Heirs of the Enemy

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “You defend rather well for a street urchin,” quipped Tamora.

  “I’m sorry,” Donil retorted with a grin. “Has the spar begun yet?”

  Tamora suddenly leaped again, his staff extended before him and aimed for Donil’s stomach. Donil jumped to the side and batted Tamora’s staff downward. As Tamora’s staff struck the ground, Donil pivoted away from his adversary, bringing his staff up as he turned in a complete circle. Tamora quickly brought his staff up, but he was too late to block the blow. Donil’s staff struck Tamora across his shoulder blades. Tamora staggered forward a step and immediately pivoted, bringing his staff around at chest level in a vicious sweeping attack. Donil dropped into a squat and shoved the end of his staff into Tamora’s left shin. Tamora faltered as the pain shot up his leg. Donil swiftly raised his staff high, bringing it up between Tamora’s arms and striking the staff out of his opponent’s hands. Donil slid his hands along the length of his staff and reversed its motion, sending the other end of the staff into Tamora’s right leg. Tamora tumbled to the ground, and Donil swiftly rose to his feet and extended his staff to rest upon Tamora’s throat. Tamora’s eyes grew large as he raised both hands in front of him.

  “You win,” Tamora said grudgingly. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “Forshire taught me,” grinned Donil as he extended a helping hand to Tamora. “He taught all of us.”

  Tamora grasped Donil’s hand and rose to his feet. He brushed himself off and then retrieved his staff from the ground. “All of you? Are you trying to tell me that some of the others in your group are also good fighters?”

  “They all are,” answered Donil. “Forshire demands it, and not just with staffs. Every man is expected to be competent with each weapon, mounted or on foot. One of my tasks is to ensure the competency of my men, and you can be assured that I am not lax in my pursuit of perfection.”

  “I mean no disrespect,” Tamora said sincerely, “but I find it hard to believe that a group of criminals can be turned into an effective unit.”

  “Your attitude appears to be shared by many in our homeland,” smiled Donil. “Forshire is not one of them, but if it is any consolation, we didn’t believe it ourselves at first, either. In the beginning, we hated the daily drills and practices, but now we look forward to them as a way to improve our skills.”

  “Do you mean that you practice every day?” asked Hershey.

  “Every day,” nodded Donil.

  “I can’t imagine our group submitting to such a routine,” commented Tamora. “There would be a mutiny.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Donil, “but the men under Forshire’s command have no choice. You know what the penalty would be for not meeting Forshire’s expectations.”

  “Back to prison.” Tamora nodded as Hershey handed each of the men a bowl of stew. “I can honestly say that I am impressed, Donil. I will try hard not to think of your group the way that others do.”

  “Hello the camp,” called a feminine voice.

  The three colonels turned towards the road and saw two people approaching. A woman led her horse towards the campsite, and a man followed, holding the reins with one hand while tapping a long staff on the ground with the other. The man had colorful patches over his eyes. Tamora tensed, his hand slowly moving towards his staff. Donil looked at Tamora and gently shook his head.

  “They are just travelers,” Donil said softly. “Invite them into the camp. Perhaps we can learn something from them.”

  Tamora hesitated, but eventually he nodded. “Be careful of your words,” he warned softly. Rising to his feet, he called out to the travelers, “Welcome travelers. Come and share our meal as humble as it is.”

  Sheri was the first to reach the camp. She smiled at the three men and then tied her horse to a tree. When Wylan arrived, she took his reins and tied them to the tree. She then led him to a log to sit on.

  “I am Sheri,” she said cheerily to the three men. “My brother’s name is Wylan. Thank you for sharing this camp with us.”

  “I am Donil,” offered one of the men. “The others are Tamora and Hershey. Is your brother blind?”

  “He is.” Sheri nodded. “He was injured in the Great War.”

  “So he used to be a warrior?” asked Donil. “That must have been exciting.”

  “I am blind,” scowled Wylan, “but not mute. I can talk for myself.”

  “Be nice, Wylan,” retorted Sheri. “These men mean no slight to you. They have opened up their camp to us.”

  Wylan sighed loudly. “I apologize. I guess I dwell too much on my infirmity.”

