by David Drake
“So what? We revel in our time? Let the future burn?”
“I will not give up,” Abel said. He made a fist, tapped it against a bedpost. “I know how to fight.”
“That’s not all you know how to do,” she said to him in a whisper. “Now one more time before breakfast.”
She tugged at his arm to pull him down, back into bed.
At least some choices a man must make were perfectly obvious.
2
Awul-alwaha
475 Post Tercium
Ruslan Kerensky had no intention of ending up like his cousin Rostov: slain and left for flitterdon fodder on a losing battlefield in the rice paddies of the Farmers. For one thing, Kerensky considered himself cut from different cloth than Rostov. He was not a warrior. He had long known this about himself. But since the very definition of a man for the Blaskoye was warrior, he’d had to ease his way carefully into a position of power. The solution, he found, was religion.
So Kerensky became a holy man, a speaker for the Blaskoye god Taub.
There was a tradition of holy men within his clan, but such leadership was hereditary, passing from father to son. Kerensky’s father was no holy man, and in any case he barely acknowledged his son’s existence.
So, as with so many things, Kerensky had carved a place for himself any way he could. The most powerful of holy men belonged to the Blaskoye Council of Law-givers, a group Kerensky knew he must be admitted to if he did not want to end up a powerless monk living in a dirty cave in the Table Lands. Some on the Council had stood in his way.
Several of those same men had found themselves caught in difficult situations with other men or with women who were not one of their wives. These had stepped down in disgrace. They were the lucky ones. The more stubborn found themselves dead.
Taub was a harsh, demanding god, and Kerensky knew he was Taub’s instrument. He’d never wavered in that belief. And because of it, he was permitted many things for which he would have ordered a man stoned.
As Taub’s chosen, he considered himself a politician above all, a worker of the god’s will, and always tried to put himself in the right place at the right time. While his cousin Rostov had gathered the Redlander tribes into a single army by force of conquest and coerced negotiations that could have but one outcome, Kerensky had been the man behind the scenes who made the new Blaskoye union into a workable system of rule. To be able to turn clan ties and factionalism into a state was a great feat, and Kerensky, along with his now considerable body of acolytes, disciples, and warrior-priests, had done it.
Now he was the will of the Council, for all intents and purposes, and he’d made it into a true instrument of Taub’s will.
Taub demanded unity.
The Redlander tribes had spent hundreds of years at one another’s throats, hating each other more than they hated the Farmers. But now Rostov was gone and Kerensky assumed overall leadership. The Blaskoye union was an inheritance he didn’t intend to squander. Besides, someone had to pull the splintering tribes together after the crushing defeat the Blaskoye suffered in the Treville invasion, and Kerensky knew he was the man for the task.
But never during his rise through the ranks of the Blaskoye had Kerensky heard Taub’s voice directly. That had recently changed. One day not long after Kerensky consolidated his position, an emissary had arrived with a strange gift. The emissary was a dirty man of questionable clan who grubbed a living by trading with the Farmers of Ingres. He sold them broken slaves and unwanted daughters (allegedly to become serfs or house servants—the hypocritical Farmers denied they kept slaves) in exchange for gunpowder, shot, and Delta wood for making bows.
But it wasn’t the emissary, but the emissary’s message that mattered.
He presented to Kerensky what he claimed was a means of communicating directly with Taub. He claimed it was a lost relic that allowed its user to hear Taub’s voice.
“I found this in a sacred spring near the Escarpment, Law-giver,” said the man. “A hand reached up from the water, and I heard the voice of Taub—it was terrible, like the wind—telling me to bring it to you. He said I was to take it to the holiest of the Blaskoye, and I knew that to be you, Law-giver.”
The thing was a small white stone. Flat. It was completely smooth, polished to a dull sheen. He’d found it impossible to scratch even with a metal knife. Yet it was merely the size of a wafer that could be encircled by thumb and forefinger.
So he’d taken it, listened to the emissary’s instructions, supposedly delivered by Taub. He heard the man’s request for compensation.
Laughed.
What nonsense!
He’d had the man imprisoned. As he’d suspected, a few firecoals to the feet had brought forth the whole story.
There had been no sacred spring. No voice of Taub. The disk had been given to the man by a priest at the Ingres border from whom he bought gunpowder. The priest claimed that it had come from Lindron, that it was a stone taken from the tabernacle of Zentrum, and that whoever possessed it would have power over the priests of Zentrum.
He’d offered to sell it to the emissary for a dozen slaves he could trade to an Ingres plantation. When the emissary had balked, the priest came down in his asking price. When the emissary laughed at even this, the priest had made it a condition of his sale of the gunpowder that the emissary take the stone as well. Take it and deliver it to Awul-alwaha. The trader had planned to toss the stone away, of course, but decided to try its magic first. He’d followed instructions, place the stone in his mouth.
His mind had expanded to fill the world. Taub spoke.
At that point, he knew the stone was real, and he knew he had to take it to a true holy man.
The man couldn’t explain it further, no matter how hard Kerensky’s men beat him.
After the vision, the conviction began to take root that something might be gotten for the wafer stone after all. He’d imagined a gift of daks, or even slaves.
