The Chronocide Mission

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  “What am I to do?” Arne asked perplexedly.

  The peer sighed. “If you had been at Easlon Court when I was a girl, perhaps you would have been one of the rare ones who could court a homely prince sincerely. How sad that Deline can’t appreciate that. There is nothing you can do except what you are doing. Be kind. Be patient. Be loving if she gives you a chance. She will despise you the more for it, but that is all you can do, and eventually she may come to understand that the reason she hates you is also the reason she loves you.”

  “She is so reckless that she worries me,” Arne said.

  “She worries a great many people. She has reverted to being the self-centered, completely amoral prince. She will continue to act impetuously, do whatever she likes, and decide afterward that it was the wise thing. There is nothing you can do except what you are doing. Now go fight your war. You are right to be concerned about Deline, but you shouldn’t worry about her. You should never worry about things you can’t change.”

  There was much about the war that Arne couldn’t change, and these things worried him immensely. The little army of Easlon was losing, but it devastated the Lantiff in every skirmish. It could have held the army of Lant back for sikes, grudgingly yielding ground a few meters at a time, if it’d had unlimited supplies. Defeat loomed inevitably because it could only fight as long as its food lasted.

  Every finger of attack the Lantiff extended was shattered and chopped off, but the massive army continued to ooze forward, testing the defenders’ flanks, ever extending the battlefield, ever stretching Inskor’s army thinner and thinner. But refugee one-namers continued to arrive, and the entire one-name population of Easlon was training for war and planning to join the battle the moment it was needed. Easlon’s len grinders continued to produce copies of Egarn’s weapon, and new recruits trained with them before they met the enemy.

  They were littering the Ten Peerdoms with Lantian dead, and still the army of Lant advanced—across the Peerdom of Chang, across that of Labon, across the tiny Peerdom of Zrum, until one day it stood on Easlon’s border. Inskor anxiously kept scouts ranging far to the north and south so he would be forewarned if the Lantiff attempted another wide encirclement, but they did not. They were constantly making shallow flanking movements, but the main thrust of their attack was straight ahead. Their generals must have known the war would end when Easlon ran out of food, and they were keeping Easlon’s defenders occupied until then.

  This was a new kind of war for the Lantiff. They were accustomed to triumphant advances and little fighting. Dim as their intelligence was, they soon perceived that the way to victory in the Ten Peerdoms was being piled with their own dead bodies, and they lost their enthusiasm for it. They responded to orders with a reluctance that hadn’t existed earlier. A charge by Deline’s elite guard could put their entire vanguard to flight.

  But defenders were far too few, their food reserves too scant, and there seemed to be no end to the Lantiff and to the war. The brains of Inskor’s one-namers functioned perfectly, and they had no illusions at all about the future. They foresaw how the war would end, and they knew the Peer of Lant would ruthlessly exterminate them. None of them intended to be captured. The problem was that they had nowhere to run. They could survive for a time in the wild mountain terrain, but when their foraging became a nuisance, the Lantiff would systematically track them down. Or they could fight to the end and die fighting. There seemed to be no alternative. The children of Easlon knew the fate of children in the conquered peerdoms, and they were resolved to fight to the death beside their parents rather than become no-namers.

  Inskor was forming plans of his own. He didn’t intend to wait until his battered army was overwhelmed or routed. If it retreated to the mountains, it would not be in order to hide and starve.

  He had two options. One was to invade Lant. He could cut his way through the mountains with Egarn’s weapon and inflict the same relentless destruction on the Peer of Lant’s realm that she had visited on the Ten Peerdoms.

  Or he could escape southward, taking with him refugees from the conquered peerdoms and the entire population of Easlon. There were peerdoms far to the south of Lant that hadn’t yet been engulfed in war. These states gained a reprive when the Peer of Lant turned aside to attack the Ten Peerdoms, but their peers knew the war against them would resume as soon as the Ten Peerdoms were subdued. They had learned from the unfortunate experiences of peerdoms further north, and for sikes they had been preparing their defenses with help from Inskor’s scouts. Their one-namers were already armed with Egarn’s weapon, and several of their commanders had joined the army of Easlon to learn about warfare first hand.

  Inskor decided to do both. The best fighting elements would cut through the mountains, close the pass behind them, and take the war deeply into Lant. The Peer of Lant, and her main army, would be trapped on the far side of impassable mountains. Easlon’s young, elderly, and those unable to fight would be escorted southward through the mountains. The southern peerdoms would send help and supplies to meet the fugitives. The difficulties to be overcome, the hardships to be endured by those who made the trek, were staggering to contemplate. Many would die, but the survivors had a chance to continue surviving—at least for a time.

  Inskor sent scouts to find the best route for the long march south, and Arne began placing caches of food supplies at regular intervals along the way.

  Once Inskor make his decision, he and Arne met with the Peer and Prince of Easlon to discuss it. Abandoning their peerdom would be a sad wrench for them, but they accepted the inevitable. The beautiful prince had found herself a worthy mate—he was fighting with Bernal’s scouts, one of the few peeragers who had gone to war. She had borne a daughter, a future Prince of Easlon, and now she was pregnant again. She and her mother were grimly determined to survive, to work for the downfall of Lant, and then reclaim and rebuild their peerdom, but they were deeply concerned about the risks involved in the hazardous journey south.

