The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “And something, obviously, went very wrong.”

  Joal’s face puffed up like it might explode and reddened until it was almost purple. “Fuck you. We were doing it for you, you know. And how were we supposed to know that Nabim would come out of the wood and fuck everything up? We’d barely even talked about Nabim beyond which cell we’d put him in, but he was ahead of us the whole way. He made his move the night before ours. While you were sitting in that briefing, his cousins and uncles and nephews and bastards were killing our commanders and taking control. And I was supposed to be one of them. That weasel’s assassins were practically outside my door when the alarm was sounded. If not for a damn lot of luck, my whole family’d be dead, and you’d be fighting those men over there instead of bein’ saved by them.”

  “What kind of luck?” Lius asked from Jaret’s side. Every eye turned to him. He seemed to shrink in his filthy robes.

  “Who . . . ?” Joal started.

  “The Xi Valati sent him,” Jaret explained. “His name is Lius. We’ll get into the details later, but for now, he’s the closest thing we have to the Xi Valati.”

  Joal grunted but answered nonetheless. “Our own valati seems to have been hurrying somewhere in the middle of the night when he ran into Nabim’s men on their way to kill us.” He stopped to clear his throat, emotion rising. “They’d have had us if he hadn’t screamed his bloody head off. They were just outside of . . . of Karyn’s room . . . would have . . . . In any case, they killed the valati, but he fought them long enough for me and the boys the find our swords. Count on Nabim to send assassins that can’t do much beyond stab people in their sleep because we finished them without a scratch.”

  “And Karyn was alright?” Jaret asked only because he knew it was the right thing to say.

  “She barely even woke up,” Joal smiled. “I’m glad you asked. She’s not promised yet, you know. Would make a good Empress that one, nice wide hips for pushing out lots of heirs.”

  Jaret barely suppressed a groan. Even if he had some interest in marrying, the girl was a third his age and built like her father. She probably outweighed Jaret by thirty pounds. But the Order had blessed Joal with six daughters, and he had become an expert at finding them husbands that could act as his sons – the majority of the officers behind him were surely a selection of his five sons-in-law.

  “I see,” Lius continued, sparing Jaret from refusing the offer, “so if the valati had not been out in the middle of the night?”

  “We’d be in the ground instead of standing here,” Joal growled. Lius backed away, nodding absently as if considering a philosophical conundrum.

  “So, you fought off Nabim’s men and maintained command of your units, but the rest of the army?” Jaret asked.

  “As far as I know, they’re all with Nabim. Except this one, of course.” Joal stared again at Commander an’ Pmalatir. “I would have thought he’s with his uncle.” He threw up his arms rather than complete the thought, but the implication was clear. And Jaret couldn’t help but agree.

  “So, what about you, Commander an’ Pmalatir?” He pivoted toward the young commander. “Where do you stand? Why did you attack your uncle’s men rather than follow what must have been your orders?”

  Yatier an’ Pmalatir seemed momentary shaken by the question, as if he were only now realizing what he had done. He blinked several times, confidence wavering for the first time. “I’m not exactly sure. I’ve been thinking for a long time about the conversation we had that morning you thrashed me – the same morning that everything happened. I had largely forgotten it when I learned that you were a traitor, that you’d killed my father, my brothers, sisters, cousins . . . .” Yatier’s face turned suddenly hard and sullen. Jaret took a step back. Joal’s guard went up, and he turned to the riders who’d accompanied him. Yatier took a deep breath. “I would have killed you myself. I hated you. I pledged loyalty to my uncle, the new Emperor, just like everyone else. When he told me you’d escaped, I volunteered without hesitation to hunt you down.

