Markan Sword

  But Sandester needed her sons now. Paul hoped they would never be used in battle, but knew he could never hesitate from doing so if necessary. Flinch, and another would exploit the weakness. Such were the burdens of generalship.

  As a young Lieutenant, he had watched and carefully noted how the General of this generation handled himself and his army. The ideal replacement in the field for his grandfather-in-law, General Kelanus had led by example. Paul hoped he had learned well. He also hoped he never faced Kelanus in battle.

  Ferocity tempered by humanity; judgment based on mercy; discipline applied fairly. And merit recognized before social standing. Field promotions were always worth more when earned, rather than granted.

  Had Kelanus not destroyed his own career through an unusual perversion, Paul wondered if Branad Vintner might not be sat on the Markan Throne right now. Life would be so much simpler then.

  As Paul's dark eyes turned inwards in thought, the sounds of the men establishing their camp intruded. As part of his custom of being seen, he wandered through the activity, smiling and nodding at those who saluted or acknowledged him.

  He had not chosen the old site for this camp. Little remained of the old buildings, scoured by weather and the sea. His army camped further inland, away from any possible flooding and sheltered from the offshore winds. Some veterans marching with him today remembered the old Ramte Horn Camp and assured him they never wanted to see the place again.

  "Sir!"

  Paul turned and saw Yeoman Annack hurrying toward him. Annack remembered the Siege of Sandester, making his first kill from the city walls as a young soldier. He had lied about his age to join in the first place, and now lied about his age to stay in the army, though by rights he should be retired.

  When this nonsense finally ended, Paul would put that right for Yeoman Annack.

  "Yeoman." Paul waited for him.

  The slender yeoman, without even a hint of gray in his dark, almost black hair, inclined his head. "We'll need to send a couple of carts further inland to get enough wood for the palisade, Sir."

  "Do whatever you think is necessary, Yeoman," commanded Paul. "Remember to pay for any wood not cut from a forest."

  Annack's dark eyes hinted he already knew that, but he said nothing.

  "For now, just enough wood to erect a palisade around the camp," continued Paul.

  "It'll take us a day or so," replied Annack. "What follows the for now, Sir?"

  Paul laughed. He must remember this man had served many commanders and had probably seen everything.

  "We're going to establish a proper camp here," he replied. "We must build proper barracks; tents are no good except when we're traveling. The more comforts the better."

  "I'll see to it, Sir," promised Annack, before he hurried away, snapping out orders.

  Paul looked across the camp as more and more tents were pegged into place. This had better be a good camp; they might be here for some time.

  ***

  Field Captain Drecan Annada watched the Mayor of Vertiana look around the camp, nodding to himself in satisfaction. Mayor of the most northerly city in Sandester's lands, he probably found Drecan's presence reassuring.

  "Can remember the last time the vermin came to visit," said the mayor. "Back in 'Eighty-one it was. Sacked the city before they rode off to lay waste to Sandester. Thought we'd seen the end of them, but they came back in the late autumn and sacked the place again before sailing away."

  Drecan smiled politely. "This time we mean to be ready for them," he replied. "Please come through to my office, Mayor Unnel. Things aren't quite settled yet, but we can manage alovak."

  Unnel smiled back. "Alovak is most welcome, General."

  Drecan almost frowned. "Captain," he answered, vaguely.

  Two men gave the outside of the wooden hut a much-needed coat of paint, while two more scrambled about the roof slipping tiles back into place. The painters touched fist to shoulder as Drecan passed.

  This area had not been used for more than a decade and the smell inside still hinted at recent use as a sheep shelter. Cleaned out now, four chairs stood around a small map covered table.

  "Alovak for two, please," Drecan said to the infertile sylph scrubbing one of the walls clean.

  "Se bata." The sylph bowed her head and left, earpoints lashing in irritation at being given a second task before completing the first.

  "We do have some concerns," said Unnel, blue eyes expressionless.

  Civilians usually do, thought Drecan. "About?" he asked.

  "Some of the, ah, women who have come the city."

