Chronicles of Den'dra: A land on Fire

by Spencer Johnson

  “Sometimes a little theatrics are required to prevent one from being underestimated. I was thinking on the matter and I don’t think we would be best served by having an army at both front and rear doorstep.” Balinor rolled his eyes before responding to Urake.

  “I find myself forced to agree with you. Now that this matter has been settled we can attend to more important matters.” Balinor still had more to add when Em’risi interrupted him.

  “Balinor, be civil. The rest of you should also behave while we let Lord Uraken finish telling us his idea.” Issam and Lortin stiffened at hearing the title that was used. Urake nodded his thanks for the support to the Princess before continuing.

  “How many men do you now have?”

  “Nearly a thousand. The Outlanders have been joining up since the Princess lifted the taxes. Most of them are useless in a battle, the majority of the lot are fishermen and hunters.” Balinor obeyed Em'risi’s order and almost erased the loathing from his voice.

  “Keep them in Keom. It doesn’t take more than a good hunter to hold a section of wall if there isn’t anyone climbing over. The river is flowing well and with the drawbridge up, they can’t even reach the foot of the wall. Balinor might recall how difficult it was to take Safrym holdfasts.”

  “Those blistering deep forsaken archers… I mean… ah… The Safrym bowmen were able to use their weapons to great effect.” Balinor nervously eyed Urake’s sleeves as he reworded his statement.

  “Indeed, I consider crossbows to be next to useless in a real battle. They may be able to drive a quarrel through plate in close quarters, but a skilled bowman can plant an arrow through a face guard at ten times the distance. Only soldiers without any genuine archery skill use them. The hunters out here in the Outlands make their living by being able to take the eye out of a squirrel at fifty paces and the heart or lungs of a deer at a hundred paces. Men make large targets.”

  “Even so; none of them have more than their hunting bows, unlike the war bow that you carry.” Balinor shook his head dismissively.

  “That should be one of your first orders of business. Although, several have built their own hunting bows and they might match most war bows. Those could be set to building more without delay.” Balinor’s fist clenched instinctively, but he made no further action when Em'risi gave him a hard glance.

  “So your plan is to put the hunters on the north wall while an army knocks down the south wall? Are you going to suggest that we set fishermen to tangling them in nets next? We should be asking Balinor what his thoughts are. He is the seasoned general here.” Lortin's attempt at regaining Balinor and the Princess’ favor ended up being a double sided blade that cut where he didn’t expect. Balinor took the compliment with a smile, but Em'risi’s smile was frigid enough that Lortin took to examining his fingers intently.

  “This is true. I never commanded armies, but that is not to say that I have no military experience. I have escaped an army single handedly. By all means, if you find yourself in the middle of a field with cavalry, infantry, lancers, pike men, and support at your back; all with full harness of armor, seek Balinor’s advice. My specialty is in situations where you find yourself severely outnumbered.”

  “What exactly is your plan beyond placing hunters to hold the north wall?” Redzyn broke in before Balinor had a chance to form a response for Urake’s insult.

  “Send four hundred men with me to the south. I will add the garrison to my number when I reach them.” Urake wasn’t fazed by the surprise that swept the other’s faces.

  “Four hundred men? There are nearly ten times that number in the southern army. How do you plan on facing those odds?” Lortin asked incredulously.

  “I don’t intend to face them. I intend to attack their backs.”

  “That isn’t very honorable, more like cowardly.” Lortin sneered disgustedly.

  “Songs are full of stories about honorable men. Ston’al the brave faced odds of twenty to one with his band of rogues turned heroes. They fought heroically until the last of them died; however, they saved the entire village from the evil halflings. I have been to the pass that they fought and died on. They would have only lost a handful of men if they had simply triggered a rockslide on the halflings.”

  “I really don’t see how this story is supposed to be inspirational in this situation.” Redzyn interlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

  “Simply this, the moral of the story is that is it better to be thought a coward that cheated his way to victory over a fool that died heroically. I can do more with four hundred men than with a thousand.”

  “We can’t spare more than that many men. Our forces are going to be spread quite thin as it is. If you think that you can keep them off our backs until we are able to handle them…” Em'risi acquired a nodded acquiescence from Balinor.

  “Don’t be so somber, it isn’t as bad as you think. I have a few schemes in play that might even the odds a little.” Urake laughed lightly.

  “I understand that you were responsible for burning Reigns’ fleet, was there anything else that you did while on the other side of the Garoche?” Redzyn smiled in response to Urake’s laugh.

  “Between my men and myself, we burnt the fleet, stole Reigns’ false princess, kidnapped the man he intended to replace her with as a pliable puppet monarch; my agents infiltrated Reigns’ spy network and as a result of our actions, got a castle razed. A busy few weeks if I say so myself.” There was stunned silence for a moment or two.

  “I find that hard to believe.” Issam had been quiet for the last few rounds of the discussion and now voiced his opinion.

