The Savage War

by Esther Wallace

  “Hadwin,” he sighed when the tent flaps had settled behind them. “Tomorrow, we must change course, northwest to the closest waterway—”

  “You’ll walk into a trap,” Arnacin spoke up. “If the natives think rationally at all, they will surround the nearest waterway, knowing you’ll go there, and that you’ll be weaker when you arrive.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Arnacin, but we don’t have much choice. If we don’t go there, they’ll set upon us in a few days anyway, and we won’t have the strength to fight them. Our only chance is to change our course now while we’re strong and hopefully some of us will break through. They ripped holes in our water skins as well. We don’t have a drop.”

  In the brief pause, Hadwin bowed. “I will let everyone know, my lord.”

  “Wait!” In Arnacin’s haste, he had grabbed the knight’s arm and Carpason smiled grimly. “Milord, I can help you steal some of the trees’ water—enough to keep each man moving. I can also find some of the plants that will give the most energy and your cooks can make hard bread from it.” Reddening, he released Hadwin, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Please.”

  Meeting Hadwin’s expression of raised eyebrows, the lord nodded. “You’ve been trained by Gagandep, Arnacin, not us. If there is a way to cheat the enemy’s tactics, we will take it.”

  A few hours later, the islander returned with some water held in a folded leaf. As he handed it to Carpason, he said, “I will be back by morning, but if by some reason I’m not, don’t wait for me.” Carpason could not hold back his soft laugh. “That’s not a request, Arnacin. It’s a borderline order you lack the authority to give.”

  “I only mean—”

  Placing his hand on the islander’s shoulder, the lord nodded with a smile. “I know. Take at least ten men with you.”

  “It will be better if I go alone.”

  “Arnacin, if you take a light out there, you’ll be ambushed in moments, and by yourself you’ll have no chance of living.”

  A sly smile passed Arnacin’s face. “I had no intention of taking a light.”

  Staring into those eyes, dancing with impishness, Carpason warily asked, “Don’t tell me you can see in the dark?”

  “Our island lived for hundreds of years without even the light of stars or moon, owing to the enchanters’ power. I’ve heard it said that our eyes changed then and it has never altered back. As long as the slightest amount of light is in the sky, I can see outlines and shapes. I will be able to find different plants in the darkness. I can hear if someone approaches, and I will know the plants by their scent.”

  With a flip of his hood as he covered his head, he disappeared.

  Arnacin’s plan succeeded and, although they were attacked once more before they reached the safety of the plains, they survived. They did stop for the night in a village to purchase enough supplies to make it to the capital. Unfortunately, when they did, Carpason had nothing useful to the war to report, but when he told Miro of the savages’ tactics and Arnacin’s solution, the king turned away, rubbing his chin.

  “Has he taught his knowledge to anyone of Tarmlin?” the king asked, turning back.

  “Not entirely,” Carpason whispered, his gaze fixed on the flagstones a few paces from Miro’s feet.

  “Why ever not? That seems to be extremely important information.”

  Bowing, the lord said, “I’ll see what we can do.” Straightening, he added, “What do you think the possibilities are that the savages’ belief in gods are causing the war?”

  For a second, Miro blustered without words. Then he exclaimed, “Preposterous! You might as well ask if a tree causes the war. It is absurd. Why would you ask?”

  “I merely wished to know your thoughts.”

  “Then I have given them. Go rest.”

  Standing at the library windows, Valoretta trailed her fingers along its sill. Arnacin had not been there for weeks and the emptiness was starting to depress her. In the harbor, she could see the little dot that was the islander on his ship, kneeling on the deck. He had no need of the library’s contents to fix his ship anymore, and there was never the time to return for other reasons.

  Yet Valoretta lacked the freedom to join him instead. Or did she?

  Her loneliness convinced her and, picking up her book, she slipped out. After asking a maid for a plain long shawl, she waited. The maid returned shortly with the requested shawl and though her curiosity was obvious by the tilt of her head, no questions were asked.

