An Ill Fate Marshalling

22

Year 1016 AFE

Michael watched credence Abaca limp into his office. He leaned toward Aral. „Looks like that limp is going to be permanent."

Aral whispered, „I heard they cut him up pretty bad."

„Sit down, Credence. Derel should be here any minute." He eyed Abaca. Maybe they should recall Liakopulos from Karak Strabger, where he was training the year's recruits. Credence's wounds were awfully slow healing. Perhaps he had fallen foul of a poisoned Tervola blade.

They might need a garrison commander who could get around fast. Liakopulos could turn his trainees over to someone else.

Derel came in. He looked exhausted. „Hard day in the Thing. The Estates are trying to revoke the weapons act again. We barely defeated them. Mundwiller almost had apoplexy. Two of his people deserted him. We've got to get Hardle back here to whip the Nordmen into line."

The weapons act had given freemen the right and obliga­ tion to keep and bear arms. It was the single most effective constraint on the power of the nobility, who no longer dared ride roughshod over their tenants. Another law enacted about the same time had virtually eliminated serfdom, freeing peasants from their bonds to the land they worked. They could now desert an unjust liege. That law, too, was unpopular with the Estates.

Prataxis sagged into a chair. „So what is it now, Michael? Your message sounded desperate."

„Could be. Is Cham coming?"

„No. He's planning tomorrow's counterattack. He's on his last legs, though. If the King doesn't get back soon... . What is it? You look grim."

„I'll let Aral tell you. That's why he's here."

Dantice hemmed and hawed. He felt out of place.

„Get on with it," Michael said. „Just tell them what you told me."

„This came in this afternoon," Aral said. „From a friend who just got back from Throyes."

Prataxis said, „I was becoming concerned. We hadn't heard anything for so long."

„You have reason," Michael said. „Aral?"

„Hsung was assassinated."

„What? The guerrillas?" Prataxis was shocked. How did an assassin reach a Lord Hsung?

„No. His own people did it," Aral said. „I didn't get many details. Just that he was killed, and another Tervola stepped right in. Sent by Mist."

Michael interjected, „Meaning she was behind the assas­ sination."

Prataxis nodded. „Lord Hsung was way out of line. I'm surprised the Council would authorize that vigorous a sanction, though."

„All very interesting," Abaca said. „But why are you in a panic? This Tervola or that, what's the difference?"

„This one has stopped the invasion of Hammad al Nakir," Aral said. „He ordered the troops to stop where they were, and not to fight unless they were attacked. He's trying to negotiate with Yasmid, hoping she'll make peace."

„And she will," Michael opined. „Word I get out of Al Rhemish, also courtesy of friend Aral, is that Megelin has sent Rahman, Norath and five thousand men to attack Sebil el Selib."

„So the fighting has stopped. So what?" Abaca asked.

Prataxis replied, „So we've had no contact with the King for eight days. Right, Michael?"

„Exactly. When I send a message to Maisak I get evasive replies. Nothing from the King. I queried Liakopulos. He's in the dark too. What it suggests is, the King got a wild hair and moved on down to Gog-Ahlan. Maybe even decided to attack Hsung from the rear."

„We're in trouble," Prataxis said.

„Maybe big trouble," Aral agreed. „There's already ru­ mors saying he went east. Right now they're just bull put out by the Estates, but in a few days people are going to be asking serious questions. And we won't have the answers. Michael, I told you he would shoot the long odds again."

Trebilcock closed his eyes. „I sent Aral's news to Maisak right away. I demanded a direct response from the King. They acknowledged receipt. I haven't heard anything else. I'm praying I do get something from him. If ! don't pretty soon, though, I'll assume he went on through the pass."

„Stupid," Abaca muttered. „Stupid, stupid, stupid. I'd better call in reinforcements."

Prataxis suggested, „Better warn the garrisons in Damhorst, Breidenbach, Forsberg, and Sedlmayr too. If there's trouble it'll spread from city to city fast. I'd recom­ mend a general alert. Better do something about Kristen, too, Michael."

Michael asked, „I take it we all expect the worst?"

„Maybe not expect it," Prataxis said. „But plan for it. Be ready for it. Damn. I wish we could send the Thing home. Get them scattered around so it would take them longer to cause trouble."

Michael said, „Let's get to it. We may not have much time."

Abaca grumbled, „I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it anymore. We never seem to make any headway."

„I hear you," Derel replied, and stumbled wearily out of the room.

Michael growled, „I feel the same way sometimes, Cre­ dence. Like right now."

