Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fantasy; War; Military Fiction
Description: The Narthon Empire and an Iraquinik member, Kolinka, made a mistake. They tried to kill or capture Yozef Kolsko. The possibility that Caedellium could have peaceful years going forward is refuted. The key is bringing down Narthon. But how? Caedellium is too small, despite innovations by Yozef Kolsko (Joseph Colsco) and Mark Kaldwel (Caldwell), humans cast away on the planet Anyar. Allies are needed. Campaigns to be planned. Risks to be taken. For Yozef Kolsko, it means assuming roles he never imagined or believed himself capable. Anyar will never be the same.

Book 8 of Destiny’s Crucible

A Fearful Symmetry

By

Olan Thorensen

Copywrite @ 2022 Olan Thorensen

This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance to people and places is coincidental.

All rights reserved

Books by Olan Thorensen

Destiny’s Crucible

Yozef Kolsko Thread

Cast Under and Alien Sun

The Pen and the Sword

Heavier Than a Mountain

Forged in Fire

Tales of Anyar (anthology)

Passages

A Dubious Peace

A Fearful Symmetry

Other Threads

An Ancient Enemy (novella)

Paladins of Distant Suns

A Tangled Road to Justice

The Road to Nowhere (forthcoming)

The Janus Harbinger

Harbinger

A Fermian Dilemma (forthcoming)

Greta Havorsford Novels (writing as Kelsey Robicheaux)

The Pink Flamingo

The Tyger

Robert Blake, 1794

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

CONTENTS

1                   CHILDREN OF EARTH

2                   ONE STEP AT A TIME

3                   GODS OF SLEEP AND GODS OF WAR

4                   OUTLINE

5                   INTERWOVEN

6                   KOLINKANS

7                   LANDOLIN AMBASSADORS

8                   IRAQUINIK AMBASSADORS

9                   COMMAND POSITIONS

10              DOUBLE SUPRISE

11              AKUYUN’S STAR

12              STRESS

13              THE ROBIN CONUNDRUM

14              REUNION

15              COUNSELING

16              AN INCONVENIENT HISTORY

17              AKUYUN AND ERGOMAN

18              LOGISTICS

19              MYSTERIES

20              A MOST INOPPORTUNE LETTER

21              ARRIVALS

22              READY ENOUGH?

23              PAUSE AND RECHARGE

24              RETURN TO WAR

25              MURVOR ISLANDS

26              SELLMOR TO PENABAK

27              THE PLAN

28              FINAL STEPS

29              ZERO HOUR

30              WHAT CAN GO WRONG, WILL

31              SKIRMISH AND BREAKOUT

32              FOUR HOURS AND SIXTY MILES

33              STATUS

34              WE’RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT

35              CONFRONTATION

36              CARNAGE

37              DISASTER

38              CAEDELLIUM

39              AI CONFUSION

40              NEXT TIME, LET’S HAVE MAPS

41              TAHPULTA RAVINE

42              LESSONS AND OPTIONS

43              INTERLUDE

44              CROSSING THE RUBICON

45              ENGAGED

46              TURNING POINT

47              APPOMATTOX

48              AFTERMATH

49              ENDINGS CAN BE BEGINNINGS

MAJOR CHARACTERS

ACKNOWKEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

CHILDREN OF EARTH

In the beginning, the 245 children of Earth who flew together were strangers or couples or family members. Then there were 27, lost to their hearths, never to return, scattered singly or by twos, the scattered never intended to meet. Five of those lost children awoke naked on beaches of a planet circling a G-type sun whose light would reach Earth in 346 years. That sun was ordinary, one of a similar 8,813 within that distance from Earth.

Their previous lives ended, those five of Earth’s lost children faced an unknown future. All five desired to survive, but the conditions of that survival rested on their inner resources, the happenstance of location, and a capricious universe.

Years passed. Three of the lost children found one another, gaining a degree of solace. Two orphans remained consigned, they believed, to never speaking to anyone from Earth and living their remaining time in the lives forced on them. Each of the five had reconciled, to a degree, with his or her second life. On a particular night, each of the five was coincidentally awake at the same moment.

Southeastern Krinolin

He woke when Huriko cried. The child was five months old, sleeping through most of the night but occasionally waking hungry. He would have risen to comfort the baby, but only Remika’s breasts could slake the child’s hunger. The sky seen through their small, thatched hut’s south window hinted at dawn’s approach.

“It’s almost light,” she said. “I’ll feed and change him. He’ll go back to sleep.”

“Go ahead. I’ll watch a moment before raising the fire for morning meal.”

She smiled. Her husband was strange in many ways. For most Krinolin families, infant care took place out of the husband’s sight. But not her husband. She was at first perplexed that he seemed to enjoy not only watching her ministrations to their two children, but often participating where he could or observing when he could not. She still refrained from telling this to other women, had cautioned him about his behavior in public, and was unsure how to feel about her pleasure at his interest.

She rose from the sleeping mattress, picked up the baby from his cradle, and sat on a stool where her husband could watch her slide the nightshirt from her shoulders and position the child to latch onto her left breast.

He had had no wife or children before the impossible and was endlessly amazed what a difference they made. Watching Remika feed Huriko was only one diversion that elicited his smiles, which came ever more frequently. Other pastimes were looking at Remika, no matter the occasion; hearing three-year-old Susmika speak her first full sentences, even if they were in Krinolese, rather than English; playing with both children when no one else was in sight; and reveling in moments when his explanation of a new mathematical concept was grasped by enthusiastic young scribes—their elation both a bitter and sweet reminder of his students at San Francisco State.

Not that his mood was always carefree. He never lost focus that his and his family’s wellbeing depended on Lord Jansatsu Hameeko, ruler of the Krinolin prefecture where he’d been cast away. His status had been uncertain until Hameeko named him Jalabo, after deciding the stranger found on one of his beaches had useful knowledge.

He had given up cringing when called by the name. It was what it was. He was no longer Hakeem Stambouli. He was Jalabo for the rest of his life. And it wasn’t all that bad a life. Not what he could have imagined or wanted, but it could be much worse. He had been surprised when, a month ago and for the first time in over a year, a question crossed his mind. What he would do if the opportunity to return to Earth suddenly appeared? There was a time when the answer would have been automatic. Now, he realized his family complicated the issue.

He smiled, remembering the passage from Francis Bacon. “He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.”

His smiled widened as he remembered trying to impress a date by saying the quote was from Shakespeare. The disdainful English literature major corrected him and declined a second date.

He had had no family on Earth. But now? Yes . . . Anyar had hostages to constrain his decisions. He would never leave his family, even to return to Earth.

Osmuya Bulak, Narthon Empire

The boy tossed in his sleep, inadvertently kicking her calf and waking her. She looked toward slits in the eastern wall of her room. No sign of light. She listened. No sound of the estate’s animals rousing, so it must still be hours from dawn. She pulled the thin blanket back over them both and put an arm over him—it often lulled his movements.

His body pressed against her growing belly, reminding her, as if she needed reminding, that in a few months there would be another child. There was no way to know if she would be allowed to keep it. She tried to ignore the thought, but her resolved failed. The options were paralyzing; give birth and lose the child immediately or have a second child to raise and worry about when it would be taken away.

She worked through mental exercises that sometimes helped push thoughts away. There was time for several more hours of sleep. She would need the rest for the coming day’s work. The overseers and her owner cared only for what she could do each full day. Her hand brushed the boy’s head, strands of hair momentarily catching on edges of calluses, a few scabs not ready to fall off, and patches of thick skin—far different from the pride she had once taken in well-manicured, soft-skinned hands.

She had also not seen her reflection in years and had learned to avoid even looking down into water. Her imagination was enough to know how even these few years had worn on her.

Her mantras were failing to work this night. She sighed. It was just one more day to live through with no hope for deliverance. Try not to think about the tomorrow. Live through the coming day. Care for her miracle son as much as she could. Try to make the overseers and the owner continue to value her because she knew the alternatives could be yet worse for those no longer deemed useful.

Music Department, University of Caedellium, Orosz City

Heather Chen snored. It was an affliction her sister had mercilessly teased her about.

“Good God, Heather! People in the next block are going to start filing noise grievances against this family,” was Naomi’s favorite line.

Exaggeration aside, Heather was self-conscious about the snoring, until it proved advantageous when it caused her Sulakoan owner, Halari, to have less interest in her being brought to his bed—less, but not never. Even those summonses ended when he realized her value as a music performer, and they came to the agreement the visits would end as long as she performed well.

On this night, there would be no audience to hear the snores. The Music Department was growing slowly, and the few students and instructors lived in quarters scattered around Orosz City. Heather also had a small apartment—on a second floor two blocks from the cathedral complex. However, on nights when she worked late, she occasionally used a small bed in the corner of her office.

This was one such time. A favorite piece of music was Bach’s “Air on the G String.” She reinforced her music nerd status when she explained to Mark and Yozef that the versions most commonly heard were variations on the second movement of Bach’s Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major. The two men only looked at each other and shrugged when she enthusiastically delved into its history. A German violinist had transposed the piece from D major to C major and then further transposed the original part of the first violins down an octave so the entire part could be played on the violin’s lowest string—the G string.

Such music minutiae did not fascinate Yozef as it did a Fuomi musician spending much of his time at the department. He helped her adapt Bach pieces to the current Orosz City’s version of an orchestra and to a small Fuomi ensemble whose members had other positions but were amateur musicians by Fuomi standards.

This day, when the rest of the department dispersed, she had intended to spend no more than an hour working on the Bach piece, only to fall asleep at her desk five hours later. Groggy when she woke, her rooms seemed too distant. She opted to stagger to the office bed. After pulling a blanket over herself and before falling back to sleep, she reflected on not having such focus during her first life on Earth.

In her third year on Anyar, she also reflected on how distressed she had been when she failed to quickly pull up a memory of one sister’s face. She had succeeded only after straining for a distraught hour to finally envision Cheryl. That’s when she began creating birthday cards for her siblings. She did not know the current dates on Earth, but she knew the year and day lengths were shorter, so she picked a day for each sibling and moved the Anyar birthdays forward each year to approximate an Earth year. She’d lost the cards when rescued by Mark, but she had resumed the custom on Caedellium. She hid the English-written cards in her quarters, not knowing whether Yozef’s worry about traces of Earth falling into the wrong hands was justified but . . . just in case and not to anger him.

Such reminiscences of Earth still occurred but were less heartrending with time. The most difficult thoughts remained of her family. Neither Mark nor Yozef believed there would ever be a way home. She accepted their opinion as technologically based—but she already believed the answer. It had only been a month earlier when she realized that given the option, she would not automatically accept returning to Earth. Upon reflection that day, she decided she only “might” return. The draw of her current life was stronger than she would have imagined after her arrival on Anyar. The immersion in music, the friends she had made, and the pleasure in bringing new music to the planet would be lost should she return. She grudgingly acknowledged the appeal of her Anyar life. On Earth, there might be dreams to pursue more vigorously than before the collision, but the result would never be the same as the possibilities on Anyar.

Her last thought before sleep was a measure of guilt, unsure what she would do if she were to wake and have a choice. Earth or Anyar. As consciousness faded, she was somewhat reassured it was a dilemma whose resolution she would never need to address.

The first person to arrive on the coming morning knew to check her office and bed. If Heather was asleep, subsequent arrivals would be warned to let the diminutive Amerikan sleep as long as she wanted.

Hilstrom, Stent/Selfcell Border

Mark Caldwell walked only slightly unsteadily toward his temporary quarters in the newly finished worker quarters. The facility at Hilstrom Inlet was progressing as satisfactorily as the committed resources justified, but one purpose of his visit was to warn work leaders that an acceleration was coming. The first small-scale steam-powered vessel was on the horizon in the next few months. He and Yozef had considered testing the model on the river near Orosz City, but they quickly agreed the location was incompatible with keeping developments from the Fuomi and other embassy staffs. That left going straight to the eventual main development site at Hilstrom Inlet on the Stent/Selfcell border.

The first model would be only twenty feet long and never intended for anything but the calmest waters. Once Mark was satisfied with all the parts, the model would be disassembled at Orosz City and taken to Hilstrom for reassembly and serious tests. Assuming everything went well, the next step was a larger vessel capable of staying afloat in less than calm seas. There would then be what Mark called the “serious” test of whether his knowledge of shipbuilding, when combined with the experience of a Fuomi frigate captain who had switched allegiance to Caedellium, was enough to move to the next phase. By that time, all future construction and testing would be carried out at Hilstrom—requiring significant ironworks, a magnitude or more increase in workers, associated shops, living quarters, and other infrastructure to produce an iron-clad, steam-powered ship capable of blue water.

He had arrived in Hilstrom two days previous. The initial inspections proved more than satisfactory, and the briefings of intended expansions were received enthusiastically. The leader at Hilstrom was an Adrisian whom Mark had identified as a natural engineer. He joined half a dozen similar men and one woman who did not have Mark’s technical knowledge but had the intuitive feel for construction and machines.

Mark had mildly chastised Yozef for pushing hard on basic and applied science without an equal effort in engineering. Yozef didn’t need to be convinced, and discussions were underway about a Department of Engineering. The problem was how could Mark take enough time away from ongoing projects? Yet it had to be done. To accomplish what they envisioned, they needed an entire corps of engineers.

Mark would somehow find the time. Besides searching for leaders who could take over his projects, he found the company of people who focused on building to be relaxing, with a camaraderie only other engineers appreciated.

Mark and the current sixty-two Hilstrom workers had relaxed that evening with food and beer around an enormous campfire until well past midnight. He had drunk more than usual, but the mellow feeling and warmth from the companionship made him feel . . . content, even happy. During his time on Anyar, his feelings about the possibility of returning to Earth had alternated from eagerness to uncertainty, reluctance, negation, and feelings uncategorized. Even in his first months on Caedellium, only Maghen and Alys would have stopped him from returning if they could not go with him. But not now. If the aliens had suddenly, and for whatever reason, offered to take his entire family to Earth, he would give an emphatic refusal. This was his life, his family, and his calling. There was no denying he was happier than he had ever been.

He stumbled on a step as he entered the small hutch. Then he closed the door, lay on the bed without undressing, closed his eyes, and drifted away in seconds. It was the sleep of a man who had found his place, and it was good.

Kolsko Manor, Orosz City

Joseph Colsco gathered sheets of scribblings and drawings, shuffled them into a neat pile, and placed them in an unlabeled folder before returning it to a desk drawer. He sighed at spending the evening’s hours without making significant progress in identifying what needed to be done.

I know I have to accept the unknowns and deal with what arises as it happens, he thought. But there’s just too much to do and too much depending on me. No more tonight, though.

He yawned and rose from the desk, momentarily indecisive on where to go. Both Maera and Anarynd were long asleep. No reason to risk rousing either, he told himself to justify heading to the small bed in the corner of his study. He wasn’t conscious that he wanted to be alone. He was yet to understand the depth of how the burdens he carried and the decisions he made threatened to overwhelm the psyche of Yozef Kolsko.

CHAPTER 2

ONE STEP AT A TIME

The Senate meeting was the most complete gathering of hetmen since the clans had united to fight the Narthani’s attempt to subjugate Caedellium. There were two exceptions. Abbot Abelard represented the Moreland Grand Council and as regent for three-year-old Odysius Moreland-Kolsko. A cousin of Hetman Yulan Seaborn currently lived in Orosz City to represent his clan, but Yulan participated remotely from a mountaintop semaphore station at the east tip of Seaborn Province’s South Island. Yulan was kept apprised of the meeting’s major points by two new telegraph extensions: a spur from the line between Penmawr to Shullick connecting to a semaphore station transmitting across the Seaborn Strait to Seaborn province; and a line from the Orosz City telegraph station into the Senate chamber. In a message to Yozef, Yulan had communicated that although he could not be present, he assured his support for any action to punish Kolinka.

The meeting ended at mid-afternoon and lacked the usual mingling after adjournment. The relative silence reflected both Yozef’s entreaty to keep the proceedings secret for the moment and the hetmen’s various degrees of disquiet at the proposed action.

Most of the somber participants immediately left Orosz City to start back to their home provinces. Depending on the province and hetman preference, transportation was by train, ship, carriage, or horse. Those choosing to go by sea took a train to Adris City, where Caedelli or Fuomi sloops waited.

Culich Keelan was one of the hetmen traveling by sea. The Caedelli sloop Valiant had collected and then transported the Keelan, Gwillamer, and Mittack hetmen to Adris City. For Culich, traveling by ship was necessary because lingering issues from losing half a leg precluded horseback and limited carriage travel. Mark’s introduction of leaf springs for wagons had led to them now being common throughout Caedellium, but the trip to the Keelan Province port of Salford was still the limit for Maera’s father.

Culich had not visited Orosz City since the first Senate meeting. Breda and Mared Keelan, Maera’s mother and sister, had come after Maera’s wounding in the Seaborn raid, but he had had to remain in Caernford. He’d arrived two days before the Senate meeting began so he could visit with Maera and the children. He was surprised at the changes in Orosz City: the remnants of the final battle against the Narthani now reduced to a section of the trench works left as a memorial, the cleared battlefield to the river filling with the city’s expansion, the new administrative buildings, and the burgeoning area for the university and research.

Yozef and Culich interacted cordially after he arrived, but with a stiffness noticed by Maera and Anarynd, though details were not shared until Culich’s last night in Orosz City—Culich opposed the Kolinka campaign.

The evening meal was convivial. Besides Culich and the Kolsko and Puvey households, also attending were Tomis Orosz and his wife, Welman Stent, Hulwyn Mittack, and Cadoc Gwillamer. The latter two hetmen and Culich would leave the next morning for Adris City and the sloop to return them home.

Later that evening, after the guests were gone, the children were asleep, and Culich had retired, the Kolskos sat on the front veranda. The weather was mild, though Maera wore a shawl around her shoulders and Anarynd, a robe. A light rain pattered on the veranda roof.

“I take it the meeting did not go exactly the way you wanted it,” said Anarynd. Yozef kept no secret from them of his intention to punish Kolinka.

An incipient scowl threatened Maera’s face.

“Exactly? No,” said Yozef, “but well enough to go ahead with Kolinka plans. When the Paramount position was created, the powers were not defined. As much as there are times I’d like to have the ability to just make a decision without worrying about getting authorization, that road has wicked turns and unanticipated pitfalls. If we’re going to make changes in Kolinka, we need reasonable widespread support among the hetmen.”

Maera’s expression eased to determination. “Father was one of the problems, wasn’t he? Did he oppose getting involved on Iraquinik?”