  "The prostitutes, you mean? Or the camp followers who do our laundry?"

  Unnel blinked. Perhaps camp follower and prostitute meant the same thing to him. Wisely, he passed no comment about that. "Them, yes," he said. "They will give our city a reputation we do not need."

  Drecan resisted telling the Mayor that every city had its share of such women. Vertiana was mainly a mining town and Sandester's northern border crept nearer the icefields with every fresh discovery. Men came here searching for work, usually alone. And those men had certain needs that must be met. Now Drecan had brought an army here...

  "An army is mostly made up of young, single men," said Drecan. "Discipline only counts for so much among men, and often means little when those men are stood down. If there is no enemy to fight, they may invent one. You have already told me you have seen bored soldiers give your city their attention."

  Unnel blinked.

  "They can of course find their release elsewhere, by other means." Drecan smiled. "If you wish, I will pay these women to move out from your city, but the consequences of that must rest on your own shoulders."

  Unnel opened his mouth to speak again, but the infertile returned with the alovak.

  "I'll pour," Drecan told the infertile. "Go and take a break for an hour or so."

  The sylph inclined her head again, and left without a word.

  Drecan turned back to the mayor. "Any other concerns?"

  "Some people fear you might send recruiters into the city."

  "You can reassure them that there is no might about it." Drecan smiled again. "I have sent recruiters into Vertiana. We are here to protect and defend your city; your people can help with that." He held up a hand to forestall the mayor. "I can assure you they seek volunteers only and no coercion will be used."

  Unnel grunted.

  "Anything else, Mayor Unnel?"

  "One more thing." Unnel smiled. "I would like you to meet my son. Only eight years old, but he has some ideas you might like to hear."

  Drecan just managed to restrain a sigh. "I'll do my best," he said, hoping life would keep him too busy to ever see this man's son. At least until he was old enough to join the ranks.

  Drecan's hopes were dashed with the next sentence.

  "If you'll grant me the honor of dining with me," said Unnel, "you can meet him tonight."

  Drecan forced a smile. He needed this man's cooperation. "Delighted," he lied.

  ***

  Drecan needn't have worried.

  Mayor Unnel lived in a modest enough house, its wooden fascias painted blue and red, presumably to help it stand out from snow and ice in winter. Inside, tapestries adorned walls and rugs gave floors bright splashes of color. Light crystals were dotted about, most behind colored shades. All the windows faced south, reminding him of Sandester. Of course, the Aboras blew here, too.

  Resplendent in his dress uniform of polished breastplate, plumed helmet and red tunic and breeches, Drecan certainly found himself the center of attention.

  Farin, Unnel's slim wife, greeted him pleasantly enough, gray eyes smiling from a plain, unlined face. The mayor's two teenaged daughters made eyes at him, which he tried hard to ignore. The girls shared their mother's gray eyes and dark hair, while the excited Rayen – the son Unnel wanted him to meet – shared his father's blue eyes and light brown hair.

  "Nissa and Reeva." Farin made the introductions. "Our el
dest daughter is not here; she has her own family now."

  "I am delighted for her," replied Drecan. "I hope they are all healthy and strong."

  An infertile sylph accepted Drecan's helmet with a small bow of her head, before padding noiselessly away.

  "Is it true that you are Mikhan Annada's son?" squeaked the boy, pushing his head between his two sisters.

  Drecan smiled. "It is," he replied.

  "I'm Rayen," continued the boy, before his mother could open her mouth. "I've always wanted to meet a real General."

  Drecan laughed again. "May your wish one day be granted. I am a mere Field Captain."

  "Oh."

  Farin reclaimed his attention. "If you would like to come through, the meal is almost ready."

  Granted the head of the table, Drecan took his seat first and accepted a glass of wine from Unnel.

  "Only a white," said the mayor, apologetically. "I'm afraid the climate here does not suit red wines."

  Drecan sniffed at the wine, took a sip and murmured something appreciative. The mayor and his wife sat down one side of the pine table, the two girls down the other and Rayen sat at the far end.

