For Slan’s incisive mind had intuitively realized that Basura was not the only prize to be gained. Clever man that he was, he’d read the mind of the High Prince. The world itself was in the balance, a plum ripe for the taking. And somewhere out there was a land – much more than a mere province – of which Zelrod Slan, trusted and accomplished servant of the man who would be king, might be given lordship.
For the moment, however, Basura was the target. And in that regard, Slan had read beyond the mind of his master. The High Prince had stated that under certain conditions, “war would be preferable.” Slan knew that civil war was not only expedient under any circumstances but that it was inevitable. If Elam ever hoped to assert its dominance in an increasingly vulnerable world, then it could not continue as a loose confederation of Great Houses. It must be transformed into a proper kingdom.
Power could be properly applied only if it was concentrated. Consequently, wayward provinces such as Basura must be reduced and absorbed.
So, Slan meant to have war.
Basura, according to reports, could muster something just over eight thousand men while he had fifteen thousand at his disposal. And once the Basurans showed any sign of resistance, he would send for ten thousand more to be brought up. Only pride, and a need to prove his worth with the forces he’d been given, kept him from calling those reinforcements forward now.
Over the next few days, as summer passed through the height of its season and began the long tilt toward autumn, he worked to establish a defensible front, and began sending out reconnaissance and foraging parties. At first, the resistance from the farmers and villagers of western Basura was fierce and hostile. The citizenry was shocked and outraged that soldiers could requisition the hard-won produce of their lives, rudely and roughly, and without thought of compensation. Very quickly, however, the true nature of the encroachment of the High Prince’s forces became clear – farmers and merchantmen that resisted too strenuously were hanged, and the populace in general fell prey to vile molestation without punishment being meted out to the perpetrators. It was then that the vast majority of folk finally attended to the Great House’s plea for them to retreat to the east.
At first, it was just a trickle of refugees headed eastward, but the trickle rapidly became a flood. Slan’s hopes for defection among the common folk were effectively dashed. There were a few, to be sure, who ignored the decree to abandon the western part of the province. By and large though, these were the landless, the kinless, and the ambitionless, dregs who tried to attach themselves to the invading force like stray dogs, hoping for their share of scraps. The great mass of the population fled.
Once he used up everything that the territory immediately under his control could supply, Slan moved his line eastward again, and then repeated the process every five to seven days. The House of Basura, if it intended to make a stand, evidently intended to do so somewhere in the eastern half of the province.
As the army strengthened and expanded its occupation of Basuran territory, however, they found that more and more stragglers remained behind. Some were landholders and merchants, who stubbornly remained on their farms and in the villages. These folk did not actively resist Slan and his army, but neither did they attach themselves to his objectives. Apparently, they expected that the other Great Houses would intercede on behalf of Basura, or that Slan and his men would reach a point of satiation. Instead, they became fodder for atrocities committed by his soldiers.
For the time being, Slan intended to keep the men on a relatively short leash. If their actions began to cause political problems for the throne, he would react appropriately; maybe even hang one or two offenders, as an act of appeasement. But if none of the other Great Houses put forward any protest, he intended to let the leash slip, and slip again. There was nothing like unbridled atrocity to push a people into rash behavior.
And Slan meant to push Basura into rashness.
43.
From the beginning, Heglund Basura knew that the army encamped on his doorstep was there for one purpose alone – to provoke him to blunder. And he had no intention of committing blunder. His response had been to pull his own uniformed men back into the interior of the province, away from temptation.
And thereby the blunder was committed and half the province in danger of being lost.
For he was entirely unprepared when that same army brazenly advanced into his home territory and began hanging innocent farmers and stealing their goods. As stories of death, burning, pillaging, and atrocity came to him from the west, the elderly head of the House of Basura nearly collapsed under the weight of grief, because of the torment being inflicted upon his people, and because of his decision which had allowed it.
Uncertain as to how he should – or could – respond, he called an emergency meeting of all his commanders, including his son, Amund, and General Olyeg Kraine. They gathered in the dining room of his house in Sevas on an afternoon when the sky darkened, rumbled, and flashed as if the firmament itself were a precursor of the war that must now surely come. When the room had settled, he met Kraine’s eyes.
“You are technically still a representative of the throne, Olyeg. If you wish to excuse yourself from this council, even if you wish to take your family and flee the province, I – we all – will understand.”
Kraine’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head grimly. “No, sir, I will not flee. I stand with you now, Chancellor, or fall with you. The civil war that many of us have long feared has come upon us and cannot now be avoided by any. When Rahm is through here, the people of my own House of Berezan will either have to relinquish their freedom willingly or be forcibly enslaved, as will all of Elam.” He lifted his chin and his gray eyes swept the room. “I mean to oppose Rahm. I am here, so I will oppose him here.” He looked back at Heglund. “I am not leaving. Use me however you will.”
Gazing back in astonishment and surprise at his friend’s vehemence, Heglund Basura acknowledged his words gratefully. “Thank you, General. Your strength strengthens us.” He moved his attention to his son. “What now? Do we go out and try to reason with this General Slan?”
