by Guy Antibes
“Bishyar!” She yelled it as loud as she could, in Vishan’s voice, of course.
A Captain ran into the tent. He carried a satchel with messages and put them on the table. Bishyar soon followed. Vish could tell the man loathed Daryaku.
“Did you read them?” she said.
“I did. Not good news, I’m afraid, Emperor Daryaku. Histron had relied on a hidden army to seek out the Bloodstone. They were defeated in an unlikely place called ‘Sally’s Corners’. None of your sorcerers survived. An army from Learsea appeared from nowhere and took Histron’s force from behind. More men deserted Histron’s force than fought, it seems. With that army gone, Histron has vowed to fight to his last breath.”
Daryaku threw the satchel into the wall of the tent. “And what good will he be to me dead? Am I to do everything?”
As she continued to rant and rave, Vishan merely observed. He thought of himself standing in a corner of the tent, with arms folded and a wry smile on his face. He wanted to gloat, but he restrained himself from saying a word to his captor.
“Your orders?” Bishyar’s face betrayed his opinion of Daryaku complaints, but she was too irate to notice anything but her own anger.
“We leave for the West coast tomorrow at dawn,” she said. “I will start my conquest at Learsea.” She threw their body onto the bed. “I must rest.”
Vishan yearned to speak to General Bishyar and talk him into stopping this foolish attempt to invade Besseth, now that her major ally was about to be crushed. How many more lives would be lost to Daryaku’s ambition? She once had a chance to succeed and now? Vishan couldn’t see her path to victory. It made him ecstatic.
~~~
CHAPTER THIRTY
BESSETH
~
“WOULD YOU TELL ME AGAIN WHY YOU STAYED in Highfield after you had discovered the hidden army?”
Prince Peeron looked about him with blank eyes. Anchor really didn’t care that the other officers observed the prince’s dressing down.
“I captured Highfield and held it.” Peeron lifted his chin as if invading a defenseless city was a great accomplishment.
“Did it occur to you that following the army might be something worthy of your attention?”
“I notified you and your army defeated the enemy,” Peeron said. His eyes began to shift more.
“Duke Jellas’s son and another good friend of mine were killed along with a lot of our soldiers. That wouldn’t have happened if you had kept both armies together to snipe at their heels and slow them up so we could position our troops. It is clearly evidently your imagination doesn’t stretch far enough to put yourself into any kind of danger.”
Anchor had enough of Peeron. He’d never give the prince command of an entire army again. King Willom certainly wouldn’t support his son in this debacle. Not now and not if he knew that Peeron had feasted every night from the food and wine in Histron’s larder while good men fought and died.
“You will be re-assigned. I’m giving you five hundred men to guard our flank and our supply trains. If you fail in that, you won’t command a single trooper. Do I make myself clear?”
Peeron’s eyes grew large. “You can’t. My father will withdraw his troops.”
“No, he won’t.” Anchor tossed a folio at Peeron, who dropped it and picked it up. “I just came from Learsea. He wrote that order.”
Peeron’s jaw dropped as he read the order. “He gives you all discretion in assigning me to any position in the alliance army.”
“It’s your father’s hand. I can make you dig jakes for the rest of this campaign if I choose. Leave us. I’m putting you under General Antzen’s command.”
Antzen groaned as his eyes followed the Prince out of the tent. Anchor couldn’t restrain a smile. “I didn’t say he had to report directly to you.”
Anchor looked around at the men standing in the tent. “Tomorrow, we will reach Histron’s defensive circle around Foxhome. The battle plan is for General Bastian to take most of the men, now transferred to the eastern army, and plunge deep into the center of the main force. Then we will attack from the South and the Alliance forces will squeeze in from the North, splitting Histron’s army. That should be the end of it.