  Wrapping herself in the shawl’s folds, the princess slipped out of the castle and down to the wharf. Thankfully, her trips to the market with her nurse had familiarized her with the roads, and it was an easy matter finding Arnacin’s little thing of a ship. Up close to it, she paused. It had never occurred to her how strange it was, with its long, sloping nose and a short, stubby cabin in the back.

  Disregarding the oddity, she stepped up the ramp, asking softly, “May I join you?”

  Arnacin jumped where he knelt, tarring the gaps between the deck boards. “Valoretta,” he gasped, his gaze taking in the shawl she held tightly wrapped around her head and falling over her dress. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded hastily and he stood, holding out his hand. “You’ll have tar stains on your skirt.” His own pant legs were rolled above his knees.

  Accepting his supporting grip as she lifted her skirts, Valoretta sighed, “It’s so much nicer out here. The library just felt like a black pit.”

  Guiding her to the rail to sit, Arnacin settled himself beside her, pulling his pant legs back down. His expression was merely thoughtful and, unsure of her reception, the princess slowly opened her book. She looked back up to see that he was also staring at the pages. “Valoretta,” he finally whispered. “Do you believe you are right to read?”

  The princess heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Don’t go telling me what is proper and isn’t! My mother and father believed it important! Why should I stop?”

  Dark blue eyes regarded her without pride or condemnation. “I would never tell you what’s proper, as you should know.” A sad puff of amusement escaped him. “My family never knew the meaning of the word. I think you need to decide, though. If you believe you are right to read, read in the open, Valoretta. Only wrongs must be hidden. If you are right, reveal it, let the rumors spread. Don’t ever let fear stop you. Your people deserve your conviction.”

  Valoretta simply stared at the islander while those words tumbled through her mind. After another moment, Arnacin returned to work and, still thinking about it, the princess’ gaze traveled to the water, sea green and vast.

  “But Sara,” she finally said. “How could I just tell her I was going to read no matter what she thought?”

  A smile passed the islander’s face as he glanced up. “Is that a question of respect? I don’t think acting behind her back is respect. Telling her why you feel it’s right or stopping is respect. If she doesn’t agree…” He shrugged, resuming his work.

  It sounded easy, but as she slipped into her room sometime later and ran right into Sara, the easiness evaporated. Her nurse looked like a thundercloud, her arms akimbo. Hastily, the princess hid the shawl balled in her hand behind her back. “Look at your skirt!” Sara exclaimed. “Wood shavings, straw… Is that tar?”

  Stammering, the princess pressed her back into the door, but as Arnacin’s words again rang in her mind, she closed her eyes, and exhaled preparatorily. “I went to read outside, in the market.”

  Her nurse’s face lost all color. “Valoretta, have you lost your mind?” she gasped. “Queen’s aren’t supposed to read, and what were you doing in the market?”

  “I’m the heir of Mira, Sara, not simply destined to be queen.”

  “You will need a husband and he will need a queen, not a contester.”

  “No! Mira is my responsibility, can you not see? Her people must know they can trust me, that I’m wise…”

  Softening, Sara sighed. “I know what your father wants, but I
think he is being impractical. I don’t ever want you to have the opposition such a path would take. Hopefully, you were not recognized, but even if you somehow avoided harm, never do it again.” “I think I need to, Sara,” Valoretta said firmly, yet without heat. With a soft smile, she added, “Mira deserves my conviction, and I will give it to them. I have been taught to read by my father and I will continue reading to further my knowledge.” She realized she had straightened while speaking. No longer resting against the door, she stood erect. “Even if I am ever shunted aside to become simply a queen, that knowledge will help the king and all of Mira. I must read, I will read, and I will do so without shame. Such is my right and my duty.”

  Sara’s gaze was wide, even oddly afraid the princess thought. Yet in another moment, that expression vanished and the nurse stomped to the door. “Stay here! I will be back to change you into a clean dress.”

  As her nurse vanished, Valoretta collapsed against the wall with a satisfied exhale. At the moment, she felt she could face anything.