“Not actively. Oh . . . he was firm in not approving, but he said privately that he would not publicly say anything or lobby the other hetmen.”

“Lobby?” questioned Anarynd.

“Sorry. An Amerikan word meaning ‘try to persuade.’ He made it plain he thought Caedellium needed years of peace before even considering foreign involvement. I gave him and the other hetmen my reasons why we couldn’t wait. Four hetmen were firm vocal negatives: Pawell, Bevans, Vandinke, and Farkesh. The last one hurt. Hetman Farkesh, Feren Bakalacs, was one of the four hetmen on the War Council, and he retains a lot of respect. The meeting might have gone much worse if Culich had joined Feren in open opposition. I think Feren might have influenced more of the northern clans.”

“Like who?” asked Anarynd.

“Yozef means Swavebroke, Skouks, and Nyvaks,” answered Maera. “They all have young and relatively new hetmen. For Swavebroke and Skouks, the previous hetmen were killed by the Narthani. The bitterness of their people and heirs will last for generations. I doubt even father and Feren could have swayed, but I expect Yozef’s arguments about the continuing Narthani threat were convincing.

“As for Nyvaks, Hetman Sildor Nyvaks owes Yozef for not revealing how Janko, the father, colluded with Narthani agents. Even if Sildor wants to oppose the Kolinka plan, he could hardly do it after his clan’s hetman had also tried to betray his neighbors.

“So, only four no votes, what about strong support?” asked Maera. “I can guess Stent, Preddi, Orosz, and of course—” Maera broke off and looked at Anarynd. As mother and regent to the Moreland heir, Odysius Moreland-Kolsko, she was unlikely to oppose it. “What about Brell and Selfcell?”

“Both are strong supporters. Their people are well aware of the consequences of Narthani occupation. I was a little surprised, pleasantly, by strong support from Bultecki and Gwillamer, especially the last one. I would have thought Culich’s obvious reluctance might have made Cadoc Gwillamer more cautious, but he’s one of the strongest supporters

“In the end it was seventeen in favor, four opposed. However, my evaluation is ten strongly supportive, seven reluctantly acquiesced, and the four opposed. I was hoping for fifteen to seventeen strong votes. It’s clear that the reluctant votes did so because of regard for me, which will suffer if the Kolinka campaign goes badly.”

“Badly?” asked Anarynd.

“Anything that involves a combination of failing to reasonably punish Kolinka and too many Caedelli casualties. My status as Paramount would inevitably suffer. Oh, nothing like trying to remove me as Paramount, but it would almost certainly curtail Caedellium involvement with the rest of Anyar. It also wouldn’t help with the changes I hope to make. There’s already a degree of unrest with the new industries, immigrants, and the push for more uniform laws among the clans.”

“Then you have to be certain it goes well,” Anarynd said with a sniff. “Maera, you should talk with your father about this before he leaves. I got the sense you and he have not spoken alone that much while he was here.”

Maera was well aware she and her father had not discussed anything unrelated to her recovery and the children. It was unusual because of their close relationship. For many years, before marrying Yozef and moving to Orosz City, she had been one of her father’s main advisers.

Maera nodded. “You’re right. I admit I avoided dealing with it. I think both of us were too careful. Maybe he didn’t want an argument with me, and I sensed his discomfort with what he expected Yozef to propose. I’ll try to say something before he leaves. He’s usually awake early, and his train doesn’t leave until mid-morning. I’ll have a couple of hours to . . . uh . . .  to ‘lobby’ him before he leaves.”

Anarynd shifted uneasily in her chair. “I didn’t mention it before, but I got Abbot Abelard alone yesterday morning before the meeting began. I was straightforward in asking his opinion of what should be done about Kolinka. I think he already suspected something and was unhappy with the idea—I’m sure partly due to his being a theophist—but he said the people of Moreland would approve of whatever Yozef intended as long as the outcome was good. I told him that both Odysius and I, as the Moreland heir and regent, were completely supportive of the Paramount.” She laughed. “I forgot how silly it was to say that about Odysius. He’s only three years old, and his main concerns are Xena picking on him and playing with the stuffed ‘bear’ that is like one Yozef had as a child.”

Both Yozef and Maera looked fondly at Anarynd. She had been uneducated and isolated by her upbringing and then traumatized by her experience as a Narthani slave. Yet her association with Yozef and Maera and her role as the mother of the Moreland heir were slowly changing her. But not completely. Her face sagged.

“Just because I trust your and Maera’s arguments doesn’t mean I like you leaving us for so long and getting in such danger. Do you really think you might be gone an entire year?”

“I’m hoping that’s the longest, but it may be more like six months. Of course, that’s assuming I get the cooperation of the important Iraquinik kahsaks and Landolin kingdoms. Hetmen approval was only the first step to see what’s possible. From talking with Uzman Gangala, I’m fairly confident Ponomyna will join the effort, but we need more than them. As for Landolin, I’m moderately optimistic about Munjor, although I’m sure that will entail guarantees about helping Landolin stop whatever the Narthani are planning in southern Landolin.”

“I’ll wager Naskin will cooperate,” said Maera. “I sense they feel somewhat intimidated by Munjor and Mureet and would like Caedellium to be a friend if not an ally. I also agree about Munjor, but I’ll be surprised if Mureet will commit. They don’t even call their representative an ‘ambassador,’ almost like it would imply a commitment to Caedellium.”

“We’ll see,” said Yozef. “I’ll be meeting with the ambassadors and representatives, or whatever they choose to call themselves, in the next several days. The picture of what’s possible for a Kolinkan campaign will then start to become clear.”

Maera yawned. “I’m supposed to meet with Rhanjur tomorrow. He’s interested in how the university is developing and claims he would like to start something similar in Munjor. However, he hinted the class structure there would not allow entrance strictly on ability like here, at least at first. There’s also the issue of women attending.” She shook her head. “I think he understands how it limits his people’s potential, but I suppose it’s a start. That’s for tomorrow. Right now, I feel like I’m falling asleep. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”

With that, Maera rose and walked toward the main door. Anarynd followed after offering a hand to Yozef and leading him to her bedroom. Early in the three-way marriage, it had been Maera and Anarynd who solved Yozef’s concern about sleeping arrangements. Many nights, by signals or statements, the two women informed him of the night’s companion, except for when he slept on a narrow bed in his office after working late hours. On the other nights, like this one, whatever followed was sleep or another activity, communicated by spoken or unspoken signals. Tonight, Anarynd was amorous. Yozef suspected her worry for him was deeper than she had shown, and she had the urge to hold him close. He willingly reciprocated, both from desire and from reservations deeper than he had shared with anyone.

Next Stages

The smell of fresh baked biscuits roused Yozef. Opening one eye confirmed daylight and small blue-and-orange murvors flittering around branches visible through a window. He reached an arm to where Anarynd should have been, then thought he remembered her getting up during the night once or twice to feed Luna. Now, her side of the bed was cold, and when he raised his head, he could hear voices.

I guess I was beat, he thought. Meetings like the last two days can be more tiring than heavy labor. He smiled. Well, that’s what the brain may think, anyway. I doubt Anarynd’s enthusiasm last night was needed to help me sleep. He smiled., But why take the chance? Hey, that’s what Ronald Reagan said about working hard never killing anyone. Why take the chance, He snorted and swung to sit on the bed’s edge.

He had work to do. Everything had been on hold until he was confident of enough hetmen’s support. Now he had it. It was time for serious planning and plotting, which needed to progress simultaneously. He still had to decide whether the effort was unworkable. He expected the details to be potentially overwhelming, and Iraquinik and Landolin support was required.

His relaxed feeling elicited a desire to stay in bed a bit longer—the feeling being rare the last months. But for the moment, he was hungry and would have a little family time before diving into whatever what came next.

All heads turned when he entered the kitchen. “I guess it’s good to be Paramount and sleep all day,” said Carnigan, occupying two kitchen chairs set together.

Yozef made as haughty a face as he could to accompany an insouciant hand gesture. “Lesser beings cannot understand the needs of a Paramount.”

Smiles, laughter, and a “raspberry” by Anarynd prompted Gwyned’s perplexed expression.

Anarynd blushed. “It’s something Yozef explained last night. I’ll tell you later.”

“Well, these lesser beings need to leave,” said Maera. “Everyone else has already eaten, and I need to get Aeneas, Morwena, and Dwyna to the daycare. It’s a new concept for Caedellium, and it’s important for the Paramount’s family to show it’s an acceptable custom. Gwyned and I are taking children for their first day, and we’ll stay until they seem all right. Then I have a meeting with Diera on the Medical Department, and Gwyned will come back to help Anarynd with the rest of the children. Later, I have interviews with three women candidates to serve as more manor staff.”

She spoke the last words more softly than the others and then mouthed, “Elian’s still asleep.”

The elderly Elian and Brak Faughn had begun working for Yozef soon after his arrival on Anyar and his first innovations returned enough coin. Elian cooked, cleaned, and maintained the cottage. Brak cared for the outdoors. After Brak died and the Kolskos moved to Caernford and then Orosz City, Elian became a formal part of the Kolsko household, with no primary duties but assisting in cooking, childcare, and anything she could contribute. The last year she had become frailer, and her work adjusted accordingly and surreptitiously enough not to make obvious her diminished abilities. Nevertheless, the Kolsko and Puvey households’ increased numbers of children and the adults’ outside duties necessitated more help.

Yozef also had things to do. The hetmen’s “authorization” for a Kolinka action was a potential hurdle now passed. He had given it many hours of thought in the previous months. He now needed to put thoughts on paper and explore what he’d written with a trusted, honest adviser.

“Maera, please make time to come by my office about mid-afternoon. I’ll have something written I’d like us to go over.”

Yozef’s mood persisted on the way to work. He chose to walk, despite his earlier urge to get there quickly. The morning air was brisk, and it helped clear his mind during the trip down the cleft, through Orosz City, and to the administration complex outside the main wall. The headquarters staff nodded and smiled to one another as he breezed into his office. They detected he was in a good mood this day—a welcome difference in demeanor from the Yozef Kolsko who had returned from Seaborn. He ignored the pile of waiting paperwork. It would be there tomorrow.

He pulled out quill and paper and began to jot down ideas. He never noticed that the more he wrote, the more the morning’s mood slipped away. By mid-afternoon, some of the staff returned to nervousness when interacting with him, or they allowed Awlina to make the contacts—she having evolved into a regular go-between to relieve the more sensitive staffers.

He focused on writing and missed eating at midday until Awlina brought him a hunk of cheese, crusts of bread, and a tumbler of water. He glanced up, nodded, and returned to writing. Two hours later, the cheese and the crusts were gone. He did not remember eating.

Maera arrived as he finished the second reading of what he’d written. For the next hour, she read and commented, suggesting changes and offering advice on dealing with ambassadors.

By sundown, he felt he was ready for meetings, first with Mark as soon as he returned from Hilstrom. They needed to confirm the prospects for weapon development and production. Maera had no issue with that intent but directed him back to a major weakness she’d already noted.

“Let’s come back to the danger of planning a military campaign of this magnitude with almost no information on where you are going and who you’ll be fighting. Any direct action is many months away. During that time, we have to gather every shred of information we can about Kolinka, its people and customs, and the other Iraquinik kahsaks to be involved, along with the same for the Landoliners. It’s going to be a big job. We need to recruit every resource we can, starting with the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU)—and adding people as needed. Unfortunately, the People’s Department at the university has been slow in developing. I’m afraid we should have moved faster on that department, but there always seemed to be something more important.”

He nodded. “I know, and I’m counting on your helping put this together. We’ll need to pull the best people from any other work. Gartherid and Isla Kennrick to start, but what about Sissel Morgan?”

Maera grimaced. “She’s just started setting up the Department of Education. Her being redirected will stop that, and she won’t be pleased. Only recently, we had her step down from leading the MIU.”

“Needs of the service,” mumbled Yozef in English, quoting the traditional Earth excuse when people were involuntarily pressed into service or switched duties against their will.

“The education issues will still be there six to eight months from now,” said Yozef, “which is how long we have to prepare. It’s not as if work on the Department of Education will stop—just that other people will continue without Sissel’s daily involvement. That’s settled. Sissel will switch back to intelligence. Gartherid will serve as the intelligence chief for the campaign. I know, he’s missing most of a leg, but he can ride a horse, just not for as long as he used to. There will be wagons when he prefers not being on horseback. Someone senior has to fill that position, and it has to be a man. I suspect we’ll have a few women in major slots, but I have to be aware of Iraquinik and Landoliner views on such things. Besides, Isla has a young child and is expecting another, so she’s out. Sissel is too old. The only other person I think who might be qualified is your distant cousin, Riona Kolfyn. Bright as she is, being female is still a problem, plus she’s got no sense about keeping her mouth shut. Things will be complex enough without our worrying what she’s said to whom.”

“You might consider taking Halwon Ristwyn with you,” said Maera. “He can help Gartherid, and he’s gotten fluent in Fuomi so he can read Fuomi mathematics books and talk to those Fuomi on Caedellium who know enough mathematics. Like with Sissel, it’s only been two months since he left intelligence to help expand the university’s Department of Mathematics.”

“Okay, Maera, that gets it started. Oh . . . we’ll be adding people, especially ex-slaves, ex-Narthani, ex-Fuomi, whoever else can help. That will probably include people to scour libraries all over Caedellium for any relevant information we haven’t already put together in efforts that are currently underway.”

They talked another half hour before Maera headed back to the university, leaving Yozef to revise his notes. He had a feeling of momentum. He had the hetmen’s approval, even if grudging, and a basic outline of a plan. Now it was time to work on the next potential hurdles. There were still places where the plan could prove impractical.

CHAPTER 3

GODS OF SLEEP AND GODS OF WAR

Kolsko Manor

The sky was black to the horizon, yet occasional lightning illuminated bodies covering the sparse plain as far as he could see. The wind howled but did not touch him as he walked, his bare feet stepping on flesh, cloth, reddened weapons, and earth turned to mud by blood. Flocks of carrion birds and murvors flew in from all directions to join those already feasting, adding to the cacophony pulsing against his ears. He stumbled and caught himself when his foot slipped off a severed leg. Where was the rest of the body?

There was no sensation of time passing as he walked on and on. The field of bodies must have an end, doesn’t it? he wondered. A vulture that wasn’t a vulture snapped at his leg. Where were his pants? They had been there before.

He stepped over a Caedelli man with a slashed chest exposing ribs. The eyes opened.

“I would be a man now except for you.”

Suddenly, the man was a boy. Yonkel. Killed at the barricades inside St. Sidryn’s Abbey. Yonkel during the desperate fight against Buldorian raiders. So much potential lost.

He rushed on, avoiding looking again into the boy’s eyes. A body sat up, the face obliterated by grapeshot, but he recognized Filtin Fuller.

“I died because you led us against the Narthani. Why did we have to fight? Maybe I could have lived an entire life without war.”

He ran as hard as he could, over and on bodies, cutting his feet on rocks, blades, shrapnel, and musket parts. He ran until a hand grabbed his ankle, and he fell on a decomposing corpse. The hand was joined by a second. He looked down to recognize Anid Keelan, the small, dark hole in her forehead, her eyes accusing.

“They were not after me. It was you they wanted to kill. Why did I have to die?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried, jerking to free his leg, then rising and stumbling away, too tired for futile runs. There was no escaping.

On and on, until he saw a flag waving in the wind he did not feel. It was attached askew to a pole. He needed to go to it, though he knew not why.

A circle of bodies two deep surrounded where the pole entered the ground. He stopped, waiting for them to move and speak to him. None did, so he approached closer. There was a face he recognized. Reezo Seaborn, his face pinched in rigor as if he’d just felt the lance head buried in his chest.

More faces he recognized by name, others he recognized without connecting a name or a place.

He froze, his expression twisting in agony, eyes locked on a cluster of faces turned his way. Carnigan, Synton, Mark, Heather, others. He could not look away as his eyes shifted from one person to another until one more: Maera, her throat slit, cradling a bloody bundle that he knew held Linkun.

“AH!!” he cried and bolted upright, the sleeping cloth falling from his body. Sweat ran down his head and chest. The bed was soaked. His breath came in deep draughts as if he had just risen from water’s depths and barely escaped drowning.

“What is it, Yozef? Another of those dreams?” asked Maera, concerned. She put a hand on his side.

He flinched and slid away on the bed to sit, feet on the floor. Maera moved up behind him, arms around his body, her head against his back.

“You don’t tell me whether it’s the same dream every time. Maybe you should talk about it.”

“I’m fine,” he groused. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

He cut off what she was about to say next. He rose from the bed, grabbed shirt and pants, and left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

The inside of the manor was quiet, but he could hear faint rustlings of wind outside. He walked to the main door and opened it onto the veranda. Wind pushed against the heavy door, almost taking it from his grip. He grabbed a coat from the adjacent pegs and went outside. Wind whipped at him—wind he felt, unlike in the dream.

Coming from the south, he thought. Only way it could be this strong within the cleft.

He was halfway down the steps before he remembered being barefoot.

“Damn.”

Back on top, he decided against going indoors to find footgear, so he settled for sitting in one of the wooden rockers.

There must be clouds since no stars are visible, he thought. He did not remember if one of the two moons was supposed to be up this night. A glance to the south failed to detect a light or a glow. Either it was still the middle of the night, or low-hanging clouds blanketed the city’s junction into the mountain.

He briefly reviewed the dream. Thankfully, details were already fading, though the feelings remained. A vigorous head shake and the pain of slamming both hands to the rocker’s arms disrupted his rut of remembrance.

“It’s only a dream,” he said. No one answered to rebuke him, so maybe it was true.

He forced his mind to focus on a decision made.

“Enough thinking. Nothing has changed in the last sixdays.”

He was scheduled to visit Vandork, capital of Vandinke Province. It was too rich in minerals; otherwise, he would prefer to pretend the clan and its hetman did not exist. Unfortunately, Hetman Vandinke was not quite so incompetent and obstructive to justify Yozef looking for ways to replace him. Reports that mining and smelting operations were affected by hetman sycophants needed addressing.

But before travel, it was also time to talk with key people about Kolinka: Mark, then Reimo and Eina. He chafed at delays once he had the hetmen’s approval and the plan outline settled. It was past time to start many things in motion. For now, he stared into the darkness and struggled to not think. After an hour of failure, he drifted into sleep, thankfully dreamless, his head against the rocker’s back.

