The Conqueror

by Louis Shalako

  “My name is Captain Arkoz. I have full authority to solicit terms.”

  “Terms.” Barreth nodded. “Very well.”

  He gave a side-long glance at Theo and Lowren.

  “We will never surrender. We will fight to the last man and crossbow bolt...to the last arrow.” Barreth surprised everyone with that one, face lighting up at the reaction.

  The crowd roared as Arkoz’ face flushed and his men’s heads sort of sank into their shoulders, faces red and yet still defiant. One or two of them looked around and glared at their former subjects, however short a time it had been.

  “With all due respect...” Theo held up a hand. “We appreciate this gesture, as it’s always better to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

  She kept her hand up and they all just sat quietly for a moment. She really was masterful, thought Lowren. Barreth was still smiling, with a few thoughts of his own no doubt.

  Theo’s eyes were locked on Arkoz. Finally, after a time, the place quieted.

  “We would like to hear your terms.” Arkoz had some dignity left, and it was apparent he was here under some protest—but his commander couldn’t face the moment or something.

  It was said he was ill, and perhaps that was true. He might have been wounded, but so far they weren’t saying too much about their situation up there.

  “We appreciate the fact that we will not have to subject the citadel—and the city, to the prolonged dangers and sacrifice, all the rigors of a siege. For that reason, we are prepared to be rather generous.” Her voice was firm and confident, carrying well in the large room.

  The man Arkoz swallowed.

  This was hard to take coming from anyone, let alone a woman. The contingent from Windermere was considerable, not to mention the tonnage in terms of ships, and then there was the gold of course. Barreth was grinning like a cat.

  “I should still like to hear your terms, ah...Madame.”

  She bit her lip and kept her temper. Let him have his moment, she decided. He can tell his grandchildren about it—the only real satisfaction he was ever likely to get. The Khan was notoriously hard on losers and fools or even just the incompetent. If asked, she would have given an honest answer: they didn’t really stand a chance, not with a perfectly-timed surprise attack, a good plan, and plenty of help on the inside. The men of the Horde had acquitted themselves well enough under such circumstances. She doubted the Great One would be so charitable to men who were worthy of some respect.

  Theo looked into the eyes of a young Hordesman standing directly behind Arkoz.

  She had no doubt he would have slit her throat in that moment, the anger and the pain were so intense.

  She nodded.

  “You will be well treated. You may keep your personal swords. You may keep your personal arms and effects, but the battle flags and any unit colors are ours. You will open the doors to the citadel and remain in it while our men secure the premises. You will offer no resistance. You will pile all bows, arrows, crossbows and bolts, in the central courtyard. That includes all spears, pikes, mauls, bills and maces. All arbalests, mangonels, ballistae shall be rendered inoperable. You will put out all fires and render them safe. You will undertake not to cause further damage or destruction to the structure or its contents. Do you have a question?”

  Arkoz was nodding, as none of this was entirely unexpected.

  “There’s more.”

  “Yes, Arkoz. You will undertake not to loot, or pillage, or attempt to remove anything other than the private property of your soldiers. They may take their pay with them, and no more, for surely that all came with you. The military chest, what remains of it, is ours.”

  A considerable column of smoke had been seen coming from the central courtyard of the keep. Whatever it was, it had been burning since the evening before.

  “You have destroyed much of your equipment.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your documents.”

  He said nothing, just watched her.

  “You have prisoners?”

  “Ah—yes.”

  “How many?”

  “We have a hundred and fourteen civilians, maybe a few more. Four or five of your men. Most of them are hostages and prisoners, one or two camp followers. For the most part they will probably wish to stay here. There are one or two others. What will be their fate?”

  “If they stay here, they will be dealt with, according to the law, by their fellow-citizens.”

  Deserters, spies, or just folks caught in the middle. It was no skin off their noses. It was best not to even inquire, sometimes.

  Lowren spoke up now, and the Heloi general looked like he had something to say as well.

  “They can go with you—if you would be so kind as to take them.”

  A wry smile escaped Theodelinda and even Arkoz seemed impressed. He seemed to relax, settling in the chair and shoulders slumping.

  “Yes—I am sure that would be best.” He looked into Barreth’s eyes. “Yes?”

  “You will be taken, in small groups, to the nearest convenient point of land belonging to the Great One—and I have no doubt that he is indeed great.” Not to outdone, and with his own government to pacify when he returned, Barreth was going to put in his two pence worth. “You will be given an adequate number of pack animals, enough food, and sufficient medical supplies for your wounded. And you can walk from there.”

  He went on for their benefit and that of the written record.

  It was all open country. They could follow the sea-coast, and the primitive fish-eaters who inhabited the area would be well advised to avoid disciplined troops armed with the famous short swords of the Horde. They still had twenty-five hundred men.

  The thoughts went visibly through the captain’s mind. All that was asked was their parole—and the surrender of the citadel.

  “Very well.”

  There was a long silence as some of the young men behind Arkoz wept, and Lowren took the time to examine them carefully.

