The first battle happened near the small town of Belaris. The people had fled south days before, leaving as little as they could for the enemy as far as food or other provisions. Lord General Zel’Rantal, with the aid of seven other generals, arrayed his men across the Andarians’ line and ordered them to hold no matter what. When the Andarians’ appeared, he cursed like a corporal.
“Those are our men!” he shouted as he saw the front line of the Andarian army.
“Our traitors, you mean,” one of the other generals said as he surveyed the field. “They have swelled the Andarian ranks by about ten thousand.”
“Then they will be the first to die,” Lord General Zel’Rantal snarled. “Archers to the front.”
Word was passed, and the archers of all of the commands were brought to the front. When they were gathered, General Zel’Rantal gave his orders. “Target the front lines. It’s just a guess, but I think they are counting on us not wanting to kill our own men. Let’s disappoint them.”
Two thousand archers and crossbowmen took aim, and let loose a storm of arrows on the command. They continued as the ranks of the Andarian army dissolved into disarray. The traitors raised their shields, but they did little good. The war heads on the Evandian arrows pierced through most of them to strike their targets. The crossbows were even more effective. The flatter trajectories of the fleet little arrows let them slide in under the raised shields. As tightly packed as the traitors were, even if the front rank was missed, the second or third rank was hit.
Some of the Andarian archers returned the volleys, but Lord General Zel’Rantal was ready for them. At his signal his corps of Magi, fifteen Masters and seven Adept Battlemages, shielded their troops and all that reached the ground was fine ash. The Andarians were not as well protected. As soon as they revealed their positions, the Evandian archers targeted them. After the second time that happened, there were no more volleys from the Andarians.
* * *
“What are they doing!?” Lord Zel’Given shouted at Lord General Zel’Saldain, the commander of the Andarian Army. He couldn’t believe the Evandians were killing their own troops.
“What I hoped they would,” the general replied.
“But they are killing our allies!”
The general looked at the terrified lord and sneered. “They are killing their traitors. That’s all to the good as far as I’m concerned. I don’t trust men who turn against their home kingdom.”
“But we need those men!” Lord Zel’Given screamed.
“No. You need those men. I don’t.”
“I command you to do something!” Lord Zel’Given screamed, and the general did. In one smooth motion, he drew his sword and ran the cowardly fool through the heart.
The other lords and officers watched him with wide eyes as he wiped the blood from his sword. “Now we can fight to win, not depend on traitors to make the Evandians crumble. Anyone not in uniform,” he said, glaring at the lords who had accompanied the army, “get out of my camp.”
“L-Lord General Zel’Saldain,” one of the lords started to say, but shut his mouth when the general turned toward him with his bloody sword still in his hand. He bowed and backed away with the nine other lords who were with him. Once they were gone, General Zel’Saldain looked at his officers.
“Prepare to flank the Evandian line. I want--”
“We’re being flanked!” a voice shouted, and the officers cursed.
“How?” the general demanded.
“Another force from the west! There are at least ten thousand of them!”
“Gods Below, they aren’t supposed to have this many troops near here. What happened?” the general demanded.
“There is no telling,” another of the senior officers said. “Our allies in Twin Bridges may have failed.”
“Then our job just became much harder,” General Zel’Saldain said. “Fall back to the river.”
The river in question was the Zel’Horgan. At this point it wasn’t the great river that passed Twin Bridges, but it was still too deep and wide to cross with anything less than a bridge or ferry.
It took a day and a half to retreat across the bridge, but Lord General Zel’Saldain used that time to his benefit. He set up his forces along the water, but far enough back that it would be hard for the Evandians to hit them with arrows. Then they dug in, throwing up earthworks and a simple wooden palisade between the river and their camp.
The last Andarians across the bridge were chased by explosions as the Andarian Battlemages destroyed it.