What he hadn’t imagined was that the stone would cost him his life. Obviously the man couldn’t go walking around with knowledge of a true object of power. When Kerensky thought that he had extracted all the information he could from the man, he ordered him executed.
After that, Kerensky followed the instructions the man had given him.
Why not? The reluctant emissary of Taub had been quite convincing.
Kerensky found that the disk fit easily into the upper portion of his mouth.
He pushed it upward with his thumb into the curve of his upper palate.
There was a moment of paralysis. He couldn’t remove the thumb. He could not blink.
Then a flash of light so painful he cried out.
More flashes before his eyes. More pain.
Then, as quickly as they had come, the pain and lights were gone.
So was the paralysis. Kerensky collapsed to the floor of his tent. After some moments regaining his composure, he pulled himself to his feet, shook his head.
It wasn’t over.
The lights returned, dancing before his eyes. No matter which way he turned his head, they were still there.
They are in my mind, he reasoned. They would move if they were actually before me. This was some sort of hallucination. Perhaps the stone was dusted with some sort of drug.
Then came a voice dry and crisp as sand blown over sandstone, a whisper that was also, somehow, a roar.
Even though he’d never heard it before, Kerensky knew that voice.
Taub spoke.
All doubt vanished.
You and your clan have been chosen among all the peoples to rule the world. I am strong. I will open a path for you. I will give you victory.
I will give you the Valley and its people as your subjects for generation upon generation.
All you must do, Law-giver, is go and take them.
I, Taub, command you: raise the horde!
PART EIGHT
The Campaign
The Present
1
&nb
sp; Fort Tamarak
Progar District
476 Post Tercium
“I’ve had the cannons destroyed,” von Hoff said apologetically. “The chaplaincy prelate told me it had to be done. The man’s going to be district high priest after we take this place. You don’t argue with a priest of that standing or you’ll soon find yourself commanding the lighthouse garrison in Fyrpahatet.”
“I understand,” Abel said, and he did. Von Hoff was trying to protect him and the Third from any further incrimination in sacrilege for the deliberate use of nishterlaub items. The chaplaincy was only a small unit attached to Corps command, but it wielded great influence. Its priests were all appointed by the Abbot himself, and they were not afraid to use the Abbot’s name if they believed heresy was afoot. Enforcing Edict and the will of the Abbot of Lindron was the chaplain’s prime duty, not kowtowing to a mere general. The chaplain-prelate had authority to override the Corps commander himself in ecclesiastical matters.
In the Land, everything was an ecclesiastical matter.
Landry would be disappointed that his new toys had been taken away from him, that was for sure. But Abel knew that Landry was working on another idea of his—an idea that had been suggested by a comment from Abel—a comment that Abel had relayed from Center.
“You’ve heard the rumors of what’s been going on up here. Nishterlaub methods, nishterlaub weapons. Imagine those captured volley guns bent into a circle. Eight chambers. And maybe not fired all at once and by a single fuse, but one at a time.”
“Each chamber with its own firing cap!” Landry had immediately seen the implications. “Or no cap at all, and we finally find a way to combine cartridge and cap together.”
“But no nishterlaub use of metal for us,” Abel said. “I’ve already stood next to the fire when one heretic burned. I don’t want to smell another.”
“Yes, sir,” Landry said, frowning—but musing on the problem, working it over in his mind.
They’d moved the Corps headquarters to Fort Tamarak, with its magisterial view of the River Valley for leagues to the north and south. Von Hoff had abided here for nearly two weeks, reshuffling the forces at his command. His main thought was to rebuild his shattered mounted force however he could. He’d sent back to Cascade for more beasts.
They’d lost over half their men and donts. Colonel Kanagawa, the cavalry regiment leader, had somehow survived the charge up Sentinel and remained in command.
“It wasn’t Kanagawa that gave the thrice-damned order, anyway,” von Hoff said. “Although the fact that he followed it is problematic enough. He knew what would happen.” Von Hoff rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I have no one else ready, however. Kanagawa will have to do.”
The one who did order the charge has paid for it with his life, Abel thought.
General Josiah Saxe had been buried on the Sentinel hillside beside the bodies of those who had ridden to their deaths in the charge.
Although the prelate had advised it, von Hoff had refused to order mass executions of the Progar prisoners. Yet, his argument was that if the enemy knew surrender would mean a sentence of death with no appeal, all of Progar would fight till the bitter end. Many more Guardian lives might be lost in such conditions.
“But surrender does mean death with no appeal,” the prelate had said to von Hoff within Abel’s hearing. “That is the purpose of the expedition, after all.”
“Let us conquer, and then we will execute them in our own good time, Prelate,” von Hoff answered. “It should be done efficiently, with as little suffering as we can manage.”
“Yes, I agree with that.”
So the matter was closed for now. The prisoners of war were being held in the dead-end caves of Mount Sentinel, caverns sealed by ancient technology to allow no tunneling, no escape. The only way out was the single opening, which was kept guarded.