Bastion 12, Orosz City Old Wall

Almost a sixday passed before Yozef and Mark met. Neither had avoided the other, but Mark’s travel and altered schedules kept him away. Yozef’s recurring nightmare weighed on him—there was still time to back down. The number of people aware of his plan was limited. Most hetmen would be relieved. He knew that once the circle of involvement expanded and commitments were made, it would be harder to put on the brakes. The excuses for delay finally expired when Mark returned.

On Godsday after the morning cathedral service, he whispered to Mark as the family exited. The rest of the families returned home while Yozef led Mark to the top of one of the bastions in the Orosz City old wall. There was no place to sit, so they leaned on the stonework, facing south where the growing city covered more of the battlefield with each month.

“Do I sense correctly that things are ready to move forward?” asked Mark.

“Narthon,” confirmed Yozef. “They are the ultimate objective. I’ve thought hard about our previous discussions, and I agree there are three ways forward. One is that Caedellium works to form a strong enough military coalition to defeat the Narthon Empire in the field. Second is that you and I push technology to the point where there are weapons and capabilities the Narthani can’t match. Finally and longer term are economic advances that leave the Narthon Empire in the dust, and it crumbles on its own.”

“All three of which take time,” said Mark. “Especially the economic route. And, of course, they interrelate. But they will take time neither of us believes we have. Something has to be done to at least slow Narthon.

“Yes, time is the key factor,” said Yozef, grimacing. “We have to keep Narthon from winning before they can lose. I think we can forget the third option. It might take a decade or longer for the economies of Narthon’s enemies to improve enough to be decisive. It has to be the first two options, probably a combination of the two.”

Mark nodded. “Better weapons and coalitions before Narthon controls too much of Anyar. It also assumes Caedellium survives intact long enough.”

“And that’s where we are now,” said Yozef. “I’ve spent more time than I anticipated thinking about what to do with Kolinka. I wanted time for my feelings to cool. I’ll also admit some reluctance to set everything irrevocably in motion. Then there’s what we’ve talked about with respect to Narthon. I don’t want Kolinka to be an unnecessary diversion to Narthon’s fall. The complexities led me to accept that nothing is certain. However, I believe there is a way forward—dealing with Kolinka as part of the bigger objective.”

“So, I sense you’re still decided to go after Kolinka,” said Mark. He had assumed Yozef would eventually come to that conclusion. What he didn’t know was whether he’d agree with whatever arguments Yozef declared or if he would think them rationalizations for revenge.

“Yes, but it has to be part of the bigger picture. We’re already learning that the Iraquinik kahsaks are woefully bad at committing to coordinate against the Narthani. They’ve been lucky that Narthon hasn’t pushed harder. Instead of trying to advance across that long front, I think Narthon might have already finished off the Iraquiniks if they had concentrated an overwhelming attack to split the confederation in two and then dealt a decisive blow to the halves before the kahsaks could react. I wonder why that hasn’t happened, unless there are internal reasons within Narthon or even a bit of satisfaction with a status quo.”

“I agree,” said Mark. “I’ve looked at maps and read what we have here about the fighting. I see multiple options. If I were them, I’d consider attacking somewhere around the Powantik/Kiker border and taking out the southernmost kahsaks. They’re among the richest kahsaks and seem to be the heart of Iraquinik culture and history. But another option could be isolating the northern kahsaks by pushing through Waswagon to the ocean after crossing the Bumtee Sea. That’s the narrowest part of the confederation. As you say, I suppose they could attack in the middle and split the confederation, but that might leave them vulnerable to strong counterattacks on both flanks of their salient. However, that’s their problem. For us, we’ve discussed how the Landolin situation is a high priority.”

“I still feel that way,” said Yozef. “Despite their disorganization and the apparent near-term intentions of the Narthani, the Iraquinik front seems relatively stable. But things could change if all Landolin falls.

“A problem for Caedellium is that we’re simply too small to be a major player by ourselves. To our south, the Landolin kingdoms need to coordinate better, and it’s the same to our east with the Iraquinik kahsaks. I believe I see a way forward, but it’s going to involve direct involvement by Caedellium, not just supplying arms.”

“I take it to mean you’ve changed your mind about sending Caedelli troops off the island?”

“I’m not seeing another good option,” Yozef said regretfully. “But neither can we send too many and risk leaving Caedellium vulnerable. I also won’t risk too many Caedelli lives or take the chance of major resistance from the clans and the hetmen. Oh . . . I might have support from the majority of the common people, but that could change fast with too many casualties. That latter possibility was one of the lessons from Vietnam.”

“Well . . . that and the United States not having a clear end-game objective and policy,” said Mark. “So, how does all this hang together? What exactly are you thinking? I’ll confess I’ve assumed Caedellium will have to get more involved on Landolin.”

“It’s a two-factor problem,” said Yozef. “We can’t send a large force to Landolin, and neither will I send a force too small to risk with unreliable allies. Add to that, prospects against the Narthani will significantly improve if all their enemies work together more. I think we have an opportunity now that Narthon is threatening Landolin, which so far didn’t see the war against Narthon as their problem.”

Yozef smiled. “Now comes the magical part—pulling an improbable plan out of our asses.”

“Our asses, kemosabe?” Mark said sardonically. “Excuse me, Masked Man, but you’re the one riding Silver.”

“It’s you who are kemosabe, Tonto. The ‘trusted friend’ and sidekick. The Lone Ranger can’t do what’s necessary alone. He needs Tonto doing everything he can if we’re going to pull down Narthon. And I haven’t heard you say it’s not necessary to stop Narthon, even if it seems improbable that Caedellium will be instrumental.”

“Well, it can’t be more improbable than our being here in the first place,” said Mark, “or your managing to kick the Narthani off Caedellium. And I agree we both know the ultimate goal. I just think whatever we do will need a mighty dose of luck.”

Yozef’s smile was replaced by a grimace. “Let’s hope luck hasn’t sailed. What I see is that we’ll have to commit at least one regiment to Landolin, maybe two. But that’s the limit. That’s two to four thousand men, maybe a little more if we aren’t satisfied the Landoliners can provide sufficient specific support people. For our men to be a significant enough factor, they need weapons to create a multiplier effect . . . maybe by a factor of four to five at a minimum. So . . . say our two thousand are as effective as ten thousand Narthani. The question then is how do we do that?”

“It depends on the time frame,” said Mark. “We’re developing fast here on Caedellium, but there are obvious time constraints. Every month means Narthon must have a tighter grip on whatever they’re doing on Landolin.”

“Right,” said Yozef. “So, I place it to you, what is the best we can do within six months and then the next year?”

“Well . . . given these time constraints, I’ll want to think some more, but I expect the six-month limit will be no problem for a single regiment. That’s assuming they’re armed with our version of the Sharps breech loader. The improved grenades are reliable, but beyond that, the sixty-millimeter mortar analog is the only other plausible weapon ready for general deployment. And that’s assuming you can finish working out the kinks in the primers.”

“What if we need to arm an entire division for a campaign against Kolinka? Say, four or five regiments, one of which is Caedelli?”

Mark looked at Yozef for fifteen to twenty seconds before answering.

“Who else? Fuomi? Do they have enough men here? And after that? Who else? Iraquiniks?”

“The composition is to be determined, but again, what arms are possible?”

“Rifles and sixty-mm mortars are the only innovations I think we could count on. And that would require reprioritizing and redirecting workers and plants, inevitably slowing down other projects.” Mark shook his head. “Artillery would probably have to be what we already have and can produce more of.

“If you could wait out to a year, then maybe we could have larger mortars—out to eighty to ninety millimeters. Belt-fed machine guns are still out in that time frame, but another possibility is a few automatic rifles, something like a knockoff of the Kalashnikov. The problem with both of those is producing enough brass cartridges to make it worthwhile.”

“How about Gatling guns? If I remember, the first versions were fed by magazines using paper cartridges.”

“I don’t know Gatling details,” said Mark, “but the principles shouldn’t be a problem. However, they’ve got the same basic problem in logistics—supplying the ammunition if the fighting is not on Caedellium. We might be able to get a small number of the hand-cranked versions with thirty or more bullet magazines in six months.”

“What about artillery?” asked Yozef. “Six months and year?”

“In six months? The artillery would still be muzzle-loading smooth-bore cannon, though they’ll be better than anything the opposition has. I think we’re close to being ready to switch to a version of steel that holds up well for cannon. I was planning on updating you. Unless something changes, we’ll start with twelve-inch howitzers. They’ll be way lighter than the bronze twelve-pounders and maybe even a tad less than the six-pounders. The carriage will let them work for both line-of-sight and out of line-of-sight targets.

“I think we could even explore a rifled cannon. I’ve been thinking about a version of a hybrid of the Civil War three-inch Ordinance Rifle and the first German Krupp steel rifled cannon. As for breech-loading cannon, I think they’re two years off. Of course, you realize moving to produce large numbers for a Landolin campaign would slow projects such as breech-loading artillery.”

Yozef nodded.

“Okay,” said Yozef, “so, what about versions of rocket artillery?”

Mark shook his head. “That’s mainly your area. Again, lots of maybes. Fusing continues to be a limitation. Out a year or two? If your people can improve fuses enough, then maybe versions of rocket-propelled grenades and rifle grenades. You’ve shown the versions you’re working on of the Congreve rocket the British used around 1800, but I’m not convinced of their effectiveness.”

“I think we’ll have them working more reliably in six months,” said Yozef, “but I can’t guarantee it. How many of the steel cannon and howitzers could be ready?”

“I’m afraid the timetable is too short. Oh . . . I think we could have a few ready, but highly unlikely to have more than a small number that could be field-tested on Kolinka.”

“Okay,” said Yozef. “I’m used to you and the men succeeding faster than you thought was possible, so I’ll assume that in six months, we could have one division fully armed with breech-loading rifles, the new sniper versions of the Sharps, sixty-mm mortars, and the existing artillery designs—maybe with a few steel artillery to test. I know you’ll do what’s possible to come up with a few Gatling guns, and I’ll focus on fuses and rockets. Those are the only areas I can see myself making a contribution. The bulk of my time will be convincing other nations to work with us. We can adjust as the months pass. But then, move on to a year from now. What’s possible if a Kolinka campaign is successful and we turn to Landolin?”

“Well, we certainly could have small arms production ramped up. Then, Gatlings if we get them to work. Cannon would likely still be some combination of muzzle-loading smooth bores and rifled. Maybe larger mortars and either better Congreve rockets or another model—even something like horse-drawn wagon versions of the Russian Katyusha multiple rocket launcher. A big advantage of a Kolinka adventure is figuring out problems with any weapons we have working models of.

“As for arming other forces, we’ll be pushing it to get your proposed division ready for Kolinka. There’s no way we’ll be producing enough weapons to arm all the Landolin forces, even a year from now. Some of them . . . yes, but exactly how many I can’t guarantee.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought was possible,” said Yozef, “but I needed your confirmation. And you’re right. If and when we turn to Landolin, they would have to mainly rely on what arms we and they can produce by then. We’d have to think hard about transferring technology to them. The problem would be if they could absorb it fast enough to make a difference.

“As for us, we’ll start forming units of the first regiment as soon as sufficient Sharps and mortars are available. Assuming I can get commitments for the other regiments, they’ll train by sharing the existing rifles and mortars until more are available.”

Mark nodded, then one corner of his mouth hinted at a grin. “Tell me your thinking again about how Kolinka, Landolin, and the timelines fit together.”

“Kolinka first,” said Yozef. “Eventually, we need to do something about the Narthani and Landolin, but I won’t risk our people in a Landolin campaign until we’ve field-tested the new weapons. That’s more important than simply wanting revenge against the Kolinkans. I’ve also had time to accept that the best outcome with Kolinka is to remove the leadership and not carry out the draconian threats I originally made. I hope it can be done with as little killing as possible, but it will be done. For one thing, we need to drive home that attacking Caedellium is a dangerous proposition. I’d hoped driving off the Narthani would have sold that narrative, but obviously not everyone got the message.

“At the same time, we can help make the point that one kahsak betraying the others in favor of Narthon is not tolerated. I’m skeptical whether the other kahsaks would have taken action against Kolinka on their own, but maybe by getting at least a few of them in an alliance against Kolinka, we can foster stronger and broader coalitions in the future. For this to happen, I think we have to be in the lead.

“Then, as I said, we need to gain experience with the new regiment structure and weapons. I don’t see us having the first real test when we face a Narthani army. It’s only rational to expect problems, and we need to iron out as many as possible before we commit to Landolin. If we can stop Narthon’s plan for Landolin, that should buy us more time . . . maybe three or four more years.”

“You know that using new weapons against Kolinka will tip off the Narthani, don’t you?” asked Mark. “Then we’ll lose the surprise element on Landolin.”

“I know, I know. Don’t think I haven’t considered that, along with how fast Narthon can copy anything we introduce. As with too many other problems, it’s a balance between them. Should we surprise the Narthani on Landolin but with weapons and forces untried in real situations, or get experience to allow changes and give up on surprise? I finally opted for the latter. There’s also the possibility that word doesn’t get to Landolin before we do. After all, this isn’t Earth. There’s no fast long-distance transportation or instant communication. It should take months for any information to go from Kolinka to the Narthani decision makers and then on to Landolin. And even if it does, what difference would it make?”

“Obviously, more people have to be brought in on this right away.”

“Kivalian first. I’ll arrange for us to meet as soon as he returns to Orosz City.”

“Then there’s something else,” said Mark. “No matter what weapons our people have, I hope you realize what the main problem will be.”

“Logistics,” said Yozef. “Yes, I’ve read enough in my gaming days to know what a few famous theorists of war have said.”

“You know the quote about an army marching on its stomach?”

“Napoleon, wasn’t it?”

“Him or Frederick the Great,” said Mark. “Maybe they both said different versions. That’s according to a professor I had at the academy. He also said that when Douglas MacArthur graduated from West Point he was first in his class. That gave him the right to pick which branch of the army to choose as his first assignment. He surprised everyone by picking the Quartermaster Corps. My professor said most people assumed he did that because promotion was faster, and the quality of competition for rank was lower. However, he didn’t discount that MacArthur bought strongly into what Napoleon or Frederick the Great said, and he wanted a firm foundation of whatever resources an army had to depend on.”

“Well, whoever it was is still right,” said Yozef, “and not just food. For both Kolinka and Landolin, our supply line will be long. It’s going to take some serious thinking and planning.”

Months later, Yozef would have multiple occasions to reflect on how naive he had been to assume he understood the problems.

CHAPTER 4

OUTLINE

Unnamed Building Adjacent to Island Headquarters

The new Pit building was still under construction. The original Pit-1 and -2 remained in a section of the island’s original headquarters building. There, a large room held elevated walkways surrounding two huge maps raised three feet off the floor. Pit-1 featured an enlarged map of Caedellium with as much data as could be included. Pit-2 had as complete a relief map of Caedellium as they could make by using hundreds of thousands of altitude measurements the survey teams had collected before the climactic battle with the Narthani. The two pits were now only occasionally used or updated, in contrast to being a hub of activity to prepare for the day that had decided Caedellium’s future. Still . . . the maps were useful and approached the status of historical artifacts, in addition to being too large and intricate to move.

The new structure was nearly completed as an annex to the new island headquarters. In its west wing, space was included for two new maps, both of which had few details such as those decorating the two Caedellium maps in the original Pit Room. One map was of the Landolin continent; the other, a section centering on the northern part of the Iraquinik Confederation where three members (kahsaks) bordered one another: Kolinka, Ponomyna, and Mukamon. The capitals of all three were shown, along with arrows crossing the borders from Ponomyna and Mukamon into Kolinka toward the capital, Chikawan.

Yozef wasted no time. As soon as Reimo Kivalian joined him and Mark, he stated the campaign’s intent.

“We’re going to take down Kolinka and make a statement that no realm should either dare threaten Caedellium again or collude with Narthon.”

Yozef’s threat after the attack on Seaborn was widely known.

“And how do you envision this happening?”

Yozef smiled grimly. “With a lot of work, a lot of politicking, and hopefully not depending on too much luck. Look down at the map showing the Kolinka capital of Chikawan. You can see that it’s only a few hundred miles from Ponomyna and Mukamon.”

Kivalian had only to turn his head. From his seat near the railing, he had a direct view of the map. He first noticed figurines and wooden arrows positioned in several places. His next impression was the paucity of details.

“The basic outline is subject to change,” Yozef said, “but I believe the only way to have this happen and without a protracted campaign is to take advantage of Chikawan being relatively close to the Ponomyna and Mukamon borders. That will allow us to invade Kolinka from multiple points, cut off the capital, and achieve a decisive defeat of a major Kolinkan force before they can gather all their potential strength. At that point, the outcome will be certain, leaving only details and letting the other kahsaks finish the remaining resistance.”

“That last part may be the most difficult,” said Kivalian, “but I assume you believe you can get the neighboring Iraquinik kahsaks to be major players.” Kivalian looked again at the map. “Of course, Ponomyna and Mukamon at a minimum, but what about others?”

“Those two are necessary, but there’s a chance to bring in others in lesser roles. I’m confident Eina Saisannin will agreed to commit an unspecified number of Fuomon marines, depending on how commitments accumulate, what results come from her husband’s trip back to Fuomon, and the reaction to our rejecting the ambassador they sent to replace Eina. We’ll also need Fuomon’s navy. In addition, I’ll be working on the Landoliners to make a contribution as an implied condition of later helping them against the Narthani. The main problem I see is that they already have Narthon allied with the Jahmnor kingdom. It’s only a matter of time before the other kingdoms are attacked. I know Munjor wants our help, but I’ll make it a condition that the kingdoms first help with Kolinka.”

“And you think the hetmen will agree to Caedelli men fighting on Melosia?”

“Not a major commitment,” said Yozef, “but a single regiment with our latest weapons. They will serve as a core force. And I already have their approval.”

Kivalian shook his head.

“I hardly know where to start commenting. There are so many problems, I can’t help but be skeptical. I suppose you have enough clout as Paramount to send a regiment to Iraquinik, but the complications of a major land campaign using men from so many different nations should overwhelm anyone, even Yozef Kolsko.”

“That’s just if you focus only on the number of problems to begin with and don’t work to ameliorate or solve them one at a time,” said Yozef, smiling. “Although I’ll admit saying is easier than doing.”

Kivalian grunted. “All right. Command? Who’s going to command this campaign, and how is enough coordination possible?”

“That’s one problem. So . . . how would you say we could solve it?”

Kivalian sat silent, looking from Yozef to Mark and back.

“It would have to be you. I doubt kahsak troops would consent to being commanded by another kahsak, and that’s not considering how to meld Landolin troops. It has to be a relative outsider with enough reputation to at least start off with. Then, that person would need to carefully impress all parties. But I think you already know this.”

