Guardians Watch

by Eric T Knight

  “At least we’ll have a little extra food from the shatren brought along to feed the Tenders’ sulbits.”

  “Aye, there is that,” Tairus said sourly. Right after the Tenders fed their sulbits the dead shatren had been butchered and cooked. “I heard some of the men talking. They said the meat tasted foul.”

  “I’m sure they’re just imagining it.”

  “Are they? I know what I’m imagining, and it isn’t good. That’s no natural way for an animal to die.”

  “We’ve been on short rations before. Everything tastes good then. They’ll be fighting to chew on the bones soon enough.”

  “Reckon you’re right,” Tairus replied. A commotion down the hill made him turn his head and squint into the darkness. “I wonder what that’s all about.”

  It was hard to see in the dim light, but someone was approaching. Whoever it was, he was angry. A few seconds later two men walked up to the fire. The one in the lead was dressed in dusty finery.

  When he saw who it was, Tairus stood up. “I’m glad I’m not you right now. Enjoy your company.” He walked off in the opposite direction.

  Rome stood up, wishing he didn’t have to deal with this right now.

  Dargent was a big man, though his size was mostly softness and fat. The blond hair plastered to his head from a day of sweating was thin and disappearing fast. He’d removed his armor but he was still wearing the same clothes that he’d been wearing underneath it and they were dirty and sweat stained. The nobles’ supply train was far in the rear so he probably had nothing to change into. His face was coated with a thick layer of dust. He started to talk and then had to stop and cough.

  “I will not tolerate this! It is an outrage!” he fairly yelled

  “What is?” Rome asked mildly.

  Dargent was so angry his mustache was quivering. “I will not march in the rear again tomorrow. It is dishonorable, despicable and…I won’t take it. Tomorrow my men and I will be in the lead, as we should.”

  Rome lifted his water skin and took a long drink. When he was done he wiped his mouth and recorked the skin, still without replying. His lack of response clearly increased Dargent’s anger, for he swore under his breath and clenched his fists.

  “Is this your final word on the subject?” Rome said, his voice still calm.

  “What?” Dargent’s bull head swung this way and that, sure he was being mocked. “Of course it is!”

  “Okay, then,” Rome said. He turned to look over his shoulder for someone he could use as a messenger and was only mildly surprised to see T’sim standing there, though he’d swear the small man wasn’t there just moments before. Nor did he remember seeing him the whole day. “Go get Nicandro, would you, T’sim? Tell him to bring a couple of men with him too.” As T’sim started away, Rome casually added, “And have him bring chains.” T’sim nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

  It took a moment, but what he’d said finally got through Dargent’s head. Having the man with him tug anxiously on his sleeve probably helped. “Chains?” he said finally. “What are the chains for?”

  “Didn’t Atalafes tell you?”

  “You mean Lord Atalafes?”

  Rome simply waited.

  “What was he supposed to tell me?”

  Now Rome let some heat into his voice, though he still kept his voice low. Men were sleeping and they needed that sleep. “I told Atalafes that he could send whoever he wanted, but I also said that if any of them gave me any difficulty, any difficulty at all, I would put them in chains and leave them.”

  “What…?” Dargent spluttered. “You can’t be…” Much of his anger seemed to evaporate, replaced by genuine confusion. It was as if a lifetime of privilege had conditioned him to believe that he was above such things, and now he couldn’t fathom a different reality.

  Just then Nicandro arrived. He was a short, bald, sinewy man, dark skinned and muscular. He had a big smile on his face and two hulking soldiers with him. They didn’t seem as cheerful as he was. They looked like they were angry at having to move after a long day of marching. Nicandro carried chains slung over his shoulder. “Is this the one, Macht?” Nicandro asked, indicating Dargent. Dargent’s companion had shrunk back at their approach and he seemed to be trying to melt into the darkness.

  Rome nodded. “Chain him up. Drag him down to the road. Leave him in the middle so that those who come after can’t miss him.”

