by Garon Whited
“That’s how I see our situation. Does anyone have anything to add?”
They looked at each other, but nobody spoke up.
“This is my plan. If you spot any holes in it, speak up; I want success, not a lot of well-meaning agreement. Got that?”
They got that.
“I intend to put T’yl on Prince-hunting duty—that is, he will watch Byrne and Byrne’s army, looking for anything that might be an escape by the Prince. If he spots one, I will personally chase it down and kill it; there’s no one faster or more deadly. —Yes, Seldar?”
“What of us, Your Headstrong Majesty?”
“Now is not the time for that, Seldar.”
“As you say, Sire.”
“And if you’re referring to my personal bodyguards, you’ll be guarding Kelvin—the Warlord—who will be organizing and commanding the troops.”
Seldar didn’t like it, but he was smart enough to nod and keep quiet.
“While T’yl is hunting for Prince Parrin,” I continued, “Tort will be doing her usual stellar job of gathering direct military intelligence for us. We will close in on Byrne’s army, defeat it, and then turn our attention to Byrne, itself. If the Prince is with the army our primary problems are then solved. If he attempts to escape, I hope to intercept him and so solve him. Probably by long division, certainly in fractions.
“If the Prince is not with the army, we will have dealt with his major strategic strength. We will then be engaged in a straight-up war with Byrne, rather than some half-assed rescue of the remains of Rethven from a conquering tyrant.”
“Sire?” Kelvin asked.
“Yes?”
“Will we conquer Rethven?”
“I don’t really want to,” I admitted. “I’d much rather just stuff Parrin’s head up his own—” I broke off, glancing at Lissette. She seemed happy and excited. Well, it was her first war. “That is, I’d just like to make Prince Parrin in particular and Byrne in general stop bothering Karvalen in general and me in particular. I’m pretty certain that he’s responsible for most-if-not-all of the assassination attempts, summoned demons, and military attacks. I’ll be quite happy with crushing him like an old beer can.”
“Beer can?”
“Crush him. Stomp him flat. Destroy him and any chance that he or his house will ever come to power.”
“Understood, Sire.”
“On that subject, once we have the army dealt with, I may hurry off to Byrne, myself, to see if I can kill the Prince. He will doubtless have some method of learning of his defeat in the field; he may try to run. He may also try to dig in, and I’d like to get there before he has a chance to do either. Otherwise, we may have to besiege a city, and those are costly in every way.”
“My Lord?” Lissette asked.
“Yes?”
“Would that not make you an assassin?” There were a number of sharp breaths around the table.
“Yes,” I agreed, unperturbed. “I’d prefer to think of it as personally killing the man who hired, conjured, or commanded innumerable entities to try and kill me, kill my daughter, and kill my granddaughter. But when you come right down to it, yes, it is my intention to murder the man.”
I stood up, placed my fingertips on the table, and leaned forward slightly to sweep my gaze over everyone.
“Do I hear any objections?”
“When you put it that way,” Lissette said, looking thoughtful, and let it hang there.
“I don’t like you going off alone into an enemy castle,” Kammen said. “Too much can go wrong.”
“I agree, but I plan to scout it out pretty thoroughly, first, while the army approaches at its best speed.”
“Still don’t like it. Sire.”
“Didn’t ask you to like it. Kammen.”
Kammen grunted and shrugged.
“Now, Lord Kelvin,” I continued, and everyone at the table got wide-eyed all of a sudden, “you have the full support of Karvalen and the confidence of your King. You have command. Pack it up and get us moving,” I said. “We’re chasing Byrne’s army. Let’s go.”
They went, or almost. As they filed out, Lissette sat tight.
Well, this could be interesting, I thought.
Not a fire-witch, Firebrand noted. If you’re not in danger of being incinerated, how interesting can it be?
She’s not a fire-witch, but she is a woman. That makes her pretty interesting and plenty dangerous.
Dangerous, Boss?
To my mental health, if nothing else.
Ah. Well, at least that’s not in danger.
It isn’t?
Your mental health is like a beggar’s riches.
It exists only in my mind?
Firebrand was silent for a moment, pondering.
That’s pretty deep, Boss. I’m going to need to think about that one.
Take your time.
Lissette just looked at me as the tent flap fell closed and cut off the sounds of the camp; it was a good spell. I looked back with an expression of polite interest.
“You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?” she asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“Tort. We talked about you a lot.”
I had a moment of powerful ambivalence. I love Tort. That’s a fact. Exactly how to define that love is a bit beyond me. First, she was a little girl. Then she was a good friend. Then she decided to become my lover. Now, she’s simply a vital part of my life. She takes care of me. I suspect she comes close to being my keeper. If anyone is looking out for me, it’s Tort. Maybe I should see if I can encourage a cult of the Goddess of Nightlord Keepers for her.
But there are still times I wish she wouldn’t do things for my own good.
“Talked about me a lot, you say?” I asked.
“You would be amazed.”
“But not comfortable.”
“Probably not, no.” She stood up and circled the table to stand in front of me. “Are you going to accept me as the true Queen of Karvalen? Or am I just for show?”