Yozef nodded.

“That’s my conclusion, but the next problem . . . or should we say that my being commander creates a new one. I’m not qualified to have such a command. So, now . . . what’s that solution?”

“Am I to assume you want me to play a role in this?” asked the ex-Fuomi.

“A pivotal role,” said Yozef.

“You could be a figurehead with someone who has relevant experience at your shoulder—someone you would listen to. I hope you don’t think I’m the only person who can do this. I’ve never commanded more than two thousand men at a time, and even that was not in a land campaign like this. How many men do you envision someone having to command?”

“We don’t have any firm numbers, and probably eventually fewer men than you’d think. But we should start off in the forty thousand or so range, not counting the Mukamonese.”

“That may sound like a lot to you, Yozef, but not for a campaign covering this much ground. And that’s assuming a quick and decisive war.

“Another problem is that it would be nothing like what went on before here on Caedellium. Then, the main victory and largest battle was strictly static. We didn’t have to maneuver, just wait in position for the Narthani to attack and stop them. This would be totally different. Moving large forces over distances of hundreds of miles, coordinating those forces who don’t even all speak the same language, not being absolutely certain of the dependability and loyalty of all forces, unfamiliar terrain, and  . . . hell, I suppose I could go on.”

Kivalian looked at the other two men.

“I doubt I’m having any effect. You’re going to do this? Right?”

Kivalian did not wait for an answer. He stopped speaking to turn his chair, allowing him to look straight down at the map below.

“Okay, so I see what I assume are three thrusts into Kolinka. The arrows all look the same, but the center one from Ponomyna has to be the main one—going straight for the Kolinkan capital. Any non-Iraquinik forces would need to land as close as possible to Chikawan. I assume at Penabak, the Ponomynan capital. That also would let them muster with the Ponomynans. That main force would include the Caedelli and Fuomi men, those from whatever other nations commit, and a large contingent of Ponomynans. The Muskamonese arrow on the right would hold some Kolinkan forces from going elsewhere.

“Is the leftmost attack direction at bridges over the . . . ?” He squinted. “I think it reads the Zamzul River. Just how big is that river and the other one?” He squinted again. “The Wambal, and are those the only bridges?”

“Our information is they are major rivers, and those are the only bridges,” said Yozef. “There are supposed to be a few ferries, but we don’t have information on their location.”

Kivalian shrugged. “Not important. Ferries aren’t going to move massive numbers of troops in time to make a difference, as long as the strike at Chikawan doesn’t get bogged down. How many Kolinkans do you expect to come against you?”

“According to what the Ponomynans tell us, Kolinka should have only maybe fifteen to twenty thousand men immediately available around Chikawan, but another hundred thousand who could be mustered within one to two sixdays. These are mainly local regiments, some of which are raised and armed by regional lords. Then, another hundred thousand or more could be raised in Western Kolinka.”

“Well . . . then you’d damn well better do something about those bridges to slow Kolinka forces coming to reinforce Chikawan. That’s why I agree with the arrows aiming at the first two bridges over the Zamzul, though dividing your force like that will put them out of contact. If you manage a surprise, the first bridge shouldn’t be a problem, but the Kolinkans will be alerted before you get to the second bridge. And what about the third one over the Zamzul?”

“If the first two bridges are destroyed or defended enough against recapture, the western thrust could continue on to the third bridge,” said Yozef.

“Not likely going to work,” said Kivalian, leaning over the railing from his chair and pointing with his right arm. “It would put them too far from resupply and out of touch with the other forces. I’d also be shocked if the Mukamonese could capture that upper Wambal River bridge. It’s so close to Chikawan that the Kolinkans will almost certainly have it well-defended by the time they get there. If I were planning this, I’d forget that bridge and have the Mukamonese attack farther north. Is the representation accurate? The map makes it look like the Wambal is smaller farther northeast.”

“Uh . . . yes, I believe that’s what some Mukamonese men tell us. We don’t have the details yet, but supposedly what’s shown as a single river course coming from the mountains is actually five or six smaller streams that merge within sixty or so miles.”

“You should get more details from them. If possible, I’d consider forgetting that upper Wambal Bridge and have the Mukamonese focus on the upper Zamzul Bridge. That would take out the last major bridge for reinforcements and place the Mukamonese behind Chikawan, putting any forces the Kolinkans use against them on the opposite side of the capital and farther away from the main attack.

“Cutting off retreat routes from the Chikawan area is also crucial. Even if you defeat the Kolinkans in battle, they could withdraw north and you’d be forced to pursue indefinitely, getting farther from your supply bases and risking them getting into terrain where it would take years and many more men to root them out.”

Yozef glanced at Mark, and both men smiled. The overtones of Kivalian’s voice hinted at his shifting from pessimism to possibilities.

“No,” said Kivalian, ignoring the other two men and staring at the map, “you have to ensure that doesn’t happen. Mukamon will have to also cut off retreat east into the mountains where they might move toward Narthon—even getting reinforced if the Narthani see this as an opportunity. So far, the northern Iraquinik/Narthon line has been a minor theater compared to farther south. I wonder if Narthon might be thinking of a combined Narthani/Kolinkan alliance cutting away the northern kahsaks from the confederation. In fact, you shouldn’t let the Kolinkans get to those eastern mountains where they could hold out and give the Narthani time to get involved.”

“But there’s these huge lakes,” said Mark. “What’re they called?”

“The Shawsoon Sea is the north one. The other is the Bumtee Sea,” said Yozef.

“Yes,” said Kivalian, “that would complicate Narthani involvement, but I wouldn’t discount that they don’t already have available ships, boats, and whatever else might be needed if they wanted to surprise the Iraquiniks. Fuomon has major water assets on the Hakan Sea on the border with Narthon, as do the Narthani. Of course, the situation is different there. The Hakan is a major warzone on that front. The Shawsoon Sea might be less significant, but the Narthani army is professional. I would assume they have long-standing ideas and have planned scenarios for thrusts across the Shawsoon Sea and the Bumtee Sea farther south.

“That means stopping the Kolinkans before they get to the eastern mountains and the finger of Kolinkan territory that leads to the Shawsoon. There must be passes that the Mukamonese can occupy to prevent a Narthani threat.” He gestured to the map’s north. “What about Abaton, the northmost kahsak? Have you contacted them about joining in?”

“That’s something to look into,” said Yozef. “I don’t have any idea how to contact them, but maybe the other kahsaks have connections.”

“Well, it needs more than looking into. I haven’t heard anything about the Abatonese, but you need to convince or bribe them into helping cut off an eastern retreat.

“Then there’s your third arrow on the left that crosses into Kolinkan territory. You’ve got it securing those two bridges. The intent’s all right, but can you send enough forces to be sure you can deny them to the Kolinkans?”

“The details to be determined once we get Ponomynan commitments,” said Yozef.

“Right,” said Kivalian sarcastically. “That and a thousand other details.” He shrugged. “Well . . . it’s the right idea. If the river’s big enough, I doubt there are too many easy fords until you get somewhere due north or northwest of Chikawan.”

Kivalian turned to read the other two men’s expressions.

“And no, just because I can look at a map and make comments doesn’t mean I’m qualified to either lead or give major advice on such a campaign.”

“Does that mean you wouldn’t be interested?” asked Yozef.

“Of course, I’d be interested,” said Kivalian, exasperated. “But I’m giving you my honest opinion. This has so many ways to go wrong and end up with me and far too many men getting killed. When do you intend to set this off?”

“About eight months from today?” said Yozef. “Perhaps a little sooner if everything falls into place.”

Kivalian grunted. “Well, shit. That’s terribly soon for something like this. I also thought there might be time to send to Fuomon for an experienced marshal or even a grand marshal, a veteran of large-scale campaigns. But even if they sent someone, he couldn’t get here in time to participate in planning and training.”

“Maybe not,” said Mark, “but even if he arrived and thought the whole campaign was a disaster about to happen, his advice could still be important.”

“What about the Iraquiniks farther south? Most of the major fighting has been south of the Bumtee Sea. Any chance of help from them?”

“Unlikely,” said Yozef. “We’ve started to get their attention, but the only representatives who have come to Caedellium are from three of those kahsaks. Those people made it clear they are only here gathering information and are not to be involved in any formal discussions.”

“Well . . . even without major commitments, they must have men experienced in large-scale fighting. They may not be helpful with your new weapons and any changes in tactics, but they still might have advice worth listening to.”

Mark tapped the tabletop. “Not a bad suggestion, Yozef. Not everything in warfare is about weapons and tactics. Also, at least a few of the other kahsaks might be interested in observing what’s happening. It could influence their future response if all goes well.”

“A good idea. I’ll look into it, but I’m not convinced of their interest.”

Mark shook his head. “This mix of men from different peoples will be complicated. You’ll have to channel the Duke of Marlborough to pull it off.”

Yozef frowned, thinking, Mark should know better than to drop references to Earth. Yozef hurried to preempt questions.

“Marlborough was an Amerikan military leader who fought a campaign with a combination of forces that spoke different languages.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” said Kivalian.

“Yes, when there’s more time.”

Like in a hundred years from now, thought Yozef, with no intention of ever again bringing up the Englishman who had led a coalition army against the French around 1700. Hell, the Duke had English, Dutch, Danish, Prussians, Austrians, other Germans, and, for all I know, elves and dwarfs.

“What about you, Mark?” asked Kivalian. “Are you along for this absurd idea?”

“I won’t be going to Kolinka. I’ll be here working on the weapons and supply chain problems. I’d probably go if there was a real role, but I have no experience in this type of operation. I’m more useful here. Plus, I put my wife through too much getting here to tell her I’ll be gone for god knows how long to fight a war on Melosia.”

“Sounds rational,” said Kivalian. “You should have more influence on Yozef. This . . . I started to called it a plan, but it’s hardly that.”

“Does that mean you think it’s absurd?” asked Yozef.

“Oh, it’s absurd, all right. Any sane officer would run the other way if he had a chance.”

“And yet I expect you’re going to help?”

Kivalian’s right eyebrow raised. “Well . . . I’m sort of stuck by committing to Caedellium. Plus . . . I never claimed not to be insane.” He sagged in his chair. “It will take time for me to get my mind around the whole thing.

“Mark, you’ll have to be solid on what weapons will be available, in what numbers, and on a firm timetable. Once that is settled, we need to decide how tactics and logistics have to change. We have to start making serious schedules right away.”

He held up a hand when both Mark and Yozef started to speak.

“Yes, schedules can be impractical. But we have to know exactly how the men will be armed and will have time for training. I’ll draw a line. I won’t have anything to do with an expedition that takes exorbitant risks with the lives of so many men. This whole campaign is going to be difficult, teetering on disaster, from the start.”

“Well,” said Yozef, “it’s our task to mitigate the risks. Look . . . I think I know how hard this will be, but it needs to be done. We will do our best. If, four, five, six months from now, it hasn’t all come together, there’s still time to call it off.”

I wonder, thought Kivalian. Kolsko has had so much go his way, can he truly evaluate something he seems so committed to? How much of this is tied to what happened on Seaborn?

When Kivalian did not respond, Yozef forged ahead.

“All right, then. Reimo, give this some thought, and let’s meet again in two days to start serious detail planning. The first thing I’ll ask is that you propose the organization and staffing of a Caedelli regiment for the Kolinka campaign. I’ll work on the ambassadors, and Mark and I will see if we can push the related projects even harder.”

Mark sat up straighter.

“I know”, said Yozef. “They’re probably working as fast as you and I think they can, but there’s always room to push a little harder. Reimo, I’ll leave you to look at the map longer if you want. Mark tells me there’s a problem in the west I need to be aware of.”

Kivalian was already back to focusing on the map, mumbling to himself. Yozef nodded to Mark, and they moved to a nearby room with only wooden crates for furniture.

“It’s the immigrants concentrating around the Wungford and Elmor sites,” said Mark. “Both Hetman Pewitt and Hetman Swavebroke have independently complained of increasing problems.”

“With the immigrants or the clanspeople?”

“Both. From what I gather, the new people are drifting toward forming enclaves, despite the efforts to prevent that. I confess I haven’t kept as close a tab on the situation as maybe I should have. We settled them interspersed with Caedelli and people from other realms. Evidently, they’ve skirted that arrangement in two ways. They’ve been swapping residences to get closer to people who originated where they came from, and they’ve been bribing some of the people supposedly keeping an eye on the communities to get new arrivals located closer to their original people. I’ve replaced the guilty and referred them to local magistrates. We’re also breaking up the developing enclaves, which, of course, causes hard feelings.”

“Tough shit,” said Yozef. “They were told the reasons are to help assimilation.”

Mark smiled. “That’s pretty much what I told the most vociferous complainers, though possibly a little more diplomatically. There’s also maybe two or three who are highly valuable workers but are troublemakers—complaining all the time or agitating with other workers, for whatever reason. I’m going to recommend we deport back to their origin a small number who are not working out. That’s unless we can’t find other important jobs they can do well somewhere else on Caedellium. It’s ultimately up to you, but I don’t see our advantage in keeping problem workers.”

“Do it,” Yozef said harshly. “As soon as possible. Cut any problems off quickly. And don’t beat yourself up about missing this earlier. I haven’t paid attention either, and I’m the one who insisted on the assimilation efforts. We’re both overstretched.

“So, what about the locals?” asked Yozef.

“There’s the usual friction when different peoples are rubbing against one another, but the locals seem to have a definite perception of foreigners taking jobs. And, yes, I know there are more jobs than we have people, but maybe people are grabbing onto something to explain their other complaints, either in general or specifically in their own lives.

“I guess I’m starting to think we’ve reached the limit of how many immigrants the Pewitt and Swavebroke provinces can absorb right now. Maybe in a year or more, things might change, but I hesitate to bring more in, even though we could use twice as many people.”

“Well, damn,” said Yozef, sighing. “We can’t not bring in more, not with the Kolinka campaign coming in the next year. That means limiting Wungford and Elmor to their current sizes and starting up additional sites around the island.”

Mark shrugged. “You wanted to do that anyway. I was the one who wanted centralization for efficiency, but I understood your rationale.”

“Yes, but I was hoping to skate by the issue until we were ready for Kolinka. I guess it was too optimistic.”

Island Headquarters, Cabinet Room

The room had been named but not used until today. Yozef intended it to be for select meetings of all or part of the developing cabinet, advisers, visitors, or whatever mix of men and women were relevant to the issue at hand. Today, the topic was immigrants, and six people sat at the conference table. Each was there to present a perspective: Maera because her women’s network provided unofficial pulse readings in all the clans; Mark, due to the industrialization associated with immigration; Tomis Orosz, to represent the other hetmen; Nylan Wantik as secretary of industry; and Sistian Beynom for insight into theophist views.

“There you have it,” said Yozef, after summarizing the reports from Pewitt and Swavebroke. He turned to Wantik, whose department was responsible for immigration.

“Nylan, what’s the latest tally of immigrants?”

The short ex-Preddi stroked his beard while looking at a sheet in front of him.

“At the ironworks in Wungford and Elmor, 1,817 workers, 3,203 family members, for a total of 5,020. Three provinces have smaller numbers of immigrants focused on specific projects: Orosz because it’s the capital, Preddi for being the main trade port, and Adris, due to where our sloops are being built. The remainder are scattered around the island, with some provinces having only a few or even none.”

“So, we have nearly two thousand workers at Wungford and Elmor, and that’s enough to raise problems,” said Yozef, sighing. “Let’s get the local views around the island. Sistian?”

The newly elected chief theophist of Caedellium did not need notes and looked at Yozef and then around the table.

“Rhaedri Brison and I had a long discussion not long ago about how some people are worried about the changes coming to Caedellium disrupting clan societies. We acknowledge that clan rivalries were a historical problem that is being ameliorated by the union. One positive of the Narthani threat was to make the clans realize how much they had in common. But that was a clear outside threat that people fought and eliminated—at least, according to some viewpoints. The industry innovations and immigrants are different, in that they’re seen as permanent changes, which make people worried or even afraid.

“Attitudes vary from province to province and within each. In general, the more immigrants in an area, the more discontent, although even then there are differences. For example, Preddi seems to assimilate immigrants best. I attribute this to the people in Preddi already being of mixed origin and having had time to adjust to living with different peoples. As for Orosz, which means mainly Orosz City, the expansion of the city has provided ample employment for anyone wanting it. Plus, there’s a different sense of the people here—likely due to the city being the center of resistance to the Narthani and the capital of the island.”

“Elsewhere, the attitudes seem to vary for reasons I can’t explain,” said Sistian. “Theophists in Brell and Moreland report widespread antipathy toward the immigrants, though they can’t identify any one cause. In contrast, Hewell and Farkesh have not only had no major problems with their immigrants, but their hetmen have asked for more. Still, there have only been sixty-three immigrants settled in Hewell and seventy-one in Farkesh. Things may change as the numbers increase.

“We can only wait to find out,” said Sistian. “What I find most concerning is that the strongest negative opinions about the immigrants have been in Bevans and Mittack provinces, where there are as yet no immigrants settled. Theophists report complaints about foreigners taking livelihoods of Caedelli, engaging in blasphemous religious practices, introducing crimes, and changing the culture—although the latter is usually not stated exactly like that. I suspect it’s because the people of those provinces have no experience with the immigrants and are susceptible to rumors from other provinces.”

“Lack of familiarity is the problem,” said Yozef. “There will always be issues with immigrants, but I think tolerance will come as the immigrants assimilate and people get to know them personally. The problem is that can take years, maybe even a whole generation. Time that we don’t have.”

“Maera, what do you hear?” asked Yozef. He already knew the answer.

“It’s pretty consistent across the island with men and women—in general, with plenty of exceptions. However, there’s indications the causes are a little different. Men seem more directly worried about their jobs and professions, while women are more concerned than men about foreign religions coming to Caedellium and a theoretical threat to their customs. One potential positive is that so many of the immigrant workers came without families that marriages are happening with Caedelli women. That helps ease the excess of women who had not been married or were widows. Of course, this is new enough we don’t know how most such marriages will work.

“As far as general attitudes, similar to Sistian’s report, there’s variations, some of which track theophist views, others that don’t. I also hear similar reports about places with strong community dislike of the idea of immigrants, even though none live in the area. I know there are practical issues, but some of that discontent might be avoided if we could try to let more people meet and work with immigrants. In general, they’re decent, hard-working people, and that will become evident with exposure.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Yozef, “though there will always be those who find reasons to hold prejudices against the immigrants, even with no overt cause. Unfortunately, those regions where people have formed negative opinions before living with immigrants nearby might be difficult to change. That brings us to an important question. Just how many immigrants can Caedellium take? As much as we need more workers, there has to be a limit to avoid too much internal discord.”