  “You can’t mean to go through with this,” Dargent said. He was still having trouble believing what was happening.

  When Nicandro approached him with the chain he slapped at the little man, which only made Nicandro grin wider. Nicandro spoke to the two who accompanied him and they clapped huge hands on Dargent’s arms. He struggled, but was no match for their strength. Nicandro began to wrap the chain around him. He fought harder, but to no avail. In a remarkably short period of time he was trussed up like a hog for market. Nicandro looked to Rome, who nodded. Then the two burly men started to drag him away.

  “Mercy, Lord!” Dargent yelled.

  Rome motioned for them to stop. “Do you have something to say?”

  “This is most unseemly…” Dargent began and Rome again motioned them to drag him away. Suddenly, the big man broke. Actual tears came from his eyes. “My apologies, Macht!” he cried. “Please don’t do this.”

  Rome considered this for a moment, then he said, “You have no problem with marching at the rear?”

  “None. None at all,” Dargent babbled. “Wherever you want me.”

  Rome thought about this for a minute. Finally, he said to Nicandro, “What do you think?”

  Nicandro’s smile grew larger. “I’d slit his throat.” Dargent paled visibly at these words.

  “That’s always your solution.” Rome thought a bit longer. “I’m probably going to regret this, but…let him go, Nicandro.”

  In a minute Dargent was free. As he started to scurry away, Rome stopped him. “I’ve heard word that you’ve been calling yourself General Dargent.” Dargent swallowed visibly. “But that can’t be right, is it? Because that would be impersonating an officer and that’s a hanging offense.”

  Dargent bowed his head, then walked away quickly.

  Thirty-nine

  It was a hungry army that finally made it to Karthije. The last two food caches had been gone, the soldiers in charge of gathering and protecting them slaughtered and left to rot in the sun. They’d been able to scrounge a little bit of food as they marched, but not very much. The farms they’d passed had been stripped bare of any crops ripe enough to eat, the livestock driven away, the farmers staring at them sullenly.

  Clearly Perthen, the king of Karthije, was not planning on being reasonable.

  Tairus was in a glum mood as they approached the city, which sat perched on a low range of hills. Its walls were high and thick, made of huge blocks of granite. More and more he was thinking they’d come all this way for nothing. They couldn’t just pass the city by; they’d starve long before they made it to Guardians Watch. Which meant they had to take the city.

  Even with the help of Rome’s axe, this was going to be difficult. Perthen was a wily old bastard. Doubtless he had plans to keep Rome from getting close enough to his walls to use the axe. Then, once they made it inside—which they would, eventually—it was going to be a bloody business, taking the city street by street. Karthije’s soldiers were well-trained and equipped. They wouldn’t roll over and lie down like the other cities they’d conquered. A lot of men on both sides were going to die.

  Worst of all was the time they’d lose. There was no way they’d take the city in less than a week. By then Kasai would be through the pass. They might as well give up and march back to Qarath right now.

  Tairus swore under his breath, cursing every stiff-necked monarch that ever lived. Might they all rot in Gorim’s blackest hell.

  Rome heard him swearing and clapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Tairus. It’s not as bad as you think. We’ve a few tricks left
to play still.”

  Tairus glared at him. “Since you won’t share those tricks with me, I’ve no reason to cheer up. I find my foul mood suits me just fine.”

  In the past couple of days Rome and Quyloc had spent quite a bit of time together, talking in low voices. Tairus knew they were planning something and it angered him that they didn’t involve him. But every time he brought it up, Rome just told him they were still working on it, they hadn’t figured it out yet, and he’d know in good time. All of which improved Tairus’ mood not at all.

  But if Tairus was in a foul mood about being left out of the planning, it was nothing compared to how angry the FirstMother was. She’d all but threatened to take her Tenders and go back to Qarath. Even now it felt to Tairus like he could feel her angry gaze on his back. That woman did not like being ignored.

  “You wouldn’t like it if I told you, believe me,” Rome assured him.

