Reluctantly, Lord Vaina knew it was time to inspect the vanguard and see how many of Pojo’s men had died fighting off the brunt of the Kitran attacks. Jori gathered a small escort and walked north, threading his way through the injured and dying, searching for General Erdis. He found the general kneeling beside a body; the dead man’s face was covered by a piece of silk. Pojo was responding to requests and questions from his officers with one-word replies or grunts. Jori’s heart sank as he recognized the armor of the deceased. “Pojo, who is dead?” he asked, dreading to hear the answer.
“My eldest son lies dead, Lord Vaina.” General Erdis briefly lifted the silk from his son’s face and then covered it again. Pojo’s own face looked as if it was carved from rock.
“When the front collapsed, the boy stood with me and held the battle flag while I rallied the men. Later, in the wild counterattack, I lost sight of him. They say he died facing the enemy with words of defiance on his lips.” The general’s voice nearly broke as he continued, “What father could ask for more?”
Jori’s heart was touched—it hurt. Strange how one life snuffed out on this small rise meant more to him than the hundreds he had seen in the last eight hours. But he had known Vilu Erdis for ten years, seen him grow tall and brave. Now, the boy would never smile or salute him again.
“Pojo, when we return back to Tokolas in triumph, my next-born son will marry one of your daughters. I swear it.”
After a moment’s reflection, Erdis replied, “My lord, that’s too great an honor. Shall the future king of Serica ally his house to that of a mere soldier? Your sons will have the daughters of kings or lofty ministers as wives, not generals.”
“General Erdis, this is a new age,” Jori Vaina said, loudly so all the men around could hear him. “I meant what I said in my speech last night. Serica must never go back to the time when only scholars were treated with respect. Soldiers won this battle. Uncounted hundreds of my Red Cranes gave their lives fighting for this victory. Your son bought this victory with his life’s blood. I give you my word; let all here remember it. My next-born will marry your daughter.”
General Erdis stood and hugged Jori tightly. “May heaven bless the future union.” After breaking the embrace, Erdis took off his helm and ran his hand through his lank hair. “You did well today, my lord,” Erdis said, offering up a belated compliment. “Modi’s soldiers came up at a good time. A very good time.”
Jori quietly told Pojo that he had given battle command to Valo Peli an hour after the fighting started. His old friend slowly nodded. “I cannot argue with success.” In a low voice he added, “He was the best general they had. We were lucky we never faced him. Strange fate that he whom we feared now leads us in battle against the empire.”
“Strange indeed,” Jori replied. “The Keltens brought him to us and kept him alive, against heavy odds.”
The general glanced down at the body of his son and then back at Lord Vaina, his thoughts unspoken.
“How soon can you march, Pojo?” Jori asked, changing tack. “We must press our advantage and reach the walls of Kemeklos before Nilin regroups.”
“Nilin’s not dead?”
“No one has brought me his head. With the reward I offered, if he were dead, I’d know it.”
“My men need a day’s rest.” General Erdis pointed at some of the bodies down by the riverside. “It will take hours to properly bury our fallen.”
“I understand. I will send Modi north with his soldiers and half the fleet. Tomorrow your men and mine will rest.”
“We beat them, didn’t we?” General Erdis said, with a trace of wonder in his voice.
“Yes, Pojo, we won. We defeated a Kitran army in the field. No Serice army has done that since the days of General Frostel. Your son died a hero in the most glorious victory Serica has seen in more than two hundred years. He will be remembered for generations. But this won’t be our last victory. We will beat them again and again until we have driven them entirely out of Serica.”
Chapter Eleven
The Radiant Prince
By nightfall, Sandun was through. Tired, exhausted, wrung out, drained—he could have used any of these words and more. The siren song of his bed on Heaven’s Lightning became irresistible. Bidding farewell to Lord Vaina and his other commanders, Sandun found his wife at the top of the gangplank. Miri led him to their cabin, where a tub full of river water was waiting. She helped him to remove his armor, which was dented from blows he could not recall from the final furious melee. He placed his face in the water while she went to the ship’s kitchen and soon returned with a bucket of steaming water that she poured into the bath. He dozed off in the warm bath, but she woke him before the water cooled and fed him some fruit while he dried off. He then climbed into bed with her.