“What?”
“You have no need to found a dynasty,” she said. “You’re King Halar, the Undying, so you may not need to… you may not be like other men, who seem to rush the consummation of a marriage. Tort tells me that you can, though, as long as the sun is in the sky. So, I have to ask. Are you going to seal this marriage? Am I going to be a queen? Or am I just a political piece? I don’t know if I want to be the mother of… well, the co-founder of a bloodline. But I have to know what I should expect.”
“Mother of what?” I asked. “You were about to say something else.”
“Please don’t change the subject. Are you going to do this, or not?”
“Don’t you mean, ‘Are we going to do this?’ I’m not doing it alone, you know.”
“All right. Are we going to do this?”
“It’s on my to-do list. Things have been busy.”
“We’ve been on the march for how long? There’s been time,” she argued.
“No, there hasn’t.”
“It wouldn’t take that long.”
“But it should,” I said, and she hesitated, blushing.
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Oh.” There was really only one reason why she wouldn’t comprehend that, but I thought I should check to be sure, so: “How many men have you, ah, been with?”
“Been with?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Well… none. Not yet. And I didn’t think I’d go this long after I was married. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, but this extended post-wedding celebration has been more martial than marital.”
“Fair point, I suppose.”
“If they leave a cart, we could just stay right here,” she pointed out. “Bronze can catch up, even carrying us and pulling the cart with the tent and other gear. You can take all the time you want. Before they leave, we can have someone else mix the body paint if you’re in a hurry, of course, and I still have the ceremoni
al gown for you to tear—”
“Hold it. First of all, I’m not too keen on body paint; it smears. We can do that if you insist; I’m not actively against it. But I’m not too keen on this sort of thing being done as a ceremony or ritual. It really kills my mood. Got that?”
“As you say, Your Majesty,” she replied, inclining her head. “If we aren’t going to be fully formal about it… can you spare a little time for me, here and now?”
Duty for breakfast, obligation for lunch, responsibility for dinner. Maybe I should look at this as less of a responsibility and more as a dessert. Surely, something about being a king should be rewarding?
“Of course,” I said, quietly. “But which would you prefer? Mind you, if we stay with the army, you’ll never get a lot of time in one go, and there may be a lot of interruptions.”
“I’ll stay. I haven’t had a chance to really fight anyone and I want to. Practicing with your knights is all good, but I want to stand to battle. I’ve never gotten to kill a man,” she said, and her half-smile quirked higher.
And you think the brand-new Queen of Karvalen is going to get within a hundred yards of the enemy while Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar are watching you? I thought. I didn’t say it. Besides, there might be a way…
“All right,” I said, instead. “How do you want to do this?”
She nodded toward the hangings that concealed the royal sleeping area I never used. She started unbelting and unbuckling and unlatching.
I did my best.
Kammen stuck his head into the tent a couple of hours later. I assume he noticed the pile of armor and clothes because he coughed, loudly, twice.
“What is it?” I asked, not moving from the tangled pile of fur and legs and blankets and arms and pillows and hair.
“Just checking to see if we can strike the tent and pack it. We’re almost ready to move out.”
“Give me a minute. A flicker or three.”
“As you wish,” he said, then added, “Sire.” I heard him step outside and stop, probably standing guard outside the front flap. I looked at Lissette.
“Ready to get up?”
“No. I’m tired and sore. You’re heavy.”
“I did warn you,” I replied. “Up. Duty calls, Queen Lissette.”
She looked at me with a serious expression.
“I’m going to learn to hate that phrase, aren’t I?”
“I’ve learned to hate one that’s very similar, Your Majesty,” I agreed, “I’d like to think that the mark of a good ruler is never learning to like it.”
She grumbled, but stood up and poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin. I climbed to my feet, whisked myself clean, and started to dress. She scowled at me. Prettily.
“That’s just not fair,” she observed. I shrugged and did a cleaning spell for her.
“If you ask, anyone will start teaching you magic,” I pointed out.
“I know. I’m just afraid to look dumb.”
“So ask someone privately. Thomen is a sharp guy and can keep his mouth shut.” Quietly, I also added, “He likes Tort an awful lot. I think Tort likes him, too, but is more concerned with being dedicated to me. If she wants Thomen, I wouldn’t say no.”
“I’ll remember that. Are you leaving now?”
“Probably. I think they left this tent for last.”
We finished dressing and came out. Yes, they were waiting on us. The tent was emptied, taken down, packed away, and we were on the road in ten minutes. The infantry alternated between a light jog and a brisk walk. People rode on carts wherever they could; they took turns, with the people in the front of the march climbing on during a walking phase, riding through a jogging phase, then getting off to let the next group on while falling back to the rear.
It seemed complicated, but it worked. Everyone got a chance to rest even though we were in a hurry.
And they sang. They were happy to be hustling along a rutted dirt track and were looking forward to a fight.
