Nicolas did not often look behind, for there the green and yellow and red became a lifeless dull brown, torn asunder by boot and hoof. The army trampled moist earth, soft grass, and budding flower with equal indifference, leaving a broken morass in its wake.
And all the while, the sun blazed down encouragingly.
At his back marched half the remaining strength of the kingdom, over a thousand soldiers, augmented by scouting cavalry and ox-drawn wagons of the supply train.
Ruination of the landscape aside, he felt nothing but pride and love toward these brave women and men, for he was their undisputed leader. He drew strength from them, just as he liked to believe they drew strength from him. Not every army was led by a king and thane.
From his perch in the saddle, Nico leaned down to pat Lancer’s neck in consolation. The mottled warhorse—one of three mounts he favored, and his favorite since the deliverance of Neublusten—merely snorted back in frustration. Full of boundless vigor, Lancer wanted only to be given his head. This tepid cantor was for lesser creatures, a burden to them both.
Nico maintained their speed, much as he would have liked to move faster. Together they set the rate of march for the entire army, and the poor footsoldiers, new to this aspect of duty, struggled to maintain even this modest pace.
Besides, it was very likely the destrier would be given the opportunity to release some of that energy in the coming days. Perhaps even in battle.
For battle was what Nico expected. And with it, the possibility of losing everything that had been gained in recent tendays.
Those gains were not insubstantial. In a very short time since taking command at the Rechshtal, one major battle was won, the capital relieved, the Loresters all but knocked from the list of enemies. But the real victories ran deeper, for each day brought Nico greater confidence—in the fighting prowess of his troops, and in his own ability to lead them.
He took much satisfaction from knowing that morale was high. Excellent, even. The martial women and men who followed grumbled and groaned as all soldiers do, but rarely in his presence. They also sang ridiculous songs, played their games, joked and laughed. Nico encouraged such behavior, unlike his more rigid predecessor.
If they were willing to die for their homeland, and for him, the least he could do was allow them to find what enjoyment they could in the process, so long as it did not impact discipline. The gods knew there was little enough genuine pleasure in life already, he saw no reason to limit it further.
As for their performance, he had little to complain about. Many had been through a gauntlet of hurried training and vicious battle and emerged the better, and he expected more of the same in the future. They had proven themselves once, earning the benefit of the doubt.
Nevertheless, Nico could not help wondering whether he should have given them more time to train and recover before forcing this march upon them. But there simply was no time to give them.
Less than two tendays had passed since the departure of Freilenn and the Fourth Army. Now came the turn of those who remained.
Of the three neighbors that threatened Akenberg, the Loresters had been soundly defeated at Neublusten and the Asturians were being forced back by Freilenn. But the Dauphi—the first to invade Akenberg and the ones responsible for Prince Markolac’s death—continued to siege the northwestern city of Allstatte.
Just as he had done to the Loresters, Nico hoped to knock the fight out of the Dauphi in one decisive engagement. Their army sat stationary while investing Allstatte. They could not evade his challenge without relinquishing their prize.
But was the King’s Army up to the task? The lion’s share of Akenberg’s veterans were with the Fourth Army, as Nico had wanted to give the rawest recruits as much additional training as possible.
Though they had one victory under their belts, so too did the Dauphi. Perhaps an even more impressive one than his own. And the Dauphi were led by a successful, experienced commander.
Much as he hated to admit it, Nico was still as raw as the men and women who followed. One victory and a few tendays of firsthand learning did not make him the unbeatable leader everyone expected. He retained that kernel of doubt that he would let his troops down with some disastrous mistake. There were many lessons he had not yet learned, but one that he had was that the chaos of war forced critical decisions without the benefit of full knowledge or time for proper reflection.
And in war, when poor decisions were made, people died. Not only did he loathe the loss of every woman and man, he also had the future to worry about. For the civil war ravaging the empire was not even its greatest threat. He needed to preserve the lives of his soldiers for the next war, and the one after that.
At least their hearts were happy. Unburdened by such strategic considerations. They trusted him to make those decisions for them.
Doubts aside, he believed they had the right of it. Nico had grown to trust himself, for he was good at this. Born to lead. Ultimately, more lives would be lost with someone else making the decisions.
And he was content. Should he fall in the coming days, he could do so with pride and honor.
Content, yes. But not happy. Life was incomplete. For this reason alone, Nico hoped he would not fall in the coming days. What he really needed was to knock Daphina from the war, join Freilenn in Asturia, and negotiate peace with that southern kingdom. And hope Leti would welcome him back.
“What is this place, Marko?”
“Some weird old temple. Come on. Race you to the top!” He took two steps toward the doorway to the tower that was the tallest building in Allstatte.
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’m not sure.” But knowing his brother would never be satisfied with that answer, Nico continued. “Have you ever heard the story of the boy who climbed so high he could see the whole world?”
“What’s the problem? That sounds marvelous.”