Amund shook his head without hesitation. “No, father. Rahm wants us reduced. He did not send this general here to reason with us but to push us into behaving stupidly and rashly. I admit; our choices daily become more limited. We’ve already effectively abandoned nearly half the province and it will be difficult, if not impossible, to retake it.” He turned toward Kraine. “Yours is the best and most well-trained military mind among us, Olyeg – what do we do?”
“In an offensive sense?” Kraine asked, frowning. “To oppose Slan’s actions?”
Amund shook his head. “No – to defend our people and our land.”
Olyeg folded his hands upon the table and studied them for a moment, and then he looked from son to father and back again. “First – please tell me – what is your use for me?”
Amund glanced at his father who slowly and deliberately met every set of eyes in the room and then looked at Kraine. He spoke firmly. “You are the most senior officer in the province. We wish you to take command of our forces.”
Olyeg had not expected this. Surprised, he looked around the table at the rest of the Basuran commanders but found no one taking exception to the Chancellor’s statement. He pursed his lips and nodded with decision. “Alright. Then I think Amund is right. We should waste no time thinking that Slan will listen to or speak reason, or if he does, that it will mean anything. We must look to our defense.”
“Agreed,” Heglund replied. “But where will we make our defense? Slan is just now inside our borders. Do we move our forces back to the west, closer to him, and try to save as much of the province as possible?” There was a hopeful tone in his voice as he asked this, but Olyeg was shaking his head even before the elderly head of the House Basura finished speaking.
“No, Chancellor. We have to defend the most defensible line in the province. And as we are outnumbered, we will need time to strengthen t
hose defenses as much as is possible before the enemy arrives to test them. It will have to be in the eastern half of the province that we make our stand.” He gave this response with a firm tone, but upon seeing the effect his pronouncement had upon Heglund, he softened his voice. “I’m sorry, Chancellor, but I am thinking of our situation in terms of military realities.”
Gazing down at his hands folded upon the table, Heglund nodded his acquiescence but did not speak further.
Turning away from contemplating his father’s abruptly downcast look, Amund inquired, “Where, Olyeg? Where do we make our stand?”
“At Tobol,” the general replied without hesitation.
This assertion made Heglund’s head snap upward and nearly brought him to his feet. “Tobol? Tobol? But that is relinquishing more than half the province to these thugs.”
Cautiously, respectfully, Olyeg nodded. “Yes, Chancellor; it is. But the River Shosk bends down out of the north there and runs to the west very near Tobol’s northern walls. Also, there is a small but quite defensible stream that comes from the south and joins with the Shosk at that point, on the west of the city. Down along the banks of that tributary stream, to the south, there are marshes that will make maneuver difficult for our enemies.” He shook his head. “I do not know how quickly Slan intends to come eastward, but he will have to believe that we intend to make a stand somewhere. The Shosk is not deep but it is wide enough to be a barrier and will guard our northern flank. The marshes to the south will help us on that side. Tobol is therefore, in my opinion, our best chance at mounting an effective defense.”
He looked around, meeting every set of eyes. “My advice is that we use what time we have, be it days, weeks, or months, and strengthen the walls of Tobol while establishing our defense along the stream that fronts its western walls. If Slan and his army decide not to test our defenses and try to go around to either the north or the south, it will be a long journey for his army. If he goes north, across the Shosk, he would then have to re-cross it somewhere. We will be waiting for him when he does, and a river is easier to defend than a field. If he goes south, we will catch him as he attempts the marshes. His advantage will be lessened. My advice therefore, is to defend Tobol.”
He turned and looked directly at Heglund, who once more had bent his gaze down upon the table top in front of him. “I have studied the writings of the ancient king, Joktan, as it concerns the art of war, Chancellor. His first rule, in times of war, is that one must not think of occupying ground as essential strategy. Rather, it is in confronting and destroying the enemy army that victory will be found. We give up part of the province now so that we may meet him in circumstances that are more advantageous to our cause.”
The Chancellor glanced up briefly. “How can we destroy him, Olyeg, when we are out- numbered nearly two-to-one?”
“But we don’t necessarily need to destroy him, sir. We only need to make it costly enough that he will abandon his efforts. Another of King Joktan’s maxims is that it takes far fewer men to defend a position than to assault it.”
Heglund gazed downward for a long time when the general finished speaking. After a while, he sighed and nodded slowly as he looked up.
“You are right,” he confessed. “And if there is no dissent, then I direct you to make it more than advice, Olyeg – make it your first order of business. Our strength is under your command and as you say there is no time to waste.” He looked at his son and then slowly moved his gaze around to all the others. Finding no disagreement to Kraine’s assessment, he tendered another question to the general. “Do we post our entire force there, at Tobol, or do we keep something in reserve?”
General Kraine shook his head. “There is no reason to hold anything in reserve. If we fail at Tobol, we are lost. Slan must come through that city if he intends to continue eastward. To pass beyond Tobol, he must assault our forces in place and defeat us there. There is no point in keeping a force in reserve,” he repeated, “that will have nothing left to defend.”
“Alright, Olyeg; we will leave it with you, then,” Heglund responded solemnly. “Do as you see best.”