I don’t know. I just don’t know. I have misgivings about warfare in general—that is, I recognize that there may be circumstances when an offensive war is necessary and right, but I don’t like it. Yet, these aren’t conscripts, dragged from their homes, or draftees told to report or suffer the consequences. These are volunteers who know where they’re going, what they’re facing, and what may happen.
I still don’t know how I feel about that.
Monday, August 23rd
The army advanced quickly, with mounted scouts constantly checking the path ahead; we hurried west and made it to Bildar much more quickly than I anticipated—a matter of eight or nine days, instead of another two weeks. Partly is was the summer weather and the dry tracks. The autumn storms would be coming soon, though.
We also sent scouts ahead to negotiate passage with Bildar. Bildar was more than willing to let us cross; they were eager to get the war resolved in a hurry. Their economy was seriously hurt by the diversion of the river, to say nothing of their sudden fresh water and sewage problems. Since we promised to restore the river to its rightful course, they swore to let the army through with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of speed.
They even offered to contribute a dozen wagons to the cause, which Kelvin gratefully accepted. I called Tort; she dumped what diamonds we had on hand in a bag and tossed it through the gate. We flat-out bought more horses and wagons, maybe even enough to have the whole army ride, if the roads were dry enough. I think Bildar was happy to see the horses go; water was becoming scarce.
Which reminded me to check the weather. Tort zoomed out on the sand table to get an actual satellite view while I watched through the mirror. The weather patterns of a flat world are decidedly unpredictable, but watching the way clouds moved gave me a fair idea of what to expect over the next day or so. It looked like sunny weather for the march, at least for a while.
Yes, there are spells that will predict the weather. They only work for where you’re standing, and I didn’t want to waste gate power; it wasn’t well-charged to begin with.
There are also spells to influence the weather. The problems with that are, first, other magic workers who may have other ideas, and second, any sky gods that may have a priest in the area. The first is a problem when you’re trying to help out your army; the enemy may notice how important it is to you and disrupt it, or even reverse it. The second may or may not be a problem, depending on the dogma of the religion in question. You may have to pay a fee—excuse me, “present a gift”—or you may have to perform a penance as part of your apology for interfering in the workings of their deity’s plans.
And all that assumes you haven’t directly irritated the deity in question. I had no desire to have words with Father Sky.
It looked like good weather. I planned to avoid attracting attention.
Tort also showed me the fuzzy area where the army of Byrne was crossing the Quaen. If we zoomed in, the area grew more and more indistinct and out of focus. Farther out, the image cleared. It was a clever spell, I grant you. Still, at a comfortable midrange, I could make out the wooden roadway as they laid it down. They’ll probably be crossing tonight.
That suits me. We’re across already and farther south. We stand a really good chance of intercepting them. We’ll be heading along the road toward Kilda, almost due west. If the Byrne army heads down that road, we’ll be on our way to intercept them. If they head south along the Quaen, toward Bildar, we’ll be in good position to about-face and intercept them anyway. With Tort giving directions, we should know their route well in advance.
Plus, I plan to do some eyeballing tonight. Wizardry is afoot and it may be clever wizardry; we could be tricked. I don’t really think that’s the case—an army is hard to hide!—but I plan to reduce the level of uncertainty to a minimum.
T’yl, on the other hand, reports that he has had no luck penetrating Byrne. Oh, the city is easy enough to see. The castle—what used to be a fortified house, expanded over the last few decades—is another matte
r.
“A magician is entrenched there,” he told me through the mirror. “There is no other way to have defenses of that degree. I could penetrate them, but it will be immediately obvious to whoever controls them. Do you wish this done?”
“No, thank you. I’d rather let them think our whole attention is on the army.”
“As you say.”
“I would like to know if Prince Parrin leaves, however. I’ll scout out the magical defenses myself, soon. But if he bolts, I want to know about it. While he’s running, he’s a good target.”
“And if he does not run?”
“Then I’ll go in and get him. After we settle with his military.”
“Of course. I shall keep a close eye on the matter.”
Other people keeping a close eye on things are Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar. Taking things in shifts, they won’t leave me alone for an instant. I’m not sure they’re really worried about an assassin in camp. I think they’re just reacting to the idea that I’ll be putting myself in danger and they won’t be able to do anything about it. It’s not a rational response, I know, but it seems like something they’d do. In a way, I sympathize. There are a lot of things outside my control that I’d like to nail down, too.
Speaking of getting nailed, Lissette has apparently discovered the joys of being married. To be fair, I can’t say that I’m in any position to object. If anything, I should be overwhelmingly pleased, mainly because Lissette seems to tackle sex with the same attitude that she tackles combat. She’s determined to do it as often as possible and do it right. She’s constantly asking if there was anything she could have done better, or if there was another way, or anything else she could do.
As far as I’m concerned, she’s getting very good, indeed. If I like it, she tries it. If there’s anything she doesn’t like, I have yet to find it.
And I’m an idiot.
Lissette is pretty, in excellent shape, listens to me, wants to please me, and thinks I’m just darn amazing. True, she’s a little put off by the whole dead-at-night thing, but we’ve worked that out. She goes to sleep and I go to work.