  “How about you tell me this much? What orders should I give? Do we prepare for a siege or should I just tell them all to take a nice long nap?” They were only a half mile or so away now. The top of the wall bristled with soldiers watching them.

  Rome looked up at the sun. It was late afternoon. “Give the order to make camp.”

  “You don’t want them to form up at least? What if Perthen decides to sally forth and attack?”

  “He’s not going to do that,” Rome said confidently. “He’ll want to talk first.”

  “I hope you’re right. If you’re not, this whole march could be over by sundown.”

  “I hope I’m right too.”

  The FirstMother came riding up then. She and her Tenders had been riding near the front of the army the last few days so she was never far from Rome.

  “I demand to know what the plan of action is. If we are going to attack the city I need to prepare my Tenders.”

  “Not so fast, FirstMother,” Rome told her mildly. “We’re going to see if we can reason with him first.”

  “The man who destroyed the food caches and killed your soldiers is not going to listen to reason,” she snapped.

  “Well, he hasn’t heard our best argument yet.”

  “Which is?”

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  The frown on her face expressed how she felt about waiting.

  “Let’s go see if he’s ready to talk,” Rome said. “FirstMother, General Tairus, if you would come with us?” When Tairus started to order a company of soldiers to accompany them, Rome stopped him. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be under a white flag.”

  Which didn’t necessarily mean Perthen would honor it, Tairus thought, but he knew he’d get nowhere arguing with Rome. Not when he was like this. He was in one of those moods and Tairus had seen enough of them to recognize the signs. When he got like this he was disgustingly positive and confident, no matter how unreasonable he was being or how risky his decision was. He wouldn’t listen, no matter how Tairus tried. At times like this it was like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

  The fact that Rome had always been proven right in the past was no consolation to Tairus. Sooner or later Rome was bound to be wrong. It could be today just as easy as any other day.

  They approached the city, Tairus waving the white flag over his head. At the edge of bowshot they stopped.

  “We might be here awhile,” Rome said. “Perthen wants to make sure we know who’s waiting on who.”

  A good hour passed before the gates swung open. From out of the shadowed opening a block of heavily armored men marched, shields flashing, swords out. In their midst was a palanquin bearing the king. They covered about half the distance to the Qarathians, then stopped and waited.

  “I’m starting to really hate this guy,” Tairus growled. Gods, but he was hungry. He’d had no more food than the soldiers, nothing but a handful of dried meat and a piece of stale bread in two days.

  They rode forward, but before they had gone very far one of the soldiers detached from the rest and ran up to them. “You will not enter the presence of King Perthen on horseback. He orders you to dismount and walk.”

  That brought another curse from Tairus. He felt certain the soldier had been told to use those exact words. Perthen was doing everything he could to humiliate them.

  The FirstMother’s scowl deepened and Quyloc’s jaw tightened, but Rome just dismounted as if it was the most natural request in the world. He actually looked cheerful, which only soured Tairus’ mood further.

  They followed the soldier back to his king and Tairus noticed for the first time that Quyloc had taken the leather covering off the rendspear. It was the first time he’d seen the covering off since they left Qarath and he wondered at it. Was Quyloc thinking of using it on the king? His gaze shifted to Rome. The black axe was still slung across his back. What was going on here?

  To Tairus’ experienced eye it was clear that Perthen’s men were seasoned soldiers who had seen action. Their armor was clean and well cared for, but it had seen hard use, as had the soldiers that wore it. Nor did he sense any wavering in them that would indicate that loyalty to their king was half-hearted. This would not be Rahn Loriten, conquered this summer. They would not turn their king over to Rome and welcome the Qarathians with open arms.

  The soldiers parted and the palanquin came to the forefront and then stopped. Perthen stepped off it and approached them, flanked by four heavily-armed soldiers. He was a short, wiry man probably in his sixties, with short-cropped, iron-gray hair and a belligerent squint in his eye. His manner of dress was simple, with only a heavy gold chain around his neck and a large gold ring to designate his status. His face was tight with barely-controlled anger.

