The trip had been uneventful, and fast. Dissolute was the largest ship in the fleet by far, but it wasn’t slow, sporting a pair of huge triangular sails; combined with the oarsmen and favourable winds, they had made the run south in about a third the time it had taken him to cross the sea from Benn’s Harbour. The ships they escorted were carrying cargo and would arrive at least two days behind, but there was no worry of losing them with no enemy fleets reported nearby. Manpower was already on the island; only a few dozen soldiers were traveling with Arad, and most of them were the entourage his father had assigned to him. It was bad enough to be forced to lead a battle against an enemy he had no cause to wish harm upon, but his father had made certain that he would do so in demeaning luxury; he had porters, cooks, tailors . . . his father had even sent whores, probably just to embarrass him. He intended to see those on the first scout ship bound for home; let the master of that ship concern himself with keeping them off his men. He expected the man would do so by keeping them in his cabin.
The island was larger than he had expected, with facing cliffs that stretched out of sight both North and South, and a wedge of beach leading to a ravine that would grant them access to the plateau that sat above it. Of the rolling jungle hills that his advisors spoke of, he could see nothing; above the cliffs, which stood twice the height of the tallest ship’s mast, only a yellow-green grassy plain was visible, rippling in the late afternoon sun.
Arad had first heard of the Southern Islands as a child from men who served with his father; they told exotic tales of explorers braving the thick jungles in search of lost treasure, or of sole survivors from horrific shipwrecks who returned babbling of house-sized lapizars and flocks of blood-sucking giant birds. Some of the stories had kept him awake at night, half in fear and half in a desire to go there and witness the wonders and horrors for himself.
In truth, he had never expected to. As he became an adult, any desire he had to explore was replaced by one to escape his father’s reach. When his talent at krakar provided an avenue for that, he had leapt at it and never looked back.
Now, here he was, trapped back in both of the horror stories of his youth; journeying to the Southern Islands, and serving his father. There was little doubt in his mind which filled him with more dread.
Of course, monsters were nothing to fear with an army at his back. His enemy would be far more dangerous and devious—desperate men, their lands torn from them, with nothing to lose but their lives. He doubted even fear of death troubled such men; from the rumours he had heard prior to departing, many had already lost their families to the initial brutal assault of his father’s troops.
Men he had never met. Men of honour, of kindness, of generosity; men that he could have, in time, met or even befriended during his stay in the Lords’ Lands. They could become his students, or fans. They could be Sayri’s relatives.
His job was to convince them to surrender, or to kill them.
The landing site would have made an excellent spot for a beachhead defense. A wide strip of sand perfectly suited for landing, sloping quickly to deep offshore, it offered only one way to the interior of the island; up through the sloped ravine to the top the plateau. The beach ended only a few thousand paces in each direction, and the cliffs offered a superior view of the landing site for any attacker who wished to fire upon soldiers disembarking.
There was, of course, no danger of being ambushed so. Arad had been fully briefed of the situation on the island; the resistance forces were positioned far inland, in the protective embrace of thick forested hills. Nevertheless, he marked the Somrian banners atop the cliffs as they approached, and warily kept him eyes on them as his soldiers began to unload.
Well before sunset, all horses and gear for Arad’s small party were on shore, and his retinue were unloading his personal cargo and organizing themselves on the beach. He did not intend to wait for them, and motioned for the Captain assigned to his unit.
It was an odd situation for the Captain, and one he could hardly have appreciated; Arad was a Precept, one rank below him, but had been assigned the island command, a privilege that should have gone to a commander or the captain himself (or one of the other captains on the island; Arad understood there were several). Instead the captain, a soft-spoken, burly fellow of plains wanderer stock with a sharp brow and curly, black hair, was to oversee the personal guard of the Commander-General’s son and pass on his orders to the other captains.
It was an embarrassing situation for both of them, but Arad refused to feel so. He did not, after all, consider himself a soldier any longer, not for a long time. If his father wished to play king with his men, that was his business; Arad would consider himself a strategic advisor and leave it at that.
