by Garon Whited
“Got it.”
“Good.”
After our meeting to discuss tactics against the Church, we called it a night. Even Malena. I think the theory is that killing me during the night doesn’t do much, so she only needs to be on alert during the day. I, on the other hand, paced around the earthworks. This kept the sentries alert and gave me time to think.
This morning, the sunrise was unpleasant, partly because I’d neglected to bring along a special tent for me. Seldar was quite helpful in loaning me his tent, along with some blankets. I burritoed my way through the dawn. Malena watched over me during the transformation and was good enough to not laugh at me. I cleaned up and was just barely in time to be useful in the breaking of the camp.
Breaking camp didn’t go quickly, but we needed the practice. Seldar took charge, with Torvil and Kammen acting as his lieutenants. Things went from “everyone pitches in somewhere” to a state of organized duties and specific tasks. My guess is making camp tonight will go quite quickly, as will breaking camp the next morning. There’s nothing quite like trying it in the field to point up how to do it better.
We were on the road still in the early morning and made good time. There are advantages to a cavalry force and mobility is one of them. We made a couple of rest stops for the usual meals, watered the horses, and so on.
I had wondered why they brought through so many wagons. I mean, intellectually, I know an army requires enormous quantities of supplies, but it never hit me quite so hard. When we stopped for meals or rest breaks, the horses grazed on whatever was available. Whenever we crossed fresh water, there was a pause to drink. Nevertheless, fodder for the horses was a major portion of our baggage train.
Look at it this way. Big, heavy war-steeds take ten to twelve pounds of fodder a day. Call it twelve, just to be safe. Twelve pounds per horse—three thousand horses—that’s thirty-six thousand pounds. Eighteen tons of fodder. Per day. True, they’ll manage some of that by grazing during rest stops and during encampments, but I’m not even counting the food for people!
When an army comes through—allied troops or not—expect to feed them.
Scouts reported a small village ahead, but no sign of armed resistance. We passed through it already mounted up and prepared to fight, just in case. Nobody came out to greet us. In point of fact, nobody so much as peeked out at us. They were either huddling in their hovels, hoping we would pass by—which we did—or were already over the hill and still running. The worst we did was take supplies, mostly food, as I mentioned. No muss, no fuss, no brutal slayings of fanatics defending their village against invaders, not even a harsh word. I was reasonably pleased.
It was late in the afternoon when we came to a small, walled town. They had word of our approach, so everyone was inside. Guards manned the walls. We weren’t impressed. The walls were adobe and rammed earth, rather thick, and eight to ten feet high. Good enough for wild animals and bandits, but with neither battlements nor arrow slits they weren’t much of a fortification. The two town gates—one set opposite the other—put me more in mind of barn doors than city gates.
“Do we take it?” Seldar asked.
“Not yet,” I decided. “Let’s set up camp and see if they’re crazed enough to come out. I want to gauge how much control the priesthood has over the locals. They may not have that much influence over a small town at the far edge of the kingdom.” Seldar bowed and cast a grid spell over a suitably flat piece of land to the left of the road. Shovels came out and dirt moved. The contingent of specialists—wizards and priests, mostly—didn’t dirty their hands with earthworks. I was okay with that. They’re more like passengers than crew, at least until the fighting starts. I’m still not sure how much use the priests will be, but we’ll find out.
I was pleased to note some of the knights had their own ideas on spell-work. A group of them got together, chanted, and sketched in the dirt. They sang along with everyone else, but the concentrated on their spell. The earthworks didn’t form by themselves, but the ditch everyone else dug gradually deepened, all the way around, and the inner mound humped up a little higher, maybe a little more steeply. It was like watching the mountain reshape itself, except in dirt. The lion’s share of work was still done with muscle, but they kept up the spell for over an hour. It probably added six inches of depth to the ditch and as much in height to the earthworks.
I made a note to mention them to Beltar. Sharp thinkers, those men.
