"This news," Harald said in a dry, low voice, carrying an unmistakably commanding tone, "is to be strictly sealed. Do not spread it among the troops for now. Above all, the soldiers on the frontline must not learn of it."
Svein immediately understood his brother's intent. Though their raiding army had seized plenty, at its core it was an exhausted force operating deep in enemy territory, isolated and with fragile morale.
Their earlier success had largely come from their opponents' weakness and their own barefoot fearlessness. Now that they had reaped a rich harvest, many soldiers had stolen gold and silver tucked against their chests, their minds fixed on the prisoners and spoils under escort. That desperate air of barefoot men fearing no one in shoes had quietly faded, and their will to fight had visibly declined.
If news of Karl's approach spread at such a time, it could easily trigger panic, perhaps even a mass rout or a camp mutiny! To preserve their stolen wealth and their lives, the soldiers might flee at all costs, destroying the entire haul and the army's order in one stroke.
"Then... are we still heading south? Or do we follow the original plan and sweep one or two more river valleys?" Svein asked, though hesitation had already entered his voice.
"Stop." Harald's answer was decisive, without the slightest hesitation. "Stop everything. Send orders to every detachment: abandon all unfinished raiding targets and immediately pull back and assemble in the direction of Osric Fort. Count all prisoners and supplies, and prepare to march at any moment."
He drew a deep breath, as if forcing down the unease and humiliation in his heart. His gaze turned northwest, toward the direction from which the Carnford Army might come, his eyes complicated. "We must leave this place