“We should go.” The sighed sentiment caused Carpason to jump, noticing for the first time that Cestmir had come to stand beside him.
“The sun’s not down yet,” the lord murmured.
“Those trees are likely crawling with savages just waiting for dark. Cornyo’s out there as well, but we risk slaughter if we stay up here past dark, and they’re likely dead, anyway.”
Feeling suddenly exhausted, Carpason nodded. “I don’t want to give up.”
Patting the lord’s shoulder, Cestmir agreed, “No, but we must face the facts. This is the savages’ stronghold.” He paused for a second, then sighed. “Alright, we’ll wait until darkness.”
“It would be insane—”
“We’ll wait.” With that, the duke turned away. Yet darkness fell without sign of anyone. In silence, Cestmir hurried their retreat down the mountain. Not even a savage stopped them.
As the duke wished, they waited another day in camps along the bottom with silence their only pursuer. Neither Arnacin nor any of the forty he had taken with him returned.
Sadly, they returned to the capital and, there, informed the king of all they knew.
Miro was quiet for a long time after he heard the report. Then, inclining his head, he congratulated them. “You have all done well. Go rest. I will send some of you to watch the mountain when you are refreshed.”
Nothing was said about those who had perished in the battle, but another mound was built on their memorial site in honor of those who had not returned.
Chapter 11
A Stirring of More
AFTER ANY MIRAN’S DEATH, IT was the task of the Miran recorders to make a list of each deceased’s belongings and send the list to their next of kin. Those recorders left such list-makings for the dead of night.
Therefore, it was with surprise that Valoretta watched two of them—marked by their long brown robes and their tendency for plumpness—enter the library during the day. Even more oddly, they approached her with bows. “My lady, would you know the location of Enchantress Island?”
The princess merely stared at them in bewilderment, One of them—the slightly less round one—went on to explain, “Your father wishes to send the ship back as it is of no use to us and he deems the gold he has put into it the only gift he has for the islander’s kindness toward Mira.”
“What are you saying?” Valoretta felt oddly cold.
“Arnacin of Enchantress Island fell in the attack on the mountain.”
“Oh,” was all the princess could say for a moment. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the large black expanse of the cavern around her. Only shelf upon shelf of dusty books and dustier scrolls crumbling in forlorn crannies filled that blackness.
The recorders continued to stand there and she quickly shook her head. “No, I don’t know. Have you asked Lord Carpason?”
They bowed again. “Indeed, we have, My Lady. We would never disturb you if we could find the answers elsewhere. Yet, he has said the same as you.”
Blinking at her, they remained standing there, waiting for her dismissal, and Valoretta realized that not only was the library lonely in Arnacin’s passing, but never again would she meet anyone who saw her for herself and not for her crown.
Nodding, however, she said, “You may ask the king what he so desires.”
They backed out of the library with more bows. With a sudden sigh of emotion, the princess locked the doors behind them and stood there, staring sightlessly at the paintings before her.
Slowly, however, her vision caught up with her thoughts. This side of the doors was painted like the rest of the walls. The story of Mira’s beginnings and glory, told in the carvings on the outside, continued around the library’s walls, with a new scene painted between each mahogany pilaster. Frescoes of mason’s erecting the first stones of the capital, of the cranes in the natural cove on the first day the Mirans sailed into what was now their harbor (the reason for their emblem), of the crowning of the first Miro, and many other scenes lined the walls, disappearing into the blackness away from Valoretta before the doors. Again, however, she noted the lack of depictions of the savages.
Previously, she had always thought that fact ungracious of her people, but in that moment, as the slaughter was so vivid in her mind, she could not blame the artists for removing scenes of the savages’ original aid to the Mirans.
Sadly, Valoretta ran her fingers along the arched neck of one of the cranes taking flight in the painting. Ironically, she had never seen a crane in their harbor, or anywhere for that matter. No, they were likely never to be seen by Mira again, just like their islander.
Turning away from the painted doors with a sigh, the princess returned to her book, yet the story’s lightness could not capture her attention. After a few moments of trying, she happily exchanged it for a morose tale from an Ursan minstrel about a boy who disappeared into boglands and his parents’ long search through the gray mists until they died without success.
Although she found the tale a bitter comfort, it could not keep her attention for long. Instead, she found herself resting her head against the window’s glass, tracing the diamond patterns in it with her fingers.
What was Arnacin to her, but someone who was only passing through? Yet she realized she was a human in his presence, as he was the only human known to her. She stood as a goddessstatue among a palace of scurrying servants. Even the king was a distant, sometimes unconcerned father. No…
She lived only in Arnacin’s presence. Without him, she realized, she was merely a lifeless, walking statue. He had given her life without her even being aware, until now, when he would return no more.
Such thoughts spun dizzy circles inside her for two days, while Sara herself could not drag the princess out of her library even to sleep. Life had stopped for Valoretta, and not even thirst, if she noticed any, could bring it back to her.