Shortly thereafter, we put up tents, dug a latrine, cooked food, the works. I was right about the organization. One run-through was enough to see major improvement. There were still plenty of bobbles, but we would only get faster at setting things up from now on. I was pleased.
By nightfall, everyone was fairly well rested, fed, cleaned, and content. A good day’s travel, all things considered, and with the possibility of a glorious battle to come! The martial tone of the songs reflected their high spirits. The wizards, on the other hand, tended to keep to themselves rather than mingle, while the priests stayed in their own tents. I sensed a level of awkwardness, but it might just be business as usual. I don’t get out much.
Seldar helped me with my sunset burrito while Malena stood guard over me. Once again, she did not laugh at the sack of vampire sweating into the blankets.
I have got to get a coffin. I never thought I’d want a coffin. I never thought I’d need a coffin. Cramped, stuffy boxes, that’s all they are. Big. Bulky. Clunky. Inconvenient. Admittedly, with the right padding, probably quite comfortable, but nevertheless bulky, clunky, inconvenient boxes. I guess I’m going to have to break down and go with the stereotype. Why not? I’ve got so many vampire clichés going for me already, why not a coffin?
Night fell, I rose, and the town sat there. Nobody came out to fight. I distinctly heard people praying in the streets, but it was only to be expected, I suppose. When the Demon King shows up out of nowhere with a couple thousand black-armored ogres and thumps down a fortification outside your gates, prayer is probably a good idea.
I consulted with my lieutenants. Captains. Generals. The four in charge—Torvil, Kammen, Seldar, and Beltar. If the wizards’ or priests’ contingent had leaders, I’d probably have invited them, as well. They didn’t, so I didn’t. I suppose I could have invited Varena or Pallae, from Tianna’s Temple of Fire, but it wouldn’t have been a politically-correct move with so many other religions represented.
“Thoughts, anyone?”
“From what I saw at Salacia,” Torvil offered, “if they haven’t come out by now, they won’t.”
“I agree,” Kammen added.
“Has anyone tried to parley?” I asked. Everyone indicated not. “All right. Maybe we should set up something halfway between us and the wall as a meeting point. I’m sure they’ll take a hint.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Kammen stepped out to make it happen. We settled in for the night, but, given the proximity of the enemy, took the night in four shifts—that is, a quarter of the men were awake, armored, and ready to fight at any time.
For some reason, no one in the town wanted to talk until after sunrise. Can’t think why they’d want to wait.
Rethven, Monday, March 26th, Year 9
Seldar and I—along with Malena—met with the representatives from Heverin, the small town we besieged. Technically. We hadn’t surrounded it and cut it off from anywhere, just camped next door to it. They felt besieged, though. I suppose when you’re out near the Edge of the World and only get local traffic, it doesn’t take much to feel overwhelmed.
The local lord was a Baron Zreck, grey-haired with a dash of pepper, laugh lines, and a completely out-of-place frown. His retainers were two. First, his son, Zramin, a middle-aged man, in good shape, with a more serious set of lines setting themselves on his face. Second, a Priest of the Light, the equivalent of a bishop, I think. His name was Alavarin and he came complete with medallion, embroidered robes, and a fancy hat—possibly even a Kung-Fu Grip™. Just looking him over, I guessed him t
o be around thirty-ish, in decent shape, and suspiciously good-natured. A professional diplomat for the Church, possibly. It didn’t tell me anything good that the Baron of Heverin brought him—or was forced to bring him—as part of his retinue. The fact the Baron came out to meet me personally spoke well of the Baron, though. None of the three bore anything obvious in the way of the strange deformities reputed to be common in the region.
“Good morning,” Zreck greeted me, as per protocol. I outranked him and was the attacking force. Seldar went over this with me.
“Good morning,” I agreed. We all made our introductions and I started the discussion. “I apologize for the things we’ve brought to sit on. We didn’t have space for better chairs.”
“I am delighted at the courtesy. Shall I send for wine?”