“It was. So much so that he didn’t want to leave. His friends called out, but they no longer meant anything to him. Instead of rejoining them, he went up farther and farther, until he got lost in the clouds. And never came back down.”
“And you think that will happen to you? You’re being silly.” Marko laughed. Then, seeing his younger brother frown, he softened his tone. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. If you’re scared, Nico, just say so.” He smiled. “I was afraid the first time, too.”
“I’m not scared. That story just bothered me a little, that’s all.” He looked away from his older brother toward the staircase. “I’m ready now. Let’s go.”
But they had gotten no farther than a few more steps before their father’s herald found them, summoning Marko to an audience with the king. And childish Nico had no desire to go up alone.
He was ten years old at the time, and still close to his older brother. It was the only time Nico had ever visited the border city, a place so mixed with cultures that many of its inhabitants spoke with incomprehensible accents.
During its existence, Allstatte had experienced a succession of Lorester, Dauphi, and Akenberg domination. And just like its people, the city’s architecture reflected that history.
The city’s most prominent structure was the chantry in its northern district, not far from the high outer wall that had thus far shielded the interior neighborhoods from Dauphi aggression. Between that wall and the seat of local power grew a duo of prosperous apple orchards, the fruits of which served as the primary export of the city and a source of pride for its denizens.
According to the last message to reach Nico’s ears, those orchards had thus far saved Allstatte from conquest. Not only had the early spring brought a premature deliverance of fruit, the pair of freshwater springs that nourished the trees were also secure from the hostile intent of the besieging invaders. This supplemental source of water sustained the Allstatians once the winter snows melted to nothing.
Even so, their rations surely had run low long ago. Nico had ma
naged to send word that relief was on the way, but knew his force would get only one attempt. Should the Dauphi fight rather than withdraw, and should they win the subsequent battle, Allstatte would surely surrender.
He did not expect much in the way of assistance from them, either. His early visions of catching the Dauphi between his own army and a sallying force from the city were quickly banished by the reality that the defenders were in no condition to fight. In fact, General Koblenzar’s latest reports stated flatly that they could barely protect the walls from attack. Only the cautious plans of the Dauphi, or some misplaced forbearance, allowed the city to survive this long.
As at Neublusten this past winter, decisive action was the obvious strategy. Nico could only laugh at the thought that his reputation as an aggressive commander was about to be further reinforced, when his natural inclinations were quite the opposite. Nevertheless, desirous as he was to do everything but, here he was about to throw a half-trained army into battle for the second time in as many engagements.
Allstatte depended on it, and his people looked to him for their security. He could do nothing else.
The critical moment was only a few days away, now. Perhaps anticipation is what provoked his daydream.
Though the memory was more about his lost kinship with Marko than their location, Nico did remember admiring the high spire rising from the ancient chantry. To his child self, it had seemed to go all the way up into the clouds. Marko had wanted to climb the spiral stairs with his younger brother, so that together they might peer out over the surrounding lands.
One more wasted opportunity. One of many.
Now he knew that spire would be the first sight of his destination, and he looked forward to seeing it again. This time, after liberating the city, he would certainly ascend and take in the view. That he would do so without his brother pained his heart.
He hoped Marko had found time to go up on his own, maybe even in those last days before his death.
The flap of his tent opened, and Lima’s staid face appeared. “Third, are you ready for this morn’s reports?”
Nico did not try to stifle his sigh. Morns were the worst, when the duties of ruling hit the hardest. He much preferred the tangible progress of the afternoons, despite the physical demands of march. And even more so the eves, walking amidst the troops, hearing their gossip and laughter. Sometimes even partaking of the fun himself. That camaraderie reminded him of a simpler time, when he had been but a second prince on a trivial mission…
But now he was king and commander, and the endless flow of information was as vital as food and air.
“How many today?”
“Four.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So many?” He was used to two or three.
“Aye. Overnight we received messengers from Generals Freilenn and Cottzer.”
“In that case, we’d better get started.”
Lima handed her own report to him, a single-page summary of logistic details along with any additional notes she felt important enough to warrant his attention.
He noted the improvement in her handwriting, recalling how illegible it had been only a few months before. In those early days as his aide, she had been reluctant to let anyone see her letters.
“You cannot be an aide without giving reports,” he had stated flatly.
“Can I not simply speak them to you?” she had countered, showing an uncharacteristic apprehension that never appeared on the battlefield.
“Not always. There will be times that require written communications. Come now, Private, you stood alone all night against an enemy company. Don’t tell me this frightens you.”
That had stiffened her resolve, along with her shoulders. “Nothing frightens me, Commander.”
Since that incident, there had been no more reluctance. She attacked her own literacy much as she had swordplay before that, and with greater success. Though she would certainly never admit to it, he believed she drew tremendous satisfaction from these daily reports. Especially considering that she now chose to deliver them in writing, even when opportunity allowed otherwise.
