Chapter 8
Kalveston was tired. He had been traveling, and fighting, for months now, working to subdue those who persisted in the false belief that he was not destined to lead them into a golden age. The forging of the empire was moving more slowly than he could bring himself to believe. Every day he issued new challenges, insults, and even prodded his men forward, yet still the rebels refused to come out to fight, die, and bow before his power, at which time more of them would die anyway, for one can never have enough examples of one’s greatness.
Not so long ago, a month perhaps, it had come to his attention that a northern mercenary was leading his enemies and that it was through this man’s influence that the rebels had adopted the coward’s tactics of hitting, running, and hiding. However, they had had such success with this behavior that Kalveston had condescended to offer the man a captain’s post in the imperial forces. The reply sent back had been...less than satisfactory. In response, Kalveston had placed a bounty on the man’s head, and let it be known that he who handed over the wanted one would receive even more than the original offer. Yet even such profitable terms still had not produced his enemy. Obviously, as Kalveston discerned, the man inspired stronger loyalty than he had thought any other man capable of.
As he thought over these facts from a seat placed just outside his tent, and as he watched his men prepare for another sortie into the hill country in which the rebels had taken refuge, his chief scout approached and saluted.
“Master, there is no sign of the rebels. They have moved on.”
“Are you sure of it this time? Have you stabbed every bush, every tree, every hole in the ground? The last time you said that, we moved on, and they struck our rear as we marched, from the place you had described as deserted.”
“Yes, lord”
“I swear, if you were not the only real tracker I had, I would have hung you out for the carrion birds that day. It is your misfortune that anyone who knows anything of tracking seems to have joined the rebels. If such a mistake happens again I will make my threat good and order your closest companions to carry out the sentence. I will not wait for them, either.”
At being forced to stand and listen to such vindictiveness directed at himself, the scout had grown pale and begun to tremble. Kalveston saw this and snapped at him again.
“Weakness! I may execute you for that, if I do not find a better reason soon. Those who follow me are superior to others. They do not show weakness like the rebel dogs you have failed to find. Get yourself and your men away, and do not bring them back until the campfires are lit.”
The scout immediately hurried off, and Kalveston settled into his observations again. How long had it been? A year? Two? He could not remember and did not care. All that mattered was that all the land be united under one banner. It was amazing that he, previously the conquering general for the man who called himself king, who had destroyed a host of rebels and a fleet of invaders in a matter of weeks, should be obstructed so by the farmers and hunters who made up the riffraff opposed to him. He had shown them already what came of refusing him. He could not count the number of burned towns he had left in his wake throughout the conflict, yet they still persisted in their resistance. He pondered this in his mind as he stalked through the camp, looking for anyone he could punish to alleviate his own confusion.
It was hours later and after dark when the scouts found their way back to the camp and came before him to report the results of the expedition. It was apparent that they had not even paused to acquire food and drink, as they were trembling from exhaustion as they waited until the emperor should see fit to notice their presence.
Kalveston continued to eat his meal at a leisurely pace while watching the assembled group slowly turn pale, possibly from imagining what he was thinking of doing to them. Finally, he finished his drink and thrust everything at his attendant, who was standing nearby. The man promptly left to do his duty, while the emperor looked up to face his frightened scouts.
“Well? Was anybody left? Did you find anything? A broken blade? A bag, a scrap of food, perhaps?”
The scout seemed to be trying to restrain himself from marching off as he answered carefully “Well... We did not find any of those by themselves. What we found was a dead man.”
“What is it that has you so frightened, then?”
Shaking visibly, the man replied “He was not yet cold.”
Kalveston answered without flinching, as if the news he had been given was positively mundane and uninteresting. “Well, you heard my words and it seems that you failed in your one mission. Did you bring the body back with you?”
“No, Master. We did not think that you would require it.”
“Wrong again. I wanted to see if the man was that elusive captain who defied me so foolishly.” Turning to the man who had come before him earlier, he added “I do not go back on my word. You are a dead man. You others, take him back to where you found the body and tie him tightly to the nearest tree. Then leave him and rejoin the ranks.”
As soon as the unfortunate men had left, Kalveston sent for his captains and gave them new orders. “My scouts have stumbled upon signs that the rebels were nearby this day. They have gotten farther away since then, but my men should be able to catch up and kill them all. Is that not true?”