  “Be that as it may, the truth remains. There is still work to do along the north wall. Fireproofing any roof tops within archer range of the river bank should be a priority. Emeck tells me that there are still a couple sections of the wall that are little more than stacked stone. Tusul will be staying in Keom. I request that you make sure he gets a workshop, forge, and any supplies he needs. He will probably have a number of suggestions along the lines of improving your defenses. He is a gifted architect along with one of the best leather workers in the land. You would be wise to assign several assistants to help him. Time is short. If I have your permission Princess, there is much that I need to do before marching south and I want to march as soon as possible.”

  “Agreed, but I wish to speak with you further before you engage yourself. Are there any more matters that must be discussed?” No one answered Em'risi’s question so she stood and swept out of the room with Alvin trailing her. Urake followed and found her waiting down the hall a few paces.

  “You wished to speak with me?” Urake fell into step with Em'risi.

  “Yes… You seem not to make any attempt at ingratiating yourself with Balinor, even after declaring him loyal to me. Might I ask why? He is my General.”

  “It is enough that he is loyal to you. He is also the kind of man that becomes arrogant when he loses respect for an opponent. He wouldn’t have thought long on anything the others in the room had said. Because I was the one that proposed it, he very thoroughly scrutinized my plan and saw its merit. If he sees merit; he will be the last to admit it, but he will also be the last to oppose it. That is one of the redeeming qualities of honorable men.”

  “So you don’t like honorable men?”

  “On the contrary, they are the easiest opponents to predict and defeat.”

  “Do you consider yourself an honorable man?”

  “In a fashion. I am not bound by honor. I am not above using every low trick to keep my oaths and protect those I have sworn to keep safe.”

  “Do you then believe that the end justifies the means?”

  “No, never that… I have seen men who ascribe to that ideology and find the ends to be made worthless by the cost of the means. I suppose that is where my honor stands. I will not harm women, children or innocents. Nor ask any of my men to do something that I would not.”

  “I fear that the near future will reveal u
s all for honorable or not, cowards or heroes.” Em'risi spoke as they left the Sea Fort and entered the courtyard.

  “Indeed.”

  “I wish to know something…”

  “Ask as you wish.” Urake waited as Em'risi paused in the shade cast by the wall before continuing.

  “Of those that you left with, I only see two that returned with you. Were your costs so high to carry out the things you said that you did?”

  “None were harmed, that I am aware of. Most chose a different path. My son and Inadar were captured by Reigns, but Enthack tells me that they were freed.” Em'risi caught her breath in a little gasp as she heard about the capture.

  “I am sorry, your son captured. I can’t imagine.”

  “Fear not, if what I suspect is true, they are probably in the safest place in the Braebach right now.” Em'risi was puzzled yet relieved at the information.

  “You mentioned that several chose their own paths?”

  “Torroth had a legitimate reason for leaving. Niman and Arken are most likely going to spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. I am not vindictive, but I will not make it easy on them. My people will be sure to remind them as frequently as they can.”

  “Uraken, you are an interesting man. It is a pity that you were never able to come to court. You have a gift and would make a formidable opponent in playing the games that the nobles occupy themselves.”

  “Princess, what the nobles play as a past time is vaguely similar to the game I played for most of my life. The difference is that if their scheme falls apart or is discovered, they are shamed. If my game were to be discovered, my life would be the price. One tends to become skilled quickly at this game or they don’t last long.” Em'risi nodded thoughtfully as Urake finished.

  “You seem an honorable man to me, as honorable as circumstances would permit. I am honored to have your service.”

  “Nay Princess, it is I who am honored.” Em'risi looked at Urake sharply as he contradicted her.

  “Have you any final advice before you go south?”

  “Eat, drink and enjoy the night, rejoice in life for tomorrow… tomorrow we may all die. Let the songs resound with our deeds, but may every ballad end on a joyful note. Let no cowardice taint the telling. Tomorrow, we will do what lesser men cannot. Tomorrow, let the darkness shudder. Let our war cries be our only cries. Let the only blood that stains the ground be the blood of our enemies. We will prevail tomorrow. Let the ages revile our names if we fail.”

  “Sad’virin before the last battle to take the plains of Shienhin. A fitting quote, I suppose.” Em'risi pensively stared into the distance with a sad look about eyes strangely lit with determination.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Loss

  It is amazing some of the things that people take for granted in life. Often it isn’t until these things are lost that they realize that the things were ever there in the first place. Sometimes these are only little things like having a warm meal at a predictable time every day. Other times these things can be noticed, then disregarded as irrelevant. Small things like having clothes to wear. The majority of times they make up a greater part of our lives. The house that one have been born and raised in. Perhaps the parents believed to always be there when we needed them and only missed when they are gone. You only miss the sun when it is raining. Summer heat is only missed when the frost is forming. Frequently, we only know how much is lost when we reach for it and pause on remembering the absence.

  Grief is an emotion resulting from the dismal discovery of loss. Loss of a father, a sister, and a world. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow are indistinguishable. It is impossible to understand when you see people walking about as if nothing had happened. The world was utterly destroyed. You don’t even expected the sun to rise this morning. Much like you might not have expected it to rise yesterday morning and the day before that. And yet people don’t seem to notice. How life could continue is unfathomable. However much Mosn doubted it, the first golden rays were creeping up the valley when he was disturbed from where he sat resting his chin on his knees, his arms hugging his legs. Already the golden light was brushing the sleep from the village.

