Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  After a day of riding, they entered an area that Darius knew would be under attack very shortly and he signaled to his men to mark the area in their minds. Anything north of here had to be evacuated.

  Grim faced, they acknowledged the order with a nod, and then continued on.

  For two days they rode hard, and early in the morning on the third day, Darius finally caught up with Behnam.

  A sentry caught them before they could enter the camp, and it was quite the camp. It sprawled in every direction, lit up with cook fires, and from atop Sohrab, Darius could just make out the hint of wooden spikes on the opposite side. They’d quickly built some sort of barricade, then.

  Not good.

  Irritated, Darius snapped down at the sentry. “I need General Behnam.” Out of his shirt pocket, he fished out the steel talisman that signified he had the right of command and flashed it at him. The soldier’s eyes—he couldn’t have been older than eighteen, still with a trace of baby fat in his cheeks—went impossibly wide. “Now, soldier, move.”

  “Sir!” He nearly face-planted, he turned so fast, high tailing it for the general’s tent. Darius knew exactly where it sat, of course; all generals’ tents were made of bright red cloth so they could be easily found in an emergency. But he would not enter until Behnam came to fetch him. Darius didn’t have that much of a death wish.

  With commendable alacrity, Behnam hustled toward them, almost at a jog. Darius took a moment to scrutinize him. The man looked beyond exhausted, at least a decade older than the fifty years Darius knew him to be. Hair as white as ever, head too large for his gangly body, but his eyes remained sharp, and Darius saw no sign of weakness in his wiry frame. Good, he couldn’t afford for him retire from the field. Not yet.

  “Bresalier!” he greeted, voice filled with profound relief, tanned skin crinkling around the eyes in a silent smile. “You came. Thank all the gods.”

  Dropping out of his saddle with an oomph—Darius was really getting too old to gallivant around the country and his twinging backside told him that in no uncertain terms—he extended a hand, clasping forearms with him. “Behnam. Baros told me you demanded that I come.”

  “I can’t think of anyone else that can really help,” he confessed. “You’re the only one that ever beat those ham-fisted cretins; it was only a matter of time before we had to pull you in. I figured I should do it now so you didn’t have to relive the nightmare of retaking Ruralcalba.”

  “Bless you.” Darius gave him a heartfelt smile. “Well, I’m here, and I have more help coming. The Baiji are sending 8,000 horsemen to our aid. They’re a few days behind me.”

  Behnam’s light blue eyes crossed. “How did you get them to agree to that?”

  “They owed me a favor?” Darius offered ingeniously, not sure how else to answer that. “But never mind that. I need details, man, and a few hours to strategize with you. We need to go in about three directions at once, I think, judging by what Baros told me and the reports you sent him.”

  “And likely a hot meal and the chance to sit down for a while,” Behnam added knowingly. “This is your command staff with you? Gentlemen, welcome, truly. We need all the help we can get and your expertise is very much appreciated. Come with me, we’ll get settled and I can catch you up.”

  Darius paused only long enough to look at Roshan. “Can you take Sohrab for me?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good. Tolk will help with the rest.” Not that the soldiers here wouldn’t see to the horses, but Sohrab wouldn’t tolerate just anyone and Darius could not in good conscience leave Roshan wandering about unattended. They were not in a secure position in this camp, not yet, and it behooved him to take precautions for now.

  Tolk gave him a reassuring nod before gathering up several reins in his hands.

  Reassured, Darius followed Behnam to the red tent, catching whispers in his wake. The men around him stirred as they caught sight of him. Darius couldn’t begin to recognize every soldier he had ever served with, but they recognized him readily enough.

  “Kingslayer is here,” the whisper went up, echoing and re-echoing as word caught fire and spread. Sometimes said in a hushed tone, sometime incredulous, other times with a hint of hope weaved through.

  Darius watched them from the corner of his eye but none of them seemed intent on doing any damage to him. They seemed astonished, that a man wanted by the Sovran would waltz into their camp at their general’s heels, but none seemed angry or filled with any righteous intent to arrest him.

  And that reaction alone said a great deal about the situation.

  They ducked into the tent and Darius took it all in with a quick glance. One bed, mounded with blankets, a few logs drawn up for seating around a burning brazier, one lone table mounded over with maps and reports. The bare essentials for a general’s tent and Darius expected this, as Behnam likely had had no more than a day’s warning before being ordered to march. Half of this likely had caught up with him on the road.

  Shaking the thought off, he turned to the man, taking his cue on sitting near the brazier. He did so with relish, as the night and morning hours were still cold this far north, and the heat felt very welcome on his chilled skin. Everyone else actually hovered over it, rubbing their hands together, relaxing a fraction as the warmth penetrated.

  With an audible creak of bones, Behnam eased down next to Darius. “They seem to think,” he noted wryly, “that Kingslayer can manage what I cannot: a miracle.”

  Darius shrugged at him, smile crooked. “One of the job hazards. In all fairness, it will take both of us to manage this miracle.”

  Those light blue eyes looked at him for a long moment. “You have an idea already, don’t you?”

  “Three, to be precise. Read me into the situation first.”

