Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Asking them to come back to help Brindisi, well, Darius had no idea what they would make of that. He could tell them his plan, but he had no way to make promises at this point, and frankly he couldn’t blame Tunheim if he staunchly refused to go. Darius had spent various moments praying over the past three days that his friend would consent, though, just because he desperately needed all the help he could get.

  Even after eighteen months there were still signs that an army had plowed through here. The woods on either side had felled trees and stacks of abandoned, half-ruined siege engines gathering moss. They’d been pushed aside enough to keep the road clear then abandoned to time. It felt strange to see them thus, like monuments to his victory, but also a sad reminder of the other army’s crushing defeat. Darius felt better after they’d passed them all, leaving them safely out of sight.

  They weren’t able to leave the forest before the light failed them, of course, and Darius hadn’t expected to. They found a patch in the woods, clearly used by caravans and travelers, that had a firepit carved into the ground and a clear stream running nearby. Pulling in, Darius gratefully dropped out of Sohrab’s saddle, glad to have his own feet on the ground after being on top of the stallion for the past ten hours.

  Without need of much discussion, they split up camp chores, which somehow ended up with Tolk cooking dinner, Roshan assisting. Darius had two minds of that, because as far as he knew, Roshan knew squat about cooking. But Tolk gave him only the simplest of tasks. It might not look pretty, but Darius had faith it would at least turn out edible.

  Dinner cooked in the pot over the fire and everyone gratefully stretched out, propped up on saddles, letting their legs be horizontal for a while. Roshan actually lounged on his stomach, propped up on elbows, deliberately arching his back to ease the cramps there. If Darius didn’t suspect he’d break something, he would have tried the same thing, as his back did feel like almost cramping. Sands, he really had grown soft in the past year and a half, hadn’t he? Or was this old age creeping up on him?

  Seeing he had his attention, Roshan turned his head and asked, “We’ve been so busy the past few days, I haven’t had a chance to ask any questions.”

  “Go ahead,” Darius invited.

  “I thought the Roran barbarians were Brindisi’s allies? Didn’t you tell me they were part of the force you defeated in the Dakan Pass Battle?”

  “We refer to the Roran barbarians as a whole,” Darius explained, “but that’s not actually the case. There’re anywhere between seven to nine tribes at a time, clans if you will, that are in a constant state of flux. Sometimes they conquer each other, sometimes they join through marriage, sometimes a new clan will be formed, but they’ve never been united as a nation. Not in any sense of the word. The best Brindisi has ever been able to do is make agreements with one or two of the clans, and in several cases, we actually hired them the way you would a mercenary. That’s why King Farhan was so set on me going into the northern territory and conquering them. He was tired of the threat they represented.”

  Roshan nodded thoughtfully. “Now this makes more sense. Then, do we know which clan has invaded?”

  “It can’t be just one clan,” Darius denied. “They wouldn’t have the force necessary to truly threaten Brindisi, not even in the Sovran’s weakened state. I estimate at least three, likely more. Unfortunately I don’t have a firm number on that. It wasn’t in Baros’s letter.” Likely for the reason the man might not know. From a distance, the different clans were hard to tell apart. Even a veteran spy would be hesitant to claim anything until he got up close and personal.

  Kaveh shifted so he was more on his side, taking advantage of this open sharing by asking his own question. “How did they enter?”

  “There’s three ways in,” Darius’s mind cast back to terrain and battles he hadn’t thought about in years, “and each have their own problems. They can go around the mountains, via the Kashan Sea, and enter through that way. Their boats are meant for fishing, not for more than that, so it would be quite the feat to get any real force moved that way. I’ve only seen them try it once and it didn’t go well for them. There’s two mountain passes, one about the size of Dakan Pass, the other much smaller. Both of them are usually blocked by snow during the winter but come spring, that melts, and gives them an in. The disastrous campaign I tried at Farhan’s orders was through one of these passes. It skirts the Badlands just north of Arape and it’s not for the faint of heart to try. One careless move either way, you lose people through either accident or stupidity.”