The Evandian army arrived the next day. Lord General Zel’Rantal surveyed the destroyed bridge and shook his head in anger. “It’s six days south to the next bridge that will hold us. And there is no way to cross this river without being slaughtered. Messenger,” he said over his shoulder and a young lieutenant came to his side immediately. “Use the message book to inform Twin Bridges that the Andarian Army is on the north side of the Zel’Horgan at the Zel’Sardal Bridge, and the bridge has been destroyed. They are stopped, but we’re in no position to push them back any farther.”
“Yes, Sir!” the young officer snapped, and went to send the message. Like the Gold Merchants’ ledger, the generals’ Message Book instantly sent anything written in it to the Master Book in Twin Bridges, and received anything written there as well.
* * *
The moon passed quietly in Twin Bridges. The Andarian Army had been stopped ten days’ march north of the city. Now the war became a war of words as envoys from both kingdoms rode back and forth between their leaders.
Stavin waited until all of the wagons he’d ordered had arrived in the East Bridge caravansary before he approached the king. “King Kalin, I request permission to go home. Our new wagons are ready, and we’re going to Aravad to meet the rest of the wagons from Kel’Kavin.”
The king frowned as he looked at Stavin. “I knew this was coming, but the timing leaves something to be desired. Very well, Stavin. There is one other thing to do before you go. A last task that I need you to take care of for me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king smiled crookedly. “It may be harder than you think. Go ahead and have your people prepare to leave. I’ll meet you in the stables in a span or two.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Stavin said again, bowing very low before turning and leaving the room.
Stavin took leave of the general as well, but couldn’t find Dahvin or Princess Marina. He spent over a span looking for them, and finally went to the stables in a sulk. He froze in his tracks when he arrived. The king was there talking to Charvil, and Marina and Dahvin were beside him.
“Do you foresee a problem with this, Warmaster?” the king was asking.
“No, Your Majesty,” Charvil answered. “It was one of Kel’Kavin’s ancient purposes.”
The king nodded. “Then I leave my daughter in your hands, Warmaster.” He turned and embraced Marina. “Be careful, Mary. I need you to be safe.”
“I will, Daddy,” Princess Marina said as she buried her face in her father’s shoulder.
The king turned and walked quickly towards the door without looking at Stavin. He paused when he reached Stavin’s side, and whispered, “Guard her well, Stavin. The future of Evandia is in your hands.” Then he walked away. Stavin watched him go, then turned to find everyone watching him.
Charvil said, “Mount up,” and everyone, including Marina and Dahvin, mounted their horses. “Stavin, mount up,” he snapped, and Stavin all but leaped into the saddle. “We’ll explain later.”
Stavin fell in at the back of the group, but Dahvin and Marina were right behind Charvil and Darak. Stavin looked over at Dennil and asked, “What’s going on?”
“King Kalin has requested that we take Princess Marina to Kel’Kavin for safety. He’s concerned that the Andarians might try something else and wants her safely out of the kingdom.”
“But why us?”
Dennil looked at Stavin, then poked him on his stars. “Not
so much us, Stavin, as you. By the way, there are twenty Royal Guardsmen waiting at your wagons, as well as a brace of maids for Her Highness. Those drivers you hired have been dismissed with full pay by His Majesty. Are you sure you didn’t know about this before?”
“No. Why?”
“That enclosed wagon of yours. What was it for?”
Stavin grinned and said, “Cooking.” Then a new thought made his smile fade. “Oh, Gods Below, I hope one of Princess Marina’s maids can cook. The way we cook, she’ll starve to death before we reach Kolovad.”
Dennil looked at him with a wry expression and shook his head. “And you think of this now? You couldn’t have hired a cook for us?”
Stavin smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I didn’t think of it.”
The group made good time to the East Bridge caravansary and found the wagons harnessed and ready to roll. Ten guardsmen were sitting on the benches of half of them, and an equal number of guardswomen were milling around beside them. Six women who Stavin recognized as Marina’s maids were with them.
Charvil turned his head and snapped, “Stavin, front and center.”
Stavin rode around the group and came to attention in the saddle. “Sir!”
