“Good beer in Orosz,” asserted Carnigan, when they stopped for the night at an inn just across the Orosz border. “A little too strong for some people, but I prefer it. Reminds me of the beer at the Snarling Graeko in Abersford. The new one in Caernford is not bad, but I keep telling them it still isn’t quite the same.”
On the third day, they passed through several miles of scrub brush, the soil rocky with shale. While Yozef rode on top of the carriage, Kales pointed out a small herd of animals moving up and over a hill a half-mile away.
“Gwindles,” said Kales. “Not many in Keelan anymore. Used to be lots of them in western Keelan when I was a boy. Now you hardly ever hear of anyone seeing them.”
“Tastes terrible,” added Carnigan.
“Yeah,” Kales agreed. “My father used to bag one occasionally, and Mother would try different ways to cook them. Nothing helped. Tough, and reminds you of rotting leather.”
Yozef decided this was one Anyar experience he could forego. He did wish he had a telescope. From a distance, he could only make out that gwindles appeared brown with a greenish belly and had a head that looked vaguely like a gnu with a short proboscis.
They continued north on the same plain. A mountain range appeared, first just a hint of purplish haze on the horizon, then growing larger and turning green and cream as they got closer. Orosz City sat abutting mountains that rose sharply from the plain and formed a formidable barrier on two sides of the city, part of which bulged into the plain, with more buildings filling a cleft in the mountains, though how far in, Yozef couldn’t see. The plain itself narrowed to no more than three or four miles across, with a river running along the steep slopes of hills on the opposite side from the city.
The Keelan party stopped outside the city walls, a twelve-foot-high masonry construction separating small houses and shops outside from taller, more substantial structures inside.
Yozef again rode in the carriage with Sistian, this time also with Kales.
“How big is the population?” Yozef asked the other two.
The abbot answered, “About the same size as Caernford. Maybe twenty-five thousand. It’s large for the population of the province, and it’s the only city of substantial size. I understand the population has increased in the last year, mainly due to you, Yozef.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Hetman Orosz has paid considerable attention to any reports about or from you. The largest musket cartridge factory is here, except for the ones in Abersford and Caernford. There are also some of your ‘franchises’ here for soap, paper, and there’s talk of a kerosene production facility. I’m surprised you don’t know all this.”
“Uh . . . well . . . I confess I don’t pay much attention to projects operating on their own without my attention. Cadwulf, partners, and factors take care of those details.”
“How do you keep them all honest and giving you the proper shares of profits?” asked Kales.
Sistian chuckled. “Obviously, you haven’t heard the story of a man named Pollar Penwick. He had a soap-making shop in Abersford. Yozef showed him how to make new kinds of soap, and they were supposed to share the new profits. However, Penwick hid profits from Yozef and said that since they didn’t have a written contract, he was under no obligation to share anything.”
“Damn shithead,” said Kales. “I’d have threatened to cut out his tongue for starters.”
“Oh, Yozef is not that vindictive. All he did was start another soap-making shop and sold at prices less than it cost to make the soap. Penwick naturally lost all of his customers and left Abersford to start soap-making in Adris Province, with the understanding that Yozef still receives his share of the Adris profits, or Penwick will risk being run out of his business again.”
Kales looked at Yozef with unmistakable approval. “Hmmm . . . effective. Though I’d prefer my way, I can see that method could work, too.”
The anecdote about the perils of stiffing Yozef Kolsko ended with a rap on the carriage door.
“Culich will meet with Hetman Orosz,” Vortig Luwis told them, “then we’ll have dinner together. In the meantime, we’ll go to the inn reserved for us.”
Yozef noticed that Luwis didn’t address Kales. The two men had a testy relationship. Luwis felt ill at ease with a man he considered disreputable, someone who should not be so close to the clan hetman. Kales tolerated Luwis’s view, Yozef presumed because Kales didn’t give a shit what Luwis thought.