The captain’s name was Rilvic Elsano El, Urin. For his part, he acted the quintessential soldier and showed no signs of questioning his orders; he did, however, show some relief the first night upon the ship when Arad invited him for dinner in the commander’s quarters, welcoming him without a uniform. Arad had conveyed to Captain Elsano that his rank was honorary, and that he was only technically still part of the army. Now that he was away from Somria he would not move about in uniform, he carefully explained, but would wear his armour over his krakari training gear, which he found much more comfortable and would avoid confusion with the men (the first point was not entirely true, since even the soft Somrian fabric abraded his crotch when he began to sweat, but the Captain need not know that).
Captain Elsano showed great relief at that, and thereafter they got along quite well. Arad learned that the man had traveled from his small village in the northern washouts to Yalcinae as a youth, and had studied krakar before joining the army. The Captain didn’t say so, but from his comments on the other’s matches, Arad realized the man was somewhat of a fan. That eased things between them as well, and he expected interaction with the other captains to be easier with Elsano’s casual affinity clearly evident.
In fact, once they became comfortable with one another, the only hint of Arad’s position as official head of the island forces was the title by which Elsano addressed him; Master Arad. Since “master” was a generic title used for ship captains, artisans, and those in charge of special units (artillery, engineers, scout patrols, etc), and it used his personal name rather than his family name, it suited him well.
Captain Elsano approached him now, leading his own and Arad’s horses, and handed him the latter’s reins. Arad nodded thanks and swung up into the saddle. His horse was white, a tradition among the Somrian army; Arad had always thought it rather foolish, since it identified the commander to the enemy, but at least he could hope that lacking a uniform he would present less of a target to their archers.
Somrian banners still flew comfortingly atop the cliffs, and a collection of them directly above the ravine showed where the army captains would be waiting. Once Captain Elsano had mounted, Arad nodded to him, and the two began making their way up the trail between the cliffs.
When they approached the crest of the trail, where it flattened out atop the plateau, it was possible to make out the individuals awaiting them. They were four in number, all on horseback, with four more bannermen accompanying them. Arad recognized each of the banners, and the captains sitting beneath them, from Elsano’s briefings.
All four of the banners had the Somrian yellow backing and crescent of the Overlord Yalcin Rex on the left, with individual emblems on the right designating each captain’s company.
The first was a red windflower poppy. That would be Captain Kollivar. Beside him, a dark blue sprinter, leaping; that would be Captain Josel. The twisted limbs of the sackwood tree were the insignia of Captain Vatinyu. Finally, the drake’s mask identified Captain Lukos.
Arad did not speak when they rode up to the captains; he allowed Captain Elsano to address them. Elsano quickly introduced Arad—rather than introducing him as the army commander, he instead opted to label him “Commander-General Sherzi’s representation on the island”.
Arad thought it a clever way to outline his authority without drawing attention to his inferior rank.
The captains did not salute Arad (somewhat to his relief), but nodded politely. One, however, frowned at the introduction.
It was Captain Lukos. Arad recalled that Elsano had described the man as having gone somewhat “native”; apparently the lack of superior officer for an extended period—he had been in the first wave to attack the island several moons before—had left him distanced from central authority.
Lukos cleared his throat, turned, and spat. He was tall and lean, his armour and uniform were dirty, and he had an untrimmed beard. “What’s exactly your purpose here, Precept?” he asked quietly. His throat was rough, as if he had been sick.
Arad held his gaze expressionlessly. “To see the island secured,” he replied.
Lukos peered at him sharply; clearly he had been expecting the word exec at the end of Arad’s reply. He spoke to Elsano. “Are we expected to take orders from a precept now, because he is Sherzi’s son?”
To his credit, Elsano didn’t reply, but looked back at Arad.