Dutifully, the captains chorused “Yes, they can.”
“I knew it, but I wish to be sure of it, so there shall be no rests tomorrow. Everyone will march until we find the rebels or to dark, whichever of the two comes first. Those who fall behind shall be left to fend for themselves. To some, that is worse than death, so I expect that every man will be in ranks when we halt. If not, it shall be on your heads. Weapons only. Packs are to be carried by the animals; that is what they exist for. Men in my ranks know that catching the enemy is more important than their own survival. Has there been news from the empire?”
“Nothing of consequence, lord. In Naibern life goes on, and in the territories they are learning how to live.”
Chapter 7
Torlan’s brother Railon was a wanderer. He had now been traveling in countries east of Gairadane for several years, after spending some time in the North, and even a year traveling in the South, in the places which had recently fallen under the banner of Kalveston, the warlord ruler of the vast new empire which he was still forging with the blood of his countrymen.
Railon had drawn blade with Kalveston’s enemies many times over the course of his time in the South, yet he had never crossed swords with the man himself, for the Naibern was the superior swordsman, and Railon had not wished to die in the midst of turmoil he cared but little for. His skill with men and head for tactics had, however, apparently come to the attention of the emperor, who had once sent the red-haired, dark-skinned captain a white flag and an offer of respect and high pay in the Naibern ranks. Railon’s response had incited the emperor to place a price on his head, as he had nearly attacked the messenger and sent back a reply laced with insults and which concluded “Were I less of a man I would have waited for the chance to kill you in the dark as a spy would. I will not join you for power over half the world, and I will always give aid to the destruction of your plans and your life, until you are dead.”
But at the moment, the threat of the southern emperor and his hunters was far from Railon’s mind, as he waited with stoic patience for the morning opening of the gates of Jaltair, the capital of Qufaud, a country which bordered his homeland.
There were several others waiting alongside him, and he had spoken to some of them to speed the time along. However, he had discovered that, in addition to the more ordinary petitions which people might bring before their rulers many times in a month, several of them had come to demand asylum and protection from bands of rogues who were evidently coming up from the south and causing general havoc and hardship among the people.
When he heard these complaints, Railon said to himself “That fiend Kalveston has not stopped. Perhaps he is searching for me, but it is more likely that he simply wants to bring the whole world under his banner. It seems my course has been set for me.” To those he spoke to, he added “I know who is ordering this. I am a great captain and I have fought him before. I will go to your Taljun and ask him to let me lead soldiers against this threat.”
Accordingly, as soon as the gates were opened, Railon joined the crowd of people who were making for the palace, ignoring the curious looks sent his way by those who took notice of his bright hair and straight sword. “A galjan is here. What would he want of the Taljun?”
“Who can say? Even galjani can not get everything for themselves.”
“True. Let us go and attend the Taljun’s audience so we may discover what this one wants.”
Railon overheard this exchange, as the two men were standing only feet behind him in the line which had developed as they drew near the Taljun’s palace. In passable Qafaudi, he answered “This galjan wants the freedom of all people from warlords too big for their helmets. That is all.”
Soon afterwards, the opening of the Taljun’s audience was announced to the public, and those who had reason began to file forward through the intricately worked wooden gates that closed off the palace from the people. The people were sent in one by one, while those left behind waited in the wide courtyard, which was paved with stone and dotted with wide-spreading trees to offer shade to the ruler and others, until it was indicated that they should enter.
Several people entered and departed before Railon was called in. Some were visibly happy, and others appeared less pleased with the answer they had received from their ruler. It was not long before Railon himself was called to come forward for an audience, and he moved quickly, as the familiar epithet of “galjan” resounded throughout the meticulously maintained courtyard.
On entering the Taljun’s audience hall, Railon observed that the same level of care had been taken in the room itself, which was cleared of everyone except the ruler, some advisers standing close to his side, and of course Railon himself.
The Taljun, an elderly man sporting a long beard which nearly covered his chest, spoke almost as soon as Railon had set foot inside. “Are you the only galjan waiting outside? I do not grant galjani meetings freely. My men say you have the look of a great warrior.”