Afterward, while she lay warm next to him and he was on the verge of falling asleep for a second time, he felt something in his mind. He knew or rather he sensed Kagne’s location: downriver a short way. But there was something else, something different, in the opposite direction—north—near Kemeklos. Faint, yes, but not close. He let his mind drift while his eyes closed. Other things he could sense included Skathris, quite distinct in his mind. With a small twist of thought, he woke the dragon-circle, which rested in the pouch near his head. As he did, he felt a crystalline wind blow the fog of battle out of his mind.
Why was he going to give the golden circle to Lord Vaina? It seemed like the amulet of a king—that was why. Could Lord Vaina use it? Sandun didn’t know. Perhaps Lord Vaina could be taught? Sandun didn’t know that either. Did he feel guilty about taking it from Ghost Wolf? Why should he feel that way? Ghost Wolf had been dead for hundreds of years if not longer, and the dead own nothing. Not to mention Ghost Wolf’s attempt to murder Kagne and himself.
All fatigue vanished from him, and he sat up in bed, almost knocking his head against the against the narrow bunk above.
Miri woke and asked with concern if he was all right. Sandun, by way of reply, opened his money pouch and took out the two remaining glowing orbs and the golden dragon-circle. She expressed delight with the balls of light, so he gave her one as a present. Then he told her all about his journey to the village by the lake and then Ghost Wolf and his experience inside the empty city of the Picksies.
“Among my people there are stories about the Junithoy,” Miri replied. “Far to the north of Shila, the land is always covered with ice. People say the Junithoy live in those mountains, isolated from human contact by climate and choice. I couldn’t begin to guess how long they have been there or even if they live there still.”
She picked up the dragon-circle and looked at it closely. “You say this saved you? It seems nothing more than a pretty piece of jewelry.”
“Sight alone does not reveal its worth. Not only did it protect me, but it forged a bond between Kagne and myself. Ghost Wolf said that it was dangerous if it was misused, though I don’t know how. I imagine I’d have to return to the Piksies in the Tirala Mountains to learn more.”
Miri hastily set it down on the bed between them. “It may be that it is cursed,” she said with worry in her voice. “We have tales of cursed rings that take the life from the wearer, swiftly aging them within a few months. This is what happened to a famous ruler of the now-vanished northern kingdom, according to our legend. After his untimely death, his cursed ring was sealed in a lead coffer and placed in the king’s tomb, supposedly still untouched to this day. You should heed the warning of the ghost and not touch this.”
“Miri, Ghost Wolf was trying to kill me at the time. It was not warning me for my benefit. It’s not cursed.” But even as he said the words, he felt doubt creep into his mind. He didn’t know the dragon-circle’s powers; perhaps it was dangerous under some conditions. He reconsidered the idea of giving it to Lord Vaina.
“I won’t wear it,” he told Miri. “I’ll leave it with my clothes for now.” She
nodded and then hugged him tightly when he rejoined her under the bedcovers.
In the morning, Sandun found Lord Vaina already up, looking a bit worn but determined to keep pressing on. A change of plans being the inevitable result of Lord Vaina’s mulling over the situation, he had decided to take command of General Modi’s troops. With Modi’s relatively fresh soldiers as the new vanguard, they would go north along the Jupol “with cautious speed.” Forty tik today would place them in the wide and well-watered lands surrounding Kemeklos. The fleet would go with the new vanguard, as far as possible. As the Jupol River neared the old capital, it divided into several tributary rivers of comparable size. Only constant dredging had allowed deep-drafting boats to sail into Kemeklos in the summer, and no one was sure how shallow the river was this week.