  “So which way do you think the barbarians used to invade?” Ramin asked, sitting up, alert and curious.

  “This isn’t something that Baros said, just a suspicion from reading between the lines, but…” Darius grimaced, worry cramping at his stomach. “I think they used all three.”

  All of the men exchanged speaking looks and crowded closer. Darius strangely felt like he was telling a bedtime story or perhaps more of a horror story, all things considered.

  “Why?” Roshan prodded.

  “Because if they had come through just one, Brindisi’s forces would have been able to stop them.” Darius leaned over, snagged a nearby stick, and started drawing it out in the dirt. “Roshan, we’ve talked about fatal funnels before.”

  “We have, sir,” his apprentice instantly agreed. “If you’re in charge of the area and have the higher ground, you can use it to control how many enemies are within your range. If you’re on the wrong end, it means a massacre.”

  Darius felt proud of his student. “Exactly. Now, in this case, these two mountain passes are fatal funnels. Very long, twisty ones. In coming out of the mountains, the barbarians definitely have the high ground, but it still means that they’re locked inside, they can’t exert any real force to bully through. Brindisi, if positioned correctly, can stop their forward advance with a minimal guard and hold it almost indefinitely.”

  “Like we did in Dakan Pass,” Navid murmured thoughtfully.

  Darius tipped his head toward him. “Precisely as we did. In fact, it would come down to a matter of supplies. Whoever ran out of food first in that standoff would be the one forced into a retreat.”

  Kaveh raised a finger in objection. “What if the barbarians make it out of the pass before someone notices? Before Brindisi can get into position to defend it?”

  “They’re paranoid about just that and have a system in place to relay the word very quickly. They can get a message from the mountains to Ruralcalba in just under two hours.”

  The men let out low whistles of admiration but it was Navid that asked, “Semaphore?”

  “Heliograph,” Darius corrected. To a confused Roshan, he explained, “A semaphore is a system of flags on a watchtower, a coded method of relaying messages depending on the position of the flags. A heliograph is very similar but it uses flashes of light instead of flags. Light can travel farther, meaning fewer towers and a lower demand for trained specialists.”

  Kaveh leaned up and over to stare at Darius’s scrawled map on the ground. “How many heliograph systems in place, sir?”

  “Two. One here,” Darius drew a line from the first mountain pass and toward the capital, “and another here.”

  “So both lines are watching the two mountain passes. What about the beach entry point on the coast?”

  “Too close to a town to go unnoticed. We—they—have a garrison stationed there for just that eventuality.”

  Navid stated the obvious. “Prolly adit tween all three points in a clock’s tick, booted them hard. Overwhelmed them.”

  Darius’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’m afraid that’s the only answer. Otherwise, how did they manage to get out of their lands, far enough into Brindisi, to actually threaten the Sovran enough to make Baros desperate? But that scares me in other ways, as it means, too, that they’re a more organized force than I’ve ever seen them manage to enter all three at once. It does not bode well.”

  The camp fell quiet for
a moment, each man taking this information in, and from their expressions, it went down bitterly. Roshan broke the silence by asking, “What’s some of the tactics that a barbarian is known for, sir?”

  Snorting at the thought, Darius shook his head. “No tactics, not from that group. Their fighting strategy comes down to: Charge! And nothing else. What makes them frightening is their berserker mentality on a battlefield. I’ve seen them do insane things, things I didn’t think any man had strength or stamina for, while in battle.”

  “Unless faced with cats,” Navid deadpanned.

  Reminded, Darius threw back his head and laughed. “They do have strange superstitions that offset their fierceness. Thank Shaa. Otherwise I would be in trouble.” In fact, that reminder gave Darius a vague idea, unsure he’d have the ability to pull it off, but he kept it tucked away in the forefront of his mind. “At any rate, it’s their numbers and raw fighting strength that make them such a terrible enemy. We can fight smarter than they can, which gives us the edge.”

  “Something else worries you,” Navid prompted quietly.

