Maera didn’t speak, just put a comforting hand on Anarynd’s arm.
“No . . . I’m really all right. Yozef was gentle. He offered that we could wait for . . . you know . . . if I wasn’t ready. I was tempted but didn’t know what would change with time. I’m not sure Yozef was all that eager for it, but nature took care of any of his hesitation once we were in bed.
“Afterward, I lay awake for several hours, pretending to be asleep. Once it was done, I thought about many things. Yes, those months with the Narthani, but mainly being here. You, Yozef, Aeneas, but most of all the future. I also felt . . . I guess good is the only way I can describe it, or maybe at peace would be closer. I feel like I have a place—something I wasn’t sure would ever happen. I only have one worry. Will things change between you and me? Oh, Maera, I pray it won’t. That would be heartbreaking.”
“Ana, I pray for the same. I can’t say for certain how I feel right now. This is strange and new for me, too, but I would never hold anything against you.”
“And Maera, I know how much Yozef loves you, and you, him. I don’t see that changing, and I won’t be jealous, because I know he’ll always feel more for you than for me.”
Another hug, this one tighter than before, was accompanied by two sets of tears. When Yozef walked down the hall ten minutes later, his wondering about how his two wives were getting along was assuaged by voices and laughter from the kitchen. He found the two women feeding newly awakened Aeneas crushed fruit—a good half of which found its way into his little mouth.
The expanded Kolsko family resumed a routine not all that different from before the marriage, with three notable exceptions. Anarynd’s slow opening up after her ordeal accelerated, and her status in the household went from beloved guest to member. The third difference was the establishment of two main bedroom suites, instead of one. Unspoken but understood was that this would signal no difference in the status of each wife. He solved the question of where to store his own clothes by simply dividing them in half and buying new ones. He’d briefly considered having a separate bedroom for himself but discarded the idea for two reasons: it might contribute to a sense of remoteness among them, and he liked sleeping next to a warm body, even though it would take him several months to feel as natural with Anarynd as with Maera.
In sleeping arrangements and everything else he could stay conscious of, he made an effort to indicate no preference—no first and second wives, just wives. Yozef also initially resisted Maera’s suggestion for a regular “alternating nights” arrangement, until Anarynd assured him it didn’t mean he was obliged to perform every night. To Yozef’s embarrassment, the point was settled and the schedule set. As the months passed, they settled into a pattern where he alternated between their rooms, along with occasionally sleeping on a cot in his office if he worked into the night. For different reasons, the routine satisfied all three of them.
CHAPTER 21: NARTHANI PREPARE
Colonel Erkan Ketin
The sun beat down from its mid-day height. With the usual breezes absent, the men working were soaked in sweat. Boys with buckets hustled to men calling for water. Dust rose from horse-drawn wagons of timbers and men digging.
“Coming along well, Erkan,” stated Akuyun.
Colonel Erkan Ketin grunted. The commander of the Preddi Province—and Akuyun’s engineering expert—wasn’t fooled. “Easy for you to say, Okan. You’re not around as much as I am, and you don’t have to listen to the complaints about why we’re spending so much effort preparing to be attacked by the islanders when so many more men are on the way. The griping has trickled down to officers lower than captain, and I can just imagine what our noncommissioned officers have to put up with and tamp down with the common troops. I even have to say I have some sympathy.”
Akuyun was annoyed that one of his subordinates, and an officer he respected, doubted the wisdom of his superior’s orders. However, Akuyun expected honest opinions and advice, and disagreements—as long as orders were obeyed—allowed men to appreciate that their views were heard.
“Frankly, Erkan, I hope all the complaints are justified and the efforts you and the men have put into this work turns out to be a waste of time. On the other hand, if it’s not—”
“Oh, I understand. If it turns out to be necessary, then we’re in a world of shit, and this work might save our lives.”
