just frowning. Oevcn was asleep and snoring.

“I ask you to fight, but I also ask you to keep faith with me.” Jayna finally declared, regaining the Arcadian officers' attention. “The price of liberty comes with almost certain death. But I cannot order that from people-I can only ask. I have made mistakes, but we have gotten this far. I request an oath from you all, and the troops below you, that folks will trust in me and my counsel.”

At this Mera came forward, and rested beside his companion as she continued. “All who cannot I will dismiss with all honors. But the war is in its most critical phase yet, and I need all the soldiers that I can rely upon.”

“We will follow.” Chagraff declared. Roza, Wheaton, Cutler, and Ord immediately affirmed as well. Devin nodded, and Hassan shrugged soon after.

Murray breathed deeply. “I don’t like this, but I will try to keep faith.”

“I will remain behind.” Price stated flatly. “My cause is to the people. I believe in you, but I will join them in the Moorlands.”

Janya nodded. “You will do that, Price.” She then looked upon the others. “Good. I am glad. Prepare your units. We set off tomorrow.”

***

A few days later the Army of the Arcadian Republic plunged into the abandoned wilderness. Worn to ten thousand hard-bitten troops, the force consisted of one thousand five hundred gonners, a thousand archers, five hundred artillery, five hundred horse, five hundred thunderbird riders, four thousand pikemen and two thousand men-at-arms, as well as three hundred survivors of Mahn’s students, thousands more wounded but recovering soldiers and hundreds of prisoners, some of whom were expressing interest in joining the cause.

Though many grumbled about leaving their homes behind, the soldiers were in high spirits. The Arcadians had drastically changed from the idealistic and ill-armed volunteers that joined the revolution two years ago- nothing against the elite Imperial forces. Now through the gauntlet of battle they were veterans, and they were proud of their success against the enemy, defeating everything the Dominion had thrown at them despite long and brutal fighting. Despite its small size, the little army felt more than capable of defeating any force of comparable size in Nalbin.

Behind, moving at a much slower pace, came the Arcadian supporters and their families, perhaps 19000 in all, following the army and fleeing from the vengeance of the Jamersonians. This migration greatly depopulated Corioli and Pometia, leaving little behind for the Dominion to benefit from.

Finally a small covering force of two thousand remained as a rear guard for the civilians, screening the groups marching West to the River Triangle. They would hide with the civilians in the Moorlands until the main force would be able to return, all the while trying to maintain the rebellion in the South and protect their people.

Jayna Durham led the march herself, resplendent in her polished plate while riding atop Mera. The Commander of the revolution wanted to portray confidence, pride and defiance, yet worry over the risks was betrayed upon her face, though most unfamiliar with her took it as cold and stern judgement. Carrying his companion upon his back, Meratezatgh the Dragon remained unperturbed by the large movement. It was just another day in the life of conflict among the humans. Immediately behind them Chagraff sat atop Dandelion, pursuing reports from Roza and discussing the movements of the army. Focused on the mundane details of the march-or in the case of the dragon, completely unfocused- none of the Arcadian leadership seemed to fully take in the situation.

Oevcn was marching nearby, brigandine armor on and gonne resting upon his shoulder. In contrast to the others he paused, taking in the panoramic scene all around him: thousands of soldiers and civilians on the move, wagons slowly rumbling westwards like a long serpent, kicking up a trail of dust, the fluttering of unit banners, the steady tramp of footsteps, clanking weapons and armor, the creaking of wheels, the faint odor of sweat and livestock.

Marveling at the chaos and movement, the cynocephali would be the only individual here to fully grasp the enormity of the occasion: the greatest march in the history of Nalbin.

“Get your head out of the clouds and keep going, boy! We've got twenty miles before camp!” Athur barked from behind.

“Yessir! This is just amazing, Athur!” Oevcn yipped back.

“It'll get old soon enough.”

The moment passed, and the cynocephali continued on.

Twenty miles, for what everyone hoped would be a two hundred mile journey.

---

The Proclaimers - I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

Another great work from  intricatevision!