When I pulled back into the line by Kerral I was still white-faced with anger and swearing under my breath. He raised an eyebrow but wisely didn't say anything.
“How far to the border?”
“About a hundred miles, I'd say.”
Four days to get to where he had been. Too late to be thinking about it. He was gone and lost. Forget it, I told myself, forget your cohort, they are dead and gone.
“Bastard.”
Kerral didn't say a word.
31
My plans to eat were forgotten as I hurried across the camp to the command area. Not to the tent that I visited every day. A command had come from Orthand, couched in polite terms but a command none-the-less, and I was hurrying to obey.
I felt hollow. Empty. My brief dreams of a significant unit of my own, of equality with Tulian Dural Verrans were ashes. My money was wasted and my cohort on its way to being destroyed. Having shared the information with my cousin I could not even send a messenger telling him to get back the hell out of there and wait for me, or come back to us. I should have done it straight away but instead I had lost my temper. It was an important lesson and I had drummed it into my head all day. Stay cool! No matter what the reverse, stay calm. Think! Facts, think, decide, act. There was no place on that list for feel or want. Okay, want had a place, but only as in 'I want to achieve this thing,' then facts, think, decide, act. I had lost my men. I accepted the responsibility and swore it would never happen again. The taste of that responsibility was bitter in my mouth. Orthand would not risk a man of his to save mine; nor would Tul, though he might regret it more.
“Orchids.”
The guard at the command tent let me pass and I walked the few paces to the entrance and stepped inside.
“Good of you to join us, Cerulian.”
Orthand stood with all the commanders of his legion around a large table on which were laid papers and maps in profusion. Tul was also there. I moved to the table after saluting and greeting the commander with all the calm and respect I could muster. I was nothing and I might as well accept it. I might as well go and get drunk as I was damn little use for anything else.
“Look at this,” Orthand tapped the map that was laid out over the bulk of other papers.
I did.
He pointed at various places on the map as he spoke. “We are here, the border with the Geduri is here. It is another hundred miles to my clients. The news from there isn't good. I suspect the place will be more or less overrun by the time we arrive.” He didn't look happy but was calm and matter of fact. I briefly wished I had the ability to emulate him.
“Already,” he continued, “there are reports of the Alendi forces breaking up to slaughter and loot smaller communities. So it looks likely there will be no mass Alendi movement south, at least for now. In the meantime the Prashuli,” he waved his hand over the western area bordering the Alendi lands, “and the Orduli appear to be raising against us. Today I received good intelligence that there is a fairly significant force of Orduli here,” he stabbed the map roughly where I took Sheo to have meant. “I have reason to believe that some Alendi forces are heading that way to join with them and that further Orduli chieftains are being persuaded to rise against us and also join them. In the meantime they will, I think, advance further into friendly territory.”
He looked around the table, meeting the gaze of each man. “Cerulian, what do you think?”
I thought for a moment only. I had been following the facts, putting them in order, prioritizing. I knew what I thought but paused a second to be sure.
“If the intelligence is accurate the Alendi can wait, especially if they have men moving east. The easier pickings will hold their attention for a good while. As I understand it there is no army in the field to meet the Orduli.”
His lips twitched in a fleeting smile. “There is a single cohort. Doubtless the commander will refrain from engaging. There will be local Geduri units but I suspect they will be spread out and unorganized.”
“No doubt. However if he joined us and we moved together against the Orduli we could smash their army in time to dissuade any more of the Orduli chieftains from taking arms.” I pointed out that the border between the area under threat and the Alendi was quite close to where we would likely meet them. “If they advance against us into Geduri lands we could meet them here in eight days or less. And that would bring us almost as close to the Alendi border as if we marched on north.” I opened my mouth to continue but he interrupted me.
“Almost as close. Yes. That's what I thought. We don't want to fight a war on two fronts. Nor do I want to advance into Alendi lands and have the Orduli advance to my rear, cutting me off from a line of supply or retreat. The Prashuli could do the same, of course, in time. This way we hit one flank of the threatening enemy and roll them up east to west. Comments?”
It is what I had thought. Maps are wonderful things. They make everything so clear. As soon as I had seen the map I had seen the solution to our military problem. Only by coincidence was it a solution to my own, but I couldn't be happier.
I cleared my throat.
“Yes, Cerulian?”
“Nothing sir, dry throat.”
He stared me in the eye for a long moment without expression. He glanced down at the map and away once more.
“Then I am decided that that will be our course. Dismissed, gentlemen.”
32
I was shaking with relief as I walked back with Tul. Not that I had gotten what I wanted but that I had stopped myself from saying what I had been about to say after I cleared my throat to get his attention. I had been going to ask if the cohort could be doing anything useful in the meantime, meaning to prompt him to see something obvious that he had missed. If I had he would have seen it. And forbidden it expressly.