  Blowing out a breath, Darius wondered, “When did you get so good at reading me? Yes, there’s one other thing. I don’t know how or where Brindisi has the barbarians stalled. If they really have invaded from three different points, I can’t imagine that the barbarians have been completely stopped on all fronts. There’s no way, not with the amount of troops Brindisi has left. Baros said they’d been stopped north of the capital but that doesn’t give me much to go on. It could be anywhere in Burthchaen. Or they could be swinging sideways into Arape.” And that thought made his blood run cold.

  “Barbariansh heading wesht but not easht?” Bohme asked in confusion before adding to his friend, “Your shoup burning.”

  Swearing, Tolk leapt for the pot.

  Darius laughed softly, not realizing how engrossed even his bodyguards had become in this that they almost had burned dinner tonight. “West means trying to go into Serrati and only a fool with a head injury attempts that. The Serrati borders are impenetrable. Trust me, I know. I don’t know if they’ll try invading Arape or not, honestly, as the last time they came through they headed straight for Ruralcalba. Considering their success, I wouldn’t put it past them to repeat the experience.” Feeling a headache coming on, Darius rubbed at both temples. “What I predict is that they’ll have split into three main forces to get through, to get into Brindisi, and then they’ll join up at some point and sweep directly south, right into the capital. The land there is mostly flat, but there’s a certain point that makes an ideal defensive ground. If I can catch them before they pass through that area, then we stand a chance.”

  Kaveh dared to ask what they all thought but couldn’t voice. “If we can’t?”

  “Then this will take a lot longer than a year.” And the casualty rate didn’t bear thinking about. Shaking off the gloomy thought, Darius added more practically, “But let’s focus on charming the Baiji into helping us and then getting to Ruralcalba and seeing Baros. I need information and his authority to take command before we can do anything, after all.”

  There were nods, grunts of agreement, and they mutually let the subject lay for the evening. Tolk lifted a ladle to his mouth and sipped at it, sighing a little in relief. “It’s done.”

  Darius felt relieved as well because while you could eat burned soup, no one in their right mind actually wanted to. “Then let’s eat.”

  It had been years since Darius had ventured into Baiji territory. Most of the country formed up with gently rolling hills or flat grassland, the ideal place to raise horses, which the Baiji were world-famous for. Very few bloodlines could rival that of a Baiji horse. Darius had been flattered when Tunheim offered earlier this year to breed Sohrab with a few choice mares for that reason. He promptly took the man up on the offer, too, as he tried not to be an idiot.

  After a day of hard riding, they turned off Tran Highway and onto the Drea Highway, the main road that led into Baiji. It meant exchanging the thick smell of pine with open air that smelled of grass and sunshine. A hint of weather hung in the air, too, and he could see stormclouds coming in from the east that worried him. All the signs of a huge storm lingered: it smelled like rain, the press of humidity on his skin, and he hoped that they’d be safely inside Tunheim’s tent when it hit. Darius didn’t know whether to expect Tunheim here near the side of the road or at his camp further in. It depended on how quickly the man mobilized. Or if he were willing to come at all.

  I shouldn’t dwell on that last possibility too much. Darr might seize on it and borrow trouble I don’t need.

  It had taken a day of hard riding to reach the turn off, and another day of hard riding to reach the border. The road here lay flat, the horses relaxing at the easy lay of it, and Darius tried to unclench his neck muscles. They’d grown tight enough to give him a headache. The glare of the sun directly into his eyes didn’t help, either.

  Perhaps because of that glare, he didn’t spot them immediately. He heard them first, the jangle of harnesses and thudding of hooves, then the sounds of men calling to him. Those voices sounded familiar, extremely so, and Darius doubted himself for a moment.

  No. Surely not. Squinting hard, he raised a hand to shield his eyes, staring harder than he ever had in his life.

  “Shaa bless me,” he whispered to himself, excitement rising so hard and fast he nearly choked on it. Putting his heels to Sohrab’s flanks, he urged the horse into a sprint, which Sohrab promptly did. Then again, the stallion always loved a flat out run.

  His staff swore behind him, leaping to catch up with him, but he paid them no mind. Darius’s full attention had been caught by the man riding next to Tunheim.

