Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Living in Serrati would likely be a very different experience but they would be safe. Darius could absolutely guarantee that point, at least.

  The sentries saluted as he rode past, and he returned the salutes, slowing Sohrab to a walk. The horse blew out gratefully, glad that his insane master realized it was past dinner time. Grinning, he hopped down to the ground and stretched out his legs a little.

  He really was getting too old for this.

  “Sir!” Kayvion trotted up, snapping out a salute. “How did things go?”

  Returning the salute, Darius answered with a broad smile, “Very well. Not only has Serrati agreed to take in everyone as refugees, but they’ll coordinate attacks on their borders to push the barbarians south-east, as I need them to.”

  Kayvion blinked at him, jaw dropping. “T-that’s amazing, sir! How did you get them to agree to that?”

  “They don’t want the barbarians anywhere near the borders. They were already inclined to be helpful in shooing the problem towards me to deal with.” Which unfortunately was the bald truth. “I trust you’ve had no trouble here?”

  “No, sir, thankfully. Everyone’s packed up and ready to go.” Drawing a step closer, Kayvion dropped his voice to something above a whisper to say, “It would help if someone had a word with them, sir, assure them they’re going somewhere safe.”

  “I intend to, don’t worry,” Darius assured him. “Dinner after, though, before my stomach gnaws through my spine. Roshan, do you have Sohrab?”

  “I do, sir,” his brother-in-law assured him, looking not at all exhausted by the mad jaunt around the country. Then again, he’d been able to just sit and listen as Darius had run around in verbal rings, trying to get Serrati to agree to everything he wanted. Of course the boy had energy to spare.

  Handing the reins over properly, Darius went with Kayvion, taking in the hamlet as he did so. The houses looked gutted, strangely, as people still moved about inside of them. The impression came from all of the empty space, absent from the furniture that should have been there. Firelight cast light and shadows on the streets, the effect eerie because in spite of the multitude of people present, the noise level remained at a low murmur. No one wanted to speak at a normal tone of voice, every conversation barely above a whisper, and even the ordinary tasks of fixing dinner or washing dishes seemed to be carried out in a way that made as little sound as possible.

  It felt like a funeral wake.

  Even more perturbed now, he tried to keep a straight face as Kayvion stopped in front of an elderly woman that couldn’t be younger than seventy, bent with age, hair pure silver and drawn back in a simple braid, dress clean if worn and a little frayed around the edges. She looked back at him with blue eyes that had a thin film of white over them, suggesting not blindness, but at the very least impaired sight.

  “Grandmother,” Kayvion greeted respectfully, “this is General Darius Bresalier. General, I present Mia Lorn, the matriarch of Trader’s Gully.”

  Darius held out a hand and took the one she offered in a gentle grasp, feeling nothing but wrinkles and calluses and warm skin. “Grandmother. I am very sorry I need to force all of you to leave like this.”

  “From what your young sergeant says, it’s either leave now or be slaughtered later. I’m thankful you think enough of us to move us out first,” she responded in a voice that creaked a little in age.

  “I wish it hadn’t come down to that,” Darius told her frankly, with a helpless shrug of his shoulders, hands splaying to either side. “But I don’t dare try to play it safe, not with the barbarians.”

  “I understand. I just worry.” Her eyes turned so that she saw all around her, taking in the old, the sick, the young, and everyone in between. “I don’t think some of my people will make it to Tatvan or Arape.”

  Darius gave Kayvion a questioning look. He hadn’t told her?

  “Didn’t want to say anything, just in case, sir,” Kayvion murmured with a wry smile.

  Ah. Good point. If Darius had failed in his negotiations, it would have looked bad to suddenly change plans and try to force people south when they expected to retreat west. “I see. Grandmother, in fact you’re not staying in the Sovran.”

  She turned her head up to him, tilted like a curious bird. “And where do you suggest we go, General?”

  “Serrati.”