He glanced over the numbers briefly, immediately taking in how low their own rations ran. Of course, he had burdened the supply train with entire loads of extra food. But those were intended for the citizens of Allstatte, and he was loath to break into them prematurely. Nevertheless, soldiers needed to be fed well if they could be expected to fight well.
At least he had another day or two to make that decision. More importantly, he noted a reference in her report to a handful of wayfarers that stumbled into the army’s path. A minor incident, but enough to pique his curiosity. Most travelers avoided armed forces as they would the pox, so those who placed themselves in an army’s path were probably after one thing—protection.
Perhaps there were bandits in the area. Nico’s father had generally kept the kingdom free of such undesirables, but the civil war no doubt brought out the worst in some.
In any case, Lima had thought it important enough to include on the report, and that alone was worth his consideration. She had long since learned the types of things he wanted to know about personally, and which he preferred she handle on her own.
He pointed to the line at the bottom of the page.
Without looking at his finger, knowing what he would ask, Lima responded. “Stragglers from Daphina.”
“You think they might be spies,” he said.
She did not nod the way he expected. “I thought so at first, and it’s still possible. But they speak with fear and confusion.”
“Fear and confusion?” Spies were typically fed easy, plausible stories to explain their appearance. “What did they say?”
Lima shook her head. “They arrived only this morn, and I had but a minute to listen before coming here.” Her flat expression became a scowl. “I left them with Witlock.”
Witlock was one of Koblenzar’s agents, and a difficult man to like. Nevertheless, he was skilled at interrogation. Debriefing, as he called it.
“As soon as we finish, I want you to go straight back to them. Not that I don’t fully trust Witlock.” But I don’t fully trust Witlock.
She nodded. “And the messengers? Which should I send in first?”
“Let’s hear Cottzer’s message, then Freilenn’s. They came the farthest, the least we can do is not make them wait.”
Lima smiled. That meant Koblenzar would be last. He would not approve, which meant she did.
Clearly, she had also anticipated that response, for Private Mychal of Cottzer’s detachment was inside the tent before Nico had time to anticipate what news the woman might bring.
“General Cottzer once again extends his appreciation for the king’s trust in this assignment,” she began, fluent in the courtly courtesies Nico wished he could banish forever. “And desires to inform you that his companies arrived promptly in Northgate, one day ahead of schedule.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” Nico replied with a smile, slipping naturally into the same etiquette. “His devotion to Akenberg is exceeded only by the proficiency with which he executes his orders.”
The messenger was certain to return to Cottzer and inform him of the good graces with which the report was received. With any luck, that would dispel any further concerns the man might have about Nico’s trust in him.
“And what of his dispositions?” Nico asked, not yet noticing the hard lines of Mychal’s jaw.
The strain was immediately apparent in her words, however. “Our arrival was timely, My King. Vilnia is under assault from the east, just as you warned. But the invasion is more advanced than we expected. No sooner did we learn that the garrison at Halfsummit had fallen than General Cottzer rode on to catch up to the main Vilnian army, on their way to recapture the fort.”
“Halfsummit has already fallen?” Nico said, astonished and distressed. Sky’s Pass itself was the best place for the empire to make its stand. Halfsummit was supposed to be the last line of defense.
> Mychal caught his tone and lowered her own. “Yes, My King. The garrison there was reduced in strength, insufficient to stand against the unexpected numbers of tribesmen. King Volocar hopes it might be retaken, however.”
At a far greater cost in lives than defending it properly would have required, Nico thought. But he said nothing for a moment, reminding himself that mistakes were inevitable in war. Victory was more often determined by reaction than planning.
Besides, he had no firsthand knowledge of the situation in Vilnia. Perhaps Volocar had reasons for his ineffectual actions. In any case, the attempt to recapture Halfsummit seemed from afar the prudent strategy, costly though it was sure to be. Better to retake that chokepoint at any expense than to allow the tribesmen to spread out north, west, and south.
Sky’s Pass was the emergency, then. He hoped other kingdoms were already sending reinforcements to Vilnia, for he could not. Not yet. All he could do was hope that Halfsummit could be retaken. Success or failure, he would not know until the arrival of the next messenger.
“Private Mychal, I am sure you wish to return as quickly as possible. Please inform General Cottzer—” Nico dared not believe the man might already be dead. “Inform the general that I agree with his decision to provide every assistance to the Vilnians. I wish I could give more.”
“Yes, My King.”
“Luck and speed to you and the general, Private. I have no doubt your efforts will meet with victory.” He leaned forward, unable to restrain the excess of nervous energy coursing through his body. “The empire depends on it.”
At least the message from General Freilenn was less distressing, though no less informative. The Fourth Army had managed, through skillful maneuver, to push the Asturian threat beyond the borders between the kingdoms, forcing the southern neighbors back toward their capital of Cormona and pursuing with cautious determination.
That much alone was music to Nico’s ears, but he liked even better the response to his first query. Freilenn had accomplished this all without a full engagement. Minor skirmishes only, which meant fewer Akenbergers dead. And fewer Asturians.
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