* * *
The first morning after arriving in Orosz City, they had no formal commitments for Yozef and most of the Keelanders. Denes Vegga asked Yozef to go over On War once more. For two hours, in a small meeting room on the second floor of the inn, Denes asked questions and Yozef answered, often with hypothetical scenarios to illustrate a principle. Balwis Preddi and Wyfor Kales listened, but only Balwis commented and only during the last hour. Carnigan remained in the same room, dozing across three chairs in a corner. His snores finally chased the other three men to a balcony.
When Denes exhausted his questions, he wore a discouraged expression. “Yozef, all the principles seem reasonable. Well, most of them, but how do they all interrelate? Some even seem contradictory. How am I, or anyone else, to make quick decisions in the heat of battle by trying to remember and apply all these?”
“Believe me, Denes, I sympathize. I’m afraid only experience will help, and even then, not everyone can lead men in battle. That’s one problem with the clans—there’s not enough selection of leaders based on ability. Keelan was fortunate to have you at St. Sidryn’s and Moreland City. Things might have turned out much worse if someone else had led those days.”
Denes waved off Yozef’s compliment with his hand. “I only followed your advice, so the credit goes to you.”
“I’ll accept some of that, though it took someone with flexible thinking when faced with new ideas and perilous situations to accomplish what we did. That’s what I hope On War will do: present leaders with principles to keep in mind when faced with critical military situations. They still must make the real decisions, but they’ll have tools to help their reasoning.”
“I’m afraid Yozef is right, Denes,” said Balwis. “Until a person has to make such decisions, it’s hard to imagine doing it. Hopefully, it becomes easier.”
“The problem is getting that experience, and how many men will die from making bad decisions?” asked Denes.
“Too many,” answered Yozef, “but that’s the price to be paid.”
A quarter-mile away, in another small room, this one in the Orosz Clan headquarters building, seven hetmen sat around a rectangular table. Five of the hetmen were leaders of the now official Five-Clan Alliance. Hewell and Adris had formally applied for, and been accepted into, the previous Tri-Clan Alliance of Keelan, Gwillamer, and Mittack.
“What do you think the chances are that we can get all the clans to unite against the Narthani, Culich?” asked Lordum Hewell.
“To hetmen outside this room, excellent,” said Hewell. “To everyone here, I’m afraid the answer is uncertain.”
“We never had reason to think all would agree,” said Orosz. “The task is to convince enough men to force a vote. Then, even those most against a united front will be forced by conclave law to cooperate.”
“By Merciful God, if Moreland City wasn’t enough to convince them, what will?” Klyngo Adris said bitterly.
“A Narthani knife at their throat is about all that will work with a few hetmen,” said Stent. “However, and God forgive me, at least we don’t have Gynfor Moreland around anymore.”
“I think God will cut you some slack on that one, Welman,” said Tomis Orosz. “If only he hadn’t taken so many of his clansmen with him.”
The late Gynfor Moreland’s name brought forth a question from Adris. “Speaking of Moreland, who will represent them?”
“Virmir Orlan,” answered Orosz. “A Moreland boyerman from one of the southern districts. They hadn’t been able to agree on anyone to represent More
land, since several factions are arguing over the next hetman, and none wanted to give the others an argument for their own candidate. I had to remind them that if Moreland doesn’t have a vote on any decision, they will still be bound. They finally chose Orlan, because he’s old, from a poor district, and isn’t part of the factions vying for power.”
“It hardly needs stating that Moreland will be in favor of anything that helps protect them from the Narthani. What can we do to bring in the others?” asked Stent.
Orosz cleared his throat. “Culich and I have been talking, and we have an idea. It’s also why I’m glad no theophist is here listening to us. It involves Yozef Kolsko.”
“I might have guessed,” said Cadoc Gwillamer, with an acknowledging grunt. “I’ve wondered when he might come up. The man’s everywhere, it seems. Innovations, advice against the Narthani, and my men witnessed him at the forefront using cannon at Moreland City. Now let me guess for real. It’s about the rumors of him being a Septarsh?”
“A Septarsh!” Stent exclaimed.