Olyeg inclined his head. “Have I your leave to go now and do as required, sir?”
“Yes – go,” Heglund replied. The old Chancellor’s eyes misted as he looked around at his officers, all inexperienced and mostly young. “And take all our strength with you.”
As the general and his new staff rose and left the room, Amund stood up as well. He watched them go and then turned to his father. “Whatever Olyeg does, father, it will improve our situation. But it will not be enough. We need allies. Shau to the south has no love of Rahm and might be persuaded to join with us. Midvale to the north, I grant you, is weak and poor. Still – one extra soldier in the fight is better than none at all.”
Heglund gazed out the window, watching Olyeg Kraine speaking to his commanders, organizing them in preparation for going west. He shook his head. “Shau is nearer Farenaire than we, and must watch its own southern border for signs of treachery from House Waurph, whose head is very closely allied with the throne. And you are right; it is pointless to seek any aid from Midvale, except perhaps for that one soldier. And he will not be enough. The other houses that might join with us, like Cinnabar, or Berezan, are far to the south, separated from us by the villain himself.” He turned to look at Amund. “No, my son; the aid we need lies far beyond the borders of Elam. And I know not how to find him.”
Amund drew in a sharp breath as he met his father’s gaze. “You mean the prince of the east – Marcus’ ‘barbarian king’.” When Heglund quietly acquiesced to this, Amund turned in agitation and went to the window where he could see Olyeg and the other commanders in deep discussion of the operations to come. After a moment, he turned and spread his arms wide. “Even if we could find him, we know nothing of this man, father. For all we know, he might be worse than Rahm, with designs of his own upon the land.” He let his hands fall as his brow darkened. “He might even join with Rahm.”
Heglund frowned at his son. “Worse than Rahm? How is that possible? Treachery like that currently exhibited by our ‘High Prince’ is not so common as you must believe. And join with the bastard Imrid?” He shook his head in firm disagreement. “No, my son. You are wrong, I believe, in either assertion. The barbarian leader did not destroy Elam’s army though Marcus was convinced that such destruction was well within his capability. Nor did he seek conversation with or concession from Imrid. He even declared himself the sworn enemy of Rahm’s ally in the north.” He held up one slim finger. “Consider this – he knew about Elam’s tribute of women to that faraway, wicked prince – and held the action in the contempt that it deserves.”
He stood to face his son. “And what if he did have ‘designs’, as you say, upon the land? Could he be worse than Rahm? Could anyone be worse than Rahm?” He turned away and watched the military men outside his window as they began to disperse to their appointed charges. “And there is one thing more – he flies the ancient horse-head standard as his own. There is meaning in that. I do not know what the meaning is, but it is there, and it is significant.” He breathed in once, deeply, and let it out. “That man is our best hope.”
Amund watched his father for a long moment. “Should I go and try to find him, sir?”
Without turning to look at him, Heglund shrugged. “Where would you look?”
“He is somewhere to the east; we know this,” Amund answered. “Lamont and Duridia both know of him. Their princes follow him. The people of ancient Wallensia – the land that we thought long gone – pay him obeisance. If I can find my way there quickly, surely there is someone among those people who will know where he may be found.”
Heglund turned. For just a moment, hope flickered deep inside his eyes, but it faded as quickly as it came. He shook his head in sadness. “There are countless miles of trackless wilderness between us and Wallensia – if indeed, Wallensia even exists. We have only the words spoken by strangers to Marcus to sugge
st that it does. When last I heard anything definitive, the monstrous beasts of Rahm’s northern ally held sway along the banks of the Stell.” He shook his head again. “You may as well die here, with your father and your mother, as perish in the wilderness far from home. Besides, even were you to succeed, Basura might not be here when you returned.” He turned back to the window and gave utterance to frail and desperate hope. “Who knows? – maybe the barbarian king will hear of our distress and come.”
He went quiet and the silence of shared despair fell deep between them.
Amund looked out the window, at his beloved, imperiled land. His father was right, of course; they were on their own. The mysterious eastern prince – or king, or whatever he truly was – lived somewhere too far away, beyond the unknown horizon. Still, they had Olyeg with them, and the general’s plan would undoubtedly make Rahm’s campaign more costly than the High Prince imagined. Maybe, if they were fortunate, it might even become too costly, and Basura and its people would survive in some diminished form.
He sighed deeply. The horizon of his homeland’s future had abruptly grown so dark as to be nearly indiscernible.
Sighing again, he addressed his father. “I’ll send word to Shau, and even Midvale. Perhaps help will come – if even just the one soldier. Mayhap he will be the difference in whether we die or survive.”
Heglund nodded shortly but did not speak.
44.
It took almost six full days for Flinneran to return to his hut in the village. The precious artifact, the woman’s hair brush, weighed him down, made him feel sluggish with the import of its meaning to his future. Working his way northward through the woods, he started at every noise, and was certain he saw a wolf in every shadow. Because he moved through unfamiliar territory, he was prevented from traveling at night. And throughout every one of those six long days, he kept diligently to the murk beneath the trees, out of the sight of any of “Lord” Aram’s winged minions.
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 35