The Last King's Amulet pof-1

by Chris Northern

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  “Thank you sir.” I turned the horse about and walked her further back along the line of wagons deeply thoughtful, and a little wistful.

  Had a few days in the saddle changed me that much? Not possible, surely. I'd lost weight, yes. Quite a lot. I guess my face was thinner, I wouldn't know for sure. I shaved my face in the mornings but I have never been vain so I didn't pay a lot of attention to how I looked. I suddenly wondered what he had seen when I brought drink from him, chatted with friends and acquaintances in his bar, joked with him. A customer? A fat drunken fool of a patron's son? I decided I'd never know and stopped worrying about it. Whatever he had seen wasn't what he was seeing now.

  I followed the wagons to their end. Behind in the distance there were drovers, even slower than the wagons. I didn't think I would bother to stop and have a chat with a sheepherder today.

  35

  At Neerthan, on the border, there is a road heading both north and east into Geduri territories. We took it. It was not a bad road, though somewhat narrower than the north road. We would not be slowed, but did have to narrow the breadth of our march so that we were more spread out. Fortunately the Geduri lands are as flat as a pancake and we could throw outriders as far out as we wanted to watch for potential threats.

  Two hundred miles or less. The sun was sinking in the west and that day we would march for maybe an hour longer before beginning to construct a fort for the night. I would probably catch up to Sheo tomorrow or the next day and the units he commanded would be mine, under my cousin, under Orthand, but mine. How many men I had no idea. One cohort for sure. Maybe two. I hoped for four. A day or three later, if we advanced at once, we would meet the enemy. Tul had said it was planned to stop and run the army as a whole through maneuvers. Practice, in other words. I guessed that would happen. It's what I would do, raise a larger and more permanent fort and drill the army to be sure it was ready. If the enemy came to us, fair enough, but better we go to them. It depended on the temperament of Orthand. What kind of commander was he? Decisive, I knew that. I know everything about military history that can be acquired from a book but recent events were a blank page. I wasn't watching, wasn't paying attention. Quite honestly, I had been too busy having a good time. So, Orthand could just march headlong into the war zone. I had a sneaky suspicion that is what he would do, based on nothing at all. Or maybe I just knew that he wanted to get the war over before his clients were destroyed. With these thoughts in mind I headed up column to speak to my cousin, to ask him about Orthand's history.

  “Blitzkrieg.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “Why? Oh, forget it. You're trying to figure out the commander's plan. Well, you have it right there.”

  I had nothing to say. I was thinking about what I had hoped to achieve for myself during the pause. I needed a few days swinging a sword for a start, plus knowing the battle signals wasn't the same as hearing them and reacting to them. I wasn't ready. Didn't feel ready.

  “Don't worry, you'll do fine.”

  Dammit, can everyone read my mind?

  “Do we have any clue what numbers we're facing, initially?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Probably only a couple of thousand and they'll scatter as soon as they hear we're close. Then we divide into eight units a mile apart and cut a swathe through their territory heading for the Alendi and making a mess along the way.”

  True, two thousand wouldn't stand. You face odds of four to one you don't stand. It could all go as he said but maybe not. “What if they have raised the whole tribe, there could be twenty thousand.”

  “Then there may be a battle, but we are an army of the city and twenty thousand isn't even three to one. There are plenty of historical precedents for a couple of cohorts taking on those numbers and winning if they had good battle mages. And we do. I wouldn't worry.”

  I thought he was being complacent but I knew he was right. Three to one was a hell of a numerical advantage, but illusionary units, fog banks to blind the enemy, rolling balls of fire, noxious gases and other magics, made a confused enemy and helped thin the numbers wonderfully. Also the use of magics damaged morale like crazy; imagine moving forward en mass and seeing thirty of your fellows go up in flames right next to you. That'll put you off your stride every time.

  “There is such a thing as overconfidence, and there have been occasions where ten to one and less have beaten our troops, mages and all.”

  He nodded soberly. “Agreed. It's happens. But I don't want to hear it around the men. Confidence, determination and a hatred of the enemy. That's what I want to hear.”

  I apologized. He was right. Even amongst ourselves.

  The camp was already taking shape around us when we rode through the western gap in the wall; Tulian's cohort had peeled off to dig their section of ditch and place their stakes, while their servants led the donkeys to the right section and started putting up tents and making cooking fires. It would be an hour before they were done. My charges, of course, had no such duties and headed for the pegged-off area where we would put up tents and settle for the night. The crossbowmen carried their own minimal gear on their backs and set things up for themselves. Of course, at this point there was nothing in our area apart from us and a few stakes and string and a flag with our number on it so we knew where to be. The engineers were first to arrive and last to leave every single day. The servants of my charges set about tent-raising and, as usual, Meran arrived with two horses, one carrying the essential gear and the other himself, and started in on putting up my tent. For a while I had nowhere to be and no reason to be there. But a commander cannot afford to be seen to be idle so I started moving. The mages were closest so it was their turn first.

  “Gentlemen.” They stood in a group, talking amongst themselves and waiting for things to happen.

