by Guy Antibes
Astyran laughed. “Who would want to rule from there? The savages are congenital idiots and the land barely supports what few of them exist.”
“Does anyone have an inkling of what happened so long ago?” Master Noryton said. His specialty was history and culture. He scanned the silent room.
Vishan raised his hand. “Ayrtan wasn’t what it is like today. Something happened to the Purestone that the Great Emperor used to communicate to his rulers in the other three continents, the Moonstone on Zarron, Bloodstone on Besseth and Sunstone on Roppon. The collapsing of the nexus underneath Ayrtan was the result of a disaster that turned the Purestone into the Darkstone. The Great Emperor died and his Empire fragmented with no nexuses available on Ayrtan. Without the power of the nexus, all of Ayrtan withered.”
“Well, the youngest of you is the scholar,” Noryton said.
Vishan heard a few grunts. He didn’t know if the others knew the answer and didn’t say anything or if they were all so truly ignorant of history.
“What do you learn from this, Vishan?”
“There are a number of lessons. The stifling of the nexus ruined an entire continent, so the power that runs through our world is necessary to sustain vigorous life. A great deal of knowledge was lost as the continent sunk into savagery. There was no succession plan for the Great Emperor, so the continental rulers were left to their own devices and the Empire that spanned the world crumbled. Hubris is often noted as the cause of imperial downfalls. We don’t know what the Great Emperor did to ruin his stone. The actual event is lost to history.”
Noryton smiled like the scholar he was. “Not all is lost to history. You know quite a bit about it. We know some of the stones exist. The Moonstone is held by the Duke Mistad in Bomai and has been in his family for hundreds of years. The King of the Red Kingdom holds the Bloodstone. The Sunstone and Darkstone are truly lost.”
“Why do we have to learn this sorcerous offal?” another brother said, slouching in his chair.
“Simply because the Emperor wants you to know it. He thinks it’s important if one of you ever decides to expand the Empire of Dakkor.”
“None of us are sorcerers. We’ve all been tested.” Daryan said.
Noryton looked at Vishan. “Have you?”
Vishan had to be careful in his response. “The Tower rejected me, although I know a spell or two and have made a friend of the sorcerer who helped me long ago,” Vishan said. As soon as he did, he felt very exposed.
One of his brothers chimed in. “We don’t need to be sorcerers ourselves to use the power of the nexus. The Emperor has a modest amount of power, but uses sorcerers.”
His brothers snickered behind him. Vishan turned around. “He does?”
“He does,” Noryton said. “But as I understand things at the Palace, he uses sorcerers rather than exercise his own power.”
Vishan sat back in shock. Of all of the brothers at the Outpost, he alone had power. All the more reason not to use it. Vishan tried to keep from volunteering information as the week ended, but the scholars began to ask him more questions that he couldn’t refuse to answer. Sulm, may his soul rot in the many hells, had done an excellent job of cramming so much information into his head.
Fortunately, the training turned to political matters. Sulm’s knowledge didn’t match his new instructors, and then his brothers’ knowledge easily eclipsed his own. The mechanisms of rule were laid open and analyzed. Vishan kept his mouth shut, but let his mind absorb all of this new information. He understood that there were undercurrents in his father’s rule, but he never knew that his father actually followed a set of understood political strategies.
The complexity of politics was greater than the battle strategies that Sulm and he argued over years ago. Scholar Lystan discussed the elements of decision and action. The man didn’t dispute any of the startling replies from his brothers. The lecture became a discussion of actual actions and reactions.
Vishan began to see patterns in the anecdotes his brothers brought up. Astyran brought up an episode that Vishan knew all too well.
“My father wanted to test the resolve of a subject. He enlisted a baron to make friends with the subject. The baron led the subject along until physically isolated from assistance. Then the baron disabled the subject, who subsequently had to find his way to safety at personal peril.”
Lystan held his chin while listening and shrugged. “What makes this significant?”
