Measure and the Truth

by Doug Niles

  “So you’re really going?” she asked. “Marching on Vingaard Keep?”

  “I have to,” he replied. “Lord Kerrigan leaves me no choice.”

  She spun around, glaring at him. “I thought your plan was to unite Solamnia? Forge one nation? Yet now you’re breaking it apart!”

  “You don’t understand,” he said calmly, while wishing devoutly that she did. “Unity requires sacrifice, so the parts will make the whole stronger. Kerrigan will not accept that essential truth. His realm was spared the scourge of Ankhar’s war. Now Vingaard needs to make up the difference, give us men for my army, steel for the nation’s treasury. He absolutely has refused to do either.”

  “And you are the new ruler of the nation. You’ve been emperor for less than a year, and you can’t let this refusal go unchallenged.”

  Her sarcastic tone was lost on him. Instead he nodded, feeling a swelling of relief. Perhaps she did understand! She turned her back and walked to the high windows, the beautiful clear panes of glass that allowed her to look out over her city like a goddess viewing the world from atop a cloud. She had everything she needed in there; he had worked hard to make the rooms suitable for her.

  He walked up behind her, leaning forward to inhale the sweet smell of her hair. Long and as bright as spun gold, her hair was a vital part of her beauty. His right hand caressed the curve of her hip, and he felt a swelling of affection and of proprietary pride. “You are still the most beautiful woman in all Solamnia,” he said, “and so precious to me.”

  She didn’t turn, didn’t respond with the tender sigh that, a year earlier, would have been followed by a swoon into his arms. When she spoke, her words were controlled and aimed like darts at the window.

  “I am a person, like any other. I wonder sometimes that I should be here simply because you find me beautiful.”

  “Why should that make you wonder?” His left hand found her other hip; he moved close behind her.

  “I wonder if it was ever my beauty that attracted you. Or was it the fact my father is lord regent, that he controlled the treasury of Palanthas—and of all Solamnia?”

  He shrugged, giving no indication of offense. “It was a useful circumstance, true. But did you not come willingly into my arms? We chose each other, don’t you remember?”

  Finally she turned to stare at him with pain in her eyes. “Then why are things so different now? Why do I feel so different?”

  Jaymes grunted, dropping his hands. “I don’t know,” he replied. “And I have to be going.” He started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to her. “One more thing. I want you to stay in your chambers until I return,” he said. “There are too many threats abroad for you to venture out safely. You will be safe here and well cared for. Marie has a bed in your anteroom, and I’ve ordered a full platoon of guards to stand by, to make sure that you want for nothing.”

  “Want for nothing? I want to walk around the palace—the city!” she retorted angrily, crossing to him. “What kind of threats are out there that can’t be stopped by an escort of your personal guards?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, his expression maddeningly serene. “I don’t want any chance of exposing you to violence—or the gods know what else. Illness, pestilence—they’re all about the city these summer months.” With a meaningful look downward, he placed a hand on her stomach. His touch made her flinch, but he didn’t seem to notice her reaction.

  “Remember, it’s not just your own health at stake,” he cautioned.

  With that, he gave her a perfunctory kiss, turned, and marched out the door. The sergeant of the guard did not even glance at her as he closed the door behind Jaymes Markham, Emperor of the Solamnic Nation.

  Soon after, Jaymes left the great city with the bulk of the Palanthian Legion: a force of five thousand men, some four hundred of them mounted knights. In the wake of the column rumbled heavy wagons hauling three bombards, the last surviving cannons from the six that had been employed in the Battle of the Foothills more than two years earlier. At that time Jaymes Markham had commanded the four armies that broke the half-giant Ankhar’s invading army and dispersed the fleeing remnants into the wilds of Lemish. The outcome of that war had solidified Markham’s control over all the realms of Solamnia. He had ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity for Solamnia.

  The army passed through the city’s Crown Gate, with the rugged Vingaard Mountains and the narrow cleft of the High Clerist’s Pass beckoning on the horizon. It had been more than two years since the soldiers had waged battle, and that was enough time for the wounds to heal and the grim memories to fade. They were men of Palanthas, loyal to their captains, generals, and emperor. They would serve with dedication and courage.

  To be sure, the time since the end of the war had not been spent in mere recuperation. Once the Lord Marshal had assumed control of all Solamnic Knighthood forces in the lands of the Old Empire and claimed the mantle of emperor, he had announced his goal was nothing less than the restoration of the ancient regime. While he had maintained the overall structure of his military—the forces were still organized into three armies, augmented by a legion of troops in Palanthas devoted to the emperor’s personal service—he had tinkered with longstanding traditions in armor, weaponry, unit organization, and tactics.

  The campaign they embarked on would put his improvements to the test. Most significantly, the regiment which had been the standard infantry formation for more than a millennium was broken into four, or sometimes five, companies of about two hundred men each. The companies allowed the army commander to maneuver his troops with greater precision than ever before. The ratio of light cavalry in each formation had been increased, often at the expense of the heavily armored knights that had traditionally been the backbone of the Solamnic Knighthood. Flexible, light, and fast, they would outmaneuver, rather than overpower, any foe.