“The island’s population is about 820,000,” said Wantik. “Most provinces have provided either quality census data or estimates likely accurate to within a few hundred. With the others, we’ve made what we think are good estimates.”

Yozef made a mental note to check which provinces were deficient.

Wantik continued. “From Mark’s estimates of his needs into the next few years, along with estimates from other projects and provinces, it would take about 100,000 workers. Add families to that.”

“So, over 250,000 total,” said Maera, looking to Yozef. “That’s not going to work. And it’s not just the numbers. There are already many unmarried immigrant men. They could help balance out the ratio of men and women.”

Mark and I will have to face facts, thought Yozef. We’re never going to have the population basis to do everything Mark dreams about and I wish for. At some point, the effort will have to spread elsewhere besides Caedellium. But that was a problem for another day.

“You’re right. That’s far in excess of what’s possible to absorb,” said Yozef. “But that’s what people want, not what they need. There have to be priorities. What happens to the numbers when people are forced to make choices?”

“That’s much harder to know,” said Wantik, “but we’ve done our best to make judgments. Mark anticipated us and gave a set of estimates he rated as ‘Would like,’ ‘Would help,’ and ‘Have to have.’ Using those numbers and our analysis, we estimate twenty-five thousand minimum. Obviously, that’s only ten percent of what people would like to have.”

“Still,” said Yozef, “that’s twenty thousand more than we have now. Four times more.”

“They’ll have to be spread around the island,” said Mark.

“Yes, give me a second,” said Yozef as he wrote rapidly on a sheet. “Twenty-five thousand is about three percent of the population. In Pewitt and Swavebroke, immigrants are already . . . let’s see . . . about seven percent. No, that’s got to be at the limit or close to it in those provinces.”

“And remember, Yozef,” said Maera, “those people are concentrated near the ironworks. I doubt there are many immigrants elsewhere in those provinces. It might be possible to assimilate at least a few hundred more elsewhere in Swavebroke and Pewitt.”

“True,” said Mark, “but that still leaves the ironworks without further major expansion. They’re just now coming into full production, but we have more demands than they can meet. Starting new facilities in other provinces will take time.”

Yozef and Mark had already discussed the ironworks. It was time to make a formal decision.

“It will have to be in Selfcell,” said Yozef. “They’re the only other province with coal seams deep and wide enough to support a major ironworks and close to existing rail lines. We could open up iron ore production in western Stent and northern Moreland. Nyvaks has the coal, but it would take new rail lines. Selfcell would have the advantage if we put it not far from Hilstrom where we already have developments underway. We won’t need a major new train line since the forty-mile spur train line to Hilstrom is already being built.”

“That brings us to the railroad problem,” said Mark. “The existing system is already grossly overstretched until we get steam locomotives and all-iron rails. Optimistically, that’s a year away, maybe longer.”

Yozef’s incipient headache intensified. There were simply too many interrelated parts. He had the urge to shove it all aside and go off by himself. Maera interrupted the urge.

“Would it be the same size as the other two?” she asked. “Those are not identical in what they do. The Hilstrom site might only produce half as much if it does everything the other two do.”

“There’s no good solution,” said Yozef, “but to do the best we can. I see the demand for steel to only increase in the next year or two. We already have the problems in Wungford and Elmor, but at least we’re aware of the issues and will be taking steps. I think I’ll pass this on to Mark and Nylan. The two of you draft a plan for a new ironworks near Hilstrom. Figure on . . . let’s say . . . start with a thousand workers. When added to the other expansions at Hilstrom, that will be more immigration than at the other two sites, but let’s hope we can plan better now that we have some experience with the issues.

“As for the other two sites, Mark, go ahead and plan to add another two hundred workers each. I know it may exacerbate the problems, but let’s try to make as many of the new workers Caedelli as possible. Then, new immigrants can fill holes left by Caedelli moving to the ironworks.”

“Which brings you back to how many immigrants Caedellium can handle without serious communal issues,” said Sistian.

“Well, it’s not going to be 250,000,” said Yozef, “but we’ll aim for 25,000 in the next few years. We’ll use that as the target not to surpass. Past that, we’ll have to see how the assimilation has gone before considering more immigrants.”

And hopefully we’ll know more where we stand with the Narthani, thought Yozef. He had already talked with Mark and Maera, and if circumstances were threatening enough, they might have to stop worrying about internal friction within Caedellium if an even greater industrial expansion was seen as essential to the island’s survival.

“There are other issues,” said Wantik. “We’re already having trouble supplying Wungford and Elmor. Needed maintenance of the train lines is increasing, and I believe we’re already using as many wagons as possible. Frankly, I don’t see how we’re going to transport enough materials to even increase production at the two iron sites we have, much less start a third site.

“Then there’s the influx of coin into Caedellium and how it’s causing disparities among the provinces. We’re keeping prices under control so far, but how long can that last?”

Yozef barely contained himself from snapping, “Well, figure it out! Do I have to solve everything!?” At that moment, his hands were on his thighs under the table, so no one saw him grasp the chair’s arms until his flesh turned white and the wood creaked. No one saw, but Maera heard the unspoken words from his tone.

He forced his voice to simulate calmness. “Mark and I will discuss possibilities and get back to you. I think the number of immigrants is settled for now. Twenty-five thousand, with more attention toward assimilation. Everyone take the next few days to think about what we’ve discussed, and we’ll meet again.”

He knew he should pay more attention to Caedellium’s economic structure, but he was overloaded enough without wading into topics he knew little about. He had deliberately avoided an economics course in college and never been interested in business news. He assumed his lack of interest and expertise would bite them in the ass at some point. He just hoped it would happen at some undefined time in the future. Money flow, inflation, and the other complexities had thus far not caused major problems. The island continued the custom of producing all coin in Orosz City to assure uniformity in size and precious metal content. By tradition, anyone could bring gold or silver to the mint in Orosz City and, for a fee, go away with coin of the different sizes and krun denominations: small silver at one krun, large silver five kruns, small gold twenty kruns, and large gold hundred kruns. The exceptions were copper coins that could be produced at several sites on the island and that were valued at somewhere around twenty equal to a one-krun silver coin.

Thus far, traditional valuations, the priority of the war against the Narthani invaders, and a version of price control by Yozef had buffered monetary jolts—but Wantik was right. How long could that last?

Maybe the problems will solve themselves, thought Yozef, not believing it. Maybe Mr. Ed will really learn to talk. Best to focus on the highest priorities.

Yozef needed to speak more with Mark about Kolinka, but not now. Perhaps not today. He wished it was never. He wished . . .

CHAPTER 5

INTERWOVEN

Change in Mission

The next person who needed to be brought into the plan was Eina Saisannin. Without help from the Fuomi navy, there was little chance of success. Plus, most of the marines had left Caedellium, but a single battalion remained. They would be useful, in addition to being symbolic.

Yozef walked straight from the cabinet meeting to the Fuomon Embassy. Eina was talking with an aide when he arrived. It took him only ten minutes in privacy to lay out the basic idea.

“I agree with all the intents,” she said, smiling politely, “but what you propose is so far beyond what is practical as to be delusional or inspired. Although I’ll admit that if it’s successful, it might change the course of Anyar history.”

Yozef shrugged. “I already told you before that I intend to bring down Narthon.”

“Yes, and I thought your statement to that effect was exaggerated. You gave no details, but I expected that when I got them, they would reinforce my opinion.”

“And?” he asked.

“You have more than fulfilled my expectations.”

“But the question is whether Fuomon can participate,” said Yozef.

“Can is one thing, will is another,” said Eina. “I’ll have to give this some thought before making a firm commitment, but my first reaction is to do what I can—with reservations. What you have said is only a bare outline for something so complex. Right off, I know I will not commit to cooperate unless you can succeed in getting the Iraquiniks and the Landolin kingdoms to coordinate. Logic and diplomatic experience would say you’ll fail.” She smiled. “But I’m loath to discount anything Yozef Kolsko proposes, no matter how outlandish. What you’ve already accomplished, the demonstration of your new rifle, and the prospects for developments like the steam engine accrue in your favor.”

“I should have a glimmer of an idea about the kingdoms and the kahsaks in the next few days,” said Yozef. “Naturally, it will take time to solidify since the ambassadors will have to communicate with their leaders, even perhaps return home. Nevertheless, we need to immediately begin preparation. The Kolinka campaign and testing new weapons can’t take too long if there’s hope of stopping Narthon’s plans for Landolin. They’ve been slower to press forward with what we assume is their intent to conquer the kingdoms. Whatever is the reason, we have to assume a full-bore push against Munjor and/or Panhan could start at any time. It would become far more difficult to save Landolin if the Munjor kingdom falls—maybe impossible.”

“Beginning to make preparations is something I can do, Yozef, but you need to understand it will go no further than planning and initial steps if you cannot put together a credible alliance for the Kolinka campaign.”

“Understood. But for the moment, what might Fuomon be able to contribute?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you would want from us?”

“Ships, obviously. Any plans for both Kolinka and Landolin require major naval help. Caedellium’s two sloops mean nothing in a serious naval war with Narthon. That may change in the future, but not for the next year or more. We’ll need the protection of Fuomi warships and as much transport as possible to move perhaps ten thousand men and the necessary supplies and ammunition.

“Also, as many marines as could be committed. I know there’s only a battalion left on Caedellium, but they’re professional soldiers, and every one would help. Then there’re the marines who moved from Caedellium. I haven’t inquired what happened to them, and you haven’t said anything about them. Neither did Ambassador Koskanin before I banished him.”

“Most of the marines who first came to Caedellium have been rotated back to Fuomon,” said Eina, “and replaced, though many remain with ships and installations being developed in the Sonet kahsak and the Mureet kingdom on Landolin. As I’ve told you before, there was a decision to shift farther south to be nearer to where Narthon was operating and provide some level of support to Narthon’s enemies, though exactly how that was supposed to happen was never explicit.

“With Koskanin returning to Fuomon, that leaves me the senior Fuomi diplomat in western Anyar. This gives me considerable authority, but it’s not absolute, especially with the navy and any diplomats now in the south—whom I don’t have direct contact with or knowledge of their instructions and allegiances to factions back in Fuomon.

“The best I can do right now is tentatively commit the marine battalion here on Caedellium and the navy squadron still based in Adris City under the conditions I’ve mentioned. We’re fortunate that Admiral Mermi agreed with my assessment of the importance of Caedellium, but the current naval commanders will have limits if they do not believe a Kolinka adventure is plausible.

“Let’s assume, for the moment, that you can garner all the cooperation you intend. In that case, there might possibly be more help from Fuomon. Koskanin had received news that a significant increase in Fuomon presence in western Anyar is coming in the next month or two, in the form of more warships and at least one more marine regiment. They should be on their way and passed Koskanin and Paavo’s ship going in opposite directions. Then, assuming all conditions are met, it’s possible you could have an entire marine regiment and more naval support. Of course, I would have to design clever reasons why it was in Fuomon’s best interests to get involved in a land and sea campaign against a kahsak that’s supposedly an ally.” She smiled. “But that’s one of the things diplomats do—dreaming up justification.

“Of course, it’s also uncertain whether I’ll still be ambassador. That’s another reason to do what you can as quickly as possible. In a year from now, Koskanin will have been in Fuomon, and a replacement for him and a recall for me could reach Caedellium.”

Yozef nodded. “Don’t think I don’t understand your predicament, Eina, and appreciate your doing what you can. Your conditions are reasonable. With or without Fuomon’s help, the Kolinka campaign will go forward only if we’re ready and confident. We’ll gladly accept your battalion and will start training them with the new weapons right away. Then, if a regiment becomes available, this battalion can serve as the core to bring the entire regiment to readiness much quicker than if it started training later.

“Same with navel support. For planning purposes, did the reports give any details of how many new ships were coming and what kind?”

“Mermi and I went over what Koskanin received and tried to extrapolate from the wording. Mermi believed, and I understood his reasoning, that it’s probably somewhere between three and five times the current Fuomi ships in western Anyar. That number agrees with the emphasis on finding one or more larger porting facilities than are available on Caedellium.”

“What would that many ships mean for facing the Narthani navy?”

“Mermi believed it’s not enough to achieve dominance but enough to cause problems for Narthani planning. Meaning they would have to station a sizable portion of their naval strength to simply counter ours. Something like a standoff in the seas between northern Amalor and the middle Iraquiniks.

“He also pointed out an uncomfortable factor that I’ve tended to forget. The original Narthon move on Caedellium came from Ezarkin in the northeast. The initial attack on Amalor was also with ships and troops from Ezarkin, though we believe they’ve shifted to supporting their Landolin operations from the Narthani port city of Pulamur on the Throat. It’s half the distance to Amalor as Ezarkin and is much closer to Narthon’s main territories.

“However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t major naval forces still at Ezarkin. Our information has always been limited for that far from Fuomon. I’m sure any newly arriving Fuomi admirals will take into consideration possible threats from Ezarkin.”

“Hmmm,” mused Yozef. “Maybe that’s a place where the Iraquiniks can help. Abaton is the northernmost kahsak and abuts right up to Narthon and Ezarkin—at least, on maps. I’ll put it on my list of topics to discuss with the Iraquinik ambassadors. Maybe we can get intelligence about how many Narthani warships are still stationed at Ezarkin. We probably would try to contact Abaton about joining in against Kolinka, so that’s another incentive for us. Maybe even a better one.”

University of Caedellium, Chancellor’s Office

Maera’s desk was remarkably clear most of the time. Not that pieces of paper needing her attention ever stopped coming, but she dealt with each piece only once. Yozef had told Maera her attitude toward paperwork was admirable and worthy of emulating—something he struggled with even after he delegated prioritizing to Awlina Wurthrin, his office chief of staff.

Nevertheless, Maera was not displeased when a young woman aide announced the Fuomi ambassador had arrived and asked to speak with her.

“Of course, send her in,” said Maera. She rose after setting aside summary reports on candidates for the planned People’s Department.

After giving Eina a quick hug, Maera gestured to a chair next to her desk.

“Eina, from your expression I’m thinking you’ve something serious on your mind.”

“I just had a meeting with Yozef a couple of hours ago. He laid out the plan for Kolinka and asked me for Fuomi assistance. I assume you know all about it.”

“Yes, and before you ask, no, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not. Oh . . . the intent is good enough, but is the ultimate goal achievable, and is dealing with Kolinka the right next step? He’s explained the basic rationales, and they sound logical, one by one, but together? I don’t know. Yozef has accomplished so much, it’s easy to forget he’s only human and thus capable of mistakes. Even catastrophic ones. He would be the first to agree. Just because nothing that bad has resulted before does not mean it couldn’t happen.”

“I’ve similar thoughts, Maera, but in my case I have decisions to make. He’s asked for Fuomi marines and warships as a critical part of the campaign he wants to launch against the Kolinkans. I told him I have to give it serious thought before committing anything. However, something else gnaws at me. Something you and I have talked around without deep engagement. It’s also not a surprise. I’d appreciate hearing any thoughts you feel free to share about where Yozef Kolsko comes from.”

Maera was surprised. She’d expected Eina to come to her when she learned of Yozef’s plans, but this was not the topic she was prepared for.

“Well—”

Eina waved a hand impatiently. “And please. Let’s not simply repeat the story all three of our Amerikans tell. Prisoner aboard a ship of unknown origin. A long voyage. Waking naked on a beach. We’ve all heard it before, and can you honestly tell me it sounds plausible?”

“But it could be just like Yozef said,” protested Maera.

“Possibly, but for all three of them? The only reason I give any credence to the story is that it’s so similar for them all that it must be true, or the stories were planned before they got to the beaches.”

“You think all three are lying about not knowing one another before?”

Eina sighed. “No, I suppose not. Mark might be able to tell a convincing lie, but Yozef? I don’t know about him, and I don’t see it from Heather. And what about this Amerika? Both Fuomon and Narthon are searching the Great Ocean, so far without finding a realm that has to be large. There’s simply nowhere on the known continents for it to be. The innovations from Yozef and Mark, the complex music of Heather, and the few unintentional leaks indicate Amerika can’t be some small island that’s remained unknown. Surely, you have questions?”

“Of course, but I’ve resolved not to understand all mysteries. There’s enough in life to be thankful for without obsessing over what you may never know.”

Eina stayed only a few more minutes and left, clearly unconvinced about Maera’s indifference.

Alone again, Maera had lost her ability to focus on paperwork. She remained at her desk, looking at papers but not seeing them.

Oh, yes, Eina, I do have questions, she thought. I told Yozef I would be patient for him to tell me what secrets he keeps, but I also warned him about expecting me not to be curious.

She did not think trying to figure out the secrets on her own countered what she’d told Yozef. She hadn’t directly probed him for years, but she’d listened and noted anything that might be inadvertent clues. Mark and Heather had provided fertile new avenues, especially Heather, who one day at Kolsko Manor had broken down when Maera asked about her family. After a large multifamily gathering at the manor following Godsday service, Maera found Heather in the rear of the garden, out of sight, crying. She’d explained it was the warmth of the Kolsko and Puvey families that brought back memories of her own family. Heather feared she wouldn’t be able to remember how all her family looked as their faces faded with time. Later that day, Maera felt moderately guilty for using the moment to attempt to elicit information from Heather.

Yet while Heather was a good initial source of hints, after the first months this had ended. A recent source of clues was Maghen Kaldwel. Although Mark was inscrutable to Maera’s cautious probes, his wife yielded several tantalizing comments about things Mark had told her, particularly while they had lived in Frangel. Maera was not sure, but her impression was that once he learned of Yozef’s and then Heather’s existence, he spoke less of his life before Frangel.

No. The bits and pieces Maera had gleaned did not form a clear picture, but she was patient.

The Rudipar Sea between Landolin and Iraquiniks

Paavo Saisannin leaned against the forward starboard bow of the Fuomon courier ship Racer. His seasickness of the first sixday had passed as he relearned how to walk and use his eyes on a constantly moving deck.

The ship was lightly armed—only eight 18-pounder cannon and six swivel guns—enough to repel minor boarding attempts but useless against a real warship. However, speed, not battle, was the Racer’s forte. Fuomi courier ships were the fastest vessels on Anyar, with sleek lines, expansive sail sets made possible by reinforced masts, and specialized keels whose design was a closely guarded secret. The trip would have taken more than a month longer on the next-fastest Fuomi ship class.

