Harald-ARC

by David Friedman

  By late afternoon the legions were dug in on three sides of a square, the river the fourth, the wagons rumbling across the bridge into the safety of the fort. In the meadow south of the bridge the archers were forming up. Last would be the legions, the wall of men and dirt and spears that protected the rest. They had seen nothing but scouts as they came north, mostly cats; without cavalry they were marching blind. Somewhere south of him was an army.

  News from the Empire, most especially the western end of it, was what he wanted now, but until the last wagon got off the bridge nothing was coming the other way. The officer he had sent ahead of the wagons had brought back only a report of enemy scouts on the south bank two days earlier. Should be a boat—odd that there wasn't—but he could wait. Getting the supplies to safety came first. He was good at waiting.

  "Majesty!"

  He looked up. The wagons were off the bridge, the last almost through the gate. The archers had started across. Something was wrong. The columns were shredding, men running away from the bridgehead, most of them south up the ridge. On the bridge itself, where there should have been a line six men wide crossing at a fast walk, a tangled mob.

  He looked again. The north end of the bridge was gone, in its place a twenty foot gap. He thought he could see heads in the water.

  Something caught his eye. The gold flag was coming down. As he watched, another rose, broke out in the wind. Darker gold, almost brown, a green circle. The banner of the Order. The gate swung shut.

  * * *

  An hour later, as he watched the fourth wall of the square go up south of the river, men with shovels working behind a wall of shields, the Emperor noticed a cluster of figures on the other side of the river, carrying something. A boat. One man turned to face the river, held up empty hands, palm out.

  "Let them come. We can always kill them later."

  Two men in the boat. One limped, the other, gray beard, one arm tightly bandaged to his side, stepped forward, saluted.

  "Commander." He looked again, went clumsily to his knees. "Majesty."

  "Get up—this is an army, not a court. Who are you, what the hell happened?"

  "Under-captain Katelo, Majesty. Commander's dead. Almost two weeks back—dawn. We had a garrison of a hundred and fifty. Don't know how many the Karls had, but a lot more than that. Cavalry. Archers. Must have crossed at the next ford upstream."

  "What do they have holding the fort now?"

  "A couple of thousand archers, Majesty, mostly Order Ladies. Some crossbows came in two, three days ago. They have some heavy cavalry too. Our engines—four big bolt throwers, four little. I saw some stone throwers. Must have brought them—little ones."

  "What else should I know?"

  "The ford, Majesty. They spent most of a week digging it out, planting stakes. Two days ago a pack train came up from the south, over the bridge. Loaded with caltrops. Lady Commander was with them. She brought me along to watch her scatter them."

  "Majesty." It was the other man. The King turned to listen.

  "Nomads, Majesty. Seen some two, three years back, scouting for us. This time there were thousands."

  "Where are they?"

  "Heading for the pass home. Karls sent me out with a couple of cats as escort, one day north, one west, one south, then back again. I didn't see any bodies; think they let the people run north. The nomads stole what they could—food, beasts—burnt what they couldn't carry. Lady Commander says a sweep forty miles wide, here to the mountains. Her people have been foraging further east. She says if anyone plans to send a message to the capital, bird better carry provisions."

  * * *

  The Emperor looked around the familiar faces. This was the last time.

  "Karls hold the fort, dug out the ford, planted stakes and caltrops in it. Harald is on the next ridge south, two thousand cats, a lot of Karl heavies. We have eight legions less losses, four thousand light infantry, maybe half archers, no cavalry worth mentioning. Food for maybe two days."

  The commander of the Third legion was the first to break the silence: "Majesty. Karls got our supply wagons by tricking us, their men pretending they were ours. The only people who have seen the garrison, the work they did on the ford, are the ones they sent us."

  "Good question. Three men in the Eighth, one in the Twelfth, know Katelo. Harald offered to let us send someone across, see for ourselves. I sent Claudio."

  "Other fords, Majesty? There's one fourteen, fifteen miles down stream. Not as good as this one, but this late in the year we should be able to get men across."

  "The Order is mounted archers. We send a big force west, they follow. It's a lot harder to wade neck deep when there are people shooting at you. If we stay on the back side of the ridge out of their sight, Harald sees us. He's got to have signals set up with the fort.

  "Somehow we do it. We pray for clouds over the moon, march all night, cross at dawn. The Order doesn't make it to the lower ford in time, or do and we force it. You're the Lady Commander. All cavalry—can go home any time you like. What do you do first?"

  He looked around his commanders. One face after another. Justin put it in a harsh whisper: "Burn our supplies."

  The Emperor nodded. "March tonight, cross at dawn, march tomorrow, take the fort back—with no engines, no heavy gear. Eleven thousand exhausted men, less than a day's food. Country cleaned out. Nothing to feed an army this side of the capital."

  * * *

  "They accepted? It's over?"

  Harald looked back at his daughter, nodded:

  "By now it's signed and sealed, probably on the way here. Legions surrender. Leave their gear, keep personal stuff. Cross the bridge in small groups, get ten days food, go. Officers and banners stay till the ransom is paid—two gold pieces a man."

  "The Emperor?" She was looking at something over his shoulder.

  "Emperor gets to go home." He turned.

  One rider coming up the slope. Harald and Caralla stood watching. By the time he had reached the top and dismounted, the others had joined them.

  The Emperor came forward. His gilded armor was splashed with mud and he limped a little, catching himself once with his stick. He looked at Harald with fierce falcon eyes.