“I’m not here to give commands, Captain Lukos,” Arad said with a sigh. “Nor will I be taking any. Consider me civilian authority. I will consider all suggested strategies and choose which to use; you will implement them.” Lukos scowled and opened his mouth to reply angrily, but Arad kept talking. “If there is a problem with that arrangement, I will have you removed to Yalcinae for my father to replace,” he added, his jaw tight. He didn’t like drawing on his father’s authority in that manner, but he also wasn’t prepared to spend his time on the island battling his own captains as well as the enemy.
Lukos closed his mouth, considered. Distasteful as it was, using his father’s name had the desired effect. The captain tapped his fist lightly in a cupped hand twice, then nodded, and said no more.
The man would not be an ally, but Arad hoped he would at least not be a hindrance. Or an enemy.
Arad addressed the group. “I need an overview of the current situation here. Is there a basecamp nearby that Captain Elsano and I may use until we have established our own?”
Captain Vatinyu spoke up. He was dark haired and dark eyed, as most Somrians were, but slim across the shoulders and fair of skin; oddly, something about him seemed delicate, though Arad doubted it to be the case—delicate soldiers did not become captains, at least not in his nation’s army. “The landing zone is mine. I have a site on the cliffs, over there.” He motioned along the ridge; Arad saw another collection of banners and a large tent. “We can brief you there.” He finished with an awkward pause, clearly not knowing how to address Arad.
Elsano once again relieved the discomfort of the situation by speaking up quickly. “Master Arad, I’ll round up our men and meet you there.” With a grateful nod from Arad, he turned his steed and rode back down the ravine.
“Execs,” Vatinyu said, laying over his reins and heading along the cliff’s edge. Arad fell in alongside him; the other captains followed. After a short time, he heard casual conversation start up between them. He interpreted this as a positive sign that he had been accepted, and relaxed.
・
“We are here, Master Arad,” Vatinyu said, gesturing at the map nearest him. “The scale is ten thousand to one.”
“So . . .” Arad considered the contour map, which was sculpted into a wooden table top three paces long and two wide. “A long day’s walk from one end of the island to the other,” he concluded.
“That’s right,” the captain confirmed, a bit surprised. “Have you spent much time in the field, Master Arad?”
Arad nodded, but his brow was furrowed in thought. “Outnumbered at least five to one, how has the resistance managed to stay hidden on the island? It seems mostly open to me,” he observed.
Vatinyu walked to the far end of the table, motioning at the rough terrain modelled there. “Steep mountains, covered in wet forest,” he pointed out. “The rebels are impossible to locate there, and use it to rest and prepare for insurgent strikes. It makes for an excellent staging area.”
“Where are they getting supplies from?” Arad asked.
Vatinyu nodded. “That’s the first option we examined. They have ships along the northeastern coast. There are too many tiny inlets and beachfronts to blockade them, and we don’t have superiority at sea in any case. Not a naval priority, I suppose,” he shrugged.
Arad walked slowly around the table, studying the map. “You’ve tried negotiating?”
“They’re fully prepared to cease hostilities,” Captain Lukos said, approaching the table from where he stood near the tent’s entrance. Arad could detect a faint musky smell, akin to burnt tea; he wondered if it came from Lukos, and if so, what it was. He hardly seemed the teetotaller type.
“Well that’s good news,” Arad replied, surprised. “What are their conditions?”
Lukos allowed a small curl in the right side of his lip. “That we abandon the island immediately, leaving behind all supplies for their needs, and that the Overlord Yalcin Rex formally apologize for the aggressive action taken against their people. Oh, yes, I forgot,” he went on wryly, “They also want Commander-General Sherzi surrendered to them to take responsibility for his crimes.”
Arad narrowed his eyes slightly. Lukos was toying with him, and he didn’t like it, but he wasn’t about to take the bait. “Well, at least they’re talking.” He turned to Elsano, who had returned from the beachfront. “I want an emissary sent again, informing them of my arrival, and requesting further negotiations. Could you take care of that, Captain Elsano?”
“I’d be pleased to, Master Arad,” Elsano replied with a curt nod.