They had hugged the eastern shore of Landolin before reaching the narrowest part of the Rudipar Sea, then crossed to the western shore of the Sonet border with Nashton. From there, the Racer stayed close to the Iraquinik kahsaks. According to the captain, in a sixday they would reach the southernmost Iraquinik land and start across the narrowest part of the Throat to avoid Narthon. There, with more sea room and the unfailing winds of the Throat, the Racer would be uncatchable, and they should be at Kahmo in another month and a half.

Occasional spray hit Paavo’s face, a welcome respite from the sea sickness of the first sixday. A crewman had informed him that the level of spray was a characteristic of courier ships. The sooner he reached Fuomon, the sooner he could return to his family.

That he stood alone was a common state. His interactions were mainly restricted to the ship’s officers and crew. The ship’s main cargo consisted of reports from western Anyar, ex-ambassador Koskanin, members of the Caedellium embassy staff who had been expelled, and people who were on scheduled rotations home or who chose to return based on personal reasons. All three groups left Paavo alone, either because they were members of Koskanin’s cadre or out of a desire to avoid coming to Koskanin’s attention as sympathizers of Caedellium or Eina Saisannin. Not that it worried him. The ship’s officers were congenial, with a rough but honest demeanor usually associated with common crewmen. It was a refreshing contrast to Koskanin and his lackeys.

When not interacting with the crew, he had activities to keep him occupied, such as planning strategies once they were at Kahmo, the capital, and sinking into the politics that subsumed so much of Fuomon’s governance. However, most of his time was spent on two writing projects, one of which was what he had learned about Caedellium: its history, how the Narthani came to the island, the islanders’ eventual fight to expel the invaders, and the mysterious arrival on the island of Yozef Kolsko.

The second writing project was an analysis of Caedelli customs, mythology, and religious beliefs compared to realms in eastern Anyar. He had run across interesting, initially unconnected comments and references during his hours in the St. Wyan’s library in Orosz City. Now, he studied his notes and attempted to outline all the possible leads he would pursue in Fuomon’s Great Library in Kahmo—when he had time away from politicking.

Osmuya Bulak, Narthon Empire

The sun beat down mercilessly on Darok Karmotz. He had been a low-ranking assessor in this part of Osmuya Bulak for almost thirty years, every one of which he’d spent cursing his assignment to the same territory his entire career—far from his cooler and greener origin in the Bineltep Bulak. It was a mystery to him how a land could be this dry and hot when so near the Gulf of Numara. A senior assessor had once tried to explain that it had to do with the wind patterns, but Karmotz would rather believe the more logical explanation: that he had somehow displeased the god Narth.

When the road turned, he adjusted his wide-brimmed black hat to maximize shading his face. Black was another of his complaints at the unfairness of life. The Assessor Order mandated all-black clothing, something that was a mere affectation in much of the empire but an ordeal in lands with heat and less cloud cover—such as Osmuya.

That the area was this populated was due to year-round streams flowing from mountains in Sirnik Bulak. The water made possible the large and productive farming estates, worked by slaves. Karmotz did not stop at every estate on each tour, but he kept records to ensure no estate missed an assessor’s audit at least every third year. When he had been much younger, he was so diligent in confirming property owners’ claims of taxable income that he would no sooner complete a circuit than he would have to start again from the beginning. That was many years ago. By five years, he knew every detail need not be confirmed, which people were the least trustworthy, what level of bribe was ignored by the Assessor Order, and which people were powerful enough for him to avoid aggravating. Now, the circuit took half a year, and he spent the rest of the time at a small villa perhaps a bit too ostentatious for his position, but it had been expanded gradually enough over the years that it had not come to the attention of his superiors.

Another reason the order tolerated his minor graft was because of his meticulous reports dealing with the status of political and societal issues within his area of responsibility. It was another early lesson learned: although the order provided a valuable service in tax collecting, its main avocation was gathering intelligence on everything that happened both within the empire and externally with its enemies.

Dust arising from the direction he rode presaged many horses, probably a military unit. At the top of a small rise, he could see it was cavalry, perhaps thirty men, which gave him a moment of pleasure. With a unit that small, the commander would give Karmotz the right-of-way, a gesture acknowledging the status of the Assessor Order. Conversely, a large unit might pretend to ignore him, and it was he who would move aside. He had not failed to notice that such disrespect happened more often during the last ten years. When assessors were together, it was whispered that the order’s influence, while still significant, was not as powerful as in earlier times.

He waved a hand to gesture thanks and respect to the young cavalry officer as he passed the youth’s command. Karmotz recognized him as a younger son of one of the estates to which Karmotz gave favorable assessments through a long-established relationship. It was not that estate’s turn for an assessment this year, unfortunately. He so looked forward to the treatment its owners lavished on him.

Three hours later, he arrived at the coastal town of Esrohir. Its economy was based on servicing the estates within a day’s ride and the abundant fishing in the Gulf of Numara—a saving grace of the locale, but one hindered by the war with Fuomon. The town’s fishing fleet ventured beyond sight of land only part of the year.

Karmotz was tired. His ass ached more each year. Retirement was an option for assessors, but he would delay as long as possible to maintain his current lifestyle. Perhaps a small carriage was in his future. Perhaps a little more renumeration by the estates might allow him to hire a driver. But those were thoughts for another time. He would be staying at the residence of the Esrohir priest of Narth. Karmotz was an indifferent believer, but prelate Gukman was an old friend, and they seldom delved into each other’s beliefs.

Tonight, he would also attend to a new directive that had gone out to all local assessors. Not that he understood the purpose, but it was an easy enough task, although odd. Still, the question he was to ask almost slipped his mind after a fine meal and several glasses of wine from his home bulak, Bineltep.

“Ah, Gukman. I almost forgot. I’ll be asking this at every estate and town, but have there been any reports in the last few years of a person found alone and naked on a beach? This person would not speak Narthani or any known language. If they are still in the area and finally learned to speak properly, they might tell a story about being abducted from their home in a place called ‘Amerika.’”

The priest choked on his wine and coughed several times before he could speak.

“Great Narth, Karmotz! Don’t tell me this person is someone important enough for you to know the story.”

Startled, the assessor slammed his goblet on the table so hard, a dribble of wine ran down the outside. “You mean there is someone like that here, Gukman? I thought it was just some nonsense that gets passed down to assessors like me at the local level and is never explained or never leads anywhere.”

“There was such a case,” said the priest. “Let’s see, maybe six years ago, I’m not sure. It was a woman. A work crew of slaves and their overseer from the Halaglu estate were repairing a section of the road that runs above the beach not far from here. Engin Halaglu had one of his sons come and ask me to inquire in the town and during Narthday services if anyone might know who she was. I understand he also asked around the other estates within a day’s ride, but after several sixdays there was no information about who she was or where she came from.”

“Do you know if she ever mentioned a place called ‘Amerika’ or a man named ‘Yozef Kolsko’?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Did she ever say anything ‘unusual’?”

“Unusual? Like what?”

Karmotz shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just one of the things I’m instructed to look for.”

“Well,” said Gukman, stroking his beard. “How she was found led some of the more ignorant or suspicious people to whisper she might be a demon of some sort. Those rumors had faded by the time she could speak Narthani, but then she told one of the other slaves that people could fly where she came from.”

“Fly? What, like birds and murvors?”

“Who knows? Anyway . . . the demonic rumors started again, and I had to investigate. Nonsense, of course, but I had to pretend it was serious. She admitted to saying something outrageous to the other slave woman just as a flight of fancy. I haven’t heard anything else about her after that.”

“What happened to her?” asked Karmotz.

“Last I heard she was still at the Halaglu estate.”

“Is he still as disagreeable as always?”

“Why do you think he might change? He must have come out of his mother’s womb accusing her of being too slow birthing him.”

“Well . . . I’ll have to go to inquire about the woman. It would be best if you accompany me. Halaglu will never forgive me for properly assessing his tax obligations these last years.”

The priest frowned, then sighed. “All right. I try to avoid him, but I admit his family is one of the more faithful followers of Narth in the region. They never miss a Narthday service, and their tithe, while not among the largest from the estates, is never missed.”

“Why are assessors interested in an insignificant slave?” grumbled Engin Halaglu the next morning.

“Whatever the reason is not your concern,” said Karmotz. “Just answer the question, and we’ll leave.”

Holy Narth, thought Gukman, the two of them are like a couple of dogs growling just at the sight of each other. The priest did not want trouble with the assessors, and he had seen Halaglu act irrationally on a few occasions when the man’s ire was up.

“Come now, Engin,” said Gukman. “None of us know why the Assessor Order does things, and that includes Karmotz here, but like he says, just tell us if you know where the woman is, and we can all go about more important matters.”

Halaglu glared for another few moments before grunting. “She’s probably on the threshing crew today. They’re working on the east field. Both of you know where it is. Sazir is the overseer for that work. I think I remember her name is Morva. There! You got your answer, now I have other things to do.”

“As charming as ever,” said Karmotz as they watched Halaglu stalk off. “But it’s good news the woman is still here. Otherwise, I would have had to spend time trying to search for her at least until I could honestly report she had disappeared. And how is it that she’s a slave if no one knows anything about her?”

The priest shrugged. “When nothing could be learned about her, it was obvious she wasn’t Narthani, so she had no rights. Something had to be done with her. Halaglu asked the district’s empire official and me if she could be declared stateless and made a slave. Neither of us saw any reason to deny him.”

“Well, let’s take a look at her. My instructions are not to interrogate her, but I’ll need to confirm her existence and what she looks like for my report.”

The priest’s carriage took fifteen minutes to find the twenty to thirty slaves working on a wheat field. The usually sporadic rainy season had been better than usual, and as Karmotz’s assessor eye surveyed the field of golden wheat, he automatically estimated what Halaglu could sell it for to markets in the heavily populated Edana Bulak, where the empire’s capital, Usmaya, was located.

They could see male slaves with scythes cutting swaths through the upright stalks. Following them were women and children working to tie the cut wheat in sheaves. The overseer asked no questions—only pointed to the women and said, “She’s the woman with the brown scarf.”

“Thank you,” said Karmotz. “We won’t disturb the work, but we’ll walk over to get a closer look at her and then be on our way.”

“Suit yourself. They know better than to stop working just because some stranger is watching.”

“I’ll wait in the carriage, Karmotz,” said Gukman, “unless there’s a reason for me to see her closer.”

“Fine. I won’t be long.”

Karmotz walked across ground with scattered uncollected stalks. Several slaves briefly looked at him, but none stopped working. The woman the overseer had pointed out was facing away until he got as close as he intended. She would bend to gather stalks, tie them together with another stalk, drop the sheaf on the ground, and repeat. He wondered how many times a day she performed the same simple task. Surely, hundreds, if not thousands. He got a look at her face when she turned to talk to a six- or seven-year-old boy who followed her and took her sheaves to stack them for later threshing. The resemblance in hair and face was clear.

Ah, her son, thought Karmotz. If she was found alone, then I wonder who his father is. Another slave? An overseer? Or maybe even Halaglu or one of his sons? Not that it made a difference. The child of a female slave always belonged to her owner.

Then he noticed she was pregnant. Perhaps halfway through her term.

It would be interesting to question her, thought Karmotz. Maybe I could get a hint of what this is about.

“Oh, well, not my concern,” he said loud enough that she must have heard. She looked at him for the first time. An average face. Expressionless, as usual, in a slave. Probably twenty-five years old, even if she looked closer to forty. The life of a field slave was hard, even more for a woman.

He turned and walked back to the carriage. He would write a brief report, send it at the first opportunity, and then wonder whether he would ever receive even an acknowledgment.

CHAPTER 6

KOLINKANS

Arklun’s Palace, Chikawan, Kolinka

Meelis Litlik was not pleased. As Arklun Litlik, absolute ruler of Kolinka, he expected results, not excuses—the influence of factors beyond anyone’s control having long since disappeared from his view of reality.

“Don’t be an old woman,” said Litlik from the elevated chair designed so he looked down on lesser mortals. “There hasn’t been a serious attack between kahsaks in more than a generation. Everyone’s attention is focused on the Narthani. And yes, yes, some of the others may be mad at us for the Caedellium raid, but others are confused about why we did it. What about our agents in Ponomyna and Mukamon? Why aren’t they reporting on our neighbors’ attitudes?”

Warmaster Horen Rakatek suppressed an indignant harrumph. He had argued against the Kolinkan raid and the collusion with the Narthani. Honor and loyalty warred for days before he convinced himself it was better for Kolinka he remain in his position to salvage what was possible if his fears materialized.

“If you remember, Arklun, we stopped replacing the Ponomynan agents last year. There are only a few left in Mukamon. Of course, getting them into those kahsaks takes time since both kahsaks started such heavy patrolling. Our best chances are in the far west or by sea for Ponomyna and by Waswagon kahsak for Mukamon.”

Litlik snapped a glance at the officer. Was there a sense of reproach in his last words? Maybe it was time to have a new warmaster?

“Well, then, until that happens, what are your plans for finding out what’s going on? Why not send patrols across the borders?”

By the merciful spirits of our ancestors, give me patience, thought the kahsak’s most senior officer.

“Arklun, you agreed with me that we need to avoid provocations with our neighbors until enough time has passed for their reaction to the Caedellium raid to subside.”

“You decided. I don’t remember making any such decision.”

“What? Were you too drunk that day to remember? Too full of self-absorption to admit you changed your mind? Or you’re merely an idiot with the intelligence of a rock?”

Of course, Rakatek ate those words and instead said, “It was shortly after the reports on the raid results. I’m sure you were right not to be worried, but I argued caution is always best.”

“Too much caution is not the mark of victorious thinking. Express too much of it, and I might decide my army needs a stronger leader.”

I should be so lucky, thought Rakatek. Then I could spend time with my grandchildren instead of working to keep this rotten excuse of an arklun from doing too much damage.

“We will continue trying to test the borders, Arklun, but will also extend the attempts farther from the more populated areas—more to the west for Ponomyna and east for Mukamon. They can’t have patrols that dense along the entire border. We just have to get to a point where people can cross, then move deeper into their territories. Of course, getting them back to report is its own problem.”

The last words threatened to stick in Rakatek’s throat.

“Well,” Litlik said impatiently, “get on with it.”

Two aides met the Kolinkan commanding officer outside the palace. His face indicated his opinion of the audience.

“As bad as we expected,” said Rakatek, after spitting to one side. “He doesn’t believe the other kahsaks will act against us, therefore it can’t happen. The concept of making even minimal plans is not part of a Litlik brain.”

“So, what do we do?” said the older aide.

“Well, even the dumbest of us can be right occasionally. We do need more information from Ponomyna and Mukamon. I’m going to take how the meeting went to mean we have authorization to start replacing the Ponomynan agents. We’ll also try to supplement the few  Mukamon agents we have left, even though those agents haven’t reported anything ominous. In addition, pull out the latest estimates of forces throughout Kolinka that could be mustered for whatever reason. Update the readiness estimates and on what timeline.”

Rakatek casually glanced around, confirming no one else was within hearing.

“I worry more all the time about what arrangement Litlik came to with the Narthani. I suppose I can’t consider him too unintelligent. He’s managed to keep the details so close we haven’t been able to confirm anyone else knows everything, except for Nigulon, his younger brother. Then there’s that oily adviser, Vorma. The despicable creature never said a single word at the meeting today, but I guarantee he was in Litlik’s ear the moment I left the room. I sometimes don’t know who’s really arklun: Meelis, Nigulon, or Vorma.”

“We still haven’t discovered how Vorma communicates with Narthon,” said one aide.

“Maybe he changes into a bird or a murvor at night,” said the other aide.

Rakatek again spit to one side. “If he does, it’s a carrion-eater. Speaking of murvors, we haven’t discovered any carrier-murvor coops that they have hidden. The raucous creatures are too unreliable, anyway, for something that sensitive.”

He stamped his foot. “Let’s do this. Pick a small number of dependable men, ones who won’t be missed for the next few months. Have them camp out where they can observe the passes to the Narthon border. If Vorma is using couriers, maybe we’ll get lucky and identify them.”

“What about the Shawsoon Sea, Warmaster?”

He shook head in resignation. “We can’t cover everything. The best we can do is trust the local officials to report any suspicious travel or behavior. We have to hope that all such people don’t work for Vorma.”

Kolsko Manor

“Do you think Bota will prove useful?” asked Maera. She sat across the table from Yozef as he finished eating morning meal. Sounds of children’s laughter and the voices of Anarynd talking with Elian Faughn came from the other side of the manor.

He shrugged, his mouth momentarily occupied with a hot biscuit slathered in butter and fruit preserves. He swallowed, then drank kava from a pewter cup.

“Who knows? He certainly wasn’t cooperative when he was first interrogated, but he’s had two months to wonder what the rest of his life is going to be, assuming he’s not executed. Reports are that he’s been more cooperative the last month. I think it got through to him that refusing to answer any questions about Kolinka’s politics or military was a futile gesture. Enough of the other prisoners told us everything they knew. He also seems genuinely concerned for the other men’s welfare.”

Yozef chuckled. “Well . . . maybe most of them. He was evidently totally pissed when he realized some of the men were answering questions as fast as they could be asked.”

“I think Feren Bakalacs scared them into believing he would skin them alive if they didn’t talk,” said Maera.

Her tone of voice suggested that she would have been satisfied to carry out the threat of the Farkesh clan hetman. The medicants had declared her recovered from the damage caused by the Kolinkan pistol ball, but the trauma of losing the baby would never completely heal.

“I gave him firm limits,” said Yozef, “though I’ll admit I worried one of them would say something stupid and lead Feren to forget. I think he was hoping they would hold out and give him a plausible excuse to carry out the threat on at least one of them. I suspect he was disappointed that several could hardly shut up right from the start. I’ve heaped praise on him for handling the prisoners, which included recognizing him at the hetmen meeting. And it wasn’t completely to placate him. He did do a good job once he accepted my reasoning for treating the prisoners as we did.”

He finished his last biscuit just as Anarynd appeared, carrying baby Luna.

“I heard what you were saying,” she said. “There’s always time to kill them all later.”

Although Maera’s anger at the Kolinkans was cold and Anarynd’s was fiery, they were only two sides of the same hatred.

It wasn’t that Yozef did not understand, or even agree, with his wives’ attitude, something he knew would have horrified Joe Colsco, but he struggled to look at the long-term and bigger pictures. Anarynd’s appearance with Luna made that commitment more difficult by reminding him that they were near the time when Linkun would have been born. Only the Seaborn hetman and the medicant attending Maera knew of the fetus’s gender, and both Yulan Seaborn and Medicant Harlow were sworn to secrecy. It was Yozef’s decision to withhold that information, believing, correctly or not, that Maera knowing would only make the loss worse.