Inger had gathered those of her dowrymen who were party to the family plot. She was ready to accept Michael's offer. „Anyone have anything to tell me?" They knew what was on her mind. The King's people had mounted a harsh psychological offensive. „Trebilcock asked to see me tomor­ row. He wants my answer. My mind is pretty much made up. Karl?"

„Stall him if you can. We've finally established communi­ cation with the outside. The Estates say you should hang on. Ragnarson may have overstepped himself and gone on through the Gap. Let's find out if that's true. Could be the break we need."

Inger asked, „That's a rumor, right? What's the source?

The Estates? Or someone less likely to be making it up?"

„Can't tell for sure. Estates agents are spreading it, but they claim they picked it up in the streets. You know the King better than anyone. Would he go off like that?"

„Yes and no." Yes, he would do something like that. He'd done so before. But no, not under today's conditions. He'd had half the wizards of the west with him during his raid on Argon. He had no wizard now, and faced one of the top dozen Tervola of Shinsan. Bragi wouldn't attack in those circumstances.

„He wouldn't do it," she decided. „He might let every­ body think he was doing it. Then he could see what we'd do if we thought he was off doing something insane. No. He's up there in the Gap where nobody can see what he's doing. He's waiting, studying the news. At the right time he'll swoop down like an eagle. And anyone who's fool enough to believe the rumors and try to profit will get snatched up like some hapless rabbit."

Her advisers looked thoughtful. One observed. „This morning Abaca ordered a new gibbet put up. A big one. Might mean he's expecting something."

Inger's stomach tightened. „The Estates aren't planning another riot?"

„No. The last one went so badly... ."

„Find out for sure. Trebilcock said the next one would kill us. Abaca could be building that gibbet for us."

The man added, „Abaca also sent secret orders to all the major military commands. He's called some units into Vorgreberg. He must know what's going on."

Another said, „Sounds to me like he's part of what the Queen was saying. That buzzard is sitting up there laughing at us. The way things were going, he couldn't do anything that didn't make him look bad. But if we do anything now, it'll look like treason. Nobody would much complain if something happened to us."

Inger said, „There are a lot who would cheer. A lot who resent the fact that there are so many foreigners in the palace. They like us less than they like my husband."

„That raises a question that's never been adequately answered, My Lady. What do we do with the man? Assum­ ing we ever do take over?"

„That's a moot question." And one I want to avoid, Inger thought. „Our taking power isn't even a pipe dream any­ more. Survival is the question here. We have to decide what I'm going to tell Trebilcock tomorrow."

„Stall him."

„Put him off."

„What if he won't be stalled?" She didn't want to stall. She was tired of this dreary little kingdom and its plague of selfish nobles, tired of the role her family had thrust upon her. She was tired of being afraid, and tired of being in continuous danger. She was ready to meet Michael's condi­ tions. She just wanted to get away, to go home, to raise her son and be free of the vicissitudes of politics.

She wished she could ride away the way Bragi had described, drifting off into history, Kavelin's crown left for whoever wanted it. Maybe she should have offered to ride away with him. It might have been interesting, living with him the way his first wife had, with every day an honest struggle for honest pay... .

„My Lady?"

„Yes? Sorry. I was daydreaming. All right. I'll try to stall him. Meantime, find out what's going on. Try to contact the Estates again. If there's anything I should know, tell me before Trebilcock shows up. Now go somewhere. I need to think."

What she needed was time alone, time not so much to think as to weep for everything that might have been, everything she had hoped for in the few hours between her receipt of Bragi's proposal and her having gone to Dane for advice.

Dreams die hard.

Ragnarson gave the signal. The light horse company surged forward, swept round the flank of the hill, hurtled toward the shanty trading center built alongside the ruins of Gog-Ahlan. „Drums," he shouted. „Double cadence, for­ ward."

Drums began grumbling. The troops picked up the beat and double-timed forward. The heavy horse rolled along at their flanks. „They look good," Ragnarson told Baron Hardle. „Very good indeed."

Sourly, Hardle replied, „They've had good leadership. And they believe in their supreme commander."

Ragnarson scowled. Hardle was worse than Gjerdrum. But give the man his due, he wasn't sabotaging anything. He was performing his tasks to the limits of his capacity.

„Back with your men. Septien!" he shouted at the com­ mander of his Marena Dimura scouts. „Move out. If anybody gets by you I'll have your scalp."

The scouts galloped off to interdict the road to Throyes. They were to stop anyone who escaped the light horse.

Ragnarson spurred his mount, hastened to the head of the column. He rounded the flank of the hill and looked out on the plain where the ruins lay. „What the hell?"