“At this hour? No, not for me.”
“Very well.” The Baron and I seated ourselves on the only two stools. The stools were simply sections of log cut flat. At least we had the roof of a pavilion over us and a flap on one side, blocking the early sunlight. We were still quite visible from both fortifications.
“I take it your wizard has, by now, done a thorough examination of our encampment?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“What do you think? I’m asking for your opinion. We haven’t practiced the whole campsite thing.”
“I think you’re doing better with your earthworks than we are with our wall.”
“Dad!”
“Silence!” he snapped. “There’s no point in lying.”
“He’s right,” I agreed. “The walls don’t look too formidable, but it’s hardly surprising. I’d venture to guess you don’t have much need for major defenses.”
“Not until now.”
“You came to discuss terms,” Alavarin reminded us, still smiling good-naturedly, “not to discuss each other’s fortifications.”
The Baron turned to his left and glanced sideways up at the priest, eyes narrowed. Alavarin smiled slightly and nodded.
“Very well.” The Baron turned back to me. “As he says, we came to discuss terms. What do you want?”
“I’ve been giving it some thought. Bottom line, I want the priests of the Church of Light put to the sword, the temples and chapels pulled down, and every reference to them burned, broken, or chiseled away.”
“Heretic!”
We all turned at Alavarin’s outburst. He had one hand around his medallion and a shocked look.
“If you’re going to keep interrupting, I’m going to have to call off this meeting,” I remarked, mildly.
“You fear what I have to say, creature of evil!” he snarled. I think my statement about eradicating his religion offended him, somehow. If he was a Church diplomat, I didn’t want to see their fanatics. Then again, a small town on the border with the barbarian lands… he might not be a good diplomat.
“No,” I countered, “it just makes me want to kill you when you speak without permission. Since we’re under a truce while we talk, I’m not allowed to do that, and I don’t want to offend the Baron by violating a truce.”
Alavarin opened his mouth to say something but the Baron’s hand snapped up in a silencing gesture.
“And I appreciate that,” the Baron said, loudly and with enough force to cut Alavarin’s beginning tirade off. “Perhaps you should return to the safety of the walls, Alavarin.”
“Baron Zreck, this being is an incarnation of darkness, a direct enemy of all living things. The power of the Church will—”
“—be necessary in defending the city, yes, yes, yes. So you’ve said. Thank you for your wise counsel. You may go.”
“My Baron, I must—”
“You. May. Go.”
Alavarin took the hint and walked stiffly back to the town.
“You know,” I commented, “I wanted to ask you to send him back so we could have a private talk, but I couldn’t figure out a way to do it.”
“So you found a clever way to get me to do your bidding?”
“No, I just got lucky. Well, not very lucky. Most of the priests of light I’ve met are self-righteous and arrogant. Talking with them makes me want to beat them to paste, and I really would have to call off the meeting if he kept talking.”
“I sometimes feel the same way,” he admitted. “So, you want to eradicate the Church of Light. What does this mean for my people?”
“Part of the problem is some—possibly most—of your people support the Church unequivocally. They’ll fight and die for it.”
“True. It has been an issue of some concern for me.”
“And I,” added his son.
“My suggestion,” I offered, “is to tell the priests to get out. If they’ll gather up their followers and face us on the field, you and anyone who remains within the walls will be left alone. It’s your barony, and they’re your people. All I’m after is the Church.”
“They are my people,” he pointed out. “I can’t simply send them out to be slaughtered—and it would be a slaughter. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I’ve seen the images my wizard conjures up in the glass.”
“Begging your pardon,” Seldar said, “but they are not your people.”
“How so?”
“If they follow the priests, they do not follow you. They are people, yes, but they have given themselves over to their god and they are no longer your responsibility.”
The Baron frowned at that, obviously not liking it. He didn’t have a reply.