  “No harm,” Donil said in a friendly manner. “Would you like a bowl of stew?”

  “I would,” Wylan replied. “It smells good.”

  Donil rose and took a bowl of stew to Wylan. He held it next to Wylan’s hand and let the blind man take it for himself. “Where are you heading?”

  “Danver Shores,” answered Sheri. “We have a cousin there who is a fisherman. Wylan is hoping that he might find some work, mending nets or something else he can do without sight. Where are you heading?”

  “To Tagaret,” answered Tamora before the others could speak. “We have not been down this road before. Is it safe to travel?”

  “It is,” replied Sheri. “Bandits are a thing of the past. No one will bother you between here and Tagaret.”

  “No bandits?” asked Donil. “Is that because the army patrols it often?”

  ”Often?” laughed Sheri. “The army doesn’t patrol it at all. The Targa army doesn’t even have enough men to man the walls of Tagaret. They certainly don’t send them out patrolling.”

  Tamora grew intrigued with the conversation. “I have never been to Tagaret. Are the walls so massive that they need so many men to man them?”

  “The walls are average,” shrugged Sheri. “It is just that the army never fully recovered from the Great War.”

  “They are lucky to have six-thousand men in the Targa army now,” interjected Wylan. “It is not what it used to be.”

  “Six-thousand?” echoed Tamora. “Surely, you are mistaken?”

  “No,” said Sheri. “Wylan’s estimate is accurate. He still has friends in the army and they all complain that the king hasn’t bothered to increase the number of soldiers.”

  “It is because the kingdom is broke,” scowled Wylan. “The Great War devastated all of the provinces. Cordonia doesn’t have any more than six-thousand men, either. Even the once mighty Lanoir cannot claim any more than twenty-thousand men.” Wylan sighed loudly. “The days of the great armies are gone forever.”

  The three colonels looked at each other in surprise.

  “It could be worse, Wylan,” soothed Sheri. “Look at how bad Sordoa came out of the war. They haven’t even repaired the walls to Trekum yet, and their farms are just now beginning to yield crops. The war was hard on everyone, not just you.”

  “Not just me,” Wylan agreed bitterly. “Most of my friends are dead, but sometimes I think that they are the lucky ones. They fought hard and died bravely. From what I hear from the friends I have left, the new soldiers aren’t worth spit. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them ran if they were ever called into battle. It just isn’t right,” he continued, his voice getting louder and more bitter. “Why should the brave die so easily, and the cowards survive to live on?”

  “Enough talk of the war,” Sheri said decisively as she put down her bowl of stew and rose to her feet. “I am going to bed you down a ways from the fire so that our talking doesn’t bother you. You need your rest.”

  Sheri walked over to Wylan and placed his bowl on the ground. She helped him to his feet and guided him to the far end of the clearing and proceeded to make a bed for him. Back at the fire, the three colonels moved closer to one another.

  “Did you hear those numbers?” asked Hershey. “We will be attacking with ten-to-one superior odds. This war will be over quickly.”

  “If the numbers are accurate,” cautioned Tamora. “
We will be entering Tagaret before returning home. I want to see this army with my own eyes.”

  “I agree,” stated Donil, “but I am glad that we ran into these two. They will provide a great deal of information.”

  “Not to mention that the woman is a keeper,” grinned Hershey.

  “That, too,” chuckled Donil. Turning more serious, he asked “What cover story can we use to hide our ignorance of this Great War?”

  “We know so little of this land,” sighed Tamora. “I suppose we could claim to have lived in isolation somewhere. Perhaps we could be from the mountains. The map of Alcea that I saw showed a large mountain range north of here.”

  “Miners,” suggested Hershey. “Some of the miners in Candanar stay up in the hills for years at a time.”

  “Miners it is,” agreed Tamora. “Let’s see if we can learn more from the woman when she returns. What we learn from her will be valuable when we run into others.”

  “There is something else bothering me,” Donil said. “If Alcea is so poor, why are we attacking it?”

  “I do not get involved in such things,” replied Tamora. “As a soldier, I just attack what my superiors tell me to attack.”