  The noise she made reminded him of a choking duck. “Serrati?!”

  Amused at her reaction, he repeated, “Serrati. I just came from negotiating with them. I’m sure you know as well as I how many of their citizens they’ve lost over the years, because of the ongoing war with the Sovran? They are eager to take in refugees, offer you all a home within their borders, to make up for that loss.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re giving us to Serrati.”

  Darius immediately shook his head in denial. “I negotiated a safe place for you to live in Serrati. Whether or not you take it is up to you. If you want to try running for Tatvan instead, I won’t stop you. King Baros would prefer not to lose any citizens. But the safer route, one that will guarantee that you keep your lives, means heading to Serrati. They are already primed and waiting for you.”

  She regarded him with unreadable eyes for several seconds. Long enough for Darius to shift a little, uncomfortable. Finally, she said, “I will speak to my people about this.”

  “Please do,” Darius encouraged with a smile. “Make sure they understand it’s entirely their choice.”

  Ducking her head, she said only, “General,” then moved off, more shambling than walking, calling people to her as she went.

  Blowing out a breath, Darius asked rhetorically, “Why does a village matriarch scare me more than the general of the Serrati army?”

  “Not sure, sir,” Kayvion responded, bemused. “Was he not particularly scary?”

  “Terrifying, Sergeant. The man was terrifying. So you see why I had to ask the question.”

  Kayvion chuckled but didn’t say anything, perhaps wisely.

  Shaking his head, Darius moved on. “Where’re our cooks? I want dinner while we wait on their decision.”

  “Over here, sir.”

  Darius ate dinner, then a sweet bread that someone had made up for dessert, and lingered over a mulled spiced tea that warmed the blood pleasantly. In the midst of contemplating fetching another cup, Mia Lorn angled toward him, a larger man shadowing her footsteps. The man turned out to be the local blacksmith and the town ombudsman. Darius repeated nearly word for word the conversation he’d already had with the matriarch. Then he gave them a broad outline of what his tactics would do to this area, of how slim of a chance they had to get south before the barbarians came.

  In the end, Mia Lorn reported that four families would make a run south, as they had no desire to live in Serrati. The rest would run for Serrati’s borders before dawn could crack the sky.

  Not knowing how to feel about this, Darius just wished them luck and all speed. He wished they’d all go west, but that wasn’t his decision to make.

  They all spent a restless night, and at the barest hint of light in the sky, both soldiers and refugees got up, splitting into three different directions. Darius could spare them no more worry as he headed for the nearest heliograph tower.

  It took a full three days to get there, Darius making plans as he went. He had three, actually, and the message at the tower would determine which one he needed to use. When the tower came finally into sight on day four, standing tall over the trees, it felt like a benediction. Finally, answers.

  In these open plains, distance was deceptive, and it took several hours longer than Darius estimated before they finally reached the base of the tower. It had been built a century before of thick grey stone and mortar, and it showed its age in cracked lines and chipping here and there, but someone kept up with it. The grass around the structure was cropped short, a small watermill nearby in the river kept a mill churning with a low groan of grinding stone, and the door into the tower had a fresh coa
t of bright blue paint on it. Did the housing for the tower’s operator occupy the first floor? It would be the most sensible arrangement.

  He called out to the men to find a place to settle and have a late lunch before striding up to the tower. Darius raised his hand to knock, only to have the door jerked open before his knuckles could touch wood. A short man with a bit of a belly and amazing ginger hair stood there, staring hard. “General Bresalier?”

  “I am,” Darius answered promptly, holding out a hand in greeting. “Operator?”

  “Wilkes, sir,” taking the hand in a firm grip, Wilkes beamed up at him. “Glad to see you, I have three messages waiting and from the sound of them, they need a prompt answer. Won’t you come up, sir?”

  “I would be glad to, Master Wilkes.” He motioned for Roshan to accompany him, but the other two to stay, which the bodyguards were glad to do.