Ketin had waved his hand at the ongoing work. A ten-foot-high wooden wall encircled Preddi City, with a three-foot-deep, six-foot-wide ditch three feet from the wall. The men had piled dirt from the ditch against the wall, providing protection from musket fire and the ability to absorb cannon fire aimed at the wall’s base. At fifty-yard intervals, they’d cut away the wall and the dirt to allow positions for cannon that could provide grazing fire on flat land cleared out to five hundred yards. At five-hundred-yard intervals along the wall stood a rock-and-masonry bastion twenty feet high with positions for cannon to fire both straight out from the wall and along the wall to suppress breaches.
General Akuyun looked at the wall running to the east, then disappearing as it curved northeast. This last section of the wall ran eight miles from the northeast point on the shore of the Gulf of Witlow, westward, then south, then east to the southeast, to end where they stood facing the gulf south of Preddi City. When this section was finished, Akuyun would be satisfied they had done all they could. Not that this line of fortifications would stop a determined assault, but it would surely slow it down and drain the attackers. They would still have to cross another half mile of cleared ground before they got to the city’s main fortifications.
“It also keeps the men busy and in good physical condition,” said Akuyun. “If we’re not carrying out offensive actions against the islanders and not letting the men help build infrastructure, they’ll sit and think too much.”
“We’ll have to find something else for them to do,” said Ketin, “because we should finish this final section in the next two sixdays—one sixday to complete the wall and another sixday to tidy up details along the whole length.”
“I’m hoping that won’t be a problem, Erkan. The new corps should be here sometime within the next month or two. Once you’re finished with the wall, you’ll move on to complete the encampment area to hold the tens of thousands of men under Marshal Gullar’s command.”
Ketin had already laid out the general design for a bivouac area for the coming army. Preliminary staking of the encampment was in place, and production of tents and lumber for crude barracks for officers was ongoing. Once they’d completed the outer fortifications of the city, Ketin’s engineers and workers would concentrate on the encampment, completing buildings, tent rows, latrines, and a single-layer fortification ditch and berm. No one, not even Akuyun in his urge to account for all possibilities, foresaw a Narthani corps having to sit and repel an islander attack. This would surely be an offensive force.
“I’ll leave you to it, Erkan. I have other sites to visit before getting back to the most important task—endless paperwork. Right now, Major Torvik is expecting me.”
Horses
Fifteen minutes later, Akuyun and his twenty-man escort topped a rise and looked down into a valley covered with grazing horses, corrals, and a cluster of barns and smithies. They trotted down the slope to a building flying a major’s banner. Torvik had been alerted to their approach and met them before they reached the buildings, reining in his horse and saluting from the saddle.
“Welcome to the cavalry staging station, General.”
“Thank you, Major. I see, hear, and smell you’re well on the way to gathering the horses the new units will need.”
Torvik laughed. “Yes, five thousand horses do fill a valley with noise and smell. The ones you saw grazing haven’t been processed yet—that’s about four thousand. I’m setting up another staging area ten miles from here. We need spacing so as not to overgraze. At both sites, we’ll check the horses’ general health as soon as they arrive. The first thousand have been sorted ac
cording to how we evaluate they’ll be best used, cavalry or pulling wagons and artillery. For both, we confirm they’re ready to be used or, if not completely broken in yet, proceed with that phase. Once that’s complete, they’re shod or reshod and kept in corrals or staked out. Those are a mile from here in the next valley. I don’t like to mix the two groups.”
“How do you evaluate progress for readying the full twenty thousand by the time our new friends arrive?”
“I can’t guarantee we’ll have all the horses processed, but we’ll be close. My men have identified approximately twenty-four thousand available horses, including about half of the total coming from the Selfcell and Eywell clans. They’re angry we requisited so many of their horses, but they complied. Ten thousand are already gathered or on their way. I know the order you received stated ten thousand cavalry, but my experience is that such estimates are always too low. Then there are the horses for wagons and artillery. We’re aiming for thirty thousand horses, or nearly so, when the new men arrive. Of course, the numbers have to be consistent with the horses required for Brigadier Zulfa’s men and Administrator Tuzere’s civilian use.”