Culich raised a hand to stifle further comments. “Let me be clear, I’m taking no position on whether the man is a Septarsh or not, only on how the rumors might help us convince hesitant clans to join an alliance against the Narthani.”
“And not just those clans,” said Orosz. “Even a couple of clans that came to Moreland’s aid might still not be willing to go further. We need to hold on to such waverers.”
Stent frowned and was about to speak when Hulwyn Mittack preempted him. “I think perhaps the rumors have not spread yet to Stent. Am I right, Welman?”
Stent nodded.
“With everything that this Kolsko fellow has introduced and then his roles in defending St. Sidryn’s abbey and at Moreland City,” Orosz said, “it’s hardly surprising that many attribute his mysterious arrival on Caedellium to God answering our prayers for deliverance from the Narthani.”
“Yes, but—”
“What has also been slowly spreading,” Culich interrupted Stent, “is the rumor that Yozef’s ideas and advice to us have been whispered in his ear. He often acts as if that’s happening. And often, when he’s asked how an idea comes to him, he says something like, ‘Oh, it just occurs to me.’ It wasn’t much of a leap for people to wonder if the whisperer was God. Then, with everything else, the rumor took root and spread fast.”
“Last night I had Feren Bakalacs ask me about Kolsko and the Septarsh rumors,” said Orosz. The Farkesh hetman, known for his piety, was a close friend of Rhaedri Brison, the island’s most respected theophist.
“We’ve heard the rumors in Adris for almost a year,” said Klyngo Adris. “Just two sixdays ago, before I left for the conclave, I met with Zitwyn Bevans to encourage the Bevans Clan to join an alliance against the Narthani. One of Zitwyn’s daughters is married to my eldest son, and our families have had a long and friendly relationship. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get a firm commitment from Zitwyn, though he was quite curious about the Septarsh rumors. While I didn’t say I believed them, neither did I rule it out. Don’t be surprised, Culich, if Zitwyn corners you while you’re here and pesters you about Kolsko.”
“All right, so there are rumors. How will they help us now?” insisted Stent.
Culich was about to speak, until Orosz motioned that he would answer. “All the clans at Moreland City know Kolsko’s role there and his innovations before that. He’ll be listened to by those clans and some of the others. If the opportunity arises, we can ask Kolsko to advise on our next actions. I already know the things he will say. Not all of it will be well-received, but I doubt anything he says will discourage clans from joining an alliance, and there’s the chance a few might be influenced by Kolsko’s words.”
Stent’s expression conveyed he wasn’t convinced. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t be a good idea for Kolsko himself to make such a claim.”
Culich laughed. “No worry there. Yozef hates the rumors and at every opportunity has denied he has any direct communication to God. Unfortunately for him, he still hasn’t realized that the more he denies it, the stronger the rumors.”
“Because everybody knows a Septarsh will deny he is one,” finished Stent.
“Precisely,” said Orosz. “We’ll hold onto this possible argument to judge whether it’s needed.”
An Oroszian man opened the room’s door and poked his head in. “Pardon, Hetman. There’s a problem I’m afraid you’ll need to resolve. We didn’t plan well and put the Nyvak and Pawell representatives in the same inn. There have already been a couple of fistfights, and neither hetman is willing to be the one to change inns.”
Tomis Orosz displayed a mastery of invectives, to the appreciation of the other hetmen, who joined in his frustration with the two neighboring clans. Their members never seemed able to pass a tranquil moment when in the other’s vicinity.
“All right,” said Orosz, when he wound down. “I think we’ve finished most of what we wanted to talk about. I’ll have to go see about our two brother hetmen. Please continue without me.”
Stent and Culich looked at each other, then both shook their heads.
“No,” said Culich, “I think we’re finished for now. We can all think about what we’ve discussed and try to convince some of the other hetmen. For myself, I need a good night’s sleep to gird me for tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 16: ALL-CLAN CONCLAVE
The Conclave Begins
The Seaborn delegation was the last to arrive. Word of the conclave reached the clan’s islands off the northwest coast of Caedellium via a four-man sailboat. They crossed the separating strait under cover of darkness to avoid Narthani sloops and the cutters built in Preddi after the Narthani took control. Even the cutters, with their six 12-pounders, were a danger to any clan boat, none of which had ever been armed.
