by Robert Brady
“What do you mean, spoke with her?” I pressed her. “Some kind of magic or séance or something?”
The naturally surprised-looking face of an Aschire, the perpetually-raised, purple eyebrows and the wide, staring eyes, looked even more surprised. “I do not know, say – ants,” she told me, “I spoke to her in Conflu, to the West of the Safe River. She did not die in the tower at Galnesh Eldador. She survived.”
“What?” It was like my heart stopped for a moment.
A squad of Wolf Soldiers was approaching with my horse, Blizzard. The giant, white stallion pawed the earth – he didn’t like to be handled by anyone but me, and battle always excited him. If Lee was close, I could be on my horse –
Nina nodded. “She used Central Communications the same way Angron did, and she fled to Conflu. From there she pressed East, and found Wisex.”
Wisex was my Andaron city to the south, at the center of the Black Lake. It bordered Conflu, but the Confluni were the most xenophobic people on Fovea. It was a crime punishable by death just to set foot on their land.
I’d done it, with the Free Legion. Now apparently my daughter had, as well.
“Where –“ I began, and had to swallow. The relief I didn’t know I’d feel was washing over me. I felt the tears welling in my eyes, my nose starting to run. She was alive. My daughter – my princess!
After so many wins that were turning out to be losses, it was hard not to just fall to my knees.
Nina took a step closer. “She could not have come in to the battle,” she said, “and she could not wait. I arranged for her to take a fast ship to Thera. She’ll be on her way to Galnesh Eldador after that.”
I’d have taken Nina in a bear hug but, you know – the bloody armor thing. Also the Aschire really don’t like to be touched, and Nina wasn’t a member of the household any more.
This girl had been like one of my kids for thirteen years. I’d held her sobbing and lonely on her first night in the palace. Now she’d married my son – who with the Mark of the Conqueror on his cheek looked almost exactly like me. So chalk one up on daughters marrying their fathers.
“Nina,” I managed.
When you know someone well enough, sometimes you don’t have to say what you don’t know how to say.
She nodded. “I’m away,” she told me. “Eric and his sisters, your daughters, are for Volkhydro.”
Volkhydro was one of the Fovean nations that the race of Men populated. I’d conquered its entire shoreline. “You’re going to have a hard time getting in there,” I informed her.
She raised and already-raised eyebrow. “Pfft,” she said. “You forget who trained me.”
Karel of Stone, my Free Legion ally. My wife, Shela. Me.
“Don’t kill my soldiers,” I told her. “I won’t be up there handing out pardons any time soon.”
She nodded. She looked into my eyes, and then she turned on her heels and was gone. Blizzard nuzzled my shoulder from behind me while the Wolf Soldier guard waited for their orders. In Chatoos, the surrendering soldiers were filing out of the city. Andoron was also a nation of Men. I planned to let the city people go out into the plains if they wanted to, or to swear fealty to Eldador and remain in the city. If they turned out like the Volkhydrans, then most would stay. Surprising how people care a lot less about what powerful, rich guy says, “I rule you,” and a lot more about not disrupting their lives.
Normally a man as heavily armored as I always am would need a lever and fulcrum of some kind to mount a horse the size of Blizzard. I wore Dwarfish armor and, frankly, was a good three inches taller than what most considered a tall man around here. A took a fist full of my stallion’s mane, seated my left foot in the stirrup and hauled myself up into Blizzard’s well-worn saddle. When the way was cleared, I’d ride him into the city in triumph, which is what conquerors have to do in situations like this.
I had a lot to digest.
***
The palace in Chatoos was a lot nicer than I anticipated. It was also, of course, the mirror image of the ones in Hydra, Outpost IX and Outpost X, because they same group built them – the Cheyak. I was actually pretty surprised to see that the one in Hydra wasn’t a city built over the ruins of an old Outpost, like Uman City was. Of course, over a millennium of neglect and then reconstruction had completely changed the rest of both cities, but for whatever reason both palaces had survived.