  Adjusting his legs to a more comfortable angle, Behnam thought for a moment before he started, as if organizing his thoughts. “At first, we had reports coming in from Landersi, and I thought the bulk of the barbarians were coming in by sea. That’s how I would have done it, it’s the easiest path. So I sent the bulk of the army there. But then we heard about attacks in northern Madani, and a few skirmishes around the badlands of Arape, and I realized that they were coming in via a three prong attack.”

  Having heard this, Darius nodded encouragingly. “Have you gotten a firm number?”

  “No,” Behnam growled, vexed. “And we’ve been trying. The problem is they split up into raiding parties almost as soon as they came through the mountains, and some of them are actively looting and burning places, but others are carting back their ill-gotten gains into Roran. It’s a constant back-and-forth with them, and it messes with our poor spies. No one can get a good headcount, especially as they’re not displaying their banners like usual.”

  “I do wonder,” Darius posed thoughtfully, “if they’re not using their banners on purpose. Just to mess with our minds.”

  “It certainly feels like it from here. Is that something you think they’d do?”

  “Barbarians are not known for their tactics but they are cunning. I wouldn’t put it past them.” Darius shrugged as it was more an intellectual question than anything and not something he could solve. “So, troops in Landersi?”

  “Not anymore, I had to pull them back. They were being struck from the front and behind, effectively useless. We cleared out Landersi as much as possible and retreated to here. Before you ask,” Behnam gave him a longsuffering look, “no, this isn’t my first choice as a stopping point but my hand was rather forced. The troops in Landersi met me here, and we intended to drive upwards, but we got struck on two different sides ourselves and it was either dig in or retreat again. I chose to dig in.”

  Darius tried not to second guess choices made in the middle of a battlefield, especially not when made by a seasoned commander like Behnam. It might have been the best choice; it might have been exactly the wrong choice. Either way, Darius had to work with the situation as it stood. “Alright. Arape?”
<
br />   “They’re forcing the barbarians repeatedly into the Badlands, last I heard, which was two days ago. With limited success, but it’s keeping the barbarians occupied and out of people’s hair for the moment.”

  Darius knew the area well. The badlands could handle even barbarians for a short amount of time, assuming the Arapeen troops had the stamina to keep pushing the enemy into them. “Good. And then?”

  “The raiding parties keep hitting us at random. We’ve evacuated everyone out of this area and I’ve honestly just been trying to keep them from heading further south until reinforcements arrived. I don’t want to give up more territory than I already have, but I have a feeling,” here Behnam sighed a decade’s worth of sighs, “that your ideas are going to force us further south.”

  “Your feelings usually are correct,” Darius admitted, “and it means abandoning your lovely spike wall.”

  Something about Darius’s tone made Behnam stare at him, face almost expressionless. “Surely you’re not suggesting….”

  “Afraid I am,” Darius admitted.

  The rest of the staff, sensing that the men were about to get down to actual business, quickly found seats.

  Rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, Behnam spoke to nothing in particular, “I agree it has a natural funneling ability, which would weigh heavily in our favor, but man, I spent the last two weeks making sure they didn’t get that close to the capital!”

  “And two countries have suffered for it.” Darius held up both hands in a placating manner. “I’m not saying your defense is wrong, and you know that I have no intention of letting them into Ruralcalba, but Behnam, we can’t afford to just sit here. They might not use the main highway to come through. Not if they’re split up as they are. They’ll likely come in from every direction and your stance here will not only be ineffectual but suicidal.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “Herding them together, back into a unified force, and then baiting them to come south.”

  “But there’s no way to…” Behnam trailed off, expression becoming thoughtful. “Badlands. You intend to use the badlands.”

  “For the eastern push, yes.” Darius grinned at him, pleased to see that sharp mind working. “You just told me the Arapeen troops are already keeping them in that area. It’s perfect. I have the Night Raiders coming up to do the final push for us.”

  “Good. None of my troops are specialized enough to go through that mad country and come out again. But what about the west? The Baiji?”

  “No, the Baiji will be our secret weapon when we’ve got them properly baited in. I want to use Serrati for the west.”

  Behnam’s eyes crossed. “Serrati. You intend to use Serrati. What by the gods makes you think that anyone in that country will deal with you?”

  “Negotiations will be tricky,” Darius admitted baldly, because there was no use pretending otherwise. “But Behnam, we have two things that they want: knowledge of our strategy on dealing with the barbarians, and people.”

  “People?” he queried, not following. “What people?”

  “Refugees.” Darius knew that he wouldn’t like that answer and quickly explained, “The people in Madani and Landersi have nowhere safe to go except Serrati. Eastern Madani can of course take refuge in Arape, but the rest of the country’s citizens can’t traverse that far without running afoul of the barbarians.”

  Behnam, red in the face, spluttered. “Still!”

  “And we’ll have to raze the countryside to the ground in order to drive the barbarians towards us, you know that,” Darius’s tone sharpened, losing patience with the argument. “What are these people supposed to come back to? Black earth and damaged property? They won’t be able to survive the winter, they’ll have no crops or food laid in, they’ll starve.”