Reports from Kun the Younger’s cavalry pursuit were not all good news. In several locations, the Kitrans had turned on the Kunhalvar cavalry and inflicted losses. The Kitrans were retreating, but they were not completely shattered. While Nilin Ulim had vanished off the battlefield, a body had been found at the far end of the field, abandoned in the chaotic retreat. One of Number Eight’s spies who was traveling with the army identified the body as Nilin’s senior commander: General Orsbil. The armor and helmets of several other senior commanders were discovered as well, the men likely killed by shattered fragments of one of the long-range flying bolts. At least three thousand Kitran Empire warriors were dead on the battlefield, and uncounted more were dead or dying in the forests north of the battle. Red Swords operating from concealed camps boasted of slaying hundreds if not thousands of retreating Kitrans in the night—likely an exaggeration but perhaps not. Prisoners revealed that Nilin had brought nearly eight thousand fighters to the battle. Valo Peli said that Nilin would be lucky to have two thousand warriors able to fight in the next three days.
Their own losses were heavy. Nine hundred dead already, and doctors reported another eight hundred men were so badly wounded that they were unlikely to live to return to Kunhalvar. It was said that hardly a man in General Pojo Erdis’s vanguard remained uninjured.
It was a victory for the Red Crane Army but a costly one, and Nilin still had his ten thousand Serice mercenaries surrounding Kemeklos. However, the Serice mercenaries had been fighting the Red Swords for two months, so they were not fresh, nor, according to reports, were they eager to fight the army of Kunhalvar.
All that said, the plan was still being followed. They should arrive at the walls of Kemeklos by tomorrow afternoon.
As the river navigator predicted, when they reached the farmlands south of Kemeklos, many smaller streams split off from the Jupol, running both east and west. The main channel of the Jupol became too shallow for the battleships to continue. Although the smaller boats could have continued, it was deemed prudent to leave them as a screen for the big warships. The army continued marching north, still beside the Jupol. The two ladies from Shila both mounted and rode alongside Lord Vaina’s advisors. Eun and Miri both wore wide-brimmed hats, and their riding cloaks were a similar greenish-brown, which Sandun thought was very practical.
Red Sword scouts and Kun the Younger’s cavalry scouts delivered reports throughout the day. Extremely good news came in the late afternoon: the Serice mercenaries on the south side of the city were deserting. At least two camps were on fire, and one highly disciplined unit, the Black Wagon, had marched out of camp around dawn, supposedly killing more than a few Kitran soldiers who tried to halt their departure.
“If they are marching away, we won’t fight them,” Lord Vaina announced. He put out word to the Red Sword irregulars that fleeing Serice mercenaries were to be left alone, though Sandun doubted the Red Swords would pay much heed to Lord Vaina’s suggestion. There was much to be angry about. Nearly every farm they found had been burned, and many graves were freshly dug. Bodies of men and women hung from trees at every crossroads. At least this part of the plains of Kemeklos had seen vicious fighting for two solid months. Crops were untended, and packs of wild dogs ran snarling away from the army.
Food that evening was army fare, the same as what the rest of the soldiers ate. Sandun had to smile at the terrible food: porridge with chunks of old apples and pork. On board Heaven’s Thunder, they had eaten like kings, but today the supply column was not organized—a rare breakdown in the otherwise efficient logistics of Kunhalvar’s army.
Lord Vaina ate with gusto, but Miri poked at her food with disinterest while Eun disappeared into husband’s tent and did not reemerge.
The Keltens had found a barrel of local beer; in truth, a gift from some Red Sword soldiers who were now gathering alongside the Red Crane Army as it moved closer to Kemeklos. The Keltens did not drink all the fermented grain water but kindly sent some over to Lord Vaina. Lord Vaina drank the beer and pronounced it good, but his officials didn’t try it.
Sandun noticed that Minister Renieth was looking concerned. Everyone else around Lord Vaina had big grins, and they were slapping each other on the back while they recounted earthy stories from previous campaigns. The warriors were basking in the afterglow from the victory at Devek, but not Reneith. Politely, Sandun asked the junior minister what was troubling him.
“The Radiant Prince concerns me,” Renieth replied. “The Red Swords continue to expect their goddess, the Mavana, to appear any moment. I was talking to one of their captains just an hour ago about this. Our victory yesterday has only solidified his faith. When the Mavana arrives, they believe the Radiant Prince is her destined herald, her speaker. A veritable god in his own right.”