“Put your vest on and take charge of the caravan. I want the princess and her maids in the enclosed wagon. Put them in the number two slot. You drive number one. Lieutenant Zel’Fordal, you drive the princess’s wagon.” He looked at the guards and shook his head. “Stavin, you rank everyone but Lord Dahvin. Get the guards in civilian clothes. The king said he ordered them to bring some. Lord Dahvin, find out if any of the Guardswomen know how to drive a wagon. We’re going to need a few more drivers.” Stavin and Dahvin both snapped to attention and said, “Yes, Sir,” then went to carry out his orders.
“Master Stavin,” the caravansary manager said as Stavin rode to the front of the caravan, “this is highly irregular.”
Stavin looked at him and nodded. “His Majesty was kind enough to lend me the guardsmen to help drive our wagons to Aravad. He’s concerned about our safety.” Stavin smiled wryly. “Well, my safety.”
The man gave him a dubious look. “And all those women?” he asked, pointing toward the enclosed wagon with his chin.
“That’s a little more complicated,” Stavin said as he desperately tried to think of a good story. “They are brides-to-be,” he finally said, not being completely untruthful. After all, even Princess Marina was going to be a bride one day. “Kavinston is a small, isolated town. We have to bring in new blood once in a while to avoid inbreeding.” Again, not completely untruthful. But he wasn’t going to mention it to Marina.
The caravansary manager smiled and nodded. “Ah, that makes sense. Well, good voyage to you, Master Stavin.” He smiled and walked away, and Stavin went to the wagons.
The wagon Stavin was going to drive was the only one that was already loaded. Corinne had sent up over three thousand books, and there was a double layer of wooden planks in the bed and between the books. Over that was his desk, buried under an assortment of furs, silks, pillows, blankets, and strange sculptures that invited anyone who touched them to spend a span caressing their curves. She’d had the wainwright make a water-tight cover for it as well. He tied his horse to the back and then walked down the line. “Guards, we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves, so put on your civilian clothes over your mail. Keep your weapons close at hand, but I don’t expect very much trouble. Our wagons are obviously empty, and no bandit is going to risk fighting us for a bunch of empty wagons.” He smiled and caressed the Kel’Aniston dragon that was carved into the side of the wagon. “Especially not these wagons.”
Charvil soon rode up beside him. “Stavin, we have enough drivers that we can keep three men in the saddle. Just keep your weapons close at hand and make sure you keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stavin answered. He stowed his Dragon’s Tongue in easy reach and was rearranging some of the things he’d brought with him when a tall, muscular, blonde-haired woman climbed up and sat next to him. “Sergeant Zel’Halvis?” he asked.
The woman looked at him and shrugged. “The Warmaster said to ride up here with you, Lieutenant,” she said as she wedged a crossbow point down against the floorboard between them. She tucked her sword behind the seat, then smiled. “This is the first time I’ve left Twin Bridges in three years.”
Stavin smiled and shook his head. “I hope you’re as happy about it come winter,” he said with a sigh. He stood and looked down the line, then sat back down as Charvil joined him. “We’re ready, Sir.”
“Then let’s get on the road, Stavin. It’s still a long way home.”
Chapter 33
STAVIN LED HIS CARAVAN UP THE road to Kolovad once again, but it was an uneventful trip. They circled the wagons every night, and Princess Marina had her maids cook for the entire group. None of the warriors said anything, but they shared conspiratorial smiles at most meals.
The Royal Guards joined them on watch, but Charvil had special orders for them. “Stay in the perimeter. If there’s any trouble, anything at all, you know your duty. Let us deal with the wagons. You protect Her Highness.”
He had instructions for Princess Marina as well. “Just stay near your wagon, Your Highness. If something happens, hide inside. The walls are thick enough to keep you safe, and your guards can handle the rest.”
The Kolovad bazaar was hard to pass up, but Stavin gritted his teeth and nodded his agreement when Charvil decreed that they all stay with the wagons and just buy supplies from the caravansary. Three days later they reached the Kavadian border and Charvil’s whole demeanor changed.