Geeguh Digatish had surrendered as soon as the palace guard fell. Normally I let these guys go, but the plains tribes have no love for the city people in Andoron. I’d probably be freeing him to die, which was pointless, so my Wolf Soldiers took him into custody.
We’d cut his long, black hair above his ears, and removed the mustachios that hung down to his chest. The latter had been preserved, the ends bound, then hung on the throne room wall opposite the gallery with others like it. Every time the city had changed hands by force, this had happened, and there were enough Andarons among my Wolf Soldiers to continue the tradition.
There were prison cells underneath the palace, and he’d be cooling his heels there until I figured out a better thing to do with him, which was not my priority.
Shela had gone one-on-one with one of my new-found daughters, Chesswaya. At 14 years old and wielding a staff made from a sapling grown around a gem stone, she’d humbled my sorceress wife like an amateur. Shela was stretched out on a four-posted bed in what I was assuming was a royal bedroom.
I could have asked Geeguh, but – you know – locked in a cell.
She stirred under a heavy quilt. That immediately told me, “Not the black mind,” meaning that she hadn’t been so badly damaged in whatever contest had gone on that she was essentially brain-dead. Magical types with the black mind just laid there.
“Lupus?” I heard, behind me.
I recognized Daggonin’s voice and didn’t pull my sword. Unlike my own rooms in Eldador, this one had thick pile carpets on the floor, a couple tables with wood chairs, several couches and pillows scattered on the floor (more in keeping with the Andaron custom of sitting close to the ground).
“Plan on joining the Wolf Soldiers, Colonel?” I asked him without turning.
“My – hrrm! - apologies, your Imperial Majesty,” he corrected himself.
I shrugged it off. Wolf Soldiers called me by my nick-name, Lupus, as if it were a title. My son Vulpe, as Supreme Commander of the Eldadorian Regulars, did the same with his officers. Wolf Soldiers called him, “Vulpe” as well, since he’d rescued his mother from the Bounty Hunter’s guild.
Which reminded me – I needed to do something horrible to them.
“You have a report?” I said. Even I could hear the fatigue in my voice.
Shela made an ‘mmf’ sound and stirred under her comforter again. I sighed and turned.
A squad of Wolf Soldiers in heavy armor stood guard outside of the open door to this room. You never know who the initial sweep of the palace might have missed after you conquered it. I’d been to Groff’s residence in Andurin and seen that hidden passages could exist in places like these. I’d never seen or heard of one in a Cheyak city, but anyone could change anything in 1,100 years.
Daggonin looked me right in the eyes. He wore Eldadorian green, as well as the sleeves and greaves associated with a command. He’d been steadily rising in the ranks of the Regulars since I’d been a Duke and he a lieutenant. Stocky, square-jawed and a face framed with an almost-Andaron moustache, he constantly cleared his throat. It was almost as if the world was too much for him to swallow.
“The city is – brrrhm! - secured,” he said. “We’re setting up an occupying force – brrhm, ha! - and collecting pledges of fealty from the locals.”
“Don’t kill the ones who won’t pledge,” I told him. “Just cut them loose on the plains and let them take their chances with the tribes. It’s not like them to come to the aid of the cities – they might be in a mood to let them pledge.”
For someone – anyone – to join an Andaron tribe, he ha
d to be accepted by every member of the tribe, including all of its animals. It could take years, or it might never happen. When I created the Wolf Riders from the Wet Bellies and the Drifters, I’d started a rogue tribe and was accepted into it by default.
Over a decade later, there were people who thought I wasn’t really an Andaron.
The rules were different for women and children. Andarons might raid for either when one tribe had too many men. Women and children were more like possessions to the Andarons.
Shela was Andaron. I’d married her after being recognized by her brother as an Andaron. She didn’t feel much like a possession to me.
Then there was the issue of my kids.
“Is that all?” I asked him. In the back of my mind I was worrying over Shela.