Akuyun appreciated Torvik’s candor. Any officer serving with Akuyun soon learned, if he didn’t already know, that the general didn’t tolerate inaccurate reports. Not that he was altogether pleased Torvik didn’t report more horses processed at this point, but he sensed the major had a handle on the task, and the initiative to plan on extra horses stood him in good stead with the mission commander.
“All right, Major, I don’t think I need to see any more. I only wanted to view how it was progressing. I’ve read your reports, but occasionally seeing for myself is recommended. Thousands of horses on paper isn’t as real as in person—seeing, hearing, and smelling, as I said before. However, now it’s back to headquarters for me.”
Admiral Morfred Kalcan
“Great Narth, Okan!” exclaimed Kalcan as he crossed the threshold of Akuyun’s office. “I could smell horses before I opened the door. What have you been doing with the smelly, stupid beasts?” Kalcan’s antipathy toward horses was well known.
“Visiting Major Torvik’s mount mustering camp,” Akuyun replied ruefully. “Even though I only spent a few minutes there, that many thousands of horses in a sheltered valley accumulate quite an atmosphere.”
“How’s it coming along? Will Torvik have all the horses ready?”
“He says they’ll be close. I wish he’d be more optimistic, but he’s honest, and I believe doing the best they can. My worry, as is Zulfa’s and Tuzere’s, is we’ll end up stripping all three provinces of every horse. On paper, there are enough horses for Gullar, our own men, and the civilians, but just barely.”
“I’m just glad they aren’t my responsibility.”
The current commander of Narthani naval forces around Caedellium had only one new task from what had been his responsibilities since arriving at the island. It was a task he had worked on quietly for the last three months, ever since General Akuyun told him to keep the activity level subdued enough to delay word spreading.
“Well, Morfred,” said Akuyun once Kalcan had sat in a chair opposite his commander’s desk, “how are things on Klinwyn Island?”
“It’s slow going, since you want to keep it as low key as possible. There’s only so many men I can arrange to be pulled from ship or shore duty before they’re noticed. As it is, I have seventy of my men and two hundred slaves working to clear land, make serviceable roads, build solid storage structures, and construct crude shelters. If we ever need the island for an emergency refuge for women and children, it will take a hell of a lot more work if the numbers go over four or five thousand.”
Akuyun looked grim. “I imagine under that scenario we’ll have plenty more labor available. Naturally, I hope all your men’s efforts are unneeded.”
“As do I,” said Kalcan. “I imagine I’m in the same situation as Ketin and his fortifications of Preddi City, although the difference is that my task is smaller than his, and mine is behind the scenes.”
“Let’s keep it that way as long as we can. I’ve told Zulfa what I asked you to do but not the other officers.”
“What about when Gullar arrives?” asked Kalcan. “Will you inform him of our plans for Klinwyn Island?”
“I don’t think so, Morfred. Why bring up an issue that might never matter? If we’re ever going to need the emergency refuge, it should be before the new army arrives. Afterward, what we prepared on Klinwyn won’t matter.”
Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa
Akuyun’s troop commander was attending his final meeting of the day. They sat at a small table near the window of Akuyun’s office, overlooking the Preddi City harbor. The last of the afternoon’s sun had moved behind the headquarters’ corner, reducing glare on the glass and giving a clear view of the sun’s rays highlighting wave tops and ships’ spars with occasional glitter from reflections off metal parts on ship and shore.
“Okan, I think it’s time to start pulling back our garrisons in Selfcell and Eywell,” asserted Zulfa, using his commander’s first name while they were alone. “Jurna has the feeling the clans are about to do something. Something we won’t like.”