  “Hungry, are you?” Perthen said without preamble. “Not as much fat on Karthije as you expected.”

  “There was no need to kill my men,” Rome said. “They had orders not to fight you.”

  Perthen shrugged. “They were enemy soldiers on my lands. I need no other reason than that.”

  “And the emissaries I sent you?”

  “Spies.” Perthen gestured vaguely behind him. “Their heads are stuck on pikes somewhere. They learned the price of spying.”

  “They came openly, carrying letters from me. How does that make them spies?”

  “Details.” Perthen waved his words off as if they were flies. “They should have known what would happen. I’ve never pretended to be what I’m not.” He threw the last words at Rome, clearly intending them to be insulting to Rome.

  But Rome did not rise to the bait. “What do you want, Perthen?” he asked mildly, hooking his thumbs in his broad belt.

  “For you to turn around and scurry back to your rathole. That’s what I want,” Perthen snapped.

  “You know I’m not going to do that.”

  Perthen shrugged again. “Then I want you to die.”

  “It might not be so easy as that.”

  “No? Are you starting to believe your own legends, then? The mighty Wulf Rome, who breaks walls with a thought, beloved by all, savior of the world.” Perthen spat on the ground at Rome’s feet and Tairus tensed, his hand moving closer to his weapon. The soldiers accompanying Perthen tensed also, but Rome stayed calm. He put his hand on Tairus’ shoulder.

  “You’re no legend,” Perthen sneered. “You’re just a man with a toy and you will bleed and die just like any other man. You see, I’m ready for you. My archers have orders to only target you. If you get past them, there’s boiling oil in those big pots up there. You’ll never get close enough to touch my wall.”

  “I was hoping to avoid a fight.” There was no threat in Rome’s manner, but no surrender either. He was utterly calm, as if the outcome was a forgone conclusion and he was just playing along to humor Perthen. His attitude seemed to just anger Perthen further.

  “Even if you do get through my wall, it will cost you dearly. You’ll lose men, more than you can afford, I’ll wager. It will take weeks to conquer us and you’ll miss getting to Guardians Watch before Kas
ai.” Perthen was grinning now, a dark, ugly expression. “Yes, I know what you’re up to. I have my spies too.”

  “Then you know how important this is, why we should work together.”

  Perthen’s face twisted with rage. “I’ll die before I do that.”

  “It won’t be just you dying. Lots of innocents will too.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Rome just stared at him and waited.

  “I’ll grant you one other option: Pass on by. Go around. I won’t trouble you, if you don’t trouble me. It will be hard going for you, with nothing to eat. But you’re a living legend, so maybe you’ll make it. You have your little battle and I’ll wait here and laugh as Kasai crushes you. Could be Kasai will welcome new allies.”

  Calmly, Rome said, “You are a fool.”

  “What did you say?” Perthen hissed.

  “If you think you can ally with Kasai and escape what’s coming, you’re a fool. You’ll die and so will all your people.”

  “No,” Perthen said, his hands balling into fists. “A fool would fall at your feet as you demand. A fool would hand his kingdom over to you.”

  “Kasai destroyed an entire plateau to take revenge on one of the gods who built the prison. Every last person in Veragin is dead. Even the flies and the rats are dead. But that’s nothing. It’s going to get much worse. Be a real king and do what’s right for your people, for all people, before it’s too late.”

  “Oh no!” Perthen said mockingly. He waved his arms. “Save us, mighty Wulf Rome. Save us from the darkness.”

  “Enough of this,” Rome said, showing anger for the first time. “We have far to travel yet and we’ve wasted too much time here already. I ask you again: What do you want?”

  “Good,” Perthen replied. “Finally we get down to it. I thought you would never stop talking. It’s simple, really. I want you to submit.”

  “What?” Tairus said, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “Submit. Turn your army over to me. We’ll march to the pass and defeat Kasai. Simple as that.”