Astyran smiled. “The baron had a helper who decided on his own to kill the subject. The instructions were for the injury to be severe, but not life threatening. Both the baron and helper failed to kill the subject and their efforts to deprive the subject of a way to escape failed. They were punished by the Emperor.”
Vishan turned back from looking at Astyran at the beginning and gritted his teeth throughout the story.
“So the subject survived? Why?” Lystan asked.
“The assassination attempt did not count on two factors. The subject wore a chain mail shirt underneath his clothes which prevented the injuries from being life threatening and his borrowed horse could be guided by the subject’s knees. The bridle had been removed, you see and the subject had been stranded in the middle of a vast forest.”
Lystan looked directly at Vishan. “What do you take away from this situation, Vishan?”
Vish took a moment to collect his wits. He hated Astyran’s casual description of attempted murder.
“On the part of the subject, be prepared and be aware of what you know and explore all of the options that you have to survive. On the part of the perpetrators, understand that every plan may fail due to unforeseen circumstances. I suppose you could apply this personal failure to be applied to any operation. The subject’s mail shirt kept the operation from succeeding and he used his newly discovered ability to guide a horse to escape to safety.”
“Who won?” Lystan said, still looking at Vishan.
“Neither, the perpetrators know that the subject knows what happened. The issue did not settle, so there is no victory. Perhaps a battle won by the subject since he survived, but the war continues until one of the two, in this case the subject or the pair who tried to kill him, die.” Vishan grit his teeth.
“Perceptive, Vishan.” Lystan looked up at the group. “Your younger brother is right. He was the subject and Astyran, the perpetrator. Neither was victorious and perhaps settlement lies in the future. However, and this is important, situations like these may never be satisfactorily ended. An Emperor may have ten, twenty, thousands of loose ends that never resolve. An arrow in the night? A poisoned cup of wine? The Emperor could be the focus and his life ended in a moment.” Lystan snapped his fingers.
“The art to all of this is that no one should know who performs the action or who performs the reaction. We’ve gone through the principles. They are never applied in the same way. Circumstances are always different and unpredictable, the subject’s mail shirt, for example. To be successful, the perpetrator’s use of spears should have gone for an unprotected part of the subject’s body.
“In this case the true perpetrator was the Emperor. Vishan may already know this. Astyran and his partner were merely tools. The Emperor’s interest was a test of Vishan. A potentially deadly test which Vishan passed. In the Emperor’s eyes, Vishan succeeded. He was the victor. But on another level, and remember, we have discussed levels, Vishan is correct. Astyran and he still have an unresolved conflict and it’s not the only one that exists in this room. That is all for today.”
Vishan sat alone in the mess, eating flatbread dipped in savory sauces. He grabbed his shirt, feeling the chain mail beneath. How did Lystan know about the story? The Emperor had to have thoroughly briefed the scholars. Now his brothers would suspect Vishan of wearing armor underneath his clothes.
He smiled. If he had learned anything in the class, he would bet that his brothers would soon seek out the armorer for similar protection. This training was as much a test for each of them as was
his test so long ago in the forest. Vishan expected some further twists from his father. The Emperor clearly knew that Dakkor’s pool of heirs would, in all probability, dwindle.
~
Seven weeks into their training, Captain Bishyar walked in as Scholar Noryton droned on about recent events in the city of Gamor on Zarron’s southeastern tip.
“I’m putting all of you in the field. We’ve had reports of Cuminee raids a week to the West. You will be under the command of Sergeant Vaka and observe the investigation. These happen all of the time, as those of you who have served with us know. Tomorrow at dawn. Sergeant Vaka will assist in your preparations.” Bishyar left and Vaka stood in the doorway.
“School’s out, soldiers. Come with me and we’ll fit you out. Attention!” Vaka said.
Vishan observed that at least all of the brothers had learned how to stand erect.
“You will file out in order and march double time to the quartermaster’s building.”
The brothers hustled out of the training room with Vish bringing up the rear. He nodded to Noryton just before he left.
“I hope to see you again,” the scholar said somberly.