  Even Behnam couldn’t argue that. He knew the tactics of driving an enemy out of a land as well as Darius, and the terrible aftermath of what happened afterwards. “But if we ask Serrati to harbor them, we won’t get them back,” he protested weakly. “Serrati is drained of manpower because of our constant bombardment of it. They’ll take in those people gladly and fight us tooth and nail if we try to escort them home again.”

  “I would rather have them alive in Serrati’s hands than dead in Madani,” Darius responded with quiet finality. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Growling out a curse, Behnam stared at the ground and refused to respond.

  Kaveh dared to break the unnerving silence that descended. “Sir? You keep saying that someone will need to negotiate with Serrati. Do you yourself need to go?”

  “Unless Behnam agrees to it.” Darius chuckled at the frustrated look that statement earned him. “Judging by that glare, no, I’ll need to go. Nothing less than a general would be respected by Serrati and no one else has the authority to do the necessary bargaining. Behnam, I would like to take a thousand troops with me. I’ll need their help to gather people up and destroy the properties with.”

  Resigned, Behnam waved him permission. “You’re actually in charge now, anyway, do as you wish. They’re not doing any good sitting around here, you might as well take them. Once you’ve pushed the barbarians toward the center, then what?”

  “Then, we stage a very slow, very cowardly retreat. And we have to be convincing. We have to draw them so thoroughly southward that they don’t pause, they don’t question anything, but believe what we’re selling them.” Darius glanced up as the tent doors opened, the flaps slapping aside as men pushed through, bearing spitted meats and breads, goblets of what smelled like a spiced drink. Roshan and Tolk came in with them, also carrying food. The smells made Darius’s stomach cramp with hunger and longing. Mouth salivating, he had a hard time remembering what he meant to say next. Oh, right. “That’s where I’m running short on ideas. Perhaps after we’ve eaten, we can put our heads together and come up with ideas on how to do this.”

  Roshan’s head snapped up as he settled next to Navid. “Sir, does that mean we can use the cats again?”

  “Cats?” Behnam questioned, not following.

  “Did Jahangir not tell you about that?” Darius responded in surprise. “It’s how I got the barbarians to retreat from Niotan on the first day of battle.”

  “With cats?” Behnam repeated, jaw dropping. “No, he didn’t tell me about this!”

  Sensing a beautiful opportunity to pry Navid’s jaw open, Darius smiled genially at his commander. “Since you were in charge of that, why don’t you spin the tale?”

  Navid knew good and well what he was doing and gave his general a resigned look. “Yes, sir.”

  They planned deep into the night, came up with and discarded strategies, all while two tents set up nearby were cleared out for their use. Darius knew that the timing might change; he had no guarantees that the barbarians would react the way he predicted. They didn’t have strategies and tactics like the rest of the known world. They didn’t even have central leadership. It’s why they made such a terrible enemy—brutal and nigh unpredictable, except where their superstitions were concerned.

  After midnight, they settled on a plan and two backup plans, then called it quits and went to bed. Darius rolled up into his bedroll, cold and hard, and fiercely missed home in that moment more than any other. He missed the gentle heat of the night, the way his wife curled up at his side, the sound of their daughter in the next room. He missed stout walls and the smell of grapes and spices in the wind. Niotan had become as much home to him as Arape.

  Alone and aching, he resolutely shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

  Morning light filtered through the open tent flap and he rolled stiffly out, dressed in the last clean uniform he had, and went out. Movement caused the night’s oppressive emotions to take a back seat, making it easier for him to focus on the job at hand. After all, the sooner this was done with, the sooner he could go home. Striding out, he spotted Bohme heading for him with a plate of something edible looking and a cup of steaming liquid that smelled like ho
t cider.

  Darius took both and mumbled, “Bless you. How’s Roshan?” If he felt the pang of homesickness, Roshan likely suffered from it doubly so, as he had never left the country before.

  “Too exshited by all of thish to missh home yet,” Bohme chuckled. His dark eyes were keen on Darius’s face as he added softly, “Unlike you.”

  “That obvious, eh?” Darius took a deep pull from the mug, finding the cider hot and sweet on his tongue. “I think I’m getting too old for this, Bohme.”

  “No, shir, you jusht have a pretty wife and daughter,” Bohme responded sympathetically. “I’d want to shtay home too.”

  Absurdly cheered by this response, Darius saluted him with the mug. “Well said. You’ve been around the camp already this morning, so give me your impressions. How are the soldiers reacting to us?”

  Bohme caught the implications quickly enough. If the soldiers here were not of the mindset to follow any of the Niotan soldiers, it would be useless to stay, as they wouldn’t obey any orders that Darius or his commanders gave. “Cautioushly hopeful,” Bohme opined after a moment’s thought. “They think you can win.”

  That sounded promising. “I’m of the mind to walk through the camp and speak with some of them, tell them a little of what we’re planning and asking for volunteers. What we’ll be doing near Serrati’s borders will be terrible work. I can’t let someone ambivalent about me come along.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Bohme said firmly.

  Darius took two minutes to scrape the plate clean, down the rest of the mug, then gestured for Bohme to lead the way. “Whoever handed this to you, let me thank them first.”