He was thinking only of politics, of protecting what was his, of making money where he could and influence where he wanted it, of weakening a rival and strengthening himself. Those things, I found, increasingly passing through my own mind. But I was also thinking, primarily thinking, of survival. If the region was going to go to hell I wanted the biggest damn army I could get, regardless. I was going to instruct Sheo to stop, encamp, and recruit his little buns off no matter what the cost. I didn't have enough money, though I would send everything I had, so I would have to write scrip and seal it with my seal. Debt with no immediate way of paying it when it was presented. But I had a plan for that as well. Or at least an idea. If my guess was right I would have the money. If not I was going to have a problem. Still, it takes a brave man to walk up to a commander in the middle of his army and stick a bit of paper under his nose demanding money for it. Tell him to go away and wait and he doesn't have much choice, right? See this sword? See my men? Now sod off and come back in a few days.
“You're quiet,” Tul said.
“I was thinking about my analysis. Hoping it was not tainted by self interest.”
“Liar. Send a letter to your commander.”
“Hmm. Yes sir. I will.” But it wouldn't be quite the letter that was expected.
We were coming up to his tent. His cohort was set aside from the main force and his command tent was there, not in the center of things. Before we parted he slapped me on the shoulder and told me my analysis had been good.
I walked on alone, feeling smug.
33
Meran had continued to perform his duties as though nothing had changed, though he was now a Freedman. My client, I reminded myself, and a rod for my back which I had made for myself. Technically every other client I gained would be subservient to him. It was not in any way enforced, didn't really mean anything, but these ancient traditions are remembered. It meant no noble of the city in my clientele. Ever.
He still slept on the floor at the entrance to my tent and I stepped over him, suddenly wondering who was keeping an eye on my cash if he were here at nights. I almost kicked him awake to find out but decided that I had better trust him and it could wait till morni
ng in any case. Then I remembered that I had ordered Kerral to guard it. It seemed a long time ago and these things can slip your mind. He would have taken care of it. One of my men would be guarding the wagon at night. Good. One less thing to fret about.
A lamp had been left alight on my table and I crossed to it, too tense to sleep. Sitting at the table I picked up a book and opened it where I had left off some months ago. The gift of the loupe had made me go back to An Examination of Magical Principles, Unattributed. There weren't that many copies in existence. Sorcerers suppress such publications, preferring to keep a monopoly on the teaching of the subject. A spell sells for one hundred to ten thousand coins. They wanted the income and any dissemination of information was to be discouraged so that they could keep it. There was, of course, nothing to stop me or anyone with a stone from experimenting but experimentation is dangerous because the patterns and shapes of magic are non-intuitive. Try a new pattern and anything could happen. I remembered the comments Dubaku had made about the nature of spirits, and my offhand comment that there might be a connection between the way spirits do magic and what we do. The mages had laughed but Dubaku had not. It was something I worried at. Was it possible there was a connection? The spirits see the world differently than we do. Dubaku had said that. If a spirit looked at the patterns of a spell would he understand them as we do not? Would he see a direct and intuitive connection between the pattern and the effect? It was heady stuff, if I could get a spirit to sit by and watch me work the spells I knew and then learn from what he said, I might be able to start making predictions about new patterns before I tried them. What an amazing research tool that would be! What an advantage!
“Go to sleep.”
I didn't jump. I mean, he was in the room and I knew he was there. Why would I be surprised that he spoke?
“I can't.”
“Awake before dawn, not sleeping. Bad.”
“How much money is left? I don't remember.”
“Seven thousand and forty. I used some.”
Enough to raise another cohort, but not more. Money to raise troops, scrip to supply them, and the enemy to provide food? I couldn't do handy math on this one, too many variables, but in theory I could raise seven thousand men at a silver a man to start, and keep them if I could get them into position to hit hard and make off with coin and food. I doubted that would happen. Seven thousand would be too many to be useful at the moment in any case. Better if he raise another three cohorts, giving me four in total. He might even be able to make a dent in that number in eight days. Word that he was recruiting would have spread to the lands he would be moving through. People would come to him. If he raised three more cohorts or less I would still have cash to feed them for a while.
I pulled some paper and a pen toward me and began to write.
“Sealing wax.”
He was up and at my side in moments with what I needed.
“What's happening?”
I realized that he would have no clue and decided to tell him. He was my client. I could trust him. I had to try to, anyway. “Sheo has raised a cohort and is moving it into danger. I'm sending him a letter telling him to stay put…” I over-rode the lie. “To move slowly, and raise more men. Three more cohorts.”
“What's happening?”
For a second I thought he was being funny, comically asking for a simpler explanation. Then I dismissed the idea. No way he was dumb. He was asking for more information. “Things are hotting up. Sorry, I can't say more.”