There was nothing there. At least, nothing to compare with what had been there last time he'd come this way. The trading town had been a city then, wild and colorful and ramshackle. Now there was nothing but a neat geometric layout. A barracks city with only a few non-standard build­ ings off to one side. The barracks and the low curtain wall surrounding them seemed to have been assembled from stone salvaged from the ruins.

„That makes sense," he muttered. „Use the materials at hand. And why would the traders stay after trade was cut off?"

Ragnarson pointed at a trumpeter, beckoned, charged toward the town. He was certain he would find it wholly abandoned. All this energy expended for nothing. But it would be good for the men. It would get them used to moving when it was time to move.

The light horse were almost upon the barracks, their wings sweeping forward to surround the buildings, when a lone horseman appeared among the ramshackle civilian structures to the right. He whipped his animal into a gallop. A squadron of horsemen turned after him. Ragnarson did the same. In the distance Septien swung back as he spotted the horsemen too.

The man turned this way, that, and saw all escape fade away. He pulled up and waited. In moments he was sur­ rounded.

Bragi reined in, looked the man over. „Throyen. Anyone speak the language?" Most Kaveliners spoke several tongues, if only because there were four languages current in Kavelin itself. Many more spoke the tongue of one or another of the kingdom's trading partners. Of those Throyes had been the most important.

„Here, Sire," one soldier said, and another raised his hand.

„Ask him questions. The kind of things we're interested in."

The soldiers asked when the legion had withdrawn, where the civilians had gone, what this one man had been doing there alone. They asked about the surrounding territory, and about what lay between Gog-Ahlan and Throyes. Bragi occasionally suggested additional questions. The prisoner was moderately cooperative.

He had been left to watch the pass. Insofar as he knew, there were no armed forces between Gog-Ahlan and Throyes. „Things have gone bad wrong," he said. „El Murid has a new general. Better than the Scourge of God, the old people say: I know we lost a couple of big battles. They've been sending everyone to the fighting."

Ragnarson exchanged glances with Hardle and Gjerdrum. „Better than the Scourge of God, eh?" Bragi muttered.

Hardle said, „He must be if he's making a showing against everything Lord Hsung's thrown in."

And Gjerdrum, „You think Habibullah exaggerated Yasmid's weakness?"

„No. He believed the story he was telling. Those people are funny. They'll fight like devils for a leader they believe in. You're not old enough to remember the things Nassef and el Kader did. Have the Baron tell you sometime. They damned near conquered the world."

The army made camp thirty miles southeast of Gog-Ahlan. Ragnarson kept his captains up late. It was obvious from his picking of nits that he wasn't comfortable with what he was doing. He went walking the camp perimeter after sending the others to bed.

It was a cool night, boding the approach of autumn. The stars were crisp and cold in the black felt sky. The encamp­ ment was orderly, and the cooking fires were low and shielded from the casual, distant eye.

These are good men, he thought. The best I've ever led. Perfectly honed, well-disciplined, and positively motivated. Were it not for the sorcery, they would stand up well to Shinsan.

What is the matter with me? Why am I doubting myself?

Why am I doing this? Logic weighs against it, as Gjerdrum and Hardle remind me with every look. Even if I do swoop in, and pull off the biggest coup of my life, what's really been gained? What drives me? Why do I have to do this? Because so much has gone badly at home? Am I trying to balance my failure as King with success at the one thing I can do well?

He stopped at the point of camp farthest south, stared toward where Throyes lay. His intuition had nothing to say. Instead, ghosts from his past hemmed him in. He remem­ bered the friends and loved ones lost, the triumphs and defeats, the good times and bad. „I'm here because I don't know any better," he whispered. „I've been hurrying to­ ward a fight, or running away from one, since I was fifteen years old. This peace since the end of the wars is the longest I've ever gone through. Maybe helping Mist woke some­ thing inside me."

A shooting star arced across the sky. „A man's life. One bright moment in the darkness. Am I looking for a flashy exit?"

When you got down to it, this raid had suicidal aspects. Hsung might be a renegade defying his Princess, but he was Tervola. If he were destroyed, or severely embarrassed, his brethren would be that much more incensed, that much more determined to settle scores... . Ragnarson jumped.

„Sire?"

„You startled me, soldier."

„I didn't mean to, Sire. I was being quiet on account of you might be thinking about something important."

Bragi chuckled. „Who can say?"

The soldier saluted and started to move on.

„Hold on a second."

„Sire?"

„What do you think about this?"

„This, Sire?"