  “Commander,” Larner greeted me in return, the others turned my way in silent acknowledgment.

  “I was wondering why the alarm device wasn't set up last night? Problems?”

  “It was, commander.”

  “Oh.” I had come back way after dark and felt and heard nothing and said so.

  “When we created it we gave it a specific area and excluded everyone inside it at that time from the effect, of course.”

  “How?” The word just slipped out and in response he smiled thinly.

  “It's a two thousand coin effect. If you would care to make those funds available I would gladly teach you.”

  “Which? The ward or the ability to exclude people from its effects?” I was trying for sarcasm but he chose to take me at face value.

  “The ward. The exclusion is an enhancement and would be extra.”

  “How do you know that only the people in my command are excluded? In fact, as I have a man outside the area at all times, how did you manage to exclude him?” I had suddenly smelled a rat and the second question was much more important than the first.

  He looked embarrassed for a moment, then covered it in dignity. “We made a token that can be passed from one man to another so that your sentries can pass through the ward without triggering it.”

  “So the thing is compromised and useless.”

  He glowered at me. “If an enemy knew of the ward, and if they knew of the token, and if they knew your man had it and what it looked like, in theory someone could take it and use it to pass the ward. Yes.”

  “And if someone does so and cuts your throat in the night, who will you blame?”

  “No one, I'd be dead.”

  The brief snort of humor escaped me unbidden. “Point taken.”

  I remembered I was supposed to be ingratiating myself with these people, and realized it wasn't going too well so far. Still, nothing I could do about it right now.

  “Tell me, did you know this ward spell, or develop it?”

  He raised an eyebrow and considered a moment if he would answer. In the pause, Hettar spoke instead.

  “We know a lot of spe
lls. Sometimes it takes awhile to remember one, to figure out which one to try and remember.”

  Larner turned to the old man in surprise, but then seemed to consider that what he had said was safely neutral and gave away nothing that was secret. “Just so,” he said, turning back to me.

  There was nothing more to say. “Well, thank you for your efforts.”

  With that I left, heading for the healers.

  Lentro seemed pleased to see me and I realized I had been neglecting them for a few days. Not a good idea. I might need healing one day and I could learn from them, if they ever did any magic and I happened to be watching with the sorcerer's loupe unobtrusively tucked in one eye socket… well, okay, that wasn't going to happen but it was a fine fantasy.

  “Sumto, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Ouch. I smiled pleasantly. “I've been neglecting you. If there is anything you need please send one of your people to see me.”

  He waved the matter away graciously. “There's nothing. A slower pace would be nice, but I doubt you can arrange that? No? An idea of what is happening, perhaps?”

  I really had been neglecting them. “My apologies. We are heading toward an Orduli force on the edge of the border with Geduri. I'm afraid I can't say much more.

  “Thank you. Will you dine with us tonight?”

  “That would be pleasant.”

  Rastrian would have to be put off again. I made my excuses and went to see him.

  His men were busy and so was he. I noticed that he mucked in to get things done alongside his men and approved. Not something a patron could do, though we do train with the men and often fight with them to show we are as good with weapons as they are and as willing, but we draw the line at digging ditches and making roads with our own hands.

  I also noticed Dubaku. He was sitting on a cloak of heavy cloth and watching. Maybe the men felt he was too old to be putting up his own tent, or maybe they honored him for his supernatural abilities. Maybe both. In any case, I wanted to talk to him as well, and Rastrian was busy enough that I decided to let him be. I had time. Dubaku got to his feet readily enough when I came close.

  I found him as unsettling as ever. The expressionless eyes. The expressionless face. All of a sudden I couldn't think what to say to him or how to broach the subject I had in mind. Then a thought struck me.

  “Tell me, can you summon and speak to any spirit?”

  He considered a moment, unfazed by the lack of greeting or preamble. “If I know the name they used in life, then yes.”

  “Any spirit at all?”

  He smiled, but the expression didn't touch his eyes. “There are names that are legendary and have changed over time and retelling so far from the truth that they are not heeded, and there are spirits that have developed to the point where they do not know their names in life, as it was so long ago from their point of view that they have forgotten. And there are spirits who do not heed the call, or are reluctant to answer. But, yes, any spirit can be called.”

  “So you could call my brother?”

  “I could, but I will not. I will not bring someone back to taste life, to be reminded of it, for trivial reasons. I am not a priest.” The contempt bordering on hatred was clear in his voice when he used the word priest and my curiosity was piqued.

  I indicated the cloak, inviting him to sit and squatted down when he took his ease.

  “You called priests rapists,” I prompted.

  “Are you thinking of becoming my student? Be aware that I will only instruct my sons.”

  “I'm curious, I suppose. Are priests deserving of my anger?”

  He nodded acceptance of the reason for the question. “If you were called from the spirit world, your mind slowly stripped from you and what was left shaped as a tool, would you be resentful? Angry? Distressed?”

  I nodded.

  “So would the tools that priests shape, if they could remember enough of themselves to feel these things. What the priests do is rape and murder. So, are they deserving of your hatred?”