  “I am not suggesting otherwise,” mused Donil, “but I can’t help wondering about the reasons for such decisions.”

  “I suspect that there is great wealth in Alcea,” offered Hershey, “but the country is devastated from the Great War. It will take time to recover.”

  “That makes sense,” agreed Tamora. “Look at the travelers we just met. In Despair, a blind man would be begging for food while he waits to die, but Wylan appears fit and healthy. He is even hoping to find a job. If Hershey is correct, it makes sense to strike now before they rebuild their armies.”

  “That is a plausible theory,” conceded Donil, “but I will continue to seek the real answer to that question, if for no other reason than to amuse myself. I look forward to interrogating those two over the next few days.”

  “You will have only tonight to question them,” stated Tamora. “Remember that we will only travel five leagues a day on this journey. We must match the rate of our armies. Those two will not want to stop early each night.”

  “They might,” mused Donil. “I think the traveling tires Wylan. Sheri was eager to get him to bed early. Perhaps he suffered more during the war than just blindness.”

  Hershey frowned. “Why do we want them to travel with us?”

  “They are perfect cover,” Donil pointed out. “If we meet anyone on the road, Sheri will talk to them until they are blue in the face. As long as we don’t reveal much about ourselves to her, we will appear as true Alceans in her company. Besides, we will need more than one night to pick her brain.”

  “I concur,” agreed Tamora. “She can tell us what to expect when we arrive in Tagaret. Nothing stands out more than a person unfamiliar with his surroundings. A local guide is extremely valuable.”

  Chapter 14

  Remembrances

  Colonel Kerk and Colonel Rotti camped on the banks of the Chi River in southern Lanoir. Not far away was an abandoned boathouse.

  “It is large enough to hide supplies in,” commented Colonel Kerk. “Mark it on the map, and let General Tauman’s men investigate it.”

  “Marked,” replied Colonel Rotti as he turned away from the boathouse and gazed at the lush fields across the river. “This is a rich land. If the rest of Lanoir is like this region, we will never have anyone go hungry again.”

  “I heard General Tauman and General Franz talking about Lanoir. They say it is a dozen times the size of Aerta, and a decent part of it is good for farming.”

  “Hello the camp,” called a distant voice.

  The colonels turned quickly to find the source of the voice. A young couple rode double on a horse that had seen better days, and they were heading straight for the camp.

  “What do we do?” Colonel Rotti asked softly.

  “We do nothing,” answered Colonel Kerk. “We are merely travelers. Act naturally, and they will suspect nothing.”

  Kerk raised a hand and waved to the young couple. They waved back. The men watched as the couple rode into the camp and dismounted.

  “I am called Bin-lu,” the man said as he bowed respectfully, “and my new wife is Rut-ki. We are traveling to Barouk and would like to join your camp this evening if we may.”

  Kerk sensed Rotti tensing next to him, and he turned his head and whispered softly. “He does not mean the empire. There is a city in Lanoir called Barouk.”

  Rotti sighed with relief and relaxed. Kerk turned back towards Bin-lu and smiled broadly. “You are welcome in this camp. Let us meet your lovely bride.”

  Bin-lu’s face split in a huge grin as he turned and ushered Rut-ki towards the men. Once she was on her way, Bin-lu took the old horse down to the river. Rut-ki approached the two men and bowed respectfully. She straightened and smiled shyly.

  “You are most generous to share your camp with us. It is greatly appreciated. May I prepare a meal for you?”

  Kerk’s eyes widened as he smiled and nodded. The thought of a native meal intrigued the colonel. “That would be wonderful.”

  Rut-ki opened her pack and began to place an assortment of tins near the fire. The colonels watched with curiosity as the woman detached two rabbits from her belt and drew her knife to prepare the meat.

  “Ah,” Bin-lu said cheerily as he approached the fire, “you are letting Rut-ki prepare the meal. That is a wise choice. She is an excellent cook. You will enjoy this.”

  “Why do you have only one horse, Bin-lu?” asked Kerk.

  “It is all I could afford,” shrugged the Lanoirian. “I am a fisherman, so I do not have a need for a horse, but it is a long way to Barouk, so I spent my money in order that Rut-ki would not have to walk all the way. I will sell the horse when I get home.”