Once the Seaborn hetman received the conclave summons, he and those he brought with him had to cross back to Caedellium on the same craft that brought the news, again avoiding Narthani vessels. Once ashore, they had a three-day ride to Orosz City.
Some clan parties had waited three days for the last delegation, so when Seaborn arrived two hours after sunrise, all of the delegations were summoned to begin. Seaborn would rest that night.
It took an hour to gather all of the delegations, and as soon as the last one, Nyvaks, arrived at the conclave hall, Hetman Orosz stood at a low dais and struck the two-foot ceremonial gong that called all attendees to attention. Eighteen hetmen and seventy-three accompanying advisors slowly ended their side conversations and turned their attention to Orosz.
“Hetmen and Sers, this All-Clan Conclave of Caedellium is called to order. All eighteen free clans are present. The only topic for this conclave is the Narthani threat to Caedellium and what the clans intend in response.”
Before Orosz could continue, Hetman Nyvaks rose and called out, “A point to discuss before we continue, Hetman Orosz. When all twenty-one clans were in attendance, and a vote was taken on any issue, it took eighteen supporting votes before a decision was mandatory on all clans. Since eighteen clans are here today, then all eighteen must support a mandatory decision.”
Groans, sighs, and calls filled the room.
“For God’s sake, Nyvaks, sit down!”
“Nonsense! When would any vote ever be unanimous?”
“No, no, it must be fifteen out of eighteen. We can’t include the three Narthani provinces.”
Nyvaks wouldn’t be shouted down. “If the vote is not for all eighteen, then that violates the written rules of the conclave, and Nyvaks will not follow any decision made with fewer votes!”
“Nyvaks will comply with the will of the conclave or be subject to expulsion,” said Orosz, his voice icy, the ultimate threat laid bare.
Nyvaks started to say something, but a gray-haired advisor sitting behind him grabbed him by his sleeve and whispered in his ear. Nyvaks sat down, glaring at Orosz, who let the responses continue for almost a minute, then struck the gong again. It took an additional blo
w to quiet the room.
“Hetman Nyvaks has a point,” Orosz said. “The written rules of the conclave are clear. It mentions twenty-one clans and makes no provision for fewer. However, rationality demands we adjust to the current conditions and reduce the needed number. Are there proposals for how this might be done?”
Almost thirty minutes passed to settle that it would take sixteen votes out of eighteen clans for a binding decision on all clans. Culich had hoped for fifteen, but Nyvaks persisted in sixteen, and enough other clans felt leery of being forced to abide by decisions that the more difficult number prevailed. It would take only three votes to block action.
The vote number determined, Orosz moved for the second time to formally open the conclave.
“All eighteen free clans are present, and with the agreement that a binding decision requires sixteen supporting clans, this All-Clan Conclave is open. There is only one topic, and that is the Narthani threat. Hetman Keelan will summarize where we stand at this moment. Questions will wait until he is finished.”
Culich took the next hour to overview the history of the Narthani presence on Caedellium, starting with their first trading station on Preddi, through crushing Preddi, co-opting the Eywell and Selfcell clans, carrying raids either through Buldorian mercenaries or their own forces, and ending with the invasion of Moreland. He made particular note of Selfcell’s rejected appeal for help at a previous conclave.
“Thank you, Hetman Keelan. Are there questions?”
Although everything Culich said was known to everyone in the room, it took another hour to finish with questions and clans such as Nyvaks and Skouks trying to interject opinions—efforts quashed by Orosz as premature. On too rare instances, certain hetmen asked reasonable questions to clarify history where ambiguity existed. When Orosz ruled that questions had been sufficiently answered, and with no objections, he adjourned the conclave for a mid-day meal, which waited on tables outside under tents.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 19