  As the sylph returned, carrying their first course, Farin gestured. "This is Lisent, our sylph. She was a wedding gift and a valued member of our family."

  The sylph smiled, her lips pressed firmly together, while her earpoints suggested concentration. She bobbed her head at him.

  "Excuse her if she doesn't say very much," said Farin.

  "Sylphs rarely do," said Drecan.

  Farin grinned. "If she says even less than that," she continued. "She's teething and hates showing gaps in her smile."

  Drecan smiled as Lisent blushed a brighter blue. "I'm sure you'll have your smile back soon enough."

  The sylph bobbed her head and almost opened her mouth to say something.

  More polite talk followed, though Drecan noticed Rayen trying to break in on the conversation several times. He eventually decided to include the boy.

  "Your father tells me you are very interested in the army," said Drecan, facing the boy along the table.

  One of the girls failed to stop an audible groan.

  Rayen nodded. "And very interested in history," he replied. "I like learning about things that happened long ago. I like to read how Mikhan Annada broke the siege at Sandester."

  "He reads it again and again," said Reeva, rolling her eyes. "And again."

  "What do you like most about that?" asked Drecan, gently.

  "I like the way he wasn't scared to try new things," replied Rayen, promptly. "He was always ready to try. If they didn't work then it didn't matter too much, but if they did work, then everything went right. He never gave up either. Never."

  "That is a good trait to have," remarked Drecan, leaning back as Lisent cleared away the dirty plate.

  "Yes it is." Rayen nodded. "But enemies never give up either. Are the Calcans coming back? Is that why you are here?"

  "We don't know," replied Drecan. "They might be."

  "How do you know that they will land here?"

  Farin began to shush her son, but Drecan lifted a hand. "Let him speak," he suggested, quietly. He looked at Rayen. "It is the shortest distance by land to Sandester from here," he replied.

  "They landed here last time," said the boy, his blue gaze intense. "They probably know you will be here, waiting."

  "They might bring more men this time."

  Rayen shook his head. "If I was leading Calcan, I would land somewhere else."

  "Like where?" asked Drecan.

  The boy shrugged. "It doesn't matter where, but it would be anywhere but here. Are there any other armies?"

  "We have another one in Maturia," replied Drecan.

  "If something happens there, how will you know here?"

  Drecan shrugged. "We'll probably only learn of it when it's too late." He sat back again as Lisent served the next course.

  "And if the Calcans land somewhere between, neither of you will know," said Rayen.

  "They have birds to carry messages, stupid," interrupted Reeva.

  "Sadly, we don't," said Drecan. "It takes time to train birds and the only ones we have are trained to fly straight to Sandester."

  "I know a way of sending messages without birds." Rayen smiled. "And it's just as quick."

  "Really?"

  There must have been something in Drecan's tone, because Rayen frowned. "Will you try new things, like your father?" he asked.

  "Rayen!" cautioned Farin.

  Unnel gave his son a warning stare.

  Drecan inclined his head. "I'm listening," he replied.

  "We need a range of towers, each in sight of the next. Then messages can be sent between them, from one army to the other."

  "Messages sent how?"

  Rayen leaned forward on his elbows, meal forgotten. "By use of two arms that can be moved. Separate arms." He demonstrated using his own arms. "Straight up, stuck out to the side, straight down and a halfway point between each. One or both arms can be used. A position can be used to mean something, or the arms can be used to represent letters."

  Drecan's mouth dropped open. "Like signal flags," he said.

  "Better." Rayen grinned.

  "Would work well in daylight hours," muttered Drecan. "But what about at night?"

  "Eat your meal," said Farin.

  "Yes ma'am," said Drecan.

  Farin blushed. "I meant Rayen," she stammered.

  "Who would make a landing at night?" Rayen wondered aloud. He stuffed some food into his mouth. "Nobody could see anything."

  "And don't speak with your mouth full," added Farin.

  "Calcan uses sylphs," said Drecan. "And they can see in the dark."

  "Attach light crystals to the signal arms," said Rayen, after finishing his mouthful.