„This march on Throyes. What do you think? What do the men think? Honestly, now. I was a soldier myself once."

„Well, Sire, I don't think anybody is happy about it. Nobody understands. But for the most part they figure you know what you're doing, and it must be important or we wouldn't be out here."

Curious, Bragi thought. They still trust me. „Not that much grumbling and second-guessing?" Every soldier was a general, figuring he knew better than the people up top.

„No, Sire. Like I said, a lot of wondering why, but the only bitching is about the food."

„Some things never change. Thanks, son. On about your rounds now." He fixed his gaze on distant Throyes once more.

Four days, he thought. A hard, fast march. Into the city. Capture Hsung's headquarters. Wipe out his puppets. Give the pro-western and faithful Throyens a chance to organize, then scuttle back home.

I hope we take Hsung alive... . Ought to put him in a zoo and charge admission.

Four days. Will my nerves hold out?

Day dawned brisk and clear. Bragi bounced out of his tent and did a few jumping jacks. „What's that?" he yelled to his cook. „Smells damned good." He felt fantastic. He'd had a restful night, with no troubling dreams. The morning was one of those when everything seemed right, when he felt ready to whip the world.

He walked around behind his tent, which stood atop a hummock, stared off in the direction of Throyes. Can't be more than sixty miles now, he thought. Push hard today, rest well tonight, and hit them tomorrow.

It was going to go right. He knew it. All that soul-searching and worry had been for nothing. Throyes would fall easily. If it went well enough he might push on south, help Yasmid wrap Hsung's army in a pocket where it could be destroyed.

Wouldn't that frost the Tervola? More of their legions casually crushed by the western bane? Ha! And Mist? He'd love to see her face when she got the news. Serve her right for not keeping Hsung on a shorter leash.

He was sure Hsung didn't have Mist's sanction. She must be having trouble getting the Tervola into line. Nobility could be restless, as well he knew.

„Good morning, Baron," he said cheerfully, as Hardle came up the slope to join him. „Isn't it a glorious day?"

Hardle smiled. „It is indeed, Sire. There's a magic in the air, isn't there?"

„I don't know what it is, but I feel great. I hope it's not just you and me."

It was not. The feeling infected everyone, though nerves should have been bowstring tight. But there are those mornings when things just seem ideal, and the world appears a beautiful place to all but the most sour of heart.

Even Sir Gjerdrum was cheerful. He hadn't smiled since Maisak. In private, he said, „I've been thinking, Bragi. You may be right about this. We might pull it off. And if we do, it might be the coup we need. It might get Shinsan off our backs for our lifetimes. It might be the stroke that silences our enemies at home. And they can't wait a lifetime. It's only the old Nordmen who want to get rid of us. There won't be many to replace them when they die off."

Bragi punched Gjerdrum's biceps. „Now you're getting it. This looked like a long shot when we started, but now I think we'll manage it. Wizard or no wizard." For days he had been looking over his shoulder, expecting Varthlokkur to appear. He assumed that the wizard would relent before the army reached Throyes.

„You think he'll show?"

„I'm confident. He's stubborn, so he'll try to make me worry, but he'll be here in time."

Breakfast finished, Ragnarson got the army moving. He had his scouts range far ahead, it wouldn't be long before they encountered some of the outlying farmsteads and manors orbiting Throyes. They were only seventy or eighty miles from the sea now. Though it was sparse, there was enough rainfall to support some cereal crops.

The night chill burned off fast. The day turned warm, though it never really became hot. The sky remained a clear, incredible cerulean blue. Bragi continued to marvel at how grand a world surrounded him. The hours slipped by.

„Look there, Klaus," he told one of his bodyguards. „That bird. It's a gull. We slide over the top of that range of hills and, if it stays this clear, you'll be able to see the sea."

The hills came closer. They were all rounded, humpy things, very old, carpeted with sere grass which gave them a tawny appearance. Off to the east there was a long black swath where a grass fire had run wild.

„Yo, Sire," a man shouted, pointing. „Riders coming in from the van."

Bragi stood in his stirrups, watched the men approach. They weren't hurrying. A routine report. He sat down, urged his mount forward.

„Sire," one scout said, „we've found a small watchpost." He indicated a hill slightly off the line of march. „Looks out over most of the plain. It wasn't manned, but there's a garrison in an adobe fort behind the hill. Twenty men, near as we could judge. Shinsan. They didn't act like they knew we were here."

„Uhm," Bragi grunted. He glanced back. The column was raising a lot of dust. „Is it that hill standing alone, out this way from the rest of the range?"

„Yes, Sire."