  Instantly, Sara went to the king’s private room, where he was settling for the evening. There, she told the king of what happened and her thoughts that the foreigner was behind it. Miro’s reaction, however, left her speechless. He smiled distantly, as if he was picturing the change in his daughter. Looking up, he said, “I would call that wisdom, Sara.”

  “But, Sire,” the nurse pleaded. “Think about this for a moment. She’s a girl. She can never be a king, and if she holds more respect than her husband among the people, our allies are going to look at that as a sign of weakness and break their alliances.”

  Sighing, Miro stood, walking around the table to take her hand. “Sara,” he whispered. “Why do you think I have deliberated so long in choosing a husband for her? At thirteen, she should at least be betrothed, but there are no easy answers with her. She needs to be ready for the worst, and the only way she can be ready is by making her own choices now. She’s not a prince. I can’t make her a page or send her onto the fields, and without being on the field, she would not make a very good high councilor. Reading and making her own choices are the only ways she can learn. You must let her do so.”

  Yanking her hand away, Sara dropped a curtsy, her gaze fixed on the floor. Somehow, she could not seem to make her fears understood. It was pointless.

  Although true that most foreign kingdoms did not send ambassadors to Mira in the summer, some, such as Ursa, trickled in despite the war. It was while the Earl of Garak was conferring with the king that word came of an ambassador sailing under the emblem of the yellowed-eyed black bear on a crimson background. “Ursa is on Mira? Let them wait,” Miro growled, returning his attention to the earl. “Lord Carpason is overseeing repairs on the sea wall. Please send him to me, and then rest.”

  As the earl bowed and left, Memphis stepped near, bowing in the way he did when he had something to say, yet refused to open the conversation himself. Miro sighed, “Yes, Memphis?”

  “Do you really want to keep Ursa waiting? They’ll think something’s wrong, and you know they’re just looking for some weakness.”

  Drumming his fingers on his folded arm, Miro contemplated those words and then slowly nodded to the sea-gate messenger. “Tell the guards he may come after notifying the castle that the courtiers must come to the great hall. Ursa will never see us except in our finest. Sara is to keep Valoretta in her rooms, though.”

  Carpason entered a moment before the ambassador and Miro motioned for the lord to stand to the right of the throne in front of Memphis.

  The Ursans’ had sent their lordship, Catari, the son of their baron, Barrik, as the ambassador this time and, seeing him, Miro’s fingers tightened on the arms of his throne. Catari was in his thirties, silver-tongued and smooth. Ladies would call him dashing if they were not Miran, for his physique was both strong and refined, and his short hair pure yellow. He had bested quite a few of the Mirans in tournaments and, with midsummer only two weeks away, the usual day of Mira’s Summer Festival, the king did not doubt that the Ursans had sent Catari on purpose.

  It was also common assumption, due to some of their similar names and rumors of their “magic,” that the Ursans began as simply different tribes of the Miran savages. The Ursans might have adopted the common trading speech and customs, but underneath, they were as much at odds with Mira as the savages.

  Ursan ambassadors stepped foot on Mira, or vice versa, and the real politics began—constant probing, ceaseless manipulation, pandering compliments, and veiled insults. This was no different.

  “What makes his lordship come to Mira at this time of the year?” Miro asked as the ambassador bowed.

  “We have been concerned, Sire. We have not been invited to one of your Summer Festivals in five years, and we were afraid it might be because you were too exhausted due to the war.”

  Keeping his temper controlled, Miro smiled without parting his lips. “Is that so?”

  “Word has also come to us that your swordmaster, who trained all your magnificent men-at-arms, fell in the spring, and the thought came to us that perhaps you felt you no longer had the skill to waste in a tournament.”

  Purposely glancing at Carpason, who was one of the few Mirans who remained unrivaled by the Ursans, the king asked, “Do you feel exhausted, Lord Carpason?”

  The lord’s iron gaze never left the ambassador and his arms remained folded. “We would only rejoice at the prospect of a tournament, Sire. It would remove our boredom.”