  The inside of the tower had a winding staircase of stone that led up and up all three stories, barely wide enough for a grown man to climb without his shoulders brushing on both sides. It smelled strongly of cold stone and a little damp, as if the cold air outside had been trapped within the space. Darius felt more than a little relieved when they finally topped out on the roof level.

  The top of the tower had four supportive beams on all sides, a wooden roof, and glass walls. An iron pot belly stove in the center of the room kept it from getting unbearably cold and gave the man a way to cook simple meals so that he need not leave his post. A sensible arrangement, all told. Along one wall, posted to the stone, was a soft wooden board that several messages had been posted to. All in an organized fashion, although Darius couldn’t quite figure out the system, as it didn’t seem to be done by name of the recipient.

  Wilkes went and pulled down three messages, ripping them free of the nail. “First message from General Behnam, sir, asking for an update and stating that he’s had word from Commander Navid and sent the funds along. That one was five days ago.”

  Messages along the heliograph needed to be short, just by nature of the communication, so while Darius dearly wished for more details, he understood the brevity. “I’ll respond to him in a moment. The next?”

  “From Commander Navid. Had a bit of trouble with this one, sir, I’ll be honest. I’m sure of the words but not the meaning: Barbs obit Arape. Sand dwellers seamy. Catawampus but adit south. Aster to boot them hard. Twig? I hope that makes sense to you, sir.”

  Darius grinned. “Indeed it does, Master Wilkes. It’s Niotan street slang, a habit my commander indulges in when communicating with me. May I?” Taking the message from him, he translated for both of his listeners’ benefits. “Barbarians have left Arape. The dead look very rough. Their retreat is out of kilter but they’re heading south. It’s the right moment to force them into a true retreat. Twig literally means ‘understand?’ but in this case he’s asking for permission.”

  Wilkes stared at the paper in Darius’s hand with frank amazement. “I’m glad you could make that out, sir. Whole ’nother language. Well, the last one is the other towers, sir, a confirmation that your order for a full retreat has been passed along to every town and village, what’s left of them, anyway. I also have a report for you of any sightings.”

  Darius accepted the page, glancing over it and grunting satisfaction. The barbarians had steadily been forced south and east, as he wished. “The people are burning their fields and food stores before leaving, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Good, that meant he didn’t have to go all the way north. He just had to focus on the areas of the country that the heliographs couldn’t easily get a message to. That helped. Sensing a good teaching moment, he turned to the avidly listening Roshan. “Alright, what orders should be given at this moment?”

  Roshan, to his credit, didn’t just say the first thing that came to mind. Instead, he asked a question. “Sir, does Commander Navid mean to chase the barbarians south? Because that seems to counter your plan.”

  “No, he does not,” Darius responded patiently. “He intends to skulk along the Arape border and make sure they don’t try to retreat eastward. He’s rebuffing their advance in that direction, not chasing.”

  “In that case, sir, I would think we’d encourage him to keep going, not try to return to General Behnam’s camp just yet. Then I’d send word to General Behnam stating Serrati’s terms. And sir, honestly, I feel like it’s time you returned to the main camp yourself.”

  Darius had been wrestling with just such a decision. He had now left Sergeants Kayvion and Edhard in charge of evacuating a village and they had done a superb job at it. He knew they had the leadership to hold a line together when ambushed by barbarians. It just sat a little ill with him to leave two newly appointed officers alone with no real means of communicating to another superior officer.

  But if even his apprentice recognized he couldn’t loiter about in the countryside, maybe he should trust his people to do their jobs and get back to the thick of things after all. “I take your point, Roshan. Go down and eat. I’ll join you after I’ve sent messages off.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy obediently scampered back downstairs.

  Darius contemplated the view outside of the windows, nothing but blue skies and the tops of green trees. “Master Wilkes, how long does it take to get a message to either Arape or Behnam?”

  “Behnam, about two hours, sir. Arape’s more like five.”