  Distances over flat land like this proved hard to judge with any accuracy, so it took longer than Darius expected to reach them, or maybe it just felt like small eternity, but he eventually did and immediately dropped out of the saddle, trusting Sohrab to not wander off. The other man dropped down too, not quite as spryly, and reached for him. Darius caught him up in a hard hug, almost enough to take his toes off the ground despite their similar height.

  “Patre,” he choked out against his father’s ear.

  His father hugged him back just as fiercely, breath sounding choked, as if he had fought back a sob. “Son. Son.”

  Too long. It had been far too long since he’d seen his father, much less had the chance to embrace him. Throughout his childhood, Amid had always smelled of sun and wind, as if all of his travels came home with him. Hugging his father like this now, with the same scent and warmth, he almost felt like a child again and his heart ached with a mixture of bittersweet memories and joy at their reunion. He shoved aside the question of why his father was here and just basked in the moment.

  It took several long minutes before Darius felt he could release him, but only managed a single step back, scanning his father anxiously. Still some blond left in his hair, although with more grey now, skin tan from the sun, showing every age line around his eyes and mouth, but his blue eyes had the same spirit and intelligence they always did. He’d aged since Darius had seen him four years ago, but aged well, and a fear he had been carrying unclenched around his heart.

  Amid Bresalier had made his own examination and grinned in delight. “You look more stout than I remember, son. Your wife’s doing?”

  “Amalah loves to feed me,” Darius admitted frankly, unable to keep from beaming. “I blame her entirely. Patre, I cannot tell you how truly happy I am to see you, but I have to ask, what are you doing here?”

  “Waiting,” Amid responded promptly. “Your friend, Tunheim, contacted me last year with information about you and an offer to become trading partners.”

  Darius blinked then looked up at his friend, still mounted, who grinned at him with all of the smugness of a satisfied cat. “Is that why you inquired about my family?”

  “Always good to expand your friendships,” Tunheim responded innocently.

  Laughing, Darius
shook his head. “Of course. And?”

  “And when things turned bleak up north,” Amid continued, smile fading, “I wanted to contact you quickly, to ask if we could move into Niotan, but then it became apparent that Baros had lost control of our northern defenses. We didn’t have a month or more to wait for your response. I started south with all of our family, heading for you.”

  Darius’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “They’re all here?!”

  “Every last soul,” Amid confirmed, expression an odd mix between happiness and strain. “It took some sacrifices, but I got everyone out. I sent word ahead to you, but I’m not sure if you got it.”

  “I didn’t,” Darius denied and had to wonder if it had somehow passed him on the road. Time to figure that out later. “And then?”

  “Well, as we went past the Baiji border, we came across a Niotan Army Courier, and he spotted our crest on the wagons and stopped us. When he discovered who we were, he had us turn around again, come into Baiji and stay with Tunheim. The man was adamant that you would come here. Tunheim confirmed it and offered his hospitality.”

  Darius sent a prayer right there up to Shaa and made a note to offer a few dozen sacrifices as soon as possible. Turning, he asked Roshan, “Who was the courier we sent? Do you remember his name?”

  “Giv, sir,” Roshan answered promptly.

  “The man will get a promotion as soon as I can manage it,” Darius swore. Turning to Tunheim he gave him a deep bow of profound thanks. “Tunheim, you are a true friend and I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  “You liberated my people, Darius,” Tunheim responded, grin wide enough to make his eyes nearly disappear into his tanned face. “And gave me good wine and food to boot! I don’t think we’re even yet. Your family is in my tent. Come see them, then we will talk of war and how many men you need from me.”

  That sounded very promising but Darius didn’t dare follow up on it yet. He knew the rules of negotiating with a Baijian, even if they were friends. “Of course. First, though,” turning, he gestured toward his staff. “Patre, this is Commanders Kaveh, Navid, and Ramin. They are an extension of me and basically the reason why I was able to keep Niotan independent. My bodyguards Bohme and Tolk, the only reason why I’m still alive, and last but never least, my apprentice and brother-in-law, Roshan. Gentlemen, my father, Amid Bresalier.”