  I supposed they were. “But those who they do these things to agreed to be used so, isn't that true?”

  “Their followers do not know or understand the consequences. These things are not taught. Did you know them before I just explained?”

  I hadn't any contact with priests. There are not many in the city; strictly speaking there are none unless they are in hiding or do not call themselves priests. “I knew that priests call spirits to perform simulated magical effects. I didn't think much about the nature or state of those spirits. I guess I assumed they did what they did willingly, aware of what they did.”

  “The mind is a powerful thing, but it can only perform one great thought at a time. A fully aware consciousness has difficulty concentrating all of the mind on one task. Easier to strip away all you don't need and so all the consciousness is always used for the one task only. Like molding a lump of clay into a cup, then firing it, glazing and fixing the shape for ever. It can only ever be a cup now, or a broken cup.”

  He seemed saddened by the whole subject, and I guess a little of that touched me too. “Thank you for explaining.” I felt like I owed him more. “We of the city do not tolerate religion.”

  “Nor should you, though your reasons are selfish.”

  There was no answer to that. It was true.

  36

  I had decided not to pursue my idea of using spirits as a bridge to learning magic. Using spirits for selfish ends. I now knew he wouldn't cooperate even if he agreed to keep the idea secret. Maybe I could find a priest and use him.

  Rastrian had accepted my postponing of the planned meal almost with impatience. It was clearly not an issue with him, and I left it at that.

  My tent was ready by then and I retreated to it to wash the dust of the day off me and don fresh clothing. There were new and better fitting trousers.

  “Stop buying me clothes, Meran. I need the money for other purposes.”

  He shrugged. “I doubt you will lose more weight now anyway.”

  I grunted, looked down at my bare and wet torso and had to agree my belly was about as flat as it was going to get. I felt fit and healthy and was pleased enough with that. I stretched, pleased with the feeling, then grabbed a towel and dried off. Clean clothes felt good and I relaxed a little.

  The sudden double clap of the ward had me outside with my sheathed sword gripped in one hand and the other on the hilt ready to draw before I thought. This is silly. I knew Sapphire wasn't going to sneak into my area of the camp and knife anyone. Well, I think I knew everyone here was safe enough. And a lot of people were on the move, I didn't need to do anything. Everyone had been told what the sound would mean. I decided to stay put and let my men deal with it and a short while later Sapphire was escorted into my presence by Geheran, one of the four I had originally taken from Tulian as my own. A couple of mages hovered behind but I waved them away.

  “He says he is a messenger of your noble father, sir. Says you know him.”

  I nodded. So, maybe I'd been wrong. “So you have a letter for me.”

  Sapphire's cold eyes rested on mine for a moment. “Yes, young master.” He pulled a letter out of his shirt and passed it over without so much as blinking an eye.

  I opened it.

  One more drunken binge and you will suffer, I swear it!

  Sweet like a lemon. Sneaky bastard had given me one of the negative letters; well, at least I knew that I had been right and there were some.

  “Anything else?” Why make it easy for him.

  “A private verbal message, young master.”

  I pulled open the tent flap and gestured he step inside. When we were alone I asked him what he wanted.

  He glanced at Meran, looking him up and down. “Your father does not approve.”

  “You are reporting to my father,” I said.

  “Of course. You will never have a nobleman of the city in your clientele Your father thinks this is a serious error of judgment. Foolish and
immature.” He said this without inflection.

  I shrugged. “He may be right. But it's done. Anything else?”

  He didn't say anything for a moment, then. “How rusty are you with a sword?”

  My turn for a moment's silence. “Very,” I admitted.

  “In as little as four days there will be a battle. You may have to fight. If you will allow me I will help you practice. In private.”

  “Father's orders?”

  “My own judgment. I have wide latitude.”

  “You have practice swords?”

  “With the edges dulled,” there was a hint of disapproval in his voice.

  I thought about that. It seemed that I had better. “When?”

  “What is wrong with now?”

  I almost sighed. Just when I was starting to feel relaxed. “Now it is then. Extend my regrets to Lentro,” I told Meran. “Tell him I may be late for the evening meal.”

  Without another word Sapphire turned to go and I joined him, grabbing my armor in a bundle as I left.

  Neither of us had mentioned the letter.

  37

  Inside the walls there is a wide bare area unused for any purpose. It is there so that missiles lobbed over the walls don't hit anything. It was here that we practiced. I'd brought Kerral with me to field questions from the sentinels and keep people off our case. Other than that he was to watch and do nothing more. I wanted his opinion on my skill and Sapphire's. I'd ask him later.

  Sapphire set up four burning brands in a square, grabbed one of the dull edged swords and turned to face me. “Put the armor on,” he said, relaxing the point of the blade to the ground.

  “What about you?”

  “I won't need armor.”

  “That's a bit arrogant isn't it?” Even a dulled blade can break a bone, crack a skull, and kill. So can a club. Go figure.

  “I won't need it.”

  To hell with you, then. I put the armor on and we went to it.