“But I hope it won’t come to that. Anter Hovitz, who helped us escape from Antzen’s clutches in Grianne, Shiro and I, along with a small force will work our way to just west of the castle. Before our forces close in on Foxhome, we will secretly enter the castle from the same passage that I used to leave Foxhome. Our mission is to take care of Histron before we have to engage. Good luck to you all and to the alliance. Tomorrow, the final battle for Besseth begins and I certainly hope the war ends before the battle starts. It won’t be our last as an alliance, but it will return Besseth back into Bessethian control and Daryaku’s influence will be crushed on this continent.”
The men saluted and left. Shiro brought Anter Hovitz in. The large man from the duchy of Ashof looked around Anchor’s tent with wide eyes. “Any more officers left?” The man shivered.
“Anter, I’ll need your strength for a certain assignment we’ve got.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Anchor looked at Shiro and at Anter. “We are going to invade the royal castle at Foxhome; the three of us with a few Ropponi and Lotto Mistad, seven in all.” Anchor enjoyed watching Anter’s reaction to his proposal.
The big man laughed. “Seven? What about all of your armies?”
Anchor waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “Merely there to distract.”
“A very mighty distraction,” Shiro said and grinned.
“But why me?”
Anchor offered Anter a seat and Shiro sat as well.
“We will be using a secret entrance. I am presuming that Duke Histron hasn’t found out about it. That’s why we will have Ropponi with us. If something goes wrong we will use their powers to retreat. Lotto Mistad is a sorcerer with unusually strong talents at getting us through locked doors. And I want to use your strength to get us through the stuck ones. I’m going because I know the castle better than most. I lived in it for twenty-odd years, as a matter of fact.”
Anter laughed. “You’re playing a joke on me. I know you two are always bantering with one another.” Anter sat back in his creaking chair and thought better of it.
“I’m not who I seem. My old identity was Unca, the Court Wizard.”
“I’ve heard of him. An old guy who…” Anter furrowed his brow. “You’re only twenty-odd yourself.”
“The Bloodstone has the capability of granting youth, if you incant the proper spell, which I did. Unfortunately, or fortunately for me, youth came at the cost of my power.” Anchor didn’t tell him that his power had already started to fade with old age.
“I’ll have to believe you.”
“Good, you do that. We will disguise ourselves as Histron’s soldiers, so we won’t be immediately set upon. Our goal will be to capture Histron and then flood the castle with teleported soldiers.”
“Cut off the head, eh? That’s always a good strategy.”
“Difficult to execute in war,” Anchor said. The daring approach would eliminate a great deal of bloodshed and Anchor needed all of the credit he could get before he told Sallia about the way he contributed to her father’s death.
~~~
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BESSETH
~
NIGHT HAD FALLEN OVER THE MAIN CAMP of the Valetan army. Lotto escorted Duke Jellas and the remains of Morio’s force from Sally’s Corners. He sought out Restella’s tent to personally bring her up to date.
“I assume your heroics saved the day again?” she said after dismissing her servant. She sat in a camp chair by a full-length mirror, wearing a robe and toweling her hair.
“I can leave if you want the report in the morning. It wasn’t my heroics, but one of Anchor’s Ropponi commanders. You should know the gist of things anyway.”
Restella looked away and continued to rub at her l
ong hair. “I do. You transported out of here, came back and grabbed all of my battle-mages and fought. Then you came back. That meant a great victory over Histron. What is there to say?”
“Morio Jellas died. A Dakkoran sorcerer slipped through our lines and burned The Traveler’s Rest killing Regetta, the innkeeper, Anchor’s old friend. Gensler lost too many men and Valetan lost more than a few rangers. I brought what’s left of the Duke’s army with me. There are quite a few cavalry. Without Anchor receiving a message from that princely prig, Peeron, Sallia could be dead and Histron would have the Bloodstone. Then you would be next.”
“You mean we would be,” Restella said.
“Daryaku is after the stones. He doesn’t care about who has them. It sits in the pommel of your sword. Anchor wants to take the fight to the Dark Lord. He thinks he’s already heading towards Besseth through Ayrtan.”