  “We’d been searching for a week, following rumors, when word came that you’d attacked that farm. We were on the other side of Tahsis, so I was sure we’d miss you. We rode as quickly as we could and, bless the Order, found you still there. I wanted to take you then and there, but for some reason, it didn’t seem right, so we waited. Day after day, we waited because the time just didn’t feel right. I told myself it was because we were running you into this trap, but every day, I thought more about what you’d said, the way your men had looked at you, your writings, all the stories I’d read about you. And then I thought about my uncle and everything I knew about him. Finally, just this morning, I thought about that day when my family was killed, and I realized . . . .” Yatier looked up, eyes growing wide, “I realized that it was all wrong, that my uncle had lied. That it was you that should be Emperor. Everything in my life had led me to that conclusion, and I cursed myself for taking so long to reach it.

  “From the moment my tutor first gave me a copy of your history of the Liandrin Revolt – a book strictly banned in the palace – to the chance meeting I had with Commander Hanar that led to me facing you in the training yard, it had led to that. And I knew it was the will of the Order. I knew that the Order meant for me to serve you, not my uncle. All that came to me as I watched the sun rise this morning, and I knew what I had to do. I spoke with my officers then my men, and they agreed. We were coming to offer you our aid when you started down the hill. There was no time, so we charged around you and attacked the regiment that we were supposed to be supporting.”

  “By the Order, all this time,” Lius gasped from somewhere behind Jaret.

  The comment sent a shiver up Jaret’s spine, but he didn’t know why. “I’m glad you realized that I wouldn’t ever plan or even condone what happened that night,” Jaret said. “As you now know, I was neither a part of the plot to overthrow your father nor an accomplice in the murder of your family.”

  “I know that now, and I am ashamed that I ever believed it. I just wished that I’d realized it sooner and done something about it or, at least, brought all of my men. I can only imagine the lies my uncle will tell them now that I’ve turned against him.”

  “That would be all we needed,” another voice interrupted, “to have to find someplace to house five hundred horses in the middle of a forest. A hundred is bad enough. Any more would be impossible.” Jaret turned just in time to see Corwin Thalim, the commander of the Camp, weave through the knights with an escort of fifty black-clad legionnaires. He walked straight up to Jaret and saluted. “Sub-commander Thalim reporting, lord commander. The Camp and all its men are yours to command.”

  “Corwin, you bastard,” Jaret responded as he wrapped his arms around the wiry middle-aged man. Only a few inches taller than Jaret and of a similar build, Corwin had the hard demeanor of a veteran drill sergeant, and that was exactly what he’d been before Jaret tapped him to train the first class of men to serve in the Legion of the Rising Sun all those years ago. A few years later, they’d built the Camp together, and he’d trained hundreds of men since, rising, just like Jaret, from the ranks of the enlisted to a status typically reserved for the nobility. “By the good and holy Order, it is good to see you. I was beginning to doubt we’d make it to you.”

  “Sorry we were a bit late to the party.” Corwin smiled and eyed the other commanders present. “We were just coming across the gulch when we heard the knights hit the line. We ran but didn’t manage anything more than a few volleys of arrows before it was over.”

  “How did you know we were coming?”

  “Well, you weren’t exactly hiding, were you? The Emperor tried to keep your escape quiet, but it sounds like it was pretty spectacular because the story spread faster than even a bird should have been able to carry it. Did you actually blow up half the Great Chamber?” Jaret chuckled at that only because it was expected. If anything, he felt sick at the thought of the fireball that had finished his men and allowed him
to escape. “Beyond that, you’ve been terrorizing every Imperial unit from here to Sal Danar. A lot of our embedded men – the secret ones anyway – are still in place, and they got word to us each time you pulled off some miracle. From that, it was pretty easy to figure out where you were heading, but we didn’t know for sure until our man with that regiment over there,” he gestured back to the men behind them, “showed up yesterday and told us what was happening. We came as fast as we could but, obviously, not fast enough.”

  “Well, it’s damn good you did.” Jaret forced a smile. “I’m not sure I know how to get to the Camp from here, and not even Nabim can probably be surprised like that again.”

  “Speaking of which, what should we do with that lot over there?” He gestured again to the remnants of the regiment behind him. “They have a lot of casualties, but there are probably six hundred still alive. They’ve all surrendered, and Commander Quindin’s men have gathered their weapons. They’re pretty much all conscripts, and they ain’t got much fight left, but I can’t imagine you want ‘em telling Nabim where we are and coming back to fight us again.”