Maera anticipated Yozef’s thinking. “I know. You’ve explained your reasoning for how the prisoners have been treated. I understand the logic, but my brain wars with my gut.”

“It’s not like they’ve been living a life of luxury these last months,” said Yozef.

“I know, but letting Bota see cities, farms, and even military maneuvers grates on me.”

“As I explained to the other hetmen, we need as much information as possible about Kolinka. As long as there’s a chance to bring down their rulers without killing too many of the common people, I’m obliged to make the effort. Anyway, we’ll see what comes from my meeting today with Bota,” said Yozef, rising from his chair just as Carnigan rumbled from the veranda.

“You coming, or should I try to get some more sleep?”

Caedellium Headquarters Building

Yozef’s first appointments were with Denes Vegga and Maklos Bota. Vegga was waiting outside his office. Yozef wasted no time.

“Denes, I’ve an additional task for you. Hopefully, it will only take a few days of your time to get started and then your occasional attention. When we go to Kolinka, there will be thousands of men and some women in supporting roles. You know, medicants, cooks, translators, intelligence staff, and craftsmen for any repairs needed for weapons, wagons, and anything I don’t mention. There’s going to be a requirement that EVERY person we take to Kolinka is able to use rifles. We won’t have enough to arm everyone with the new Sharps, but we have the muzzle-loading rifles the Sharps are replacing. All our support people have to be able to defend themselves, the wounded, and the supplies if necessary. We won’t expect them to be as capable as dragoons but at least be able to fend off attacks until help arrives.”

What he did not mention was that in the direst circumstances, they might be required to fill gaps in units that had extreme numbers of casualties. Once the support units were trained with the older rifles, there would be time later to familiarize them with breech loaders. There was no need to explain the extreme case to Denes and foster kernels of doubt.

“Theophists, too?” asked Vegga.

“I’ll have to check with Abbot Sistian. I certainly remember theophists fighting alongside everyone else at St. Sidyrn’s and Orosz City, but I don’t know if it’s a personal decision or expected. We know the medicant brothers and sisters will do what’s necessary to defend their patients.

“This is why I’ve asked you to come today. I want you to organize what training will be necessary. Many people will already have some level of experience with firearms, but we need a system to test everyone and provide training for those who need it. I know you have other duties, so propose how this will be organized and pick people to keep records of planning and carrying out the training. Think about it and come back in three days with proposals.”

When Vegga left, Yozef was reasonably satisfied he had passed the task off to someone who would deal with it well enough. He was only vaguely aware there were far too few such people.

There was an element of irony he might share with Mark but no one else. On Earth, he knew of the U.S. Marines’ declaration that “every” marine was a rifleman first. If he hadn’t read or heard about the custom elsewhere, one of his sister’s boyfriends who had served in the marines had taken multiple occasions to remind people.

Yozef had thought it an affectation of the marines. He still had problems with marine aviators or air traffic controllers claiming to be riflemen first, but here he was being sure every person going to Kolinka was, effectively, a minimum rifleman. Maybe the U.S. Marines had it right. Who knew?

An hour later, Yozef watched guards bring Bota into a room that was empty save for a table and three chairs. The prisoner would be unbound, but Carnigan standing behind him was sufficient to prevent Bota’s thoughts of attacking the Paramount.

One reason for waiting months before the interview was to give Bota time to learn enough Caedelli to converse. Initially unresponsive to learning, Bota relented once it was made clear that language lessons were tied to better food and living conditions for all the prisoners. Yozef was also taking Kahsakist lessons, the dialect known throughout the Iraquiniks. He did not plan to become fluent but merely to learn enough for simple exchanges and to grasp the essence of overheard conversations.

Bota sat opposite Yozef, glanced uneasily over his shoulder at Carnigan, then sat upright and stared at Yozef. The Kolinkan had not been told the reason for today’s meeting or who he would meet. The third chair was occupied by a man who was one of the few Caedelli who spoke Kahsakist. He would serve as interpreter when Bota’s and Yozef’s command of each other’s language was inadequate.

Yozef opened a folder, perused several pages, and looked expressionlessly at Bota. The Kolinkan was of average height and build, with dark hair and beard showing a few gray strands. His clothes were worn but clean, and somehow he had made an effort to simulate having pressed out wrinkles.

“You are Maklos Bota, second-in-command of the Kolinkan raid in Seaborn Province. The commander was Orno Kistek, and the attack used information gathered by a Kolinkan spy, Frenko Holuska. You are from the Jorvara district in Kolinka—the moderate-size town of Politaw. You carry the military rank of virsaran, which normally commands about four hundred men, the number of Kolinkans in this unprovoked attack on Caedellium. However, in this instance, Kistek, with the rank of forvirsaran, commanded because of his record in fighting the Narthani and because he is a minor member of the Kistek family, which is important in Kolinkan politics.”

Yozef figured the ranks were roughly equivalent to major and colonel, respectively. He continued rattling off more facts about Bota and Kolinka than the prisoner expected. At first, Bota was impassive, but as Yozef talked, Bota’s forehead developed faint wrinkles and small beads of sweat. Unbeknownst to Bota was that in addition to other prisoners telling everything they knew, two of the men had agreed to report what the other Kolinkan prisoners spoke about among themselves—one man in fear of what his captors would do if he did not spy on his countrymen, the other man by bribes of gold and promises of releasing him back to Kolinka at an opportune moment.

When Yozef finished, he closed the folder and leaned back in his chair.

“I know who you are, and I know much more about you than I’ve said. You would be surprised . . . even shocked at how much we know. We have sources of information you cannot even imagine.”

The statement was a bluff intended to add uncertainty to Bota’s wondering exactly who he was interacting with.

“Let us be clear about your situation. Kolinka attacked Caedellium with the intent of capturing or killing Paramount Yozef Kolsko. Caedelli were killed, including members of the families of both the Seaborn Clan leader and the Paramount himself. As heinous as this attack was, even worse was its being at the bidding of the Narthon Empire, whom both Caedellium and Kolinka consider enemies. We do not yet know of the enticements Narthon used, but we will find out.

“We are sharing everything we know with the other kahsaks in the Iraquinik Confederation. Not surprisingly, the animosity toward Kolinka rises with every kahsak that learns what you’ve done and why.”

Yozef opened the folder again and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

“I asked the Fuomi frigate captain to let one of your surrendered ships return to Kolinka with the following message to give to your leaders. The message is this. ‘Yozef Kolsko is coming for you. Your people will disappear. They will be scattered to the corners of Anyar. The soil of Kolinka will be sown with salt so that nothing grows. The names of Kolinka and its people will disappear from the history of Anyar.’”

It was not exactly what Yozef had said when his blood ran cold after Maera’s near death and the loss of Linkun. The message was also not complete news to the Kolinkan. Yozef had ensured that rumors of the message’s essence had made their way to Bota’s ear.

Bota’s sweat beads grew more visible. One reached a volume and weight that allowed Anyar’s gravity to start it on a journey down Bota’s left cheek. Yozef’s last words also prompted Bota’s first response.

“And do you know how your Paramount proposes to accomplish that?”

“I know exactly what the Paramount plans. I’m Yozef Kolsko.”

Bota’s eyes widened. “You’re Kolsko?”

“Yes, and Kolinka is going to pay for attacking Caedellium. I’ll see to that.”

For the first time, Bota’s face had a strong expression. Disbelief. Maybe disdain. “You? One person? Even with the entire population of Caedellium, there aren’t enough of you.”

“No, not just Caedellium. The leaders of Kolinka made a terrible mistake. Their greed and lust for more power overrode any brains they might have. We destroyed a Narthani army that came to Caedellium. No one in Iraquinik, Landolin, or Fuomon would have thought that possible. If I had told them our intention was to destroy that Narthani army, none of them would have believed it. Now they know different.

“It is not only possible that Kolinka be destroyed and its name disappear, but the planning to make it happen is underway. Fuomon is now an ally of Caedellium, and the other kahsaks have cast out Kolinka. Ponomyna, Mukamon, and Abaton will gather forces to invade Kolinka at the time and places of our choosing, assisted by Fuomon and Caedellium.”

Yozef paused and assumed his best “righteous” expression.

“Your leaders have no idea of the storm about to sweep them away. The outrages of Kolinka have even prompted Landoliners to want to help in the retaliation. Several of the kingdoms will send troops to join the campaign against Kolinka.”

Yozef studiously avoided looking at Carnigan so he wouldn’t be distracted from his litany of what he hoped would happen. The big redhead’s smile was infectious—a diversion Yozef did not need and which Bota could not see from Carnigan’s position.

“Together, we will bring down your people. Caedellium will have its revenge. Fuomon, the Landolin kingdoms, and the other kahsaks want to ensure no other kahsak is ever tempted to again betray the worldwide battle against Narthon. In addition, every realm wants Caedellium’s help against Narthon—help that we have promised those joining us in our revenge and demonstrating the unmistakable cost of attacking Caedellium.”

Yozef pulled out a map of the northern kahsaks, gathered himself for the next set of plans and lies, and used his finger to point to arrows on the map.

“Attacks from Ponomyna and Mukamon will invade and surround the capital, Chikawan, before your people realize what’s happening. They will be aided by Caedellium forces using the weapons we will demonstrate for you in the next sixdays. Chikawan will be destroyed, and the part of Kolinka with the best land that contains a good portion of the kahsak’s entire population will be razed to the ground. Abaton will raid deep into north and central Kolinka. The Fuomi navy and marines will destroy your only major port, Onunza. After the destruction, the other three kahsaks will divide up whatever Kolinka territory they want to add to their own kahsaks.

“Any Kolinkan people who survive the fighting will be left on their own, it being the option of the other kahsaks to do what they will with the remaining population. It may be that some can flee into the northern mountains to hide, but I’m told the land there would provide a bitter and hard existence. They would be too weak to believe they could return and reclaim the rest of the land. At best, they could huddle there, not making it worth the effort for the other kahsaks to root them out. As the years passed, their numbers would dwindle until the last one died, and the Kolinkan people would fade into a memory that fewer and fewer people would remember.”

Bota’s face went from skepticism to concern to dread as Yozef continued laying out the allied campaign against Kolinka. By the time Yozef finished and sat staring coldly at Bota, beads of sweat rolled down the Kolinkan’s face and the fingers of one hand trembled enough that he had unconsciously grasped it with the other hand. Still, he managed to keep his voice on an even keel.

“Lines on paper are one thing; the real world is another. The Kolinkan people would fight for their families and culture. You and whoever joins you would find the fight far more difficult than you now pretend it would be.”

“You’re an intelligent man, Maklos,” said Yozef, switching to the Kolinkan’s first name in an effort to hint at something. “We know that you were not a strong supporter of the attack. More than one of your men overheard your doubts when you talked to Kistek, though you didn’t express that doubt to anyone else. It also sounds like even he was not enthusiastic about the mission, but both of you were loyal to those above you and carried out duties as well as you could.

“Whatever the details of the future are, one thing is certain: the ruling class of Kolinka is finished. There are only two unanswered questions. One is how many Kolinkans will die before that happens. No matter how brave and loyal are the men who will fight for your rulers, they stand no chance against the combined forces. And not only are your fighters in danger, so are the noncombatants who are always caught up in large-scale fighting.”

When Yozef paused, he noted Bota’s expression had turned thoughtful.

“You said there were two unanswered questions.”

“Yes. The second is whether Kolinka continues to exist. My original threat was that Kolinka disappear from the history of Anyar. That is also the wish of every Caedelli and would be supported by many kahsaks. I’ll be honest and say that possibility finds great favor in my own mind as well. However, I attempt to think of the greater good, which is a world at peace without the constant threat of Narthon. I’m prepared to consider options that would support that goal.

“Maklos Bota, it’s time for you to consider both your own future and that of Kolinka. No . . . we’re not going to execute you, though most of my people would prefer that end for you and all the other prisoners. You could spend the rest of your life in a Caedelli prison, or you could be released sometime in the distant future. To do what, I don’t know or care.”

Yozef paused. “Or . . . you could help us bring down the rulers of Kolinka and put other Kolinkans in their place.”

Bota flushed and his lips pinched together for a moment before he spoke.

“And you expect me to betray my people? Help kill them and destroy our kahsak? I’ll die first.”

“Dying is easy,” said Yozef. “It’s the living that is hard. At least, living with purpose. Your purpose could be to save Kolinkan lives from unnecessary deaths and at least give Kolinka a chance to survive.”

Bota started to speak, but Yozef cut him off. “No more for now.” He pushed the map with arrows across the table. “Keep the map. Think about it and what you’ve already seen and will see in the next sixdays. Think about whether Kolinka has any chance to withstand the combined invasion that’s coming. Think about how many lives will be lost. Think about a world where Kolinka is lost even as a memory.”

Yozef nodded to Carnigan, who pulled Bota to his feet, turned him around, and pushed him toward the door. The Kolinkan would have new quarters—a small house without locks but with multiple guards restricting Bota’s movement. He would be allowed to walk at a small park nearby where the monument to the Battle of Orosz City included an original section of the trench works and plaques describing the battle. He would also have occasional escorted walks into Orosz City.

Well, it was worth a shot, thought Yozef as he watched the Kolinkan leave. We’ll see what happens. It’s clear many of the other prisoners wouldn’t mind a new set of rulers for their people.

Yozef had not lied to Bota about his wish to deliver harsh justice to the entire Kolinkan people. However, as the months passed, he’d forced himself to think deeply about options and consequences. If the grand alliance came to be, many thousands of Kolinkans with no influence or knowledge of the attack on Caedellium would suffer. Then there were the inevitable casualties for Caedellium, Fuomi, and the participating kahsaks and kingdoms.

Preliminary talks with Ponomyna were the most encouraging, though Yozef had not revealed the ultimate intention of the plan he had shown Bota. He believed Mukamon would participate in the end after far too much cajoling. The third kahsak, Abaton, had yet to be contacted. Yozef had no hopes for kahsaks farther south.

To Yozef’s surprise, Rhangur Gaya had offered an unspecified number of Munjorian ships to help transfer fighters and supplies if Yozef was serious about punishing Kolinka. He also suggested Munjor might contribute a battalion-size dragoon unit being trained in Munjor to fight the Caedelli way. Yozef had something larger in mind.

Even a military demonstration planned for Bota was part charade. The facility producing the breech-loading rifles was being expanded, but it had taken longer shifts by the current staff to provide enough rifles for a battalion. Creative maneuvering of units and Bota’s unfamiliarity with the Sharps-analog would give the impression of several battalions forming a regiment. Similar with the mortar display. Four finished mortars were supplemented with dummy tubes several hundred yards from where Bota would observe. Down-range, pre-planted explosives would mimic mortar rounds landing with those from the functioning mortars.

Eight days after Yozef’s first meeting with Bota, the Kolinkan was taken to an observation point west of Orosz City to witness the faux regiment. Two days later, Yozef received word Bota wanted to talk. Yozef didn’t think the Kolinkan would ask if he had no intention of cooperating. They met in the same room as earlier. In contrast to his previous nervous demeanor, Bota projected the reluctance of someone about to perform an unpalatable task but forced by duty.

There were no preliminaries. Bota hurriedly spoke as soon as he was seated, with Carnigan standing behind him as before.

“I’d ask for guarantees if I thought there was any purpose. You could be telling me nothing but lies, and how would I know? Still, I suppose we have to pretend we are both honorable. Thus . . . I’ll ask if I understand correctly that Kolinka will not be destroyed and its people not be killed as long as the leadership is removed?”

“That’s the best outcome Kolinka can hope for,” said Yozef. “The exact details can’t be stated at this point since who knows what factors could come into play? Plus, the different allies would have input. However, I give my word that I will do what I can to reach that ‘best’ outcome for your people. Be aware, though, that the more difficult it is to remove the leadership, the less control I will have. Consider a possible scale of outcomes where the best case is major changes in Kolinka and the worst case is that Kolinka no longer exists, and my original threat becomes a reality.”

Bota’s mouth tightened, but he responded quickly.

“No matter the result, there are some things I can’t speak of. I won’t advise how to fight Kolinkan units, give information on the major officers, or say or do anything that directly contributes to Kolinkan deaths.”

He’s grasping for straws to ease his conscience, thought Yozef, just as I might do in his situation. He may come to see that trying to categorize information he reveals is a futile distinction, but anything he tells us will be useful.

“Then we have an understanding. For the next few months, you will be given a degree of freedom to experience Caedellium—under close supervision. As long as you behave, that will continue until Kolinka’s future is determined. You can assume that a deviation in behavior will have dramatic consequences.”

“What about the other prisoners?”

“Those who want to will be eventually returned to Kolinka. If our history with the Narthani is any indication, I won’t be surprised if a small number ask to remain on Caedellium, presumably foreseeing a better future here than in Kolinka. For now, they will be moved to a more comfortable situation, though will not have the degree of movement you will have. Also, they will be divided into at least two groups. Some have cooperated in answering questions and would be in danger from the few who steadfastly refused to answer and threatened others who did.”

After Bota was taken away, Yozef sat looking south out the window. He hoped that at some point, Bota would become a more committed participant when events convinced him that without his help the outcome would be worse.

CHAPTER 7

LANDOLIN AMBASSADORS

Munjor

Rhanjur Gaya was curious. Not about the invitation to meet with Paramount Kolsko—they had met numerous times in the last few years. But this time felt different. He could not identify any specifics, but his sixth sense had nagged him with faint signals the last sixdays.

The Paramount met him halfway between his desk and the office door. Gaya forewent the usual genuflections appropriate in Munjor, knowing Kolsko considered them unnecessary, faintly embarrassing, and more “sucking up”—as he put it—rather than evidence of respect.

He shook the proffered hand and took the indicated chair at a table by the window looking south.

Fifteen seconds from Gaya entering the room, Yozef wasted no time.

“It’s time to make decisions and commitments, Rhanjur. Narthon has to go. Neither Caedellium, the Landolin kingdoms, nor the Iraquiniks can let this continue. The longer Narthon exists, the more likely they will eventually rule all of Anyar. I and Caedellium intend to do something about that.”

It was not what Gaya had expected. He had lobbied for help against the Narthani move on Landolin, but Yozef had waffled on details beyond potentially providing arms and gunpowder. Did Yozef’s blunt declaration mean something had changed? He knew of the threat to destroy Kolinka, but how did that relate to Landolin? He felt comfortable enough to match the Paramount’s bluntness.