“Learsea’s navy will take care of them as they cross the Ayrtan Sea,” she said. She picked up a brush and began to run it through her wet hair.
Lotto didn’t know how many times he’d have to have this conversation with Restella. The Moonstone would tell her that he spoke the truth, but she perversely discounted his very thoughts. What ever had attracted him to Princess Restella had been boiled out by her self-centered attitude. Could the Moonstone be at fault? He didn’t know. Mander Hart didn’t either. He’d told him a number of times that the Valetan princess was always headstrong.
“Daryaku can overrun Learsea with enough ships and men. Anchor wants to take the fight to Ayrtan before Daryaku can get to the sea.”
“What does he know? He’s a tired old wizard beneath that shell.”
Lotto shook his head. She just couldn’t accept anyone’s opinion other than her own. “That tired old wizard saved Sally’s Corners, saved Learsea and captured Histron’s southern army. He’s run rings around Histron and just destroyed his secret force through improvisation. You know better, I can sense it. Why can’t you accept that anyone could actually be better than you?” Lotto took a deep breath. “You sit here as head of the Valetan forces and what have you done?”
She stood and slapped the back of her brush to her palm. “How dare you question my abilities?” Her eyes were wide with anger and the link between them seemed to shake with emotion.
“You know I didn’t question your abilities,” Lotto said. “I said he’s accomplished more than you have. You have a good record fighting the Oringians and you defeated Duke Ashdown a few years ago. Both are admirable accomplishments. I merely said that Anchor has accomplished more than that, more than the both of us together. He’s united most of Besseth into the greatest alliance the continent has ever known. He’s a strategic master and has developed into a formidable warrior, as well. I say that because I am committed to going with him to Ayrtan and I’m letting you know that’s what he intends so you can think about supporting him when he brings it up after we’ve taken Foxhome.”
Restella sat back down, her face blotchy. Lotto could feel that his words had hit her hard.
“Well, if you just want me to think about it, I will. Perhaps we can talk to father when we are done and let him in on the decision.”
“Mander already has broached the subject via bird. The king is thinking about it, as we speak.”
“Then, it’s decided, we think about it.” Restella’s eyes narrowed and folded her arms.
Lotto gritted his teeth. “I also wanted to tell you about Anchor’s plan to take Histron before the battle.” He laid out the plan to enter the castle surreptitiously and use teleportation to capture it.
“So he seeks all of the glory?” Restella said.
Could she be this petty? He already knew the answer. “No, we will have the Ropponi transport soldiers into the castle. We’ll have Ropponi, Valetan and Red Kingdom forces inside with us. That’s why he needs to sneak in Red Rose sorcerers to return to their camps and bring in alliance forces to restore Princess Sallia.”
“I can fight?”
“You command the Valetan army, you choose who will be best at the close quarters fighting in the castle.”
Restella began to brush her hair again. “When?”
“Tomorrow night,” Lotto said.
“I don’t mind who you choose to take. I’m better on the battlefield and will pressure Histron’s defenses.”
Lotto nodded. “I’ll be taking your leave.”
“Send in my aide on your way out,” she said and turned to the mirror as she began to brush her hair again.
~
After spending the last week and a half sealing a western retreat from Foxhome, Armand Lessa laughed as he sat with his officers in his large field tent, trading bawdy stories. A messenger walked in.
“Bird message, sir. It’s from Marshal Anchor.”
The men quieted down as Lessa’s face turned serious. He read the message and then grinned.
“Get a good night’s sleep men. We move down from our mountain camps tomorrow and get into position. Anchor will begin the final hostilities sometime tomorrow night. We will be the nets that catch Histron’s fleeing birds.” Lessa made his hands into a bird flapping his wings, grinning. “As always, try to get them to pledge fealty to Princess Sallia before you run them through.”
