by Blink, Bob
“The war is all but inevitable,” I’Vorris had countered. “One can see that most support it, even though a few are likely to vote for me out of loyalty.”
“I know,” agreed Sooor. “You must find a solution.”
It was a thorny problem. I’Vorris also had become aware that a price had been put on his head. His eyes and ears had uncovered the plot, but knew only the name of the assassin and not who had placed the contract. I’Vorris was certain it was his old friend and one time ally It’oni. More than anyone he had the most to gain. As a result of the information, I’Vorris had made special preparations and taken additional precautions. The name of the assassin was one of nightmares. He should feel proud that the very best had been deemed necessary. KalaBhoot brought chills to one’s arms. It was rumored that the assassin had never failed an assignment. One could not help but wonder when the attempt would be made and whether the legend would continue to grow.
Sooor had been direct. “Kill It’oni now. It will send a message to the others. Don’t allow them to organize against you. I sense that if you go after him you will be victorious.”
“That won’t stop the assassin,” I’Vorris had told her.
Sooor had simply shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot tell with this KalaBhoot. I know you two will meet, but the outcome is somehow masked. It is unlike anything I have encountered before. My vision is veiled. There has to be a meaning to this.”
He would meet KalaBhoot. That normally meant death. Well, if that was to be his fate so be it, but he would work for what he believed until that time.
Once again he thought about the votes. His feelers said that some were solid on both sides, but several were still in flux. It would be hard to say until closer to the day the votes were to be cast. Men changed their minds at the last minute and there would be pressures applied by both sides during the days here before the casting. He wondered if he would have room to maneuver when the time came. He also couldn’t set aside Sooor’s warning. To lead Lopal to war was to die. He would have to be quick on his feet. He could see that the war was a virtual certainty.
Chapter 33
His arm quivering with exhaustion, Rhory swung his sword at the attacking horseman. The bright blade of the Kellmore Serang cut through the cheap armor the man was wearing, continuing through and taking the arm off at the elbow. The man screamed as his sword arm was cut away, the weapon he wielded falling uselessly to the ground. There was no time to relax because his opponent was out of the battle. Another was already taking his place.
Rhory was shocked at how quickly one tired in combat. During training sessions he had battled for an hour or more against his opponents, gradually becoming spent. Here, in combat, he found he tired far more quickly. Of course in practice, one knew his adversary, his skills and his weaknesses. There also, the blades were dulled and there was no intent to cause serious harm. On the battlefield it was shockingly different. Each adversary was an unknown. He might be very skillful or only moderately trained. It might not matter, as a lucky blow could take a man down even if the other fighter wasn’t well trained. Often the encounter was over before an accurate judgement of the other’s abilities was truly known. Sometimes there was more than one man to worry about. He’d seen several of his men stabbed in the back while engaged fighting someone else.
Each blow, skillfully thrown at him or a wild swing made in haste or fear, could be the one that brought him down. Any encounter might be where he was seriously maimed for life or killed outright. Awareness of the possibility added to the pressure and the stress which also accelerated one’s exhaustion. He couldn’t understand how anyone could see fighting like this as glamorous or adventurous. He’d be glad to never see such a day ever again. How his father had survived years of this he couldn’t understand. Each day he wondered if he would see the sunset. Today was no different. He sensed his troops were winning the advantage, but there was far too much confusion to be certain. He was surrounded by the best of his men including his personal guard, those who still survived, so his perspective of the battle might be skewed. His men elsewhere might not be fairing nearly so well.
A huge man with what anyone else would consider a two-handed sword was about to take a swing at the back of one of his bodyguards who was busily engaged with another. Rhory wasn’t in a position to block the intended attack, but was able to bury his sword in the heaving side of the man’s horse. The animal screamed and reared, throwing the rider off balance and unseating him. Rhory’s own horses kicked the man in the head as it tried to dance away from the mortally wounded and thrashing mount.
From out of the swirling mass of bodies, another rider came directly at him. Rhory parried the first blow as they passed, then circled his animal to be in position for the follow-up. A traitorous trickle of sweat burned his eyes causing him to be late at blocking a carefully aimed blow. The delay cost him, and he winced at the sliced flesh his tardiness earned him before awkwardly knocking away the offending blade. His attacker had become over confident when he’d struck home, and Rhory slammed him with his shield, knocking the fighter backwards in his saddle. Before the horseman could recover, Rhory’s blade found a soft point of entry that ended the attack.
Surprisingly, there was a brief respite in the fighting. Rhory’s chest heaved as he fought to get sufficient air into his lungs. His sword arm felt like lead, and he could barely hold his shield in place. He used his knees to turn the horse in place to see if any immediate threats approached. Men and horses were down in every direction, many dead but others horribly wounded. The downed men included far too many of his own, but even more of the enemy. That was important because they had been outnumbered today.