  The emperor had also encouraged the employment of the Clerist Knights, priests who were trained in magic at the ancient Solamnic centers on Sancrist and would cast their spells in the service of the cause. Under the overall command of Lord Templar, clerists were assigned to each regimental headquarters, and at least one apprentice accompanied every company on the field. By dint of their magic, the holy knights facilitated communications between the army commander and his individual units.

  Another fundamental change in the way the knighthood waged war was evidenced in the personal command style of the army leader. No longer was he seen, resplendent in a bright uniform, gilded epaulets gleaming as he rode a strutting, prancing charger. The modern emperor wore a woolen riding cape that was drab compared to the scarlet tunics worn by his footmen. He rode behind the advance companies of light cavalry and was surrounded by a staff of couriers, together with his chief clerist—Lord Templar—and a half dozen of the Freemen.

  Such was the force of the Emperor’s determination, and his authority, that the changes had been implemented with very little resistance from the officers and the ranks. For more than a year, his army had trained and studied and experimented. Finally, for the first time, the new style and tactics would be tested on the battlefield.

  That was, if the rebellious inhabitants of Vingaard Keep did not immediately recognize the error of their ways.

  The people of the city stared as the army marched off to war. Their mood was somber, with a few offering cheers for the troops and many shouting best wishes to individual soldiers—husbands, brothers, and sons—in the ranks. The emperor himself the citizens regarded warily, not so certain of the impending conflict as they had been of his necessary campaigns against the barbaric Ankhar. The troops looked straight ahead and marched in perfect cadence.

  The emperor rode a nondescript roan mare with the casual ease of a natural horseman. His personal guard of Freemen, a hundred strong, rode white horses and looked alertly around as they rode close by their leader. Even as the party passed beneath the arch of the city gate, Jaymes could be seen talking and liste
ning to his aides, confirming the order of march in the column, receiving detailed lists from the quartermaster regarding the provisions in the baggage train, and having a word with Lord Templar about the most recent auguries regarding the Vingaard rebels.

  As the column, and the command party, headed around the first curve of the encroaching mountains, there were those among the emperor’s men who noted that their commander had not once raised his head to glance back at the city they were leaving behind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  PARLEY AND PRISON

  Lady Selinda Markham looked out the clear, glass window of her lofty chamber, conscious that the glass alone had cost the equivalent of a half year’s pay for one of her nation’s ordinary citizens. Though she had grown up with such luxury, only recently had she taken to considering its relative value. She knew that glass was a precious commodity, rare, valuable, and beautiful.

  Yet it was only with great effort that she resisted the impulse to drive her fist through the expensive glass, to shatter the pane into a spray of shards tumbling to the courtyard so far below.

  How dare he!

  Selinda, like all other Palanthians, knew Jaymes Markham would brook absolutely no challenges to his claim of absolute power. But this—his imprisonment of her! It far exceeded his authority, Selinda believed. Even her father would never have had the audacity to speak to her as her husband had, only hours before.

  While she looked through the window, Selinda’s hand drifted to her belly, touching the imperceptible thing that had taken root there, though it was not yet beginning to affect her slender shape. Her tower room offered views in three directions, but she did not so much as glance at the roadway heading into the mountains, the route taken by her husband’s army. Instead, as she stroked her belly, the princess of Palanthas gazed northward, past the city’s teeming docks, to the masts of the crowded harbor, and the sparkling blue waters extending to the limits of her vision on the northern horizon.

  She knew her husband and his soldiers too well even to try to persuade the guards at her door to consider relaxing their duties and letting her out for a short while. They would hem and haw and shuffle their feet, but in the end they would obey the emperor. She would not be allowed to leave her chambers.

  What a pretty prison I’ve made for myself! she thought, remembering back. She had been long been intrigued by the man, even though he was an outlaw when they had first met. Fascinated, she had paid wary attention to Jaymes as he exonerated himself, then rose by acclamation to the command of all the Solamnic Armies. As lord marshal, he had been surprisingly gracious to her. Then, one time during a visit, he had come to her chambers and they had shared a decanter of wine and talked; that was when she had fallen helplessly in love with him. Almost overnight his words had become music to her ears, his casual wishes her deepest desires.

  She had wanted—no, needed—him with a passion she had never imagined—and one that she could barely recall. What a naïf she had been when he had proposed to her, and her world broke into song. The wedding itself, hastily arranged but conducted with all the pomp that was owed to their status, had been a like a dream. Later, when he took her into the bridal chamber, her love for him had soared.

  It was a curious memory. At times the old feeling would return, when Jaymes would smile at her, or touch her cheek; then her heart would suddenly melt, while her mind … well, her mind just seemed to shut itself off. Only recently he had wielded that charm to take her to bed, some two months ago; she smiled at the memory. Then she frowned. The result was the child she had only recently discovered she was carrying.

  Most of the time, Jaymes was all business, immersed in his work, in the politics of rule or the dictates of army command, while she was trapped in that room in the tower, fifty feet above an enclosed, barricaded courtyard.

  Waiting to bear the emperor’s child.