“I don’t like it either,” I added. “I can’t undo the conversion, so I can’t undo their sort of faith.” I didn’t want to get into the details of addiction to the ritual of bliss and all that. “If no one does anything to stop it, this religion will sweep over the world and have everyone prostrate and praying within your lifetime.”
The Baron leaned back a bit, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs, thinking. After a moment, he rose and paced, frowning deeply, still thinking. His son seemed both puzzled and thoughtful. Clearly, neither of them liked what I said. Equally clearly, they both believed it. Eventually, the Baron seated himself again, took a deep breath, let it out, and spoke.
“Very well. If they must die, then they must.”
And I was struck again by the differences between my upbringing and the societal norms of this world. I reflexively want to find a solution not involving mass slaughter. This kindly old grandfather with all the laugh lines and friendly disposition barely batted an eye.
I’m just not cut out for this.
“We shall attempt to send forth the priests. I cannot promise they will be willing. There may be civil war within my city.”
“If that’s the case, order your men and all those loyal to you to go indoors and lock themselves in. Let the priests have the streets. We’ll sweep through the place and kill anyone who attacks us. You can finish hunting down the priests and their followers once we’ve thinned them down.”
“You won’t cleanse the place?”
“We can’t take the time. We’re trying to drive them out of the whole kingdom.”
“Hmm. It could work… but how do I know I can trust you not to burn the place to the ground?”
I thought about it for a moment. What would convince him? Not my word alone, surely.
He would believe you if you were to swear on the Sword of Kings, I bet, Firebrand suggested.
Now there’s a thought.
I unbuckled Firebrand and stood it, scabbard and all, point-down on the ground. I held on to one of the wings of the crossguard and gestured for him to hold the other.
“I cannot promise no harm will come to your town,” I told him, and Firebrand echoed the words within his head, “but I can promise neither I nor my knights will harm it unnecessarily. I swear it on the Sword of Kings.” I took Firebrand in hand again and started buckling it on. “Does that satisfy you?”
Baron Zreck rubbed his hand while looking askance at me. He glanced at his son, looked at me again, and nodded.
&nbs
p; “I accept your word and your terms. Stand ready.”
“We agree.”
The Baron and his son returned to the town without incident while Seldar, Malena, and I walked back to our camp.
We had to take the place.
As Baron Zreck suspected, the priests of the light did not go quietly. They protested, argued, and finally whipped up their followers to enforce their refusal.
Note to self: kill the priests first, so they can’t encourage such behavior in the populace.
While the local Church and State geared up for a small civil war, some of the Baron’s men opened the gates. Seldar pointed out it could be a ruse or a trap, but I disagreed.
“Yes, it could be. I don’t think it is.”
“May I ask why?”
“Yes. First, Zreck didn’t seem the sort for such deception. Second, compared to the soldiers he has, we have overwhelming force. Letting us in isn’t a way to win. It’s a way to lose faster.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Let’s get going.”
We mounted up and headed into town. Torvil and Kammen went in the front gate, leading a couple hundred cavalry in columns of three, followed by another thousand knights on foot. I circled around with a similar force and Bronze kicked in the other gate. The rest of our force, about six hundred men—not counting support personnel and random priests—kept eyes on everything. Many cast scrying spells to watch over us. We held the professional wizards in reserve to support us in magical or mundane fashions.
Okay, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a trap. I’m not a trusting soul.
We poured into the town and spread out a bit, letting anyone who wanted to come to us do so. The main streets were wide enough for fighting from horseback, but the smaller ones weren’t. While the cavalry kept to the main streets and acted mostly as a fast-moving reserve force, the knights on foot spread out.
The berserk nutjobs had some problems with that. The confines of streets didn’t let them mob us the way they wanted to. We were stronger, better-trained, far more heavily armed and armored, and at least three men deep at any point. Add to that the war-training of the horses—they had no qualms about stepping on people in an advance or a retreat. True, the mob knew their streets better than we did, but we had people with scrying sensors parked above the city and relaying real-time information.