  These were not mindless thralls under the spell of some mad magician. While any man’s birth might be an accident of history or geography, the Khan had something—and it was enough to hold and bind men like this to him for whatever reason. Something like thirty-six hundred men had taken a city of fifteen or twenty thousand, that’s how Lowren saw it. Sinopus was the Pearl of the North for a reason, and that reason was its wealth. That wealth had paid for a couple of thousand professional soldiers and plenty of fortifications.

  Lowren nodded thoughtfully.

  “On our behalf, please give our compliments to your master. There are no further impediments to peace here, and I assure you that you will be well-treated. The Lemni are not known for treachery. I give you my word, not just as a king, but as a man, that you are safe enough once you have given your word—and your hand.”

  Arkoz had water in his eyes as well, and yet none had any doubt that this was a brave man, perhaps a man who understood the notion of honor as well as anyone.

  Captain Arkoz nodded.

  “Your word will be sufficient.”

  He turned and looked at the men behind him, but none would meet his eye.

  He turned back to the table.

  “Very well then. How do we proceed?”

  There were endless details, but the thing was essentially done and victory had been achieved. The hall itself was deadly quiet, so quiet that all had dropped away, leaving just the few of them. Lowren listened along, as they went back and forth, but after a while his mind wandered back to his homeland, and the recurring thoughts of Eleanora. He kept one ear on Theodelinda, with her mind like a bear-trap, and as much as anything, Admiral Barreth, who had a wealth of experience going back at least three decades of naval warfare (and their peace settlements and truces, which was all this really was) on behalf of the Heloi.

  After a while, they all stood and shook hands like ladies and gentlemen, and then the Hordesmen went away again to present it to their commander.

  Chapter Eighteen


  It was very quiet, with not much happening or expected to happen at this time of the night. There were faint voices in the corridor outside. The twelve foot doors at the end of the chamber opened. The skylights had all been cranked open as the hot desert winds had been whipping up from the southeast, all day long as they normally would this time of year. The room had barely cooled since the noon-day.

  A man stepped hurriedly into the map room, heels snapping against the hard black tiles. He had an exhausted looking rider with him, a fellow who hung back by the door on a wave from the officer.

  They turned to see who it was, at this late hour. He stepped forwards. The officer prostrated himself on the ground, not rising until Jumalak cleared his throat.

  “Please. Presumably this is important.”

  The man got up creakily, as the floor was hard and he had banged his knee.

  “My Lord and Master.”

  “What is it?”

  Something about the general’s manner struck both Jumalak and Verescens.

  “Speak. Out with it.”

  The man trembled visibly.

  “Lords! Sinopus has fallen.”

  “What?” Jumalak was stricken.

  Verescens’ eyebrows rose.

  “Shit.”

  “It’s true, I am afraid.” The messenger, for all of his rank, was desperately unhappy to be the bearer of bad news.

  He held a flimsy piece of paper in his hand. The communications officer rose from behind his desk. He stood there looking hapless, eyes round as saucers, and one of his boys strode over to take the dispatch. Jumalak gave a flick of his wrist and the boy snatched it and pelted the twenty yards to the communications clearing desk.

  After a hurried consultation with the code-books, they found certain key words, the proper ones for the putative date on the document, in a careful examination of the hand-written dispatch.

  “It’s legitimate, oh, Great One.” It was their best guess.

  That was all that could be said for it.

  “All right, all right.” Verescens had sort of expected the unexpected.

  What a futile axiom that was.

  “Well. Hmn.”

  This observation mostly applied to other sectors of their campaign and there had indeed been surprises. The taking of Sinopus had happened months ago and they all thought it completely secure. Other attacks had failed, for reasons that were sometimes hard to analyze.

  For the most part, they had been the victim of their own failures to properly acquire and assess information on the targets. The Emperor was perhaps not the most valiant of foes, but he was turning out to be a canny general and his deviousness stemmed from decades of experience including war in all seasons and in all terrains. His navy was bottled up for the time being, and yet they were tying down the heaviest of the Horde’s own battle-fleet units.

  “I suppose you did try to warn us, Verescens.”

  “Hah.” The sea wasn’t his forte, but the admirals he had consulted were arguably the best the Horde could provide.

  Verescens wasn’t all that eager to criticize where his knowledge was so evidently lacking.

  The Emperor of the South had thrown large garrisons into the most strategic towns along their respective frontier. These tended to be the places with the best road networks, and their schedule was already off as a consequence. There was an unfortunate tendency to get sucked into a long siege when it would have been better to bypass such strongholds. The coastal fortress of the Massagetaii, a kind of republican oligarchy, was a case in point. As long as it stood, it would be a threat in their rear or their flank. And yet it could have been bypassed.

  “Sinopus has fallen.” Jumalak marveled anew. “When?”

  How in the hell did that happen, in other words?

  “Ten or twelve days ago by our report, oh, Great Khan.” The general, Verescens couldn’t think of his name, was at his most obsequious.