Vish took it as a word of warning. He didn’t need to be told, but the scholar confirmed his suspicion the expedition could turn into a culling exercise.
The brothers who hadn’t served at Peshakan joked as they got their gear. The ones who had received their packs, weapons and armor did so with somber faces. The patrols that Vishan had ridden weren’t pleasure jaunts. They slept on the road, even if they were close to a village.
The Cuminee occasionally attacked small outposts and villages. Vishan expected burned out buildings and bloated bodies. Dakkoran soldiers would follow the raiders’ tracks and do much the same thing to the barbarians on the other side of the border. Vish had always thought that the incursions were to eventually draw soldiers into ambushes and traps. Luckily, he hadn’t been on any ill-fated patrols.
Sergeant Vaka ordered them into a line. “This is no drill, men. Make sure you are vigilant at all times. The Cuminee, if that’s who the raiders are, do not like us. We do not like them. They burn a farm, we burn a Cuminee village. That’s the way it is. Daryan, you will oversee your brothers. We’ll have a corporal work with the squad of troopers that we will accompany. The patrol leaves at dawn. Mess will be open early enough for you to eat. Dismissed.”
Vishan took his equipment to the barracks and began to go over it. The sword was old and pitted, but serviceable. He’d put a better edge on it. None of them were issued bows and arrows. He wondered if that was on purpose. He checked all of the straps to make sure none were weak.
He pulled out his sling and noticed that one of the thongs had become worn. That wouldn’t do out on the plains. He went to the stable but couldn’t find enough scraps to make a new one. He put everything in his bag and plopped it into the chest at the foot of his bed. He spelled it closed as he bent down to use the lock and key. His attitude had to be that he had enemies on the plains and in the barracks. He didn’t feel comfortable with just the weapons that he carried and would feel naked without more.
“I don’t have any orders to issue any bow and arrows,” the quartermaster said when Vishan walked over to the armory. “What will you give me if I do?”
“Will my praises be enough?”
The quartermaster shook his head.
“I’ll promote you out of Peshakan when I take the Emperor Shalil’s throne?”
“The others have told me much the same.”
Vishan laughed. “What did they ask for?” Vishan said as he pulled out his money purse. The man obviously wouldn’t respond to promises.
“Better swords, mostly. Newer bedrolls. You can imagine, Lieutenant.”
“I’ve got twenty dreks for you, for a bow and a quiver full of arrows.”
“Don’t want much.”
“I want to survive.”
“Can’t blame you, sir. Twenty-five and I’ll throw in a few extra bow strings.”
“Twenty-one and it’s a deal.” Vishan said. He counted out most of his money and slid it across the counter. The bow was serviceable. Both tips were in good shape. The arrows were straight—standard issue for the outpost. “Thank you. Have you got a six-foot leather thong? I want to tie the bow up.”
“You’ve got it, Lieutenant. No charge.” The quartermaster tossed a couple of thongs on the counter. “I wish you well. Your brothers are a bunch of cutthroats.”
Vishan’s eyebrows rose. “And I’m not?”
“You’re a smarter cutthroat, I guess. The men are taking bets.”
“That bad, eh? Where do I stand?”
The quartermaster looked at his hands, always a bad sign. “You’re the youngest. I’d say you’re about in the middle. Your brother Daryan is given the edge. But I’ll promise you the twenty-one dreks will go on the tally for your return.” The guildmaster winked at him. “You’re not arrogant like the rest and that means you’ll pay more attention. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you. I’ll do all I can to give you a return on your bet.”
Vishan left the quartermaster building with his weapons. He had only hoped for thongs for the sling. Would Vaka let him take the bow and arrows? That would be another layer of advantage. He remembered the encounter with Scholar Lystan and never brought up the defensive aspects of assassination. Vishan thought that he needed layers of defense. The mail shirt and his ability to guide the horse without a bridle were his two layers of defense on the hunting trip with his father. In the guildhall, Vishan had his mail shirt and Peleor as back up.