I had been writing as I spoke. Now I heated the wax, dripping some over the end of the tube and pressing my signet ring to it. The ring had belonged last to my brother. It had come to me when he had died, before my father had decided I was useless to the family. Doubtless he would rather it had gone to a cousin. But maybe he was changing his mind. I wondered how many letters Sapphire had, and what they said. Were there harsh letters to be given to me if I did poorly? Was Sapphire's knife for me if it looked like I would disgrace my father?
I realized I was sitting there looking at the letter, doing nothing. Meran had moved away from the table, but not far. I stood and stepped outside and crossed to Kerral's tent. A few moments later Kerral had the letter and instructions to get it, the money and two of the men on horses. “Tell them to start ten miles south of Yuprit and head north-east. I don't know what passwords Sheo will use…”
“I do.”
I was stopped in my tracks for a second. I hadn't thought of it. Like several details large and small that hadn't come to mind at the right time. Sometimes I thought I was so clever, and sometimes I thought I was rubbish, every bit the useless pointless waster my father thought me. But I had men like Kerral around me who did think of the things I didn't. And I was glad.
“It's a lucky commander who has good men.”
“It's lucky men who have a good commander.”
Well. There really didn't seem anything else to say, so I bid him good night and went to bed.
34
Recruiting another patron's clients was… well, rude at best. A patron could prosecute for it but the result was at worst a fine to be paid to the injured party. It was something I had worried about it a little, but not much. It's the kind of thought that floats to the surface of your mind when you are done thinking about anything else. Of course, right now I couldn't pay a fine. Also, if the recruiting was noticed the patron could instruct his people to take control of the army or disband it… if he was willing to take the risk of it not happening; some commanders didn't give up their men willingly and there had been incidents in our history where such attempts had lead even to full blown civil war. That Sheo's force might be taken from him had worried me greatly and still did. My money would be wasted and I would be no better off. If that happened I could prosecute him, if I could show lawful cause to raise troops in the interests of the city from whatever men were available. After the fact it could all get sticky and complicated. The political after-effects of wars often were, as patrons fought it out for credit which enhanced their dignity and standing amongst their peers. If you needed money in a hurry and you had the reputation of a man who could get it, then people would loan to you. My name alone had let me raise several thousands. Of course, I had squandered that money, but that's not the point. There were times when I still desperately wanted a drink…
Now was one of them. It was a hot day on the road. The pace was grueling and I was thirsty. My canteen was out of water and I didn't feel like waiting, so I passed command to Kerral and walked my horse back toward the baggage train. No hurry going this way, the army was yomping past me in the other direction. Six hundred men at five abreast made a column of one hundred and twenty men. Not that I was counting obsessively, or anything, but you have to pass the time somehow when you are trying not to fret about things that seriously need fretting about. The cohort flashed by. Then a gap. Then the rearguard and a big gap before the lighter guard ahead of the first wagon. The wagons could not travel at the same pace as the army by a big margin. They fell behind and consequently had their own guard. By the time the fort was ready to be used and light was failing fast, the wagons began to arrive. There were lots of wagons. After them would be the equestes rearguard. I didn't need to go that far.
What I wanted was the third wagon down, basically a big barrel on wheels. The barrel contained water. Booze was available, watered wine and beer, but it was expensive. Not paid for by the commander but by whoever wanted to buy it. Free enterprise is rife and we support it by not making laws to stop it. Trade is good. Trade makes more money for everyone. If a man had a good idea he would go to his patron, or any patron if he didn't have one – and many commoners didn't – and explain the idea and ask for cash or material aid. Any patron would put money into what he thought was a good idea. A better plough made more money exclusively on the patron's lands before people started buying his ploughs or copying them. He got an advantage, the commoner made money, everyone with farmland gets more productive, there is more food avai
lable to eat and sell, it gets cheaper, everyone happy. These things aren't complicated. I have read of kingdoms who tax their population and then make things for them. Not us. You want something, make it yourself. The six classes paid tax to the council and that money was used for public works, yes; like the roadwardens. The patrons paid most but the patrons gained the most in safe trade, it was only fair. Sometimes tax farmers would be let loose in a region by arrangement with the ruler, domestic or foreign, but that was rare and only happened under certain circumstances.
My mind was still wandering aimlessly as I sat my horse by the side of the road and drank water and watched wagons go by when I saw a familiar face driving a wagon. I knew it would contain beer. I'd bought enough of it from him over the years.
On impulse I called out to him. Why not? “Rebo! You are a long way from home!”
To my surprise he saluted.
“Yes sir.” He looked uncomfortable and surprised in equal measure.
I turned my horse as he came closer and walked it alongside him.
“Making money?”
“Yes sir. A little, sir.”
Now I was puzzled. As I waited for him to say something, he kept glancing at me, looking more and more uncomfortable and it dawned on me that he didn't recognize me. He just saw a patron going to war.
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