Actually, he had surprisingly good results in building up the forces of the western army with loyalists. They had helped him find hiding places for his scattered units. Tomorrow, they would begin to converge on Foxhome behind Histron’s western defense. The terrain to the west of the city was forested and hilly, rising up to form the Western Mountains.
Anchor’s strategy of Lessa’s smaller fighting force keeping the West free of large forces had paid off. Lessa sealed the ports and Histron’s small detachments had been destroyed or converted to loyalists. After the winter incursion into Histo, Lessa itched for more fighting and hoped to soon get his wish.
“To the Alliance!” he said raising his mug. His officers echoed his cry. Lessa shivered in awe as he thought that he and Prola would always be counted as part of the alliance of Besseth. Oh the songs that would be sung of them all!
~
Shiro located Chika at an inn, a few days away from Foxhome, and some distance away from Histron’s lines. He walked into the common room. His eyes were drawn up to the patched up wall next to the fireplace. The inn had recovered from an awful fire in the recent past. He spied two women sitting in a corner. Sallia wore commoner’s clothes and bound up her hair in a faded blue cotton scarf. Chika’s clothes were much the same. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in anything other than a uniform, much less a dress.
They blended in well enough. The tavern wasn’t overflowing with good cheer. He noticed the subdued talking as he sat at their table.
“Shiro!” Sallia said. “He’s here, Chika.”
“I think he just wants to make a point,” she said, curling a lip.
“Among other things,” Shiro said quietly and turned to Sallia. “Princess can you stay here tomorrow?”
Sallia furrowed her brow. “Why? I’m expected at the Valetan camp. I’m to spend tomorrow night surrounded by troops.”
“You will be, I’m pretty certain, but it won’t be at Princess Restella’s camp.”
“Anchor has something up his sleeve?” Sallia said.
“He does. I’m going to collect Chika early tomorrow night and, hopefully, she’ll be coming for you somewhat later.” He looked around the tavern and noticed all of the men. “Some of these are escorts?”
“All of them, actually, are here to protect Sallia,” Chika said. “I need only one protector tonight.”
“A fellow Ropponi, I suppose?”
“Definitely a fellow.” Chika grinned.
~
Sallia stood at the small window in her room, looking out into the darkness. A crescent moon had risen, brushing the tops of the trees with a faint silvery light. Chika and Shiro kept somewhat quiet in the room next door. She smiled, happy for their carefree relat
ionship.
She only wished her life could be so simple. Anchor presented a challenge for her. How could she not be attracted to the young handsome leader of the Alliance? She kept trying, but she couldn’t get Unca to change into Anchor in her mind. Even staying in this inn, where they had together fought the fire that still marred the inn.
She had talked to Willow about Anchor as a suitor. Unca’s housekeeper had as hard a time as she did reconciling the old Unca and the newer Anchor. Willow admired both versions of the same man and just couldn’t help her talk out her dilemma. Unca always had a certain wry nobility about him, but Anchor rarely showed the humor that made up much of Unca’s personality.
She touched the silk pouch that held the Bloodstone that hung between her breasts. Where did Unca leave off and Anchor begin? If she made him her consort, could they continue the dynasty? Willow had brought that up. It still made Sallia blush, but her fertility was a matter of state. She felt her face warm as she heard a muffled sound next door and wondered if Anchor could, uh, perform fatherly duties.
When he left her at Sally’s Corners some days ago, after Regetta’s burial, he reminded her that he still wore the ragged scarlet scarf. Was his intense devotion more than duty? Was it love? He all but said so that day he admitted his identity. She didn’t doubt that they loved each other and that made her even more confused.
She left the window and began to undress for the night. Tomorrow night. She might again walk the halls of her father’s castle, no, her castle. She felt afraid about the consequences of taking back Foxhome. Anchor had always left something unsaid. Would he finally tell her everything once they reclaimed the throne? She didn’t know what that might entail.
An owl hooted in the night and broke her mood. She could barely wait until tomorrow night, but she felt she needed to spend more time sorting out the implications of her feelings for Anchor.