Lukos raised eyebrows and shook his head, but didn’t comment. Arad was glad for that.
Captain Kollivar spoke up. Stocky like Arad, he looked more the part of a navy master than an army captain, with sturdy, immobile legs, barrel chest bulging beneath an immaculate uniform, and two braided locks of hair dangling along the left side of his face. His voice was surprisingly smooth, especially for a leader of soldiers. “Master Arad, should we be expecting more ships? Control of the sea would be most helpful in this campaign.”
Arad shook his head. “I wasn’t informed of any, and I expect my father wants this dealt with quickly. The Overlord isn’t prepared to engage any of his forces. Sorry, Captain,” he added regrettably. Kollivar acknowledged his words with a slow nod.
“Well, I imagine you men have made use of all effective strategies available to you thus far,” he granted. “So if I’m to be of any use at all, I’ll have to consider the situation and see if I can come with anything new. Captain Elsano, I assume we’ll be setting up a temporary camp here?”
“I was waiting to see if you wanted to remain here or advance,” Elsano replied. “If you don’t see reason to do so as yet, I’ll give the order to basecamp.” He paused for a moment to see if Arad had anything further, then left the tent.
The other captains stood around briefly as if wondering if they needed to be dismissed. Arad continued to examine the table without adding anything, and eventually they exited; all except Vatinyu, who stood opposite Arad, studying the map for his own part.
After a few hundred heartbeats, Arad’s eyes flicked up and met Vatinyu, who he discovered was looking at him, not at the map. “Captain?” Arad asked cautiously.
Vatinyu hesitated. “Permission to speak my mind, exec?”
“You outrank me, Captain,” Arad reminded him.
“Right,” Vatinyu said sarcastically. “The others may buy that—not Elsano, I’d guess—but I know a cockle when I see one.” He stopped talking and gave Arad an anticipatory look.
Arad sighed. “Go ahead,” he approved grudgingly.
“You’re obviously being groomed. Your father wants you to prove yourself in battle as a leader—you clearly already have as a soldier—so that you’ll receive appropriate respect from the officer ranks in the future.”
Arad showed tha
t he was listening, but didn’t confirm or deny Vatinyu’s statements.
After a moment, seeing that Arad had nothing to add, the lightly built man went on. “So why bother with negotiation? You can’t afford to lose this conflict, and we both know the enemy won’t back down until they’re beaten.”
Arad sighed, pacing his way around the table, his eyes on the map, appearing to consider the tactical situation as he formulated a reply. Vatinyu was correct; he couldn’t afford to lose, but not for the reason the officer thought. Failure was not an option, because his father had Sayri. If he lost this battle, the Commander-General would take vengeance on her, as he had on Arad’s sister years before. A lump in his throat developed at the memory, half grief and half anger, and he turned away to hide the water forming in his eyes.
He was lost in his emotions for a moment, then he felt Vatinyu’s hand on his shoulder. The man was easily more than a decade Arad’s senior, as were all the captains, but only in that moment did Arad become aware of it.
“It isn’t easy following in a great man’s footsteps,” Vatinyu said, his voice consoling. “But you needn’t be afraid, Arad. He sent you here to prove yourself, but not to him. He already knows what you’re capable of. You’re here to prove yourself to Somria, and the Overlord. Your father believes in you. I know it to be true.”
Arad frowned. He turned to face Vatinyu. “What do you mean, Captain? How do you know?”
Vatinyu smiled pleasantly. “I served with your father as his precept, when he was a captain. He always spoke so proudly of you. You needn’t concern yourself with that, son,” he finished with a knowing nod and smile, “Your father respects you, and supports you. He loves you.”
Arad couldn’t help himself; he just stood there and stared at the Captain. His father loved him? What more ridiculous statement could be made? The man who had ignored him as a youth, then punished him for becoming a man. The man who had murdered his sister as punishment. The man who was now holding a knife to the throat of his beloved, forcing him to kill in his name.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 37