  “Get off my doorstep this instant you little brat!” Mosn’s slight form deftly rolled out of the way of the broom that followed the words. Darsay almost lost her balance in the aftermath of not landing the blow.

  “I'm sorry. It won’t happen again.” Darsay sniffed loudly, turned her back to the lad and began sweeping the porch as if trying to remove the dirt that Mosn had undoubtedly left by sitting there. Dejectedly turning, Mosn walked to the other side of the town square and found a secluded nook to continue his watch. The town square was where any festivities were held and the farmer’s market in the winter. Yrany wasn’t affluent enough to cobble the square yet the hard packed earth was nearly as hard stone. The main buildings of the town were built around the square with their fronts facing the center. A traveler had but to find the square to find most any service that was offered in the town.

  Mosn meant it when he had told Darsay that he wouldn’t be spending another night on the porch of her inn. One last look was all he wanted. There wasn’t yet any signs of wakening from the house he watched. When his father had lived there, the forge would already have been burning. There wouldn’t be any hammering for another hour. Just heating the forge for the day’s labor.

  Mosn’s father had died four days ago. An accident if the truth be told. The meat dresser had never intended to run the sharp metal rod through the blacksmith’s heart. A rod only forged last winter by the blacksmith for the purpose of spitting the game being butchered. No, the blacksmith had attacked the tanner’s son in the meat curing room and had fallen on the rod. That was the story that everyone mouthed about the village. There were looks of sympathy and condolence, but not for Mosn. The tanner’s son had been the one so comforted. After Skeln’s disappearance, Akeli had taken to following the tanner’s son. Some even blamed the fire that took the town drunk on the blacksmith. No one blamed Eklethin for defending himself. No one blamed the butcher either for lending a hand in that defense. They all knew what had happened to the other three young men that had been caught by the enraged blacksmith.

  The window curtain at the upper room window stirred ever so slightly. Mosn tensed and looked ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Akeli was the one that had caused the whole problem. She had been the reason for the other three having been beaten to within an inch of their lives. Only the young men seemed to realize that fact of the matter. They were the ones that had been forced to steer clear of the girl after the second beating. The third one had been caught through no fault of his own. Akeli persisted naively and on discovering failure had sobbed the tale of her broken heart on her father’s shoulder. Clormen walked with a limp that he would have for the rest of his life. Skeln disappeared before Akeli thought her heart broken. As it was, she wept profusely for a few minutes on hearing of his supposed demise in the house fire. An hour later, her sights were set on Eklethin. His elusive nature had saved him until four days ago.

  The downstairs door opened slowly and Akeli peered about suspiciously. Mosn knew what she was looking for. The hand behind her back held her new husband’s horsewhip. He still had the welts from yesterday’s encounter with said whip. She could wield it mercilessly. Her new husband had shown up in town scant hours after hearing the news of the vacant forge. Two days after her father’s death and an hour after his burial, Akeli had used her golden looks to marry and the journeyman blacksmith had set up shop in the forge the same day. Mosn thought it strange that he had appeared so conveniently until he learned that he hadn’t been farther than the old Redzyn manor to begin with. Everyone else thought he had just happened through and thought no more of it. Mosn had come into the suspicion that the journeyman had done most of the wooing and Akeli, or receiving unaccustomed attention, had been an easy conquest. Akeli was now a respectable married woman in the eyes of the villagers. Mosn, on the other hand, he w
as accorded all the ill deeds of his father. No one would suffer his presence if they could help it. Even now the tanner’s wife sniffed haughtily and turned her nose the other direction as she passed on her way to deal with the butcher.

  Mosn balled his fist as he stepped out into full view. Akeli snarled when she saw him. She would have crossed the town square in her nightclothes if it hadn’t been for the early rising people already present. Mosn smiled wanly.

  “Goodbye sister. I hope you never regret your hasty choice. Regardless of what you think, I believe your life won’t be so golden now.” The farewell was uttered under his breath. Mosn wasn’t going to risk gaining more tender red weals by going to Akeli. She was dead to him now. Nothing remained in Yrany that held any ties to him. It was time to leave like Skeln had, the only friend he had ever called such.

  Most thought the lad had died in the fire that consumed Skeln’s home where he lived with his drunk of a father. Mosn knew differently and had never spoken of what he knew. He had seen Skeln climbing over the ridge that morning at about the same time the smoke had begun rising from the fire. Early morning jaunts up the hill were a secret habit of his. Time alone with his thoughts before a day of bearing the pitying glances of the villagers. Now, all they saw was the son of a mad man. It didn’t matter that he was innocent of any crimes accorded his father.

  Mosn left the goodbye spoken only to the air. Turning he walked the road out of town. He was eleven and an orphan. Yrany did not want him. No place would want him. Orphans were never wanted. Larger towns and cities would ignore orphans and that was all that Mosn wanted right then. To be allowed to attend his own future without his father’s deeds hanging over his head. Warton was the nearest town the road led to. His head was hanging with his eyes on the dust and his mind was drifting in an endless haze when Mosn nearly walked into the farm wife making her way into to the village.