  "Hah!" Drecan laughed and slapped the table. "Quite brilliant, and only eight years old."

  "Nine." Rayen's frown returned. "I'm nine years old."

  ***

  The so-called Northern March looked a forsaken place to Egran. Grasses – many looked familiar as crops grown wild – stretched as far as he could see, though plenty of hills restricted that distance somewhat. Having grown up on Re Taura, Egran had never appreciated the collapse of the old empire had brought hard times to its many peoples.

  "Abandoned," he muttered to himself.

  Beside him, a sylph stirred and his earpoints twitched. "Donenya?"

  "Just mumbling to myself, Fenall," said Egran. He gestured with a hand. "It seems as though nobody lives here, though at one time they did."

  "There are still people out there," said Fenall. "Hamlets who trade with any city or travelers. And it is said a relic from the first civilization lies somewhere out there." The sylph's voice sounded hushed with awe.

  "Probably some spike that points uselessly at the sky." Egran dismissed such relics because they had no relevance to people today. Besides, nobody knew what they were for.

  Fenall regarded the cavalryman with unblinking silver eyes. "But donenya, it means there used to be something more."

  "But no longer." Egran smiled at the sylph. He must remember his loyalties had changed and that people on the continent allowed sylphs to be much too forward in their dealings with humans. "We must cope with the world as it is, not how it used to be."

  Fenall shrugged and his earpoints wilted a little. "We must live in the hope of something better to come."

  "Very profound. Makes you sound like you're a century old, rather than a decade and a half." Egran turned to look over the March again. "How many live out there?"

  "Handfuls, in places." Fenall shrugged again. "Lots of wild sylphs, because there are so few humans. Most people moved further south when the old ways stopped."

  Old ways of trade, Egran supposed. He sensed Fenall straighten beside him.

  "Something moving out there now," said the sylph, staring west.

  "Surely not an army already?" Egran squinted against t
he bright sunlight and envied sylphs their ability to see so well.

  "A cart perhaps. Wagon. Three of them, two horses each."

  "How many men?" Even squinting, Egran could only just make out that something was moving over there. He wished he had one of the vaunted Sandesteran spyglasses.

  "Cannot tell yet," replied Fenall. "Better report."

  Fenall put his head back and sent out a sighting whistle. The Sandesteran sylph scouts had learned about the Markan sylphs and their whistles, but nobody could replicate them. Branad's army had never used sylphs, so nobody had ever heard the Markan whistles.

  The Sandesteran sylphs put their heads together and compiled a list of whistles for general messages. Imperfect, and nowhere near as flexible as the code their cousins used further south, but it sufficed.

  "I told them we have company," Fenall told Egran. "I did not include the enemy qualifier, but I think Indelgar-ya will investigate anyway."

  "If he has any sense," said Egran. He nodded towards the approaching wagons. "Can you tell how many are out there yet?"

  The sylph stared across the grass "Five men," he said, eventually. "That I can see."

  "I'm surprised they got past the outer ring," remarked Egran.

  Fenall shrugged. "Only Lerence is ranging out there. We are the outer ring, until a proper roster is sorted."

  Egran bit his tongue. On Re Taura, any sylph speaking this way would be lucky to avoid a cuffing. On Re Taura it might even have been him doing the cuffing. But not here. The sylph was just doing his job.

  "Lucky it's not a full army then," said Egran.

  Fenall grinned. "Nazvasta-ya has not even declared yet."

  "Not the point." Egran's expression hardened. "We must be ready for anything anytime."

  Fenall said nothing, but concentrated his attention on the approaching wagons. His earpoints suggested he had plenty to say and Egran doubted if it was complimentary. On Re Taura, even the set of a sylph's earpoints might earn him a cuffing.

  Egran's head shot around at the sound of hoofbeats approaching. He poked the scout. "What happened to the warning?"

  Fenall looked affronted. "Coming from that way, they are on our side," he countered.

  "You've still got a lot of learning to do," snarled Egran. "Sir!"

  Indelgar dismounted and a sweating sylph halted beside him. Fenall inclined his head.