  “Let them go,” Jaret said, though it was against his first instinct. Corwin was right – they had a long enough tunnel to dig without putting more dirt in – but he knew the order’s source and saw the logic of it a moment later. “You’re right that they’ll tell Nabim what’s happened and where we are, but not before they’ve told a lot of other people what’s happened here today. The people will know that we’re alive, that we oppose Nabim, and that we’re winning. That’s more valuable than a bunch of prisoners that we can’t possibly secure or feed.”

  “As you say, lord commander,” Corwin saluted. “If that’s settled, should we move this conversation to someplace that’s not in the middle of an open field? My scouts tell me that Nabim has upwards to five thousand men in this area and a serious number on horse.”

  “By the Maelstrom’s dark heart, why so many?” Jaret asked. “How many do you have at the Camp?”

  “That’s classified,” Corwin said with a wink and a glance at the other commanders. They looked offended until Corwin slapped their arms and chuckled. “A joke, fellas. I’ve got fifty there in various stages of training and another fifty that have trickled in since Traeger’s coup failed.”

  “And you?” Jaret turned to Commander Quindin.

  “You know how many men I have,” he bellowed in response. “You’ve been cutting my numbers for years. I barely have two thousand now, and they’re barely adequate to push ladders off of walls. I brought a little more than four hundred with me, and they’re the only one’s I’d trust in a fight.”

  Jaret did the math but tried not to think about the result. “Let’s get to the Camp,” he conceded. “We’ll figure out the rest of the details there.” He looked at the monk behind him then the sun rising in the sky. “I think the Order will guide us.”

  Chapter 30

  The 31st Day of Summer

  Never in his life did Lius imagine that he would see the legendary camp where the Legion of the Rising Sun was trained. He had been eight when the Legion rose to prominence. The story of how they had defeated a vicious band of mercenaries turned raiders who had very nearly besieged Souris spread through the Empire like the measles, and by the end of that year, nearly every boy was pretending to be a legionnaire, was dreaming of training at the Camp, of following the legendary Jaret Rammeriz into battle. Lius had certainly not been immune to the frenzy. He had played out the fantasies as enthusiastically as his brothers and friends, but as a small, shy boy, he had always know that was all they were.

  As he cleared the final trees, stepping cautiously from the rope and plank bridge that delivered him over the rock-strewn, white-water stream that was the Camps final border, he realized that this was yet another fantasy that had somehow come true in all the wrong ways, for all the wrong reasons. He stopped in his tracks and ogled at how truly unimpressive a fantasy it was. As children, they’d imagined the Camp as a magical place, a kind of military wonderland. The fact was that it was exactly what its name implied, a camp. Arrayed around what barely qualified as a clearing were a dozen semi-permanent structures. The largest was a pavilion tent large enough to serve as the command center for an army on the move. Made of heavy, black canvas, it looked like the gaping entrance to a cave. The only thing that clearly marked it from the shadows around it was the Legion’s symbol – two swords crossed over a rising sun – that had been embroidered in yellow across the length of the gabled roof.

  “Hey, we’re almost there. Keep movin’” brought Lius from his daze. The soldier finished with a gentle shove that was enough to send Lius sprawling into a nearby tree. “Sorry. You alright?” the soldier, one of Joal’s men, asked and came immediately to Lius’ side. “I didn’ see who ya were and didn’ mean ta push ya so hard anyway. I just wanted ta get off that bridge. Please, I’m real sorry.”

  Lius looked back at the man – a boy really, younger even than himself – and called upon the serenity that he had learned in the Hall of Understanding. Since Jaret had introduced him as the closest thing to the Xi Valati, the soldiers had somehow ignored his appearance and treated him with a reverence typically reserved for someone much closer to that rank. Being only a student, not even a counselor, Lius found that even more disconcerting than if they’d have ignored him.