As morning came on the third day, a thunderous clamor rose from the city, rousing her dead curiosity. Slipping out, she stepped onto the closest balcony. The sight below caused her knees to give way beneath her and brought a smile to her face. Curled up against the rail, she inhaled the crisp morning air in delight.
Arnacin’s troop returned to great applause in the castle and when the islander gave his report to the king, Miro simply sighed and dismissed him. It was Carpason who asked to see the islander as the lord again prepared to depart.
“Arnacin,” he greeted as the islander entered the commanders’ council room, empty save for the lord musing over the maps on the table. “We all owe you our lives and utmost gratitude.”
Arnacin simply remained standing there, his own gaze on the maps, which ended with the edge of the mountains to the north and the marshes on the west. When the islander said nothing, Carpason finished, “Take care, Arnacin. Should you push your lack of fealty too far, you will create discord and kill us all by that instead.”
Looking up at the lord, Arnacin whispered, “Then ask the king to remove my command. I cannot be less or more than I am.”
“Arnacin,” Carpason sighed. “Can you not use all your skill within the areas assigned to you? I am not asking you to obey in times such as the last assault, but you never listen to the commands given you.”
“Your king asked me to help you win this war, my lord. While, with good command, the council’s plans might hold the enemy back, they will never win the war and instead will bleed Mira to death.”
Smiling, the lord submitted, “One might as well never disagree with you, Arnacin. Leastways, I can never win a debate against you. Not that you convince me that you’re right, I simply don’t know how to refute it.”
“Well,” Arnacin teased. “They say back home that when such is the case, it is time to perhaps consider the other right.”
Clapping the islander on the back, the lord stated, “Thankfully, we don’t have such a proverb here. Now, my young cockerel—whose highest ambition is the gallows—will you do something for me?”
Giving a playf
ul bow, the islander inquired, “What would my lord wish of me?”
“Are you any good at detailed drawings?”
“No,” Arnacin admitted. “You might recognize what I’ve depicted, but my art is childlike.”
“Could you then, depict the mountains? You and your men are the only humans outside of the enemy to set foot in them and live to tell the tale. I would like to start planning attacks based on their weak spots, yet if we know nothing of the land, that is impossible.”
“You also doubt that Mira’s last victory will settle the matter?”
Looking toward the ceiling, Carpason exhaled, “Let me say this: I assume our victory will instead enrage them and we may soon find ourselves fighting through the winter as well. Yes, we left our message as plain as if we carved it into the mountains’ stone, but, unlike the council, I doubt they shall ever submit to such a warning.”
“Those with freedom will sooner face death than lose it,” Arnacin agreed, and Carpason looked at him knowingly.
“I dare say you would be knowledgeable in that. So tell me, is freedom worth the lives of all their children and wives? Does it hold that high a price?”
“For some, it alone is life.”
“And you, Arnacin?” the lord pressed with a grin. “Would you, for instance, obey if freedom counted on it?”
Returning the smile, the islander quipped, “Honor is my freedom and I will die with it if I must and live with it despite all costs.”
Playfully cuffing Arnacin, the lord repeated, “Will you draw my map while I am away?”
“I will draw it to the best of my knowledge, my lord,” Arnacin promised. “How long are you planning to be away—so that I may know how long I can procrastinate?”
“I am to help the boundary camps watch for attack until winter settles. Perhaps all will be quiet, as is our deepest wish, yet I cannot trick myself into believing in such a peace if it existed. You will not likely be sent out again unless our stillness is broken, and I wish you much progress in your own projects.”
Nodding sadly, Arnacin watched him leave, not without a certain heaviness of heart.
Winter finally came, allowing Mira the chance to breathe, as it had long desired. In that brief calm, Carpason returned to the capitol late one night, where the king met him.
“I fear this temporary foothold will not last, Carpason,” Miro said, gesturing to the open seat across from himself.
Gratefully taking the offered seat by the fire, Carpason agreed, “It won’t last and if we don’t use it wisely, we will return to the near-total collapse we faced last spring.”
“You are planning something.”
“Sire,” Carpason started, his words slow with caution. “It may be time to further investigate the enemy. We need more knowledge of their language and natural habits.”
“The last man to try was murdered by his own friends, and you know why we do not touch anything beyond the mountains’ wooded foothills.”
“All for good reason, but sending a few of our spies into the mountains is not going to tarnish their land and, to win this war, we must know all that motivates them in their normal lives as well as on the field. It is their normal lives that motivate how they engage in war. Without knowledge of that, our foothold cannot remain and, if that doesn’t remain, either they must be annihilated or we will be.”
Contemplating in silence for a moment, Miro then conceded, “The last part may be true, yet the adopted savages should know much of their ways. Pull the information from them, if it is that necessary. You seem to hold some of them as friends. Tread carefully and you might avoid the last inquirer’s fate.”
Briefly compressing his lips, Carpason admitted, “Although I do have some sort of friendship with a few of them, they cannot forget that I am a lord of Mira and so they never discuss those things with me. When we talk, it is of trivial things only, such as their family’s doings. They will not speak of anything else.”