Giving the ruler the sweeping bow which was customary to him in such meetings, Railon replied “Yes, I am the only one, and I thank you for allowing me in to you. Whether I am a great warrior is really a matter of whose side you are on.”
The Taljun guffawed loudly at this tactical retreat of an answer. “That is a wise choice, and I wish my own men could be ready with such a one as that. But now, tell me, what really brings you here, so far from your home?”
“May I drink? I have had a long time coming here. I came to warn you that there is darkness brewing on your horizon. I have been there and seen it myself. Your people on the southern border are being harassed by bandits ignoring all opposition. Therefore I ask that you give me men to patrol your borders, and if you will not let me lead them, then order your wisest captain out to do it himself. The one who leads our enemies will not stop until he dies.”
An attendant then entered with a drink and passed it to Railon as the Taljun exclaimed “Then we must move even more swiftly than he does. I can not have my people attacked like this while I sit here.” Turning to the several advisers who stood nearby, he added “My men shall follow this man. See that they start before the sun has set a second time, and that my greatest general goes with them. Do as I have said.” As he waved airily in the direction of the viziers, two of them hurried off to do his bidding.
Passing the goblet back to the attendant who stood waiting for it, Railon said “Many thanks for your swift action. May your wisdom increase with the length of your beard. I crave leave to go now so that I may prepare myself.” The request being instantly granted, Railon was sent on his way, with a warning that a runner would be sent to find him when the soldiers were ready to start.
Chapter 6
In Gairadane, in the capital Gaimaron, there was at that time a high festival in progress, for word had come from a swift rider that king Torlan was successful. His enemies had bowed before him, and the gates of the city of Alquon were his. Once taken, he had decreed that the city should be known by a new name to commemorate the event, and so it was called Trevlendair, the triumph of endurance. He and the men had remained there for two days to rest and replenish their supplies, but had then started back, and were, at the time of the message’s arrival, mere hours away.
It was now past midday, and the king’s daughter, Miranda, stood on the wall-top, watching for his return and knowing that there were others below who expected her to signal the first sign of the soldiers’ return. An attendant stood nearby holding a shade, and another stood on her other side, holding a pitcher and cup ready for the times when she felt the need to make use of them, but otherwise no one came within six feet of her person. They would not do so until she had sighted the king’s caravan.
Speaking to the attendant on her right, Miranda said “I have grown weary of this. Do you think my father will really come today?”
“Only the one and your father know, my lady. I will send for a seat.”
“No, do not do that, for I can see more if I stand, even though there is little more to see than the Ishbana.” Suddenly, a distant movement caught the princess’s eye. She pointed it out to her attendants, excitement lending urgency to her voice. “Look, there, where the river bends, is that not my father and his men returning?”
“It is, my lady. I see the banners too. They have taken a long path, for as you know, there are few good paths near the ford which so many can cross easily. Your father is riding at the front; show him you are watching.”
At the servant’s suggestion, Miranda first waved vigorously down at her father, who stopped in the middle of the ford and waved back as if he were a standard-bearer rallying men. Miranda then turned about and cried to the nearest sentry “Open the gates! My father has returned!”
The sentry immediately passed the message down to the people on the ground, and the happy commotion among the people at that level soon grew louder and even more confused, as people jostled each other roughly as they each tried to gain a prime position from which to watch the entrance of the victorious men. In addition to the general bustle, paths had to be cleared for the wardens who opened the gates and the little princess herself to come closest of all.
The wardens pulled the gates open without waiting, which was a fortunate decision, as the king was almost on the threshold. Even as the gates were opening, he led his parade of men through and into the city without allowing his animal to break its stride. But when he caught sight of his daughter, he stopped his horse before her seat and raised her up onto it before him, and only then did he continue down the path which led to the palace.
The line of men who entered behind the king were the hardiest the desert could produce, and their bearing as they marched through the throngs of their countrymen displayed that fact in all its glory. Their armor, such as it was, was dusty and dull from the journey, and their expressions were those of serious men who had seen much to be serious about. However, none of them was above relaxing this demeanor, as here and there men spotted loved ones or friends who cheered their particular return with unusual vigor, and waved back or even broke ranks to reunite themselves with those they most wanted to meet.