  “It was my fault,” Lius forced himself to smile as he came to his full height – a head shorter than the soldier – and wiped his hands together. They were sore from scraping on the tree but not injured. “I should not have stopped. Thank you for reminding me of my place.”

  “Ah, sure.” The soldier seemed confused and wary at being thanked for nearly upending the Order’s highest representative.

  “There you are, Lius” and the appearance of an even more prominent figure ended any possibility that the soldier would put more thought into it.

  “Lord commander,” he stuttered and bowed as Jaret strode through the trees. The other men who were streaming off the bridge behind them nearly tumbled into a pile as they stared at the commander rather than the trail or man in front of them.

  Jaret ignored them all. “I am sorry, Lius. I didn’t realize you had gotten so far behind until I arrived and started looking for you.”

  “It’s my fault. I was . . . ah . . . meditating and didn’t realize that you had already gone. Nearly everyone had gone by the time I returned. These gentlemen were kind enough to escort me.”

  Jaret’s eyes turned to the soldiers. The most ragged remnants of the army, young, inexperienced, illiterate, they stared like half-wits at the living legend before them. He nodded to them and clapped the arm of the one who had pushed Lius. “Thank you,” he said with honest conviction. “You are dismissed. Find a place on either side of the stream to sleep. We’ll have food at the mess in an hour.”

  “Sir, yes, sir, lord commander,” the boy replied with a salute then walked away rubbing his arm where Jaret had touched him. His fellows followed in a seeming daze.

  Jaret watched them go with a sigh then returned to Lius. “The others are anxious to debrief on everything that’s happened. We are only waiting for you.” He started to lead Lius into the clearing before continuing beneath his breath, “Did you learn anything while you were meditating?”

  “I was reading the . . . the book,” Lius whispered back and scanned for any ears or eyes that might catch his words. “I think I am beginning to understand it. I mean this power I have to see the Order. Valatarian could do the same thing, and he describes it in the book, but it is all extremely . . . .”

  “That’s fine,” Jaret cut him off. “But can you see anything about what’s happening outside the forest? We need every possible advantage. Anything you can tell us or do to swing things our way will be critical.”

  Lius opened and closed his mouth several times as Jaret stared at him with those piercing eyes. He desperately wanted to share what he had learned with someone, to discuss it as he would hav
e in the Hall of Understanding. For the first time since the slaughter two weeks ago, Lius was not running for his life and had the time to think about what he had lost that night. He missed his fellow students, his teachers, the books, the time, the ability to think and discuss. That was exactly what he needed now to understand the book he carried and the powers he had discovered. He needed time, but even more, he needed a likeminded person to discuss it with. Unfortunately, Jaret was not that person. “I will do everything I can,” he said, trying to hide his resignation.

  “Very good. Let’s get back to the others. But don’t forget that they know nothing of your powers. We’ll show them in time, but for now, you are a simply the last survivor from the Hall of Understanding, witness of a massacre perpetrated by the false Emperor, and representative of the murdered Xi Valati. No one knows the status of the Church, but if what you said is true about Nabim’s henchman in the Hall of Understanding, it may be our most effective way to rally the people to us.”

  “I understand,” Lius said, but his mind was already lost in that night two weeks gone, the night he’d been trying to forget ever since.

  Shaking his head to dispel the images, he looked out at the buildings around them. There were only a few of them, and they were positioned at the edge of the trees to leave the clearing in the center open. A big open tent with tables was a mess hall. Pits of coals glowed behind it – the heat rising from them shimmering the air – with pigs slowly turning above them. Animal pens were visible through the trees on the other side – what looked like pigs, a few milk cows, and a flock of chickens. Another tent with smoke rising from the only chimney was a smithy. An armory – the only building built from logs – was next to it, identified by the men loading the captured weapons into it. The few men injured in the battle were already gathered outside what was clearly a medical tent. Beyond that were a dug out hill that was probably food storage, a few other tents whose purpose he could not discern, and, in the center of it all, a dais for Teaching Day lessons. The Camp had only the most basic requirements for the men it trained, but most surprising, there was no indication of where the men lived, trained, or slept.