Just like that the battle appeared to be over. A few pairs still battled, but the enemy survivors were moving away, headed toward the river and breaking for the safety of Lopal just over fifty paces away across the river. Rhory could call for his men to chase after them, and he could see his commander was already doing just that, but the chase was a feint. They wouldn’t go very far. Rhory was under strict orders from his father in that regard. He couldn’t risk getting pulled into an ambush where Lopal might have superior forces in reserve, and it wouldn’t do for the heir of Branid to be caught leading forces into Lopal. That would be an act of war that would be hard to explain away. That Lopal had forces on Branid soil was one thing, but those were mere soldiers. It seemed a silly distinction to Rhory, but one he wasn’t inclined to argue today. He was thoroughly spent.
He had crossed the border once before. That was the day the attackers had killed his long time friend and personal bodyguard Ucha. Anger burning in his chest he had led his men across the river and more than two miles into Lopal before they had caught up with and slaughtered the remnants of the force that had been seeking escape. The victory did nothing to cleanse the sour taste of the loss from his mouth, and they had ridden back to retrieve the bodies of their fallen. Today he had more restraint.
“Check the fallen,” he ordered, his voice seeming faint and weak in the aftermath of the screaming of the wounded and the ringing clash of the swords only moments before.
His men would examine each of the bodies on the field, finishing off any enemy, and sometimes their own if the wounds were clearly not survivable and the victim was in too much pain. Those who could be saved would be brought back to camp to be cared for as best their healer was able. His own wound in his side was already drying up, and he wouldn’t take the healer away from the more grievously wounded to deal with it. He would be stiff for a few days, which he would have to remember if they fought again. Eventually he would have another scar.
Rhory watched as the men, all at least as tired as himself, went about their tasks. He moved slowly among the survivors offering encouragement and attempting to take stock. They had lost too many. Perhaps fifty were wounded or killed. He wouldn’t know for certain until tonight. Some of the wounded would be able to fight again, but many would never fight another battle even if they lived.
Those were normally sent home or to a nearby village for care, some to die on the way. Infection would take over half of those with major wounds, and those who had lost limbs would be weak and unable to withstand the long ride. At least those wounded today wouldn’t be traveling alone.
This had been a major encounter. Clearly the largest force they had yet encountered, and clearly a force of enemy soldiers. They were too disciplined and fought as a unit, their moves coordinated as only those who had trained together could be. Some of the other battles they had fought in the past couple of weeks had been against men like these. Others had been different. In those battles the enemy had been less organized and the men fought more as individuals than as a unit. Rhory was certain they had been mercenaries. The question was whose mercenaries? Why would Lopal have units of mercenaries when they had units of their own forces in the area? Even the deployment of such men was suspicious. The more typical approach was to have mercenaries as part of the unit, filling in the ranks. Having totally independent units made entirely of such men was not something he’d heard of before.
There were other aspects to the mystery. The soldiers from Lopal fought to take territory and either took civilians prisoner or chased them from the land. The units that Rhory was certain were mercenary seemed more likely to inflict massive slaughter upon the civilians, as if they were seeking to create the maximum terror in the population. It was almost as if they wanted word of what was happening to get back to the King back in Sulen. There were other differences. The mercenary units wouldn’t have made a stand like the soldiers they had fought today. More often than not they broke quickly for the security of Lopal when Rhory’s troops attacked.
That Lopal was invading Branid was no longer in question. The attacks seemed more focused and concentrated here in the far north, but that might be a matter of timing. It could well be that more aggressive attacks were now taking place to the south in areas they had already passed. He would learn more about that on their return. It looked to Rhory, however, as if Lopal was indeed interested in taking the land along the Burn River all the way to the coast. He would send his thoughts to his father via one of the last of the messenger birds tonight. After a day of rest it would be time to start for home. They had learned as much as they could, and with the most recent losses, their strength was down as low as Rhory felt they could tolerate. If they lost many more, they wouldn’t be able to put up a proper defense.
“Your Lordship,” Commander Juhn said interrupting his thoughts.
Rhory looked over at the man. He looked much as Rhory suspected he did himself. Dried blood was present on his left leg and right arm. He had cuts on both hands, and he looked weary beyond words.
“How bad is it?” Rhory asked, seeing the man hesitate.
Commander Juhn gave him the bad news. They’d lost more than he’d thought, but had taken almost two for one of the enemy.
Rhory took the news as stoically as he was able. As the leader he was supposed to show little emotion, but he’d come to know these men after weeks of travel and fighting.
“They got Tross,” Juhn told him hesitantly.
Rhory felt some of the remaining life drain from him. Tross had been another of his friends since childhood and was his favorite sparing partner. He hadn’t been slated to come on the expedition, but had begged Rhory to come along. Rhory had finally relented at the last moment, mostly because he knew the trip would be more enjoyable with the other along. Now he was dead.
“You’re certain?” he asked. It was a stupid question. Juhn would never have come to him with such news had he not personally verified the loss.
Juhn nodded solemnly.
“Gather the bodies,” Rhory commanded. “I’ll light the fire myself. Make sure the scouts are out in case the enemy tries to sneak back and surprise us.”
They would cremate the bodies of their own. Rhory wouldn’t tire his men by having them gather enough wood to do the same for the bodies of the enemy. He wasn’t sure if they’d want that anyway. They’d leave the bodies where they fell and let the living Lopal forces deal with the remains. For all he knew they’d leave them for the wolves.