“I want everyone conspicuously armed,” he commanded in a grim tone before they approached the border. “Crossbows in plain sight and swords in reach. Keep your armor visible as well. This is Kavadia: There is no such thing as a safe camp between here and Aravad.”
Dahvin stepped forward and faced Charvil. “Warmaster, shouldn’t we all be in uniform as well?”
Charvil shook his head. “No, Lieutenant Zel’Fordal. That would be the worst thing we could do.”
“How so, Sir?” Dahvin asked as his head tilted to the side.
“Because it would make us targets. Armed men and women in Kavadia are so common that hardly anyone will notice. Stavin’s golden armor is bad enough,” he paused and frowned as he looked at Stavin and shook his head, “but he’s gotten a reputation as a bad person to mess with and not many fools would think he was worth the effort. A bunch of Royal Guards strutting around in uniform would mean someone important is with us, and that person might be worth some ransom.”
Dahvin and the other guards shared looks of comprehension. “We’d be asking for trouble.”
“Just so,” Charvil agreed. “Don’t worry about looking pretty. Look dangerous. Dangerous beats pretty out here.”
The caravan crossed the border at dawn, and Stavin carefully hid his armor under his cloak. The border guards didn’t even look at them. They had no reason to suspect that the single most important person in Evandia was riding past them in the cook wagon.
The first night they camped in Kavadia, Charvil gave new orders. “Warriors on watch four and four outside the perimeter. Guardsmen on watch five and five inside. Ladies,” he said, looking at the female guards, “five and five around the princess’s wagon. At the first sign of any trouble I want all of the guards around the princess. Change the watch at mid night. Any questions?” There were none, and everyone moved to obey the Warmaster.
The caravan had no trouble for the first three days, but near sundown of the fourth day a man stepped out into the road in front of Stavin’s wagon and held up his hand.
“Halt!” the man shouted. “What goods are you hauling, trader?”
“None,” Stavin answered. “We’re bringing a consignment of new wagons to Aravad.”
“Why would anyone in Aravad need wagons from Evandia?” the man asked in a jovial tone.
“That’s
between the Traders and the wainwrights,” Stavin said with a shrug. “We’re just delivering them.”
The man laughed and shook his head. “We’ll take a look anyway,” he said as he stepped forward. A dozen other men stepped out of the bushes, and Charvil’s horn rang up the caravan. Suddenly every warrior and guard was armed, many of them pointing cocked crossbows at the men on foot.
Stavin said, “I don’t think so,” as he stood, shrugging aside his cloak and revealing his armor as he brought his Dragon’s Tongue to ready.
The leader of the would-be bandits saw Stavin’s golden armor and screamed, “It’s a trap!” as he spun on one foot and all but dove into the bushes. All along the line the rest of the bandits had followed his example, with one exception. That unfortunate individual had taken one step too many toward the princess’s wagon and the guardsman behind her had killed him with a well-placed crossbow bolt.
Charvil rode back and looked down at the man. He was already dead, and Charvil shook his head at the guardsman. “Get him off the road and retrieve that bolt. We may need it.” He sat his horse calmly as three guardsmen pulled the man’s body off the road. When everyone was ready once again, Charvil sounded his horn and Stavin led them away again.
When the caravan reached Aravad, Stavin led them into the caravansary to the accompaniment of shouted questions from the other caravans as well as people outside the fences. They had formed a double circle around the princess’s wagon by the time a man came to find Stavin.
“Good day, Master Trader. What caravan is this?” the man asked.
Stavin bowed and said, “Kel’Aniston. I am Master Trader Stavin Kel’Aniston.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of you. Yes, Zel’Vandar’s contractor from last year. What are your needs, Master Stavin?”
Stavin waved a hand at the wagons. “For now, just parking, and fodder and water for the animals. We’ll be picking up a large shipment of grain tomorrow, once I’ve had the chance to see the grain merchants.”
The Andarian Affair Page 22