  "Won, have you? The best general alive, I'll give you that."

  Harald stood there, Caralla on his right, Stephen on his left, the three boys and Elaina standing wide eyed by Caralla. The Emperor handed him the scroll.

  "Beat me, but that doesn't end it. My clever son waiting in the West with his pet general. It's their game now. Your lady friend, where was she?"

  "The Lady Leonora commanded the defense of the Royal castle."

  "Easier work than riding around with her damned lady archers. She won't be in the field again. One less. You're not young either."

  "No."

  "A few years. Time for them to build back what you wrecked here. You'll be older.

  "The Commander. Artos. Sitting by the fire on your cold mountain, Harald Haraldsson, while he rides south. Think your little king can take him, do you? Your little king you kept where you could hold his hand and your lady friend his castle for him? You won't be there. She won't. He will."

  He fell silent a moment, glancing about. Hen looked up at him.

  "You there, boy. Remember. When you're full grown and I'm maybe buried. You'll see the Gold Banner flying where your king's banner flies today. I lost the battle, but dead or alive I'll win the war. Remember."

  He struck Hen hard on the shin with his stick.

  "Remember."

  Hen stood like a statue, looking up at him. The Emperor looked round once more, turned, walked back to his horse.

  Hen stood silent. After a moment Caralla spoke.

  "What a fierce old man."

  "Three brothers on his way to the throne. The Old Emperor's death was—very convenient."

  Jon spoke: "He's wrong. Our King's brave as can be."

  Hen looked up:

  "Courage loses as many battles as it wins. Harald tol
d me that, winter he guested with us."

  Caralla turned to Harald.

  "Is he right then?

  "By the time he gets home he will have thought again. Two loyal legions in the West, one of them in the western capital. Lots more east and south of here in the old provinces along the coast. Enough, perhaps, to stand against his son. He has played the game longer than any man alive."

  "So the Prince will lose?"

  "No fool either, and time on his side. Make peace, fight, not fight, play for power. Six months ago the Emperor's game, although the princes didn't know. This past month, we changed that."

  Stephen turned from watching the Emperor riding back to his own lines.

  "Because he doesn't have an army any more?"

  "It isn't just the army. Legion he best trusts is in the capital. A man who wastes legions and lets foreign troops ravage his countryside. How many will support his last few years? It isn't a war they're fighting with each other."

  "Then he's right. Ten years, fifteen at the most, an army bigger than ours, a competent Emperor, a more than competent general. Hard enough with the balance the other way." Caralla spoke in a hushed voice.

  "His other mistake he was looking right at. Never saw."

  "What do you mean?"

  He put one hand on Caralla's mailed shoulder.

  "Commander comes south, it isn't the King he'll have to face, daughter."

  * * *

  Cattle die, kindred die,

  Every man is mortal:

  But the good name never dies

  Of one who has done well

  Glossary

  Alteng:

  Language of what are now the western provinces of the Empire.

  Belkhani:

  People from the province of Belkhan, recruited by the Empire as heavy cavalry.

  Bashkai:

  Forest dwellers recruited by the Empire as light infantry.

  Cacade:

  Ten decades.

  Caltrop:

  Four pointed metal object, designed so that one point is always pointing up to injure a man or horse that steps on it.

  Captain:

  Middle level officer.

  Cat:

  (Cataphract) Heavy horse archer/lancer.

  Commander:

  High ranking officer commanding a legion or unit of comparable size, a fortification, or an army. (Empire)

  Decade:

  Unit of ten.

  Helper:

  Male associate of the Order. Typically farmer on Order land.

  Hetman:

  Commander of Bashkai.

  Highborn (1):

  Noble (Empire).

  Highborn (2):

  Dialect of Tengu used by nobles.

  Ilash:

  Plains nomads in their own language ("people").

  Karl:

  Inhabitant of the kingdom of Kaerlia (Imperial slang).

  Lady:

  Adult member of the Order.

  Lady Commander:

  Commanding officer of the Order.

  Lashi:

  Plains language.

  Leatherback:

  Slang for light cavalry (leather armor). Empire

  Maril:

  Neighbors of Kaerlia to the southeast. Mercenary heavy cavalry.

  Monster:

  Slang for (big) counterweighted trebuchet.

  Most Noble:

  Member of the Imperial family.

  Nightbell:

  Hallucinogenic mushroom.

  Octave:

  Unit of eight.

  Order, the:

  A female military order, self-ruling, now mostly in Kaerlia.

  Paramount:

  Top level of the Vales legal hierarchy. A lawman must be associated with a paramount, a landowner with a lawman, in order to connect to the legal system. The association are voluntary in both directions. Each paramount is associated with a specific vale for historical reasons.

  Pavise:

  Large shield for an archer, supported by a prop.

  Rock thrower:

  traction trebuchet.

  Senior Paramount:

  The Mainvale paramount.

  Siege bow:

  Very heavy crossbow, slow rate of fire.

  Sister (1):

  Any Lady of the Order.

  Sister (2):

  Within the Order, close comrade.

  tatave:

  Eight octaves (Order).

  Tengu:

  Imperial language.

  Turtle (1):

  Infantry formation with a roof of shields. (Empire)

  Turtle (2):

  (slang) Legionary. (Empire)

  Twenty-year man:

  Retired legionary.

  Westkin:

  Plains nomad. (Vales)

  Wolf:

  Member of the Royal Messengers (Wolf's head badge).

  THE END

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