Major Jomzik Jurna had assumed command of the Narthani troops in Eywell Province after the previous commander, Colonel Memas Erdelin, was killed in a daring nighttime assault on his villa in Hanslow, the Eywell capital. Jurna, now Brevet Colonel Jurna by Akuyun’s authority, had assumed command and had impressed Akuyun enough that he now considered Jurna next in command order after Zulfa, though he hadn’t yet seen the necessity to inform the other two colonels, Ketin and Metan, of his decision.
“Any specifics from Jurna or just intuition?” asked Akuyun.
“Jurna reports clan patrols are getting larger and more aggressive. Instead of simply pushing back our own patrols, the clans have taken to pursing our men farther into Eywell and Selfcell territory. He also says that in talking to his patrol leaders, the clansmen are acting more organized. More like small military units, instead of simply a clump of men on horseback. I know, it’s thin evidence, but I’ve come to think Jurna has good instincts, so I don’t discount his impression.
“We’ve talked about this before, but I think it may be time to start not only drawing our own men back toward Preddi, but also the Selfcellese and Eywellese. Selfcell is the easiest. Their capital, Sellmor, is in the southern part of the province and not far from Preddi. Since northern Selfcell is less populated, it wouldn’t take that much effort for them to pull the ten thousand or so clanspeople south toward Sellmor.
“Eywell is another story. Their population is concentrated in the province’s north, which makes them more vulnerable to being cut off by a major clan invasion. I also don’t know how they would respond if we told them to abandon their north. The other problem is, where would they go? If we’re going to count on Eywell horsemen as auxiliaries for the new army, we have to provide for the men’s families. That means concentrating their population around Neath, the only city of any size in southern Eywell, and even that is not sufficient, meaning we’d have to bring many of them into Preddi territory.”
Akuyun’s lips pursed as he contemplated actions he’d hoped to delay longer. “It would be a tricky dance, Aivacs. If the clans realize what we’re doing, they could attack while the withdrawal is underway, catching our men and clan allies in exposed conditions. Take too long, and we risk Jurna being right, and the clans attack before we act.” He held up a hand to forestall Zulfa’s counter. “But, as all too often, we have to decide on the least bad option. It’s been a year since I’ve been outside Preddi Province, but I think for this it’s best if I personally give the ‘orders’ to the Selfcell and Eywell hetmen. I’m not worried about Eywell. We put the new hetman in place, and the clan is too weakened to refuse. I am worried about Selfcell. They’ve always been the less enthused about the alliance, so I think it’s best if I meet with Roblyn Langor myself. I’ll combine giving the order to
evacuate northern Selfcell with promises to assist in the move and provide support for the increased population of southern Selfcell.”
“It might help if we move more of the Selfcell garrison north until the evacuation is complete,” said Zulfa. “That should give the Selfcellese more of a sense of security and prevent clan raids from harassing the move.”
Akuyun drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I dislike moving our men north, if we think a clan attack could cut them off. Go ahead and write up details of what we’ve discussed, and I’ll look it over and take time to think about the ramifications. I won’t alert the two hetmen of my visit yet, but if we’re going to do this, it should be in the next month.”
Akuyun Villa, Preddi City
“How did the meetings on preparation go today, Okan?” asked Rabia Akuyun.
Her husband’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a laugh. “Now, my dear, is that really the question you want to ask?”
She sighed. “Well, I am interested, but I confess I would have worked up to asking if you’d seen Orem.”
Their thirteen-year-old son had started his fourth day as a water-carrier to men working on the outer defensive wall. The boy had slipped back into disrespectful behavior and ignoring his studies after being reprimanded by his father several times in the last two years. His parents had agreed it was time for him to learn what it was like to exist at different levels of Narthani society. The Narthani didn’t follow this older practice as much as in the past, which involved spending short periods of time at a variety of tasks. It wasn’t a universal custom among the Narthani, but both Okan’s and Rabia’s families believed it developed a stronger character and gave adolescents humbling experiences as they moved toward adulthood.
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