Quarter rations were issued to the prisoners daily, and some of the men begrudged them even that. What was the point of feeding them? They were going to die anyway. Abel nipped Third Division grumbling in the bud with a few strategic punishments, but it was rife in the other brigades. He, too, sometimes wondered what the point was. But to kill a man by starving him was a different order of cruelty than a long-drop hanging, even though the ultimate outcome was the same.
The first news from von Hoff’s reconstituted cavalry was not good. Kanagawa entered von Hoff’s headquarters at Sentinel while Abel was delivering a report.
“We moved up the road a good five leagues, General. Marshy ground, very marshy.” Kanagawa’s face was doleful in the best of times. At the moment, his scowl made him look devastated. “There’s a large lake to the east. The Road runs west of it, between that lake and the River.”
The lake is the primary source of protein for the inhabitants on this side of the River, Center said. Observe:
Instantly Abel was soaring over the landscape, traversing in an instant the distance that had taken the mounted force a day to travel. The lake appeared as a gash of blue below him.
It’s long and not very wide.
Precisely. It is an oxbow lake, a meander of the River that got cut off when the main current changed course. Now it is extensively farmed for fish. At the northern end are man-made rocky structures that I observed while making my survey from orbit.
That was over a hundred and fifty years ago.
Physical characteristics do not often change in the Land, as you know, Center said. The structures are hatcheries for various gene-modified Earth species of fish, the primary species being trout.
Earth species? You mean the Earth? What do they eat?
The indigenous species of this planet have a compatible protein structure for consumption by Earth vertebrate species. The fish eat insectoids for the most part. How did you think humans have survived on Duisberg? You are, after all, a species from Earth as well.
I see your point.
Look below and see the great meander in the River. This entire peninsula is marsh. But there is solid ground for nearly a half league between the lake, which is known, appropriately, as Fish Lake, and the River. There is also solid ground on its eastern side, although not as much, between the lake and the slopes of Mount Manahatet.
That big bump to the north?
Yes, that big bump to the north, said Center dryly. It is an interesting formation. The mountain is an ancient reef created by a shallow sea approximately sixty-two point seven million years ago. The mountain was not thrust up. It began as a hard spot in a plateau and the Valley has eroded around it. It is composed of compacted limestone and concretized conglomerate and likely has an extensive natural cave system within it, complete with underground lakes and waterfalls.
Not much good for us at the moment.
But good for the pre-Collapse humans of Duisberg. Indications are it was a vacation destination point for settlers in other parts of the Valley, a geological attraction of great beauty. A principal northern settlement was situated atop Manahatet. Although it was almost entirely disassembled by the Gateway virus, ruins along the mountaintop are discernible even now. With the mountains nearby, the economy of what is now presently called Progar in all likelihood revolved around tourism. Perhaps it will again someday, if we are successful.
Maybe not the best part of advanced civilization to bring back, growled Raj. But it would mean freedom from want, which is not a bad thing.
We will not bring back anything, of course. That is Zentrum’s basic mistake: top-down, hierarchical thinking. Civilization wants to grow, in a manner of speaking. We will simply remove its impediments.
Like taking down God himself.
Zentrum is not God.
Yes, I know. You’ve told me often enough.
Let us hope it does not take a catastrophic planetary asteroid strike or an unexpected plague to prove it.
Kanagawa was still making his report. “We ran into skirmishers about halfway up the lakeside. We chased them, but then we slammed into their mounted unit. We ha
d a little scrum, and I think we got the better of them, but we had to turn back. I also sent some boys south and around the other side, and they got farther north.”
“What did they find, Colonel?” von Hoff asked.
“Looks like every militia in Progar is at the north end. There’s a plain of good hard ground north of the River, and that’s where they’re bivouacked.”
“Did we get any estimation of numbers?”
Kanagawa looked down sheepishly. “The boys I sent weren’t too good at figuring. My mistake not to send a more seasoned officer. What I did get from them was that the camp went on for about a league or more.”
Estimated twenty-five thousand nine hundred militia troops, Center said.
“General von Hoff, I’d put that at twenty-six thousand troops,” Abel said briskly.
“Oh, you would, would you, Dashian? And what makes you say that?”
“A quick calculation, sir. Very likely off by a considerable degree.”
“I’d say you’re pulling that figure out of your ass, young colonel,” said Kanagawa.
Abel turned, caught von Hoff’s eyes. “Believe me, General.”
Von Hoff stared at him for a moment, then he nodded. “I do believe you, Colonel Dashian,” he said. He turned back to Kanagawa. “So it appears we’re up against about one and a half times our numbers.”
“If that’s so, it gets worse, General.”
“How does it get worse?”
“We saw some smoke to the east, lots of it. Likely a military camp. They may have that little village at the base of the mountain shut up with soldiers.”
The village is called Isham. It is capable of housing eight to ten thousand. More, if supply lines are well established.
So we could have over thirty thousand men against us?
It’s a militia and mercenary army, said Raj. That’s a different order of beast than the Guardian Corps. I’d call this almost a fair fight.
“So it looks like we meet them at . . .” Von Hoff turned to one of his cartographers. “What’s that place’s name, lieutenant?”