„Uhm. Did you see if there were any Tervola or Aspira­ tors there?"

„No sign of any, Sire."

„You left somebody to watch? To keep them off that hill?"

„Yes, Sire."

„Good. Messenger. Get me Captain Tompkin." Back to the scout. „That fort very tough? Any reason a light horse company couldn't take it?"

„It's not really a fort, Sire. More like an adobe blockhouse with a four foot curtain wall around it. The gate was off its hinges."

„Good enough. Show Tompkin where it's at. Give him a look from the top of the hill. He can decide what's the best way to take it."

The attack went smoothly. Tompkin returned to report that the garrison of eighteen, taken by surprise, had fought well but in vain.

„They should have been on their toes," Bragi said. „When you've got a war going you've got to watch your back as close as your front."

The column began skirting the hill during the afternoon.

Bragi remained cheerful. Twenty miles of hills and ten of flatland and he would be pounding on the gates of Throyes. He would camp in the hills tonight, and swoop down in the morning.

„Sire."

Bragi looked where the man was pointing, to his left and the column's rear. Riders were coming in fast. The screen of outriders was folding in behind them.

„That doesn't look good. Halt the column. Trumpets, blow commanders to me."

Gjerdrum arrived first. Bragi told him, „Get up that hill and see what you can see."

The knight wheeled away. Five minutes later the scouts arrived, their horses lathered and winded and stumbling. Their leader swung down and began babbling excitedly in Marena Dimura.

„Hold on, son. Slow down. I can't follow when you talk that fast."

The man jumped up and down and pointed. Bragi still didn't get what he said, but his meaning was obvious enough. There was trouble out that way.

Captain Septien arrived, listened, went grey. „Sire," he said, „there's a Shinsaner cohort headed this way."

„They seen us?"

The chief scout asked, listened. „He doesn't know."

„All right. Damn it all anyway. Baron, take charge here. Get the outriders in. Get the column behind the hill. I'm going up top to watch. You. You. You." He indicated messengers. „Come with me."

He met Gjerdrum halfway up. The knight looked greyer than Septien had. „What is it, Gjerdrum?"

Gjerdrum swallowed, said, „You'd better go see for yourself."

„Bad, eh?"

„Yes."

Bragi ascended to the watchpost. The scout had been right. Five or six hundred men formed a dark stain moving his way. No problem, really, except... except that that was just one of four such stains moving in from different directions.

„Gjerdrum. Think there's more of them?"

„Yes. In the hills. That's where I'd have put them."

„Right. No doubt that they know we're here? That they're coming after us?"

„Not in my mind."

„How did they know? And where did they come from? They're supposed to be tied up down south."

„What will we do?"

„We have the interior advantage. They're scattered. Get down there, take the horse out and smash... that bunch. They're the closest." The armies of the Dread Empire seldom used mounted warriors. Against western heavy cavalry they hadn't ever shown well. „Then come across after this bunch due east of us. Then that bunch there. Knock us a hole we can run out."

„You're going to run for it?"

„Damned right. No point in going ahead when they know we're coming. We won't fight any more than we have to to get away. We get through the gap, we should be able to stay ahead. We're in as good a condition, and they'll have to break through the horse to reach the rest of us."

Bragi scanned the plains again. He was disappointed but not upset. The mood of the day persisted. The trap did not look inescapable. „You bastard, Hsung, you won a round. But I'll get you one of these days. Get going, Gjerdrum. Runner. Message to Baron Hardle. We're going to dig in on this hill till Sir Gjerdrum clears us a way out. Go tell him."

Bragi looked at the approaching enemy again, then ele­ vated his eyes to the sky. There was one small trouble with his scheme. There might not be enough light left for Gjerdrum to open a wide enough gap.

Gjerdrum did crush two of the enemy units before the seeing became poor. But four more groups appeared. No hole big enough opened. „A whole damned legion, must be," Ragnarson murmured. Meaning the force he faced was at least as strong as his own. And, overall, better trained, armed, and disciplined. His men were good, but the soldiers of the Dread Empire were better.

„Well, Baron, looks like I did it this time," he said over a cold evening meal, against a background of grumbling eastern drums. „I put us in a good fix."

Hardle nodded, then surprised Ragnarson by saying,

„But you'll get us out. You always do."

The man's faith was touching. „Maybe. We've got the South Bows and the high ground. We get dug in good tonight and we'll be all right."

He hoped.

Silently, he thought, Varthlokkur, where the hell are you? I'm up to my ass in Tervola. I need a little help here. It's time to quit fooling around.