  “The food worries me,” the peer said. “They can’t carry more than a few days supply, and how long will the journey last?”

  Inskor shook his head.

  “How much food will they be able to find along the way?” the prince wanted to know.

  “Not enough to feed so many people,” Inskor said. “Part of the problem is that they must keep moving. Scouts will range widely on either side, and Egarn’s weapon is invaluable for hunting, but they can only take the game they encounter by chance, and what are they to do with the stag they shoot early in the day? They will have to butcher it on the spot and distribute the meat so it can be carried until there is an opportunity to cook it. Probably it will be necessary to stop the march occasionally—the elderly and the young will need rest—and take time to hunt and smoke meat. But there simply isn’t enough game in any one part of the mountains to feed that many people. There must be food caches at regular intervals. Arne is working on this.”

  The peer turned to Arne. “You are a genius at organizing supplies. Will you be able to keep everyone fed?”

  “My talent will count for nothing once the trek starts, Majesty,” Arne said. “I can’t organize supplies unless there are supplies. The army invading Lant should have no problems—it easily can carry enough food to last it through the mountains. After that, it can live on what it captures. Lant hasn’t been touched by war, and there will be food reserves everywhere. But I am deeply worried about the food for those going south. Every bit we can spare must be sent ahead of them. This means taking scouts and horses from the war to transport it, which will weaken the army, but it must be done.”

  The peer smiled. “You’ll manage it.”

  “We must manage it.”

  “Her Majesty and I have been wondering how Easlon got along for so many sikes without a first server,” the prince said. “Surely we couldn’t have waged this war without the two of you, but Arne’s great career is ahead of him. When the war is over, and the Ten Peerdoms must be rebuilt, he will be
the most important man in the world. For that reason, we want him to come south with us. Of course Inskor must go east and lead the invasion of Lant. He knows Lant better than most Lantians.”

  “We have discussed this with the surviving peers,” the peer said. “We are ready to give second names to both of you any time you want them. I know Arne has already refused one, and circumstances may not be favorable now, but I want you to know how we feel about this.”

  Inskor said gruffly, “I can’t think of an instance in the entire war when an extra name would have helped us, Majesty, and it won’t help now.”

  “It wouldn’t make the trek south any easier, either,” Arne said. “Leave the honors to the future, Majesty. First we must make certain we have a future.”

  Peer and prince got to their feet. Arne and Inskor knelt.

  The prince placed one hand on the shoulder of each of them. “The war has demonstrated what a farce this fuss about names can be,” she said. “By the time it is finished, people will be judged on some other basis, and kneeling will go the way of names. But you are right. This isn’t the time to be worrying about things like that.”

  After they had gone, Arne and Inskor held a conference of their own. Arne had been meditating the course of the war ever since he returned from Midlow. Inskor was aware of this. He said bluntly, “You don’t think either plan will work.”

  “I don’t think the Peer of Lant and her generals are as stupid as they would like us to believe.”

  “How will they stop an invasion of Lant?” Inskor asked.

  “They won’t. But the peer has left an army at home to defend against that. It will be arranged along the frontier waiting for you. You can count on it. She isn’t such a military dunce that she would march off to war and leave her peerdom defenseless.”

  “Do you think the invasion will fail?”

  “No. It will succeed because you won’t be an army. You can can break up into small groups and scatter all through Lant fighting like scouts. You can attack towns that aren’t defended and be gone before the army learns of it. Her generals have never had to contend with that kind of war. You will succeed, you will do enormous damage—but not as much as you hope, and certainly not as much as you must to deal Lant a genuine defeat. Eventually that waiting army will begin to understand your way of fighting and track you down. From that moment, you won’t be invaders. You will be fugitives.”

  “What about the trek south?” Inskor asked.

  “All the Lantiff have to do is set an occasional trap, or attack some part of the column now and then with a patrol. That will disrupt the march, make the scouts form up and fight, scatter the marchers, upset the schedule so they can’t reach the food supplies they must have. I greatly fear it will be a horrible trek. If it doesn’t reach the south before winter, the disaster will be indescribable—but no more than it was in Midlow and the other peerdoms the Lantiff overran.”

  “Then you think the war is lost.”

  “I’m convinced it can’t be won. We have killed more Lantiff than anyone could count. We have held back the armies of Lant and upset the peer’s schedule for conquest. The only result has been death and suffering for the entire population of the Ten Peerdoms, and Lant is winning anyway. I suspect the Peer of Lant already has launched her southern invasion—at least, she has turned much of her strength south. She knows this war is over, and it will dribble on only as long as our food lasts. Those making the trek south will find an army waiting for them, just as you will find an army waiting for you inside Lant.”

  He clapped the old man on the shoulder. “This isn’t a war, my friend. It is a siege. The Lantiff are simply keeping us occupied until we run out of food and have to surrender.”

  “Are you going south with the peer?”