  “And Barouk is home?”

  “Yes, yes,” Bin-lu nodded. “Rut-ki is from Chi. This will be her first trip to Barouk. She is excited.”

  Rut-ki looked up from her chore and nodded vigorously. “I have never even been to Ongchi. This will be an exciting journey.”

  “We have never been to Ongchi, either,” commented Kerk. “I wonder what it will be like.”

  “I have been there,” offered Bin-lu. “It is a very large city, the largest in all of Alcea. Many, many people are there. It is the home to the Imperial Palace, and it is the largest port in the world. It is also the home to the Army of Lanoir, or at least what is left of it.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Rotti. “What happened to it?”

  “The Great War,” sighed Bin-lu. “So many men died that the army is only a fraction of what it used to be. War is so stupid. We used to be the country of Lanoir. Now we are the Province of Lanoir. There is very little difference for the people, except for all the dead soldiers.”

  “I am glad that the emperor died,” Rut-ki said angrily. “Lanoirians are not a warlike people. He had no right to march our people off to war.”

  Tears formed in Rut-ki’s eyes, and she rose and dashed to the river. The Zarans watched her in confusion.

  “You must forgive Rut-ki,” Bin-lu said sadly. “Her father and uncle died in the war. The ironic thing is that they favored the war at the time. They swallowed the grand dreams of Emperor Hanchi along with thousands of others. They were going to march north and claim the whole world as their own. It didn’t work out as they thought it would. The Sordoans ran away and gave their country to the emperor, but the Targans hid behind their city walls. The world has not been the same since.” Bin-lu glanced at the two Zarans questioningly. “You must be Cordonians? Your people were spared the war.”

  “We are,” smiled Kerk. “We only heard bits and pieces of the Great War. Your insight is interesting.”

  “I did not serve myself,” shrugged Bin-lu. “I was too young, but I have heard all the stories.”

  “How were the Lanoirians defeated?” asked Rotti.

  �
�Lanoirians are not fighters,” answered Bin-lu. “The only reason we defeated Sordoa was because the Sordoans are cowards. When they saw the emperor’s army coming, they abandoned the city and fled. There was no one to fight, so the Lanoirians continued northward. If the emperor had been content with that, Lanoir would be twice as big today, but he was greedy. He continued to march his army all the way to Tagaret, but the army could not take it. Farmers and fishermen cannot walk a thousand leagues and then battle for a walled city. Many turned around and came home. Others died along the way. When Emperor Hanchi reached Tagaret, his army had already dwindled. The Targans, even though they only have a small army, refused to surrender.”

  “Was there a siege then?” asked Rotti.

  “There was a siege,” nodded Bin-lu, “but that did not go well, either. In a siege the army is supposed to stop food from getting into the city, but it was Emperor Hanchi’s army that was starving. There were massive desertions every night until eventually the Lanoirian army surrendered and asked the Targans for food.”

  “That is absurd,” remarked Kerk. “Why didn’t he just turn around and move his army to where there was food?”

  “As I said,” Bin-lu replied, “Lanoirians are not warriors. It was when the emperor decided to break the siege and go elsewhere that his army surrendered. His people were tired of war. The Lanoirians will never fight again. We have an army, but it is only to quell domestic disturbances. We don’t want to ever fight again, and we don’t care who rules the country as long as we are left in peace.”

  Bin-lu stopped talking when Rut-ki arrived at the fire. She knelt down silently and began preparing the meal once again.

  * * * *

  The celebration in Despair had ended, and the grounds of the Imperial Palace seemed deserted. Clint meandered through the gardens for a while and soon found himself seated on his favorite bench near the waterfront. He stared out at the Sea of Tears and pondered the mystery of the emperor’s note. If he followed the command to tell no one of the emperor’s predicament, it would be impossible for him to rescue the emperor’s family, as he had no idea where they were kept. He sighed wearily. Besides the impossible nature of the quest, he had a large question in his mind about whether he should even become involved in it. On a personal level, justice screamed out to him to do something to free the man’s family, but as an Alcean, the emperor was his sworn enemy. Why should he get involved?