Juhn replied, “Yes, your Lordship.” He hesitated looking Rhory over carefully. Rhory knew that Juhn thought there was some kind of a plot that targeted him specifically. Several oddities had occurred during the past weeks that might be interpreted as such, but Rhory had dismissed them. Twice Rhory had almost been killed. Once, a mysterious break in their lines that had left his flank open to the enemy had almost been the end of him. Fortunately Commander Juhn had come along with reinforcements and saved the day. On another occasion, his own personal guard had been able to beat back a determined thrust that seemed aimed specifically at him. Rhory had claimed he was naturally the target of the enemy, and there was little more to it than that. Juhn hadn’t been so certain, and had even made known his distrust of the priest who traveled with them. Rhory wasn’t too surprised there either. His disdain of the church was well known, and some of the priests had a personal dislike of him as a result. Had it been up to him he wouldn’t have brought the man along, but his father had insisted that the men would have been unhappy without a representative of their faith along. Many would die, and wouldn’t want to make the transition without a holy man to send them on.
Rhory couldn’t help but wonder about his wife and her sense of foreboding before he’d left. She had once told him that if she was ever to have the power to sense future events it would come after she was pregnant. Well, she was now pregnant, so had it happened? Could she sense the future? If so, she hadn’t told him as much. Perhaps she had gained insight into the future. Rhory was certain she would have warned him if the future held anything menacing for him. Up to now he’d felt her mood was simply that of a pregnant wife seeing her husband sent off to a dangerous and distant place. Perhaps there was more? He wished she were close and he could speak with her.
With a heavy heart, Rhory rode his horse over to where the bodies were being gathered. He would help as much as the men would allow, but as the heir, he wasn’t supposed to perform such menial work. He wanted at least to look upon the faces of the men who had died for Branid, for him, this day. He was glad the rest would be heading home, but the news he carried told him they would be seeing far more of this kind of day for the foreseeable future. Good men and friends had died, and for what reason he couldn’t say. War was upon them. It would be for his father to make the formal declaration.
Chapter 34
Rhog looked away from the couple who approached from the opposite direction. It wouldn’t have mattered. They were so engrossed in one another they wouldn’t have noticed him had they had to sidestep to pass around him. Fortunately there weren’t many others out this time of the evening, which was one of the reasons they had chosen it. He had started the night several hours earlier at one of the taverns he favored, then moved around, going between establishments. Anyone checking would assume he was drinking somewhere else. It was a pattern that wasn’t uncommon for him as he moved through the nightspots looking for his latest conquest. He’d left his horse outside one of the spots and would retrieve it later. This too was a common practice for him.
Now, however, he was on foot, making his way through an upscale section of the town towards a place he had never visited before. He’d heard of it, of course. Who in the upper crust hadn’t. The woman who ran the establishment moved freely through upper society and the many parties that were thrown, but it was well known what kind of place she ran. The cat-house was located in this respectable district because many of her patrons didn’t want to be seen in the kind of neighborhoods where her competition operated. It was also safer for them and required less of their time. Some of those other neighborhoods posed a risk to those with coin. Rhog wasn’t happy that Bishop Orano had insisted they meet away from their usual meeting place, but the man had been insistent.
“Your visits have become frequent enough I fear that talk will result,” the man had told
him. “We are engaged in treasonous activity and cannot be too careful. We must take care not to be seen together as often as we have of late.”
Finally the structure he sought loomed ahead. It looked much like a large home of a well to do merchant. Made of stone and well maintained with carefully groomed landscaping, if one didn’t know its history, it would appear to be no different than a dozen similar homes nearby. He stopped briefly outside the gates and stared at the pathway leading to the doorway guarded by two large men. Unconsciously he tested his blade in its scabbard. It was a nervous gesture. Despite the blade being one of the finest available, he was not skilled in its use. He wore it because everyone wore a blade and because he knew others would think him skilled. His brother certainly was, and he had access to the same tutors.
He felt a momentary flutter in his stomach. There were several reasons for this. Tonight was likely to be an important step for him. There would be no backing out if he agreed to the course of action that he was certain the Bishop was going to suggest tonight. He would also be revealing his intentions to others. That meant his secret would be known to more than just Orano with whom he’d plotted for so long. That was risky as well. This was after all, treason, as the Bishop had pointed out. Finally there was a certain perverse thrill about the place he was to visit. He’d been to such places before, of course, but it had been a long time. These days he either found his own partners or had them procured and brought to him. This was different and for some reason he was eager for the experience.
Taking a deep breath, he started up the walkway. The men at the door recognized him. He was well enough known, after all, and visiting such a place was not really out of character for him. He was certain one allowed a momentary flicker of recognition to be shown, but the other maintained his composure and simply bowed slightly and opened the door for him. He didn’t know what he expected, but this was far more elegant than he would have guessed. Inside he found a large greeting room tastefully furnished. Two other men waited toward the far corner, engaged in hushed conversation. He had only to wait a few moments before the madam, dressed elegantly, appeared to greet him. He recognized her from parties at the palace, and knew she recognized him in return. He also knew that Orano had told her he would be coming. He still was surprised that the Bishop had contacts in such a place.