“Yet we know they speak to Arnacin of all sorts of things. He may assist in this, if they will not speak to you.”
“Arnacin would view such a request as betrayal, Sire. They trust him because he is a foreigner. Please don’t give cause to break that trust—his in you, or theirs in him.”
“Break that trust? They themselves are Mirans. They should be offering the information.”
“They support Mira as much as they feel able. Too many loyalties pull them in different directions.”
“What loyalties?”
“Their tribal background is strong, no matter how much they love Mira. Those ‘savages’ are still their people. Then there are their gods—”
“Huh,” Miro interrupted, sinking into his seat and folding his arms.
“Their gods… To them, their gods are very real. We know otherwise, but we must respect that loyalty.”
“Apparently, someone must betray something, Carpason,” Miro exclaimed in aggravation. “Mira will fall if they continue to cling to other obligations, and it will mean their deaths as well as ours.”
Sighing, Carpason softly insisted, “Do not ask this of the adopted natives, nor of Arnacin. The natives would likely turn on you and Arnacin would simply break.”
“And what other loyalties can possibly pull him away from aiding Mira? He has no connection to the savages.”
“You know as well as I of his honor, which I believe stems from his own god—”
“His god,” Miro moaned. “What god and its demands clouds his sight?”
“I’m not sure what his god dictates. On one hand, it appears that he dictates everything, on the other, nothing. He’s about love and acceptance, yet there is no room for dishonor. There’s something as different about him as there is about Arnacin and, I suppose, like Arnacin, I could never begin to explain or even know all he seems to be. Absolute loyalty seems to be the only constant thing I’ve observed in conversations about this god.”
“I suppose mercy could be added to that list,” Miro added. At the lord’s pensive nod, the king sighed, “Is not Arnacin’s desire to return home his strongest motivation for everything?”
Smiling slightly, Carpason asked instead, “Was it his desire to return home that caused him to agree to aiding us, or freeing the native captive when it meant his own death?”
“Yes, his honor,” Miro mused. “The thing that causes all the natives, adopted or otherwise, to yield to him. And not just them, but all of Mira it seems would follow him to the grave.”
“It will be the grave if we don’t learn more.”
“Then start listing ways to actually learn something, outside of crossing our borders.”
Exhaling slowly, the lord inquired, “Have we not gained a foothold? Have you any conclusions as to why the war shifted in our favor?”
“What do you know?” Miro asked suspiciously. “Are you asking for the islander to start investigations in the mountains?”
“It was his idea,” Carpason admitted. “He did not ask me to push for it.”
“And has he told you anything about our suddenly untrustworthy knights and footmen?”
“They are not untrustworthy, Sire, yet you have asked them to tear their own loyalties apart. They now, I assume, share some of Arnacin’s loyalties, as well as their loyalty to king and country. It must not be easy.”
“Like everyone else,” the king nodded. “The adopted natives have surrendered their hearts to him. The savages themselves appear to view him as some sort of god. Is not the reason he returns from the field without ever losing a man because the savages refuse to attack him, unless for defense? I believe they attempt to avoid him, and it is only his skill that allows him to find them.”
“What causes you to believe such?”
“Have you not wondered how he returned from the mountains, unknown lands filled with the enemy after he took down their defenses, telling them he was there? There was no possible way, Carpason, unless they allowed him to escape.” Carpason’s gaze remained fixed on the fire, and the ki
ng confessed, “I fear when the war ends, they will not surrender to Mira, but to their Black Phantom and, if he leaves, that peace will end.”
His gaze darting back to the king, his lord repeated, “If he leaves? You’re not planning on letting him go!”
“What choice do I have?” Miro snapped. “If I am correct, the savages will yield only to him. For my duty to Mira, I will not be able to let him go, regardless of the following damage to my word. I hope only that if such is the case, it will not need to come down to force, that he will stay by his own choice. If not, I will force it. I will chain him in a cell if I must. All of Mira depends on it.”
Regarding the lord for a moment more, the king added, his tone thick with warning, “Or don’t you agree?”
Turning back to the fire, Carpason studied it in silence before softly whispering, “I trust, Sire, that when that day comes, you will know best.”
The next night, Arnacin jumped as the library’s door opened at midnight. As his gaze met Miro’s, the islander shot to his feet, his face pale. Miro himself only paused for a moment before moving over to some of the scrolls on a lower shelf. “Isn’t it a little late, Arnacin?” he asked, without looking again at the islander.
His gaze flicking briefly to the map he had been contemplating, Arnacin nervously inquired, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m just checking what Mira knows of a foreign kingdom’s resources.” The king’s voice trailed off as he held up one scroll, his gaze traveling down it. Looking over at the islander, he commented, “I would think research on your ship is less pressing than rest. With winter, you can’t apply anything, anyway.”
“I… I was…” licking his lips, Arnacin admitted, “I was studying Mira’s maps for any hint of the terrain of the mountains.”
Snapping the scroll closed, Miro retorted, “There is no reason to look for that. Mira has never entered them before, and never will again.”
The Savage War Page 20