  “No!” she cried aloud, banging her fist against the pane. She was startled by her outburst, and upset as she saw a thin crack spread across the expensive piece of glass.

  She drew herself up, tried to calm her emotions, forced herself to think. Banging on the windows—or walls or doors, for that matter—was fruitless. If she was going to do something, get out of there, she would have to try clever means.

  She thought for a long time, pacing slowly, looking out the window without really seeing the sunlit view, the blue waters, the glittering, busy city. Finally, she made up her mind, turned her back to the window, and strode to the door.

  “Sergeant!” Selinda called.

  The door opened at once to reveal the familiar mustachioed knight in his scarlet tunic and gleaming black riding boots.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Take a message to Coryn the White. Ask if she will come to see me at her earliest opportunity.”

  “At once, my lady,” replied the sergeant. He saluted formally and closed the door. She heard him issuing orders to a runner.

  At the same time, she heard the lock snap shut outside her door.

  The soldier strode through the upper hall of Thelgaard Keep. As he turned the corner leading to the general’s council chamber, he almost broke into an excited run, his left hand bracing the hilt of the long sword he wore at his belt so he didn’t trip over the weapon.

  “I need to see my father, at once!”

  The young captain’s manner was so urgent that the guard might have let him pass even if he weren’t General Dayr’s son. As it was, the halberdier at the door all but stumbled over himself in his haste to get out of the soldier’s way.

  “Of course, Captain Franz, go right in!”

  His riding boots scuffed across the smooth boards of the floor as he burst into the council room, where he found his father and several of his officers standing around a map. A glance showed Franz that the parchment displayed the central Vingaard Plains.

  “Is it true that we have been order to march? To join the emperor in a campaign against our own people?” Franz demanded.

  “Watch your tone, my son,” the general retorted sharply. His glare was fierce, until it wavered unevenly with a glance toward the other men at the table. Franz could see his own misgivings mirrored in the concerned expressions of Captain Blair, master of the Thelgaard Lancers, and the Knight Clerist Lauder. General Dayr was silent for a moment as he slowly drew a breath. Finally, he addressed his son directly.

  “Yes. The order comes through the Clerist’s scrying tool. Lord Markham is leaving Palanthas this morning, and we are to march north from Thelgaard. We are to seal off the approaches to Vingaard Keep from the south and east while he comes down from the mountains.”

  “But those are some of your own men in Vingaard!” protested Franz. “How can you march against them!”

  “They are men who swore an oath to support the lawful government of Solamnia!” the general snapped. “Yet they have sent a message that can only be construed as a personal challenge to the lord marshal!”

  “He’s not the lord marshal any longer, Father. He has appointed himself emperor. Isn’t that going too far?”

  “He is not the first emperor in Solamnic history. Sometimes a realm needs an absolute ruler, one who can dictate to the masses, to his troops—to everyone. It is an honorable title, one that has been claimed by strong men throughout our history whenever the empire has been in a state of turmoil,” Dayr explained, as if tutoring a schoolchild.

  “The only turmoil is his doing!” retorted the son.

  “That is enough!” snapped General Dayr, suddenly filling out his uniform with his annoyance. His gray mustaches curled downward in walrus-like disapproval, and his cheeks were flushed beyond their normal ruddiness. Franz was reminded that his father was a man who had fought many battles, had risked his own life and ordered hundreds of men to their deaths, all in the service of the lord marshal who had proclaimed himself emperor. “Jaymes Markham has united this nation, restored a proud legacy, and given us—and the order to which we have sworn all devotion—a real chance to regai
n its former glories! He deserves my loyalty, and he deserves yours!”

  Captain Franz immediately stiffened to attention, replying only with a curt “Yes, sir.”

  The elder officer relaxed, slightly, and indicated the map on the table. “But I’m glad you’re here, Captain,” he said in a softer tone. “As cavalry commander, you’ll play a key role on the march. I’ll want the White Riders to accompany the column, of course.” He turned to Blair. “And the lancers will screen the advance, as well as the right flank of the march route. Our left will follow the course of the Vingaard River, for the most part.”

  “Yes, General. When do we depart?” Blair was a stolid veteran of the past years’ campaigns. Courageous but unimaginative, he had seen Thelgaard fall to the barbarian horde and had nearly lost his life when the city was ultimately reclaimed. If he shared Franz’s discomfort with the current mission, he did not say anything. But his look was solemn.

  “I want two companies of lancers on the road well before dark tonight. The rest of the Crown Army marches north with the dawn. Can you see to that?”

  “I have four companies in garrison right now; two of them can depart by noon. And the muster has already sounded, so the rest of the men should reach the stables before evening.”

  Dayr turned to his son. “And the White Riders? When will they be ready to move out?”

  “Within the day, sir. But Father—that is, General—what is the objective? Are we going to make war?”

  General Dayr sighed. “Right now, we’re going to show the knights of Vingaard the emperor means business. They’ll see an army coming out of the mountains and another ready to cross the river.”

  “And then?”

  “And then, I hope, they’ll have the wisdom to yield to the emperor’s will,” replied Dayr grimly.