He shook his head, the moustache wagging. “We’ve captured one of the tribal - brrrhm – chieftains,” he informed me. He looked back over his shoulder, then back at me. “A fat one. If our intelligence is right – brrhm, hrrm - it’s Hungry As a Bull, of the Sure Foot tribe. He’s fat enough to be. When our – hrrm! - light cavalry chased him, his horse died from the – brrhm, ha! - stress of carrying him.”
I nodded. I knew this chieftain. He’d tried to stop me from taking the Black Lake, then accepted me when I gave his people the technology to make their own alcohol. Medicinal alcohol had saved a lot of lives on the plains.
Honestly, I hadn’t expected the resistance I’d seen to my taking the cities. Hungry would know why. “Bring him,” I said.
Daggonin snapped his fingers and a squad of Regulars entered with a fat, bald Andaron dressed in long leather pants, moccasins and smeared war paint. His arms were bound behind his back and there was a rope around his neck, one of the Regulars holding him like a dog on a leash.
Normally we stripped enemy leaders naked and walked them around like this to humiliate them. If you want to break your enemy’s spirit, show him what their leaders were willing to put up with to keep living, after then just asked you to accept death before dishonor.
It wouldn’t work with the Andarons. The Sure Foot were probably already picking a new War Chief as we spoke.
Sweat poured off of Hungry. He hung his head and wouldn’t look at me. His tremendous belly overhung his waist, his hairless pectorals lay on top of that belly. He hadn’t had his mustachios trimmed yet, and their ends lay past his collar bone.
He’s been the leader of the Sure Foot for a long time. The Sure Foot were the oldest of the Andaron tribes. Almost all of the others could point to some ancestor from the Sure Foot.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said to him in Andaron.
Without looking up, he said, “I could say the same.”
I looked to the Regular holding his leash, an Uman. “Release him,” I said.
The Regular took a sidelong look at Daggonin and then obeyed me. I didn’t like that. Vulpe leaving the Regulars on realizing that I had a son older than him had been a real blow to morale. They’d made a real connection to him and probably blamed me for ruining it.
“Leave us,” I said.
“Brrhmm – your Imperial Majesty,” Daggonin began.
You just don’t go leaving the boss alone with someone who had spent the whole day trying to kill him.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. I was still in my armor, I still had my sword. What was he going to do, sit on me?
As one the Regulars and the colonel made a fist over their hearts, turned on their right heel and exited, closing the door behind me. Now it was just Hungry, Shela and I.
“Didn’t want them to see you put that sword in my chest?” Hungry asked me, rubbing his neck.
“Sit,” I said to him.
To my surprise, he picked one of the couches against a wall instead of a pillow. I was glad, because I didn’t want to see him try to get back up off of the floor.
It’s hard to sit in armor. I parked my ass on the corner of a divan facing him, easing down in case the thing couldn’t take my weight or flipped over.
Wouldn’t that be a sight?
“What brought the Sure Foot to the aid of Chatoos?” I asked him.
“You expect me to just tell you?” Hungry countered.
“Want me to turn you over to Shela for a while?” I pressed him. The Andarons loved and feared their Sorceresses. Shela ranked among the best.
I would have said, “The best among them” until I met my daughter.
That brought a pang of urgency about Lee. I’d never been pulled in so many directions before. It’s like I belonged everywhere at once.
His brown eyes flickered to the bed, then back to me. He probably wanted to make some crack about her being out of commission, but didn’t know if it was safe to say it.
“The Usdi Waya united the tribes against you,” he said. “The blond Volkhydran warrior with the black sword.”
Awesome, I thought. Eric was uniting the common people against an oppressive force. Wonder where he learned that from?
“You call him Little Wolf?” I asked. In Andaron, my name was Yonega Waya, or White Wolf. My first thought was that they knew he was my son by Aileen.
“Chesswaya, the Long Manes sorceress, gave him that name when he did his first vision quest,” Hungry said. “That was when we knew your Aschire were going to take the city from the West.”