  “Very well. Be gone with you—and see if you can find out more.” Verescens hoped this wouldn’t be countermanded.

  The general groveled in a generally backwards direction towards the door.

  Going by the look on Jumalak’s face, this might have saved the man’s life.

  “It’s not his fault.” The Great One’s tone was mildly appraising, and he stared into Verescen’s eyes for a second.

  “No, Master. It is our own.”

  Jumalak nodded shortly.

  “We need to know more, Great One.”

  “Yes, try and find out what you can.” Jumalak studied the paper as the communications officer, a young captain on the night shift, flushed under his gaze.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Verescens might have been talking to a wall, but then the officer’s eyes came around and he saw the gratitude there.

  He bit back a futile grin.

  Jumalak handed off the paper, silent, chin up, and he moved majestically forwards, went to the left around the corner of the table and paused to examine Sinopus and its relationship to the rest of the board.

  “Hmn.”

  “Easy come, easy go, oh, Great One.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Verescens read the paper, nodding as the points hit home.

  “So what do you think.”

  All Verescens had to go on was the information provided—and right slender it was, too.

  The town of Sinopus, belonging by right of its legal surrender to representatives of the Great Khan Jumalak of the Horde, had fallen to naval assault after a siege of six days, in which over a thousand men of the Khan’s had given their lives or else been grievously wounded.

  The survivors had been put ashore after a parley with the victors. They were encamped, with good water and some food and supplies. They were recruiting their strength and making preparations for the march back to the capital or wherever they were ordered to go.

  As best Verescens as could make out, the letter had been sent thirteen days ago, which might make the fall of Sinopus at least a few days before that. The messengers would have ridden flat-out all the way. The name of a bay and a village were mentioned, but it wasn’t on any of their maps.

  He wondered how they had done it, of course. But that was almost self-evident. On the land side, Sinopus was over a thousand miles from enemy territories. They never could have supplied a land campaign, and surely they would have heard about it long beforehand. The Horde had spies and merchants, ambassadors to all the tribes between here and there. The tribes were all peaceful on the face of it.

  What was startling was that the enemy had attacked two days before their own invasion had begun.

  “Verescens.”

  “Oh, Great One.”

  “Talk to us.”

  “This must have taken an extreme effort by their little alliance.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  Verescens found himself, unconscious of how he had gotten there, standing by the big map table at Jumalak’s side.

  “It took a lot of ships. Ships to take the port, ships to transport our men to land according to this bargain they have struck—”

  “And...”

  “I wonder where all those ships are now, oh, Great Khan.”

  Jumalak bit his lip.

  That was a very good question.

  “Well, for one thing, Master-General Verescens. They’ll be jamming men and grain into Sinopus as fast as they can.” They would be preparing for a long siege...one would think. It was exactly what the Horde had been doing, in fact.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  Verescens turned to regard his Khan, who, to be fair, was not a fool by any means.

  “Yes, master—maybe.”

  Jumalak’s mouth opened and he breathed quietly, and then his eyes fell to the map.

  “You mean you don’t know—my friend, my teacher, my mentor?”

  “No, oh, Great One.” Verescens stood staring down at the map, trying to read their minds from across a thousand miles or more,
and many days behind the times. “I simply don’t know.”

  Verescens clasped his hands, and brought the knuckle of his right forefinger up to his lips.

  He chewed away on it.

  It probably changed everything, but for the life of him he couldn’t quite see how. If nothing else, it sent a certain message. It was also the tactics of surprise. But surprise for its own sake was little or nothing without some tactical and strategic advantage. The enemy had simply taken a page out of the Horde’s book. They had denied the Horde the use of Sinopus, which implied that they fully understood its significance in the overall strategy. Someone over there had a pretty good mind.

  “Great One.”

  Verescens reached and took a small counter in the shape of one of their medium-sized war ships. They had an impressive number in reserve, in their home port of Artesphihan. They were there for the defense of the port and capital, and presented an overwhelming obstacle to any would-be invader. This had always implied the Emperor, in the past. His ships plied the Great Sea and adjoining waterways, and his naval forces were formidable enough. For the most part, the Emperor appeared to be holding his own ships back, waiting to respond to threats and attacks. His whole strategy was one of an economical defense—trading land and blood for time on some fronts, and using the smallest possible naval units in defending key installations. He was hoarding his resources for some later, perhaps decisive encounter.

  But the Emperor had no wish to war in the first place, and was—at least so far—relying on a purely defensive strategy. This is just what the Horde would have wished for. It was the allies that had revealed themselves to be an unknown quantity.

  He put the little ship down on the board, a few miles off the coast, just south of Sinopus. There were already a large number of naval units engaged in the supply and support of operations along the eastern coast of the Great Sea.

  The invasion of the coastal strip south of the Heloi had taken place at the same time as the land attack on the nearest side of the sea. The Heloian land army was negligible. Both operations required a large number of heavy units. While a bare fifty thousand men had been landed in the southwestern attack, they required a disproportionate number of both warships and supply vessels to maintain them in the position.