  Far faster than Darius remembered. Then again, his memory might be shaky, as he hadn’t used the system in nearly four years. “Then I’ll likely make camp here tonight and organize matters before heading off.”

  “Feel free, sir. The water’s a clear source near the well.”

  Good. They needed fresh water, having run low over the past three days. “Then let’s send a message to Commander Navid first, shall we?”

  It took the rest of the day, of course, just to get a message to Behnam and to receive one in return. But those two messages made it clear that Darius needed to return promptly to the main army. Already reports rumbled in, sightings of larger groups of the barbarians, ransacking their way south, pilfered wagons laden down with goods. If they had any sense, all of those wagons would be mounded over with food, but Darius knew they hadn’t done that. Oh, a few would carry some supplies, but the barbarians were a more nomadic culture in some ways. They preferred to graze rather than stock up.

  Hence, the reason why they couldn’t survive harsh winters well.

  The time had come to divide and conquer. Darius pulled Sergeants Edhard and Kayvion aside and hunkered down on the grass so that he could trace the rawhide map with a finger. “Gentlemen, this area is what you need to focus on. From here, all the way through here, clear everything out. Don’t go any further east than that. We’re creating a funnel, a specific path for them to take. They need to find at least some food in order to draw them further south.”

  Both men nodded in understanding although Edhard asked the obvious question. “You’re leaving us in the morning, sir?”

  “I am,” Darius felt almost apologetic about this but really had no other choice. Not and make the timing work out. “I’ll take this center path down, evacuate people as I go, make sure the barbarians have the right bait to lure them with. I need you to do exactly what we’ve been doing. Evacuate, send people to Serrati, torch the fields, and only engage the barbarians if they come at you. We do not need to lose you here in a mindless skirmish.”

  “Understood, sir,” Kayvion replied crisply. “After we’re done? We go directly back to the main camp?”

  “Correct. I estimate it should take you six, perhaps seven days to get this done. If you take more than nine, we’ll be short a thousand men when I need them most. You must absolutely return in twelve days. Is that clear?” He looked at both of them, meeting their eyes, and saw absolute understanding. “Good. If something unexpected happens, use your best judgment. Just remember, I need as many soldiers to return within nine days, so make that your first priority.
”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in near unison.

  Darius didn’t know what else to tell them, so he dismissed both to go find dinner. He himself found his bedroll and tried to sleep, but logistics and numbers fought in his head to the point that he did little more than toss and turn on the ground, waking up feeling slightly damp from the morning dew coating everything. Feeling as if sand had taken up residence behind his eyelids, he staggered to his feet, hastily ate breakfast, and left.

  Bohme and Tolk looked unfairly awake, already alert before they put a foot in their stirrups, but Roshan had to fight to keep his eyelids open. Even youthful energy couldn’t combat racing madly around the countryside, eh? Darius felt only slightly vindicated.

  They’d cleared the entire area leading up to Serrati. Darius looked at the map for several minutes, comparing notes on who should be where. With the northern area cleared, and the western side, all that remained to clear was the eastern section near the Tran Highway. Darius decided he might as well clear the area on the way back up. It would mean an extra day in the saddle, as they would have to cut directly east first, but would be worth it in the end.

  The trip across the Tran Highway to the eastern side went by pleasantly enough, or at least, without major incident. Forced marches never felt like a vacation and this one especially kept everyone’s nerves on edge. Every shadow could be a barbarian lurking, and more than one man slept with one eye open. Finally, however, they reached the right area and started their northern ascent.

  The next three days had to be the most grueling repetition Darius had ever suffered through after officer’s school. Four major towns and a few villages lay on the direct highway leading straight to Ruralcalba. That meant he had to stop multiple times, talk to the village head or the mayor, explain the situation, sound the alarm, and put enough of a fire under people to get them moving immediately. The villages proved easier to shift than the towns, for some reason. Darius didn’t delve into the psychology of it all, just grimly kept shouting at people until they moved.