  “My part in the war is finished. I did everything I could possibly do to help win it, and I failed. In the next phase, once the planning is finished, I won’t be needed. Your scouts will handle the march south and the invasion of Lant. I am going west. I must find out what has happened to Egarn and help him if I can. If he has failed, or the Lantiff have taken him, then I will circle back and meet the group traveling south.”

  Inskor nodded regretfully. “I think you are right. Not about not being needed—you always make yourself invaluable. But I have no doubt that Egarn needs you worse than we do—if he is still alive.”

  “His supplies will be running low,” Arne said. “There are flour, grain, and tubers in hidden storage bins that can keep his little group eating well for sikes, but not even old Marof knows about them.”

  “Go and see Egarn, then. Return when you can. Things aren’t quite as hopeless as you think. If we can persuade the southern peerdoms to attack Lant instead of waiting for Lant to attack them, we may accomplish something yet. Our raid over the mountains might panic the Peer of Lant into rushing home with her army, which would give the southern peerdoms the opportunity to attack it on the march. They just might destroy it.”

  “The Peer of Lant doesn’t panic,” Arne said dryly. “Also, there is something about this war that puzzles me mightily. We know the peer has Egarn’s weapon again. By my own count, the Lantiff have captured eleven of them. One example is all their len grinders need to make copies. So why don’t they use it on us?”

  Inskor shrugged. “The peer’s generals always have been notoriously slow to change their tactics—the Peer of Lant doesn’t encourage resourcefulness in her commanders. She doesn’t worry about the lives of her Lantiff because she has so many. She may not want to make changes while she is winning.”

  Arne shook his head. “I think the peer’s generals are shrewd tacticians. They don’t use it because they know it wouldn’t be effective. Our one-namers fight from cover, and they use the weapon far more accurately than the Lantiff could. They aren’t going to flee in panic the first time it is used on them. So Lant’s generals aren’t using it. They will change their tactics the moment it will give them an advantage. When you invade Lant, the Lantiff may cut their way through the mountains and follow you. If the southern peerdoms attack the Peer of Lant with a massed army, both sides will use it. They will inflict horrible damage on each other and on whatever land the battle is fought in. Don’t you see what this means?”

  Inskor looked puzzled.

  “The Honsun Len is about to destroy Earth a second time,” Arne said sadly. “Egarn told us that would happen if it were put to military use. He has been right all along. His plan is the only way to save humanity, and I want to do what I can to help him.”

  “I see what you mean. I don’t agree that our cause is hopeless, but by pursuing the war and keeping the Lantiff occupied as long as we can, we may be giving Egarn important help. What are you going to tell the Peer of Easlon?”

  “There are many refugees still hiding out in the conquered peerdoms. Every village had food reserves stored in underground bins. The League of One-Namers had secret stores of food in each of the peerdoms. I will take one-namers who know local conditions, and we will search for refugees and pick up as much food as can be carried. I also will take a few of your scouts along, and they can guide the refugees and supplies back to meet those going south. I will remain with Egarn—if he is still at work.”

  “It will be risky.”

  “What isn’t risky these days?”

  Inskor nodded. “Very well. The refugees are needed. The food will be critically needed. I will suggest it, and I am sure the peer will approve. There is no need to tell her or anyone about Egarn. What about Deline?”

  “Surely she would rather go east,” Arne said. “Fighting defensively bores her. She should have a glorious time leading her guard through Lant.”

  “When do you want to leave?”

  “Not until everything is ready. Until then, I have a job to do here.”

  The war ground on. The Lantiff charged, maneuvered, and died while their army continued to edge forward. Again and again they attempted to fold themselves around the flanks of the elusive de
fenders, who killed Lantiff and more Lantiff and slowly withdrew. Arne tabulated every bit of food that anyone could find in Easlon, apportioned it, and sent south all that could be spared. The plan—still known only to Arne and Inskor—was to withdraw suddenly in darkness and leave the Lantiff with the puzzling impression that their foe had disappeared. It would take time for them to to collect themselves and begin to move forward. If they had forgotten their lessons in caution, widely scattered scouts firing Egarn’s weapon would remind them. These bold individuals could harrass the Lantiff for a dae or two and then withdraw—to repeat the process over and over until the southward trek had traveled too far to be overtaken.

  Finally everything was ready. Arne selected the one-namers who were to travel with him. A squad of scouts led by Bernal would accompany them and guide back the refugees and supplies. Far to the rear, those taking the southern trek had already left, and the entire group was safely in the mountains. Inskor had announced another withdrawal to the army. This surprised no one; their entire war had been a war of withdrawals.

  Deline came to see Arne and found him strapping a pack to his horse. She stared suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

  “West,” he said. “To look for fugitives and find food supplies.”

  “I will come with you. I am tired of this stupid war.”

  “The trip west will be worse. Hard work, food where we find it—if we find it—lots of hiding from the Lantiff, and no fighting unless we have to.”

  “Hiding!” She waved her arms disgustedly. “Aren’t we ever going to stand up to the Lantiff and fight? We kill some of them—from a distance. Then we withdraw, find a new hiding place, and wait until we can kill more of them—from a distance. Now we are about to withdraw again, but you are not even withdrawing—you are running. I knew all along you were a coward.”