“But you and I both know she is not going to appear…”
“Exactly. You guess my thoughts,” Renieth said, giving Sandun more credit than was warranted. “We are here to rescue the Red Swords. We are not staying one instant longer than required. It’s up to me to convince them to leave the city of Kemeklos. I confess, I don’t know how.”
The army of Kunhalvar was now up to nearly three thousand men in strength as many of the cavalry who had pursued Nilin’s army rejoined the main body. The Red Crane Army camped at a bend in the river; along the landward side, trees were felled to make crude walls that were in place by nightfall. Many hundreds of Red Sword warriors were camped nearby. Lord Vaina went to talk to their leaders. Sandun and Lord Vaina’s bodyguards stood close.
The Red Sword commanders treated Lord Vaina with wary respect. Several of their captains were injured, and one looked so gaunt that Sandun thought he was at death’s door, but no one treated the gaunt man with special solicitude, and he even refused some fruit, though he accepted a glass of wine.
The overall commander of the Red Swords outside the walls was a younger man, about Lord Vaina’s age. His right arm was heavily bandaged, and Sandun saw his eyes were discolored, as though infection was setting in. Despite his injuries, he spoke calmly and with absolute conviction.
“We smuggle men and supplies in through the Serice mercenaries guarding the highest wall at the southeast corner of the holy city. The evil one placed his worst men there, and they repaid the favor by letting us through with daily bribes. The walls look steep and imposing, but appearances are deceiving. Our men on top unroll ladders of iron covered in ropes, and on many nights when the moon had set or the mist was thick, we moved supplies into the city for hours. I made the trip in and out of the holy city several times before this injury.” He nodded at his arm.
“But our route is not suitable for your army. Instead, you should continue the way you are going and drive the empire from the south river gate. The toughest soldiers are stationed in front of each gate, but they must guard every gate while you only need to attack one. We can—and will—make noise and threaten attacks in front of each of the south gates. A hundred of your cavalrymen would help perfect the illusion.”
“You shall have them.” Lord Vaina gave the orders. “What think you? Should we besiege the river gate or just charge at it?”
; “The mercenaries are shaken, all of them,” the Red Sword commander stated. “The evil one hasn’t been seen since your victory, though the empire’s riders say he is alive and gathering fresh forces. To answer your question: I would charge the gate. Your army’s reputation reaches the sky; your men are said to be walking giants wearing unbreakable armor like this warrior here.” He pointed at Sandun with his uninjured hand. “Why wait to be revealed as merely human? The mercenaries rightly fear the divine retribution from the Mavana, so strike boldly and let their nightmares be your allies.”
The man paused and then continued in a different, softer tone of voice. “I have imagined such an attack many times since…the Prophet’s death. If I could see the river gate taken, then perhaps I could find peace.”
In the night, a Kitran cavalry unit attacked the camp. Lord Vaina’s army had a quarter of an hour’s warning thanks to Red Sword scouts. The Kitran horsemen rode around the log wall and shot fire arrows into the camp but accomplished little. The Kelten archers killed several; Basil and Farrel both claimed two kills each (confirmed the next morning). It was hard to say how many attacked them in the darkness, but scouts later reported five hundred cavalry riding north, retreating back to the Kitran camp.
By noon of the next day, the walls of Kemeklos came into view. Distinctly unimpressive, Sandun thought, and not comparable to Tokolas. Although he had to admit that Tokolas topped a hill hundreds of feet above the Mur, and Kemeklos was situated on a vast, flat plain. Counting backward, Sandun found that they had sailed out of the harbor sixteen days ago and, by Basil’s reckoning, had traveled a bit more than three hundred miles. An impressive feat for an army of eight thousand, but they did not halt to celebrate or take stock of their achievement. Instead, the new vanguard sped up. Lord Vaina had chosen to try the sudden assault. The Keltens had an expression that came to Sandun’s mind: strike while the iron is hot. Obvious, really, to anyone who’d spent any time around a forge. The Red Crane Army would march to the south river gate, acting as though their victory were assured.
The Fire Sword Page 39