  His smile overly bright in Miro’s opinion, Catari laughed, “I’m so pleased to hear that. Ursa is graciously offering to give the rewards this year.”

  Miro heard Memphis click his tongue behind him. Smiling slightly, the king said, “Although a generous offer, I would not want to impoverish Ursa.” The ambassador’s blue eyes just barely flickered at the returned insult, yet there was no hint to Ursa’s financial standing. Miro continued, however. “We were, of course, holding the festival as we do every year, but the invitations had become a death threat, at least that was how our allies took it. If, however, you have any men daring enough to accept this year, please do come.”

  Catari only bowed. “Then I will leave immediately and inform my king.”

  “Splendid!”

  With that, Miro dismissed the court and, when the room was empty except for himself, Memphis and Carpason, he turned to the latter. From where he’d hidden it in his sleeve, Miro pulled out the map on which the location of the enemy encampment had been drawn.

  “Deal with them, Carpason,” he sighed in weariness. “But please, return in time for the festival. We don’t have the money to allow any Ursans victory, or anyone else, despite the fact that their presence will increase our bathhouse’s revenue and subsequently our treasury.”

  “I will do my best, Sire,” the lord promised with a bow.

  Chapter 9

  The Islander’s Troop

  “WE HAVE A BIT OF a problem, Arnacin,” Carpason said, walking his horse beside the islander in his men’s formation. “We don’t have time to draw out a battle to make sure a medium lives, if there is one, yet we need one. We also don’t want the savages to know that we’re after a medium. So how do we accomplish both?”

  The lord was thinking aloud really. Yet he noticed Arnacin glance up at him, those dark blue eyes seeming to be waiting for something, serene as if the problem was only imagined by Carpason.

  Coughing softly, the lord asked, “Alright, Arnacin. What are you thinking?”

  A brief smirk of amusement lit the islander’s face. Then it vanished as he shrugged. “What if you send half of your men around to make a blockade of fallen trees…”

  “Trees they cut of course?”

  “Yes, and then, when that’s done, create a stampede of some kind that drives the natives toward that wall where your men will shoot them down from on top?”

  “How is that supposed to accomplish both?” Carpason asked in complete bewilderment.

  “It drives the enem
y away from where they were and thereby leaves some behind.” Arnacin was looking away from the lord, eastward, as he whispered that, his tone distant, and Carpason’s free thumb tapped his thigh.

  “You’re not saying something you’re thinking, Arnacin. It still doesn’t make sense to me.”

  The islander sighed and abruptly stopped walking. Holding out his hand, he said, “Pull me up.”

  Once Arnacin sat behind him, Carpason whispered, “Is this about magic? You don’t wish to be overheard?”

  “Something like that, milord. ‘Magic,’ as you call it, has a connection to all of nature. Humans can train themselves to grow blind to it, but animals and plants, they never can. Therefore, it is my thought that, although a terrified, charging beast will trample anything in its path and run straight over cliffs at times, a medium can harness the power of that fear to stare them down, and even a charging herd of beasts will break around him like waves cut by a rock. That evil would become the source of their terror and nothing would make them go near it.”

  “Alright. We’ll try it, as you have more experience in magic, Enchanter,” Carpason muttered. “I think we’ll have to stop in a village, though, for a herd of cattle. Horses charge, but they’re not the same, and ours are war horses, which means they’re trained to be very different indeed.”

  One man was willing to allow the troop to borrow a herd of his beef cattle after Carpason paid him in advance for any harm that might befall the cows and promised to return all still living. Driving the cattle before them, they approached the edge of Melmoor only a mile from the enemy encampment, which the lord’s scouts had informed him was still there.

  Leaving Hadwin to pitch camp there, still in relative safety, the lord took two-thirds of his men and Arnacin, skirting the enemy camp by a mile.

  Just within the trees, however, Carpason pulled up, spotting a naked savage in the leaves, shivering with fever from an arrow in his arm.