In the midst of these thousands of men wearing armor and marching proudly behind the Gairidane banner of the horse and the river, there were many who marched with tired steps and hangdog looks, and did not examine the crowd looking for those who looked for them. These were prisoners, men from the East who had defended their homes as well as they were able, only to fall to the superior might of king Torlan and his men. Their valor, the king had determined, merited a fair amount of respect, and so they were not bound together, nor were their goods spoiled. Only they themselves were taken from their homes, with the assurance that some would eventually be allowed to return to those who knew them.
The king rode with his daughter until they came to the palace, which was situated in the heart of the city. There they dismounted, acknowledging the waves of people who stood by, and went in.
As they crossed the courtyard, attendants came to wait upon them without call or signal being given. One took the king’s horse away to the stables, while at the same time a page took his helm and shield and went away with them. When these attendants had departed, Torlan and Miranda crossed the courtyard and entered the great hall, where more attendants were waiting to bring them refreshments. With a few words to send these on their way, the royalty took seats at the high table.
“Was it hard, father?”
“What?”
“Was it terribly hard? The fighting, I mean.”
“Who told you there was any? I grant that some men died back there, but of real fighting there was little. The real hardship was to be away from my darling daughter and her mother for so long. How is your mother? Why has she not come down to welcome her victorious hero?”
“My mother is not well today, but she expects to better tomorrow.”
“You may tell her she may stay where she is as long as she likes. I am back, and I do not intend to leave again for some time. Has there been news of your uncle?”
Taking a portion of the food a servant was then offering, Miranda said “My uncle? Who is my uncle?”
Taking some of the same fare, Torlan laughed at the surprise in his daughter’s voice. “Ah, so I see he has not returned. My brother Railon left this city before your time. He has not been seen in these parts since. Thus he is making me very worried.”
“Why did he leave?”
“He would leave the castle as a boy. As a man he left the country. Perhaps he thought the sand was cooler somewhere else.” Setting down his cup, he rose from the table. “I must rest. Send word if anything happens.” With that, he left the room.
“I will, father.”
After Torlan had left, Miranda remained in the room alone. The moment she had eaten all she wanted, she had it cleared away and called for music. Two servants dutifully produced instruments rather like dulcimers and proceeded to play lively tunes on them while the princess skipped gaily about the huge room.
When at last this grew tiring, she sent the instruments away and went upstairs with the intention of visiting her parents. At the door, she had herself announced by the attendant who had been following close behind, and went in.
Her father had seated himself in a throne-like chair at one end of the large room. Her mother was still in the bed where Miranda had left her to take up the station on the wall. Going first to the queen, Miranda reported “I stayed out there the whole time, until father arrived, the way you asked me to.”
The queen reached out and stroked her daughter’s hair gently. “It was quite a task, and I am proud that my girl was up to it. It is a special task to wait for the return of the men on such an occasion.”
“What other occasions could there be for such waiting, in a country like this one?”
“More than you know, which you will learn when the time comes.”
Miranda climbed up and sat on the edge of the large bed. “Why must I not know now?”
“Because you are young, too young to trouble yourself with such things as when your husband will come to claim you.... There, I have said it. Run along now.”
Miranda obediently sprang down to the floor again, but she did not run far, as her father then called her over. “Come, my daughter.I did not allow myself enough time with you before, and I want you back before you run off.” Setting her on his knee, he asked “So, what has my girl done while I was away?”
“What can I tell you, father? I sang and played and waited on mother when she wanted me. I did not know I was supposed to do more than that.” She was facing the far wall as she spoke, studying a carved figure which had been set upon a little table near the window. As soon as Torlan had let her down, she ran over to it and brought it back to him. “What is this? I have looked at for a long time and I can not understand it.”
The carving she was holding had been intended to represent a soldier on horseback, but the workmanship was so poor that only by careful thought could a person decide exactly what it was: perhaps a centaur, perhaps a monster of legend, or perhaps a soldier, but it remained unclear.
As his attention was turned toward the thing, Torlan’s mood visibly changed from contentment to one of smoldering anger. “I will not speak of that now. Another time, perhaps, but not now. Take it back and leave it there.” Without warning, he thrust himself out of the chair and left the room.