Back-up? Would any of the others have protectors laying in wait for the expedition? He’d have to assume that men could be lying in wait along the way. Suddenly, Vishan felt even more exposed and his normally even temperament gave way to the cold fear. Paranoid? He accepted the label. He’d have to think like his brothers, especially Astyran.
The barracks were empty. All to the good, thought Vishan. He put his weapons into his trunk and pulled out his boiled leather armor and rechecked the straps. He took the old thong from one side of his sling and poked a few holes in the armor with his dagger. Then he tied his breast-piece and back plate together in addition to the strapping. No one would notice the extra thongs being used to tie his armor together.
Vishan checked out his sling again and examined the smooth rocks that filled up a bag. Any rock would do and there were plenty out on the plains, but in an emergency he didn’t want to be searching. If he ran out of arrows, Vishan still felt confident he could strike from a distance. He’d never had the occasion to practice archery or use his sling in sight of his brothers. Every hidden element added to any advantage Vishan might have. He had no ability to prepare, other than these last minute measures. Had any of his brothers?
~~~
CHAPTER NINE
~
SERGEANT VAKA THREW SADDLEBAGS INTO THE BARRACKS before dawn. “Get your gear stuffed in these. The horses are waiting. We leave immediately after breakfast.”
A few of the brothers grumbled, but Vishan quickly dressed and ran to the mess. He wouldn’t trust his equipment out of his sight and would fill up his saddlebags after breakfast. He ate as quickly as he could and stuffed as much food into his shirt as he could.
His brothers were still working with their horses. Vishan walked to the stables and rejected the horse that waited for him.
“I’d like the sturdiest horse, not the fastest,” Vishan said.
The groom nodded and returned with a shorter, longer haired horse. “This is the best horse I’ve got for heading out on the plains,” he said.
Vishan rewarded him with a smile and helped him saddle up the horse. Vishan slipped an extra blanket underneath the saddle. He checked all of the tack and asked for a second bridle. He rode the horse out of the stable and tied it up close to the barracks. His brothers had led their horses to the mess.
He quickly grabbed his gear and tied everything up, as secur
ely as he could to the horse and watered it. He stood checking and rechecking everything, waiting for the sun to peek over the fence of the outpost.
Vishan couldn’t resist smiling as he noticed two other bows strapped to saddles. He’d been the first. His smile faded as he realized he didn’t know how proficient those two other brothers were. His swordsmanship wasn’t any worse than what he saw mornings at practice, but then he’d been careful not to show too much talent, so he’d have to assume they didn’t either. His brothers might underestimate his youth, but Vish wouldn’t permit a lack of preparation.
The troopers began to assemble and soon Vaka stuck his head in the mess and called everyone to the parade ground.
“Mount up!” Vaka said as he led the column out of the outpost. Vishan took his normal place at the back of the brothers, but ahead of the troopers followed by a string of pack horses. Vishan carried everything he needed on his sturdy horse.
He observed the tension in the backs of his brothers up ahead. The joking had stopped when they mounted and hadn’t returned. Everyone knew the purpose of the patrol. He decided that his rear position gave him an advantage. He could see that regular army troopers protected his brothers and his back.
Morning produced no surprises. They stopped for a midday meal at a farmer’s house. Vishan watered his own horse in the pond. Most of the other brothers let troopers handle their mounts. He kept an eye on his own horse, but noticed Astyran sauntering around his brother’s horses. He leaned down, out of Vishan’s sight and then walked away. Vish didn’t know which horse he’d done something to.
He imagined a broken saddle or a cut-through cinch. Perhaps Astyran didn’t know the pack horses would include saddle and bridle repair materials. The column only moved slightly faster than a walking man, so a fall might produce bruises but nothing else.
Before they mounted up, Sergeant Vaka reminded his brothers that they were all currently in the Red Army and subject to disciplinary actions for killing and maiming fellow officers. Open warfare didn’t seem to be a possibility, but then assassins didn’t do their work in plain sight. Vish’s father would expect them to use those rules against each other, but more likely, death would come during a crisis where there would be less of a chance for incriminating evidence and a greater chance of distraction.