I nodded. Get an Andaron talking and they’d spill a lot. They had no written language, just an oral tradition. It was in their nature to spread information and to tell stories.
“I’d never known the Andarons to follow a Volkhydran,” I said.
“He showed us the truth of his words,” Hungry said. Finally, he met my eyes. “His sword is much like yours. He is barely a man, but has the skills of a well-worn warrior. We knew he was right – that you would destroy the Andaron ways.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I made a promise before Agtani Chewla was born,” I said, referring to Vulpe’s Andaron name, ‘Clever Fox.’ “My children were raised Andaron. I preserved the ways.”
Hungry slammed his hand down on the couch’s arm. “You lie!” he roared. The poor piece of furniture shook but didn’t break somehow.
“Vulpe led thousands against his own people,” he continued. “He fights with steel swords and spears. He keeps what he takes, not takes what he needs and leaves the rest. He is an Eldadorian and you are an Eldadorian, and now Chatoos is an Eldadorian city.”
Actually, I’d already decided to rename it Charancor – a mix of my name and its.
“I am told that he bears the same mark on his breast as you,” Hungry continued. There was a sly look in his eyes.
Well, I knew that secret wasn’t going to last.
“The people are already calling him the Holy Avenger,” he informed me. He said the title in the Language of Men, not Andaron. “They say that he holds the sword that none can break, and that his enemies are everyone’s enemies.”
In other words, he’s the one who going to save them all.
That poem that an Uman-Chi princess sang last year came back to me.
From Fovea, from Fovea, the Cheyak they are gone,
Struck down for their failing,
To make way for the One.
The One, who walks upon the Earth
The One, who is of War.
The One, who others wait upon
To fight forever more.
My base assumption was that I was ‘the One.’ The whole ‘War being my patron god’ and all of that.
But ‘of War’ could mean a lot of things, and no one was waiting upon me to fight forever more. I was already doing it.
Oh, crap!
Chapter Two
What We Did This For
I turned Hungry as a Bull loose on the plains with a horse and cart. Andarons didn’t really ride around in carts, but I just couldn’t do that to another horse.
In the city, repairs were already underway and trenches were being dug for the dead. We would bury the Eldadorian Regulars and let A
ndarons take care of their own fallen. Most of the residents were swearing their fealty to the Eldadorian Empire rather than take their chances back on the plains.
Everyone was talking about the Holy Avenger. That story was going to grow and nothing was going to stop it. When it was me, conquering three times my numbers in Confluni warriors, I thought it was a pretty amazing phenomenon. When it was aimed at me, and people shut up about it when I was around, it was something else entirely.
And, of course, Eric was now a member of the Free Legion. If I marched an army of 100,000 on my next target and he decided to put himself in front of it, I was going to lose.
No one wasn’t going to give that story credence, if it happened.
Chatoos’ throne room was like all of the other throne rooms in Fovea. A long hall, a carpet down the middle (here they’d torn up some of the white marble and made a rough path with grass down the center). Skylights lit the room, white pillars held up the ceiling, brass-bound wooden doors stood opposite a stone throne raised up on thirteen steps.
I was going to have to mount that thing, again, and hold court. We had to put a government in place to hold things here while we went marching off to Talen and conquered it. We were getting close to the end of the War months, it was a long slog to Andoron’s other walled city.
Another thing this place had in common with the other cities that I’d conquered was that it was once an Outpost for the Cheyak, and that meant that it had an un-pillaged treasure room, which was what I actually wanted.
We’d already sacked the ones at Hydrus (formally Hydra), Lupor (formerly Kor), Uman City, Luparran (formerly Kattaran) and, of course, Outpost X. Each one had provided a treasure-trove not just of gold, but of artifacts, lost tomes and explanations of mysteries such as what happened to the Cheyak. In the case of Uman City, we learned that some Cheyak had survived The Blast that we thought had killed them all.