“And how do you see this happening, Yozef? Do I infer that the winds have changed?”

“They have, thanks to Kolinka. I’ve reluctantly come to accept that Caedellium staying a minor player in the events in western Anyar was naive or foolish—take your pick. Caedellium will be willing to make major commitments, but it’s dependent on similar resolve by the other enemies of Narthon. There will be no time or tolerance for prevarications. Any realm not willing to truly commit will find itself with no say in the future.”

“Pardon, Yozef, but you must realize how that sounds. As much as I admire how the Caedelli cast the Narthani off this island, and no matter how impressive are some of the innovations you’ve introduced, Caedellium is small.”

“So is a musket ball. Yet it can kill the largest man and most animals. Infinitely smaller are the microorganisms that I’ve convinced the Caedelli medicants do exist and that can make people sick and even kill them. How I intend to bring down Narthon will involve more innovations—ones that I will share with those realms who join a united effort. There will be no cooperation or sharing with those I believe are less than fully committed and who do the usual political maneuvering.

“The Fuomi will commit what they can, given the distance problem from Fuomon, but at a minimum will include their ships in this part of Anyar and elements of the Fuomi marines. You are the first of the Landolin realms I have approached. Besides my belief that Munjor is key to defending Landolin, I have the impression that it is capable of making the commitments I envision and because our relationship with you promises quick access to the highest levels in Munjor.”

“You have yet to mention what would be expected of Munjor, Yozef. You also know I do not have authority to make commitments like you infer.”

Yozef nodded. “Of course, but there will be a timetable. Events will begin to move fast enough that endless discussion and delays will not be possible. However, there will be time for your leaders to do what they have to while the first stages are underway. How much cooperation and sharing by Caedellium happens will relate to how quickly the realms join a grand alliance against Narthon. And by grand alliance, I mean every other realm.

“There are naturally endless details, but here is our intention. Caedellium will produce weapons that will change the nature of warfare. Some weapons are still being developed, but others are ready for large-scale production. However, new weapons and a coalition of disparate forces need to be tested before we face a major Narthani army on Landolin. We intend to do this by punishing Kolinka for their raid on Caedellium.

“This is not merely revenge, though I assure you I and my people want that. Kolinka has colluded with Narthon not only in ways that endanger Caedellium, but with the intent to weaken the Iraquinik effort against Narthon. That can’t be allowed to stand.

“I’m working with those kahsaks that have ambassadors in Orosz City. A coalition will form that will force out the existing leaders of Kolinka, down to a level that will ensure that kahsak is no longer a problem. As part of this alliance, the Fuomi will block Kolinkan ports and provide security for forces needing to sail to Iraquinik. Caedellium intends to contribute with a division made of Caedelli and Fuomi, plus men from Landolin. Naturally, this includes Munjor as a major partner. What I am asking is that Munjor contribute a regiment. It will be armed and trained with the new weapons we are developing. That will require the regiment to come to Caedellium as soon as possible for arming and training.”

“Who will command this division? I assume you intend other kingdoms besides Munjor to send men. Units from so many different nations are bound to have serious communication and command problems.”

“The main force against Kolinka will be our Allied Division, plus significant Ponomynan men. I won’t go into other details with you at this time, but you’ll have an opportunity to see some of the new weapons. I honestly don’t think any Kolinka force can stand against us. But, as you questioned, coordination is a problem. I will command the main attack, with Reimo Kivalian as second-in-command. I will lean heavily on him and any others who demonstrate the intelligence and understanding of the new weapons and tactics.

“This includes anyone from Munjor, so I strongly recommend that whoever commands the Munjorian regiment be flexible and willing to work with a higher authority who is not from Munjor. As for your other men, they should be chosen with the intention of their serving as the core officers and higher of the common ranks for later promotion or slotting into positions on Landolin against the Narthani. They would then be able to train and lead others in the use of, and tactics with, these new weapons.”

“Does that imply Munjor would have access to those weapons?”

“It does, though the details would need to be worked out and would depend on Munjor being a strong ally. In that case, you would have my word.”

“A good intent,” said Gaya, “though there will be resistance from some of the more . . . uh . . . conservative officers and nobility. But nothing that can’t be dealt with. Again, understand I can’t commit to anything, but if Munjor contributes a regiment, what about the weapons they are trained with? Will they be allowed to take them back to Munjor?”

“Yes, with the condition that the regiment performs as well as it needs to. That’s one of many reasons why you need to be sure the men are among your best. I reiterate that their leaders must understand that they may be taking orders from people not from Munjor and will be expected to function as part of a division made up of different nations.

“Assuming there’s no problem, the men will take their personal weapons with them. I expect Munjor will try to produce more of the same, but it will be difficult without Caedellium’s help. That will be a topic for further discussion when the time comes.”

“I’ll have to return to Munjor to transmit this proposal, Yozef. It seems I’ve spent a great part of my time this last year sailing back and forth.”

“I’ve checked with Eina, and the Fuomi are willing to provide one of their sloops. It’s faster than anything Munjor has, and there’s always the chance you might encounter a Narthani warship. It’s risky getting you to your main port at Bawfa if the Narthani make moves to blockade Bawfa Bay, but the Fuomi think they can get you there or not too far north of the Munjor/Mureet border. That’s a lot closer to your capital at Samslor than Chora on the western coast of Munjor. Once you reach Samslor, you’ll need to send back to the sloop’s captain when you think you’ll return. If you aren’t sure or it’ll be too long, the sloop will return here and you’ll have to arrange passage back.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say I should know within a day or two after I reach the capital what the prospects are,” said Gaya. “Otherwise, the prospects won’t be good, and I couldn’t say how long I’d have to stay.”

“Any intuition what your leadership will decide?”

“There will be resistance to getting directly involved with events in Iraquinik. The arguments will be it’s not our concern and why take men away from facing the Narthon/Jahmnor alliance? I and others will counter that Munjor will gain from future Caedellium assistance, especially these new weapons I’ll have to see for myself before I leave. And preventing Narthon from weakening the Iraquinik Confederation will work to Munjor’s favor. The first two reasons, Caedellium assistance and weapons, will get the best reception. Assuming the new weapons are as impressive as you believe them to be, it would help if I could take examples with me.”

Yozef put an elbow on the table and rested his chin against a fist. “I’ll have to think about that. I’ll be honest. The thinking has been to withhold the weapons until Munjor commits to the Kolinka campaign and to prevent any of them falling in Narthani hands too soon. On the other hand, I suppose any samples given to Munjor would take too long for either Munjor or Narthon to replicate without Caedellium’s assistance. Let me talk with the others, and I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

“Yozef, one thing I’m sure to be asked is whether other Landolin kingdoms will participate against Kolinka.”

“As I said, Munjor was approached first, but Naskin and Mureet are next. We assume Panhan will follow Munjor’s lead, but the reports we get from you and other sources indicate they are too occupied with defending their borders. We wouldn’t want to appreciatively weaken them, whereas Munjor has enough resources that a temporary loss of a regiment would not be significant. Plus, Panhan hasn’t sent an ambassador here, so we’ve had no formal contact. I suppose there’s no harm in exploring the possibility, but I leave it to you to determine whether the gesture to Panhan is reasonable.”

Gaya nodded. “As you say. All right, I can leave as soon as I witness the weapons demonstration.”

Yozef pushed back his chair and stood. “Synton is waiting in the next room. He’ll take you about an hour west of here where the demonstration will be conducted. You should be back in Orosz City by midday. The sloop is waiting at Adris City, and a train will transport you there as soon as you’re ready.”

Gaya laughed. “It’s always exhilarating to interact with you, Yozef, and in conflict with our Landolin customs. It must be an Amerikan trait that once decisions are made, they are quickly acted on. It’s a shock for Munjorians who first come to Caedellium.”

“You seem to adjust well,” said Yozef, smiling. “Now tell me what you think the Naskinese and the Mureetans will do when I talk to them.”

“Forget about getting commitments from Mureet. A deceitful people. Only the Jahmnor are less liked. Even if they promised something, don’t rely on their word.”

“Is that all the Mureet people or just the rulers?”

“Well . . . I suppose there must be some respectable Mureetans. I haven’t interacted with the common people.”

“How about Naskin?”

“Oh . . . all right, I suppose. A little too . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that they are exactly like my people. I think there’s a good chance they will commit.”

Gaya was right on two accounts. The next day, the Naskinese ambassador assured Yozef that he had the authority to commit to a regiment for Kolinka. Yozef suspected word of the meeting with Gaya had leaked, possibly by Gaya, and the Naskinese did not want to be left out. Yozef also suspected Naskin was looking for anything to buffer them from their neighbors.

Mureet responded as Gaya had predicted. The ambassador claimed he had no authority. Even if he had, he saw no reason for Mureet to get involved with an Iraquinik problem.

Narthani? What Narthani? Yozef thought sardonically.

The next morning, a train left Orosz City with passengers destined for a Fuomi sloop sailing to take ambassadors to Munjor and Naskin.

CHAPTER 8

IRAQUINIK AMBASSADORS

Ponomyna

Thirty minutes after Yozef watched the Landolin ambassadors’ train leave, Yozef’s clerical staff leader stopped in the open office doorway.

“The Ponomynan ambassador is here. Shall I bring him in?”

“Thanks, Kloona. And yes, show him in.”

The Ponomynan delegation had relocated to Orosz City a month previous, and Yozef had met with their leader several times, both in Preddi City and in the capital. Uzman Gangala was thirty-four years old and the second-in-line son of Dhupa Gangala, who led the kahsak as its arklum.

On one occasion, Uzman had conveyed what he believed was his father’s and his kahsak’s dismay at the Kolinkan attack and offered unspecified help to Caedellium. Yozef suspected the vague offer was likely the usual political posturing, but he now wanted to call in the offer.

During his previous experiences with Uzman, Yozef had not paid extensive attention to the man’s physical appearance and demeanor, a shortcoming he now addressed. Uzman was about Yozef’s height, though stockier and with a coordinated ease of movement that reminded Yozef of Wyfor Kales, Yozef’s former bodyguard and mentor in the intricacies of blade fighting. Uzman’s black hair was marked with a streak of pure white that Yozef suspected was a holdover from a scar. If it was, Uzman probably had interesting stories to tell about it and two other visible scars, one on the back of his left hand and another on the right side where his neck met his shoulder but exposed only when his head turned left.

When Uzman entered the office, Yozef rose from his chair and walked over to offer a hand.

“Greetings, Ambassador Gangala.” He gestured to the small table and two chairs at a south-facing window. “Please have a seat.”

“Ah . . . thank you, Paramount,” Uzman said, his expression suggesting uncertainty.

They sat and stared at each other for a few moments before Yozef began.

“I assume you’ve read the information you were sent about Kolinka’s working as a tool of the Narthani.”

“I have, Paramount. I didn’t want to believe it at first, even of the Kolinkans. But after I studied the evidence and thought about it, it seemed plausible, even inevitable. Kolinka has never contributed significantly to the war against the Narthani. Oh . . . there were times when they have sent small numbers of troops when major campaigns were planned against Narthon, but it was always obviously begrudging and a minimum contribution.

“I had copies of the evidence sent back to Ponomyna. I’ve also spoken to the other ambassadors on Caedellium, and all of them have read the evidence and either have already sent reports back home or are in the process of doing so when transportation is available.”

“I think I can help with that,” said Yozef. “I’ll ask the Fuomi admiral if one of his sloops could carry messages. We should also think about establishing regular courier routes between Caedellium and the Iraquinik kahsaks.

“So . . . what action is Ponomyna prepared to take against Kolinka?” asked Yozef, jumping directly into this meeting’s agenda.

“By ourselves, it is difficult to see what can be done beyond reducing contact and discussing the situation with Mukamon. That’s the only other kahsak of consequence bordering Kolinka. The Abaton kahsak north of Kolinka is difficult to communicate with, and we’ve had little contact with them.”

“Let’s get straight to it,” said Yozef, who then smiled. “You’ll find I’m not much for dancing around issues and wasting time. You know I’ve sworn to destroy Kolinka. That was not an idle threat by someone in the heat of anger. It will happen. Then, there is still Narthon. They have to be eliminated as a threat to all of us. Caedellium had hoped that after driving the Narthani away, we would have an extended period of peace. Since that desire failed, we intend to do what we can to eliminate the Narthani threat. That means we are willing to help the Iraquiniks and their part of the war that involves most of Anyar. Kolinka is a first step. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. According to our analysis, plus information from the Fuomi and confidential comments from other ambassadors, the Iraquinik kahsaks’ inability or unwillingness to cooperate efficiently against Narthon has hampered them in the war. Caedellium’s help is contingent on the kahsaks cooperating more.

“And before you tell me how difficult that is, I agree. However, that doesn’t change the situation. As a first step, something has to be done about Kolinka. It may be a far northern kahsak, but besides punishing it for collaborating with the Narthani, logic demands a rotten piece of fruit can’t be allowed to remain and contaminate the other fruits.

“Here is where Ponomyna can establish itself as a leading kahsak, both in the war against the Narthani and as a friendly ally with Caedellium. You might wonder why that second point might be so important to your kahsak, but I think in the next month or two you will see enough to convince yourself that being friends with Caedellium is vital to Ponomyna’s future. For now, I’ll just say that we are willing to share new innovations with those peoples who act with us against Narthon, with Kolinka a first step to help establish a grand alliance.

“Let me lay out to you what we hope to do concerning Kolinka. Highest priority will be to remove the Kolinka ruling classes. We don’t have enough information to know how deep that will have to go into their society. It may involve no more than the Litlik family and their most fervent supporters. What happens to them physically is irrelevant, whether it is their deaths, imprisonment, exile, or allowing them to remain within Kolinka but without authority or power.

“Let me pose some questions, Uzman. May I call you by your first name? Please, call me Yozef.”

The Ponomynan ambassador squinted slightly. He didn’t know what to make of the offer. “Of course, Paramount. Whatever you wish.”

“Thank you. Now for the questions. Would Ponomyna be better off without the Litlik family ruling Kolinka?”

“Well . . . yes. Relations with Kolinka have been bad going as far back as our written history, but they’ve been worse since the Litlik family rose to power. Kolinka is also a distraction from worrying about the Narthani. We have to worry about raids all along our common border. Occasionally, major fights break out involving hundreds, even a thousand men each.”

“What about the other kahsaks?”

“Yes, they feel the same. Especially Mukamon. Kolinka is almost worthless in the war against Narthon. Any change would be an improvement.”

“I think you can see where I’m going, Uzman. Ponomyna and all the other kahsaks would be better off if Kolinka had more honorable and competent rulers. What I am offering you is a way to accomplish this as long as it’s a combined effort of many states. What is the alternative? Leave Kolinka as it is? Leave them to engage in further collaboration with the Narthani? Leave them to be useless in the war? Leave them to be a continuous thorn in Ponomyna’s borders? I put to you that the only logical course is for Ponomyna, Caedellium, and other realms to join in changing the Kolinka leadership, which almost certainly means an armed invasion and a fight until they surrender or their ability to resist is destroyed. In the latter case, the fighting might be severe enough that much or all of the Kolinka territory could be divided among the other kahsaks, both as reparations and to ensure the territory doesn’t revert to lawlessness and still be a threat to its neighbors.

“However, I see the campaign against Kolinka as only a first step in forming a grand coalition against the Narthon Empire. One that will end that threat for all time. I already have a commitment from Fuomon to participate. The signs are the Landolin kingdoms will join the formal alliance. Naturally, the kingdoms are mainly concerned about Landolin, but they recognize their danger if the Iraquinik states are absorbed by Narthon. The kahsaks should come to the same realization. Narthon is actively engaged in absorbing Landolin, and, if successful, the Iraquinik kahsaks will find themselves surrounded by threats on all sides. The current stalemate along your eastern borders will crumble, and you will cease to exist in the same way so many other peoples have been absorbed.”

Uzman had remained impassive while Yozef spoke, making it impossible to read hints of how he received this information. When Yozef sat back, evidently finished for the moment, Uzman put both hands on the tabletop.

“It’s a grandiose vision. Intriguing, but grandiose, and depends upon too many factors coming together, including different peoples agreeing to coordinate. However, I will give it serious thought and report to my father. I will confess I see the logic to all Narthon’s enemies coordinating their efforts. However, the problems are many. If I and my father are to be convinced, we will need more details of this vision of yours. Then there is the claim of ‘things’ that Caedellium is willing to share with Ponomyna. I assume some are weapons, and yes, there have been rumors, but you have managed to keep us from learning more. I will need to see such things and hear all the advantages to Ponomyna.”

“Fair enough,” said Yozef. “I will work on arranging a Fuomi sloop to serve as a courier. As soon as you feel it is justified, prepare a report for your father. Alternatively, it may be best if you return to Ponomyna to deliver it verbally. Also, tell your father that while there will be future advantages to working with Caedellium, I will be talking to other realms among the Iraquiniks and Landoliners. As with shops on a market square that are offering good prices, the customers who buy first have the best choices. Future relations will be influenced by how soon and with what commitment the realms join us.”

More Iraquiniks

During the next two days, Yozef met with representatives of the Mukamon, Aro, Gympo, and Waswagon kahsaks. Only with Waswagon did he come away disappointed.

“So, you think they will agree?” asked Kivalian when Mark joined them.

“As convinced as I can be,” said Yozef. “Ponomyna almost certainly, and Aro and Gympo surprised me with how quickly they seemed to consider the concept, although both brought up details that need to be discussed. I suspect they will participate only after confirmation of Ponomyna and Mukamon. That last one is the most problematic. Their ambassador said all the right words and pledged to advise their leadership to join in such an effort against Kolinka, but there was just something about him that my gut says not to trust too much. The one positive from Mukamon is the ambassador picking up my comment about needing to contact Abaton. He claimed they had a communication conduit to the Abaton capital at a city called Malbin. At least, I assume that’s where their rulers are. He thought they would be interested only if Ponomyna and Mukamon were involved against Kolinka and then only if there was the possibility of gaining territory when Kolinka fell. I danced around that issue without committing.

“The Waswagon representative outright refused to cooperate, claiming he had the authority to refuse. I can’t judge if he was exaggerating or not. I wasn’t counting on them, but it was worth a try, and he seemed convincing. If true, at least it’s a firm answer. Now we need to continue with the demonstrations. I’m sure there will be more meetings than I care to think about during the next sixday or two.”

Later that evening, he shared with Maera and Anarynd the results from the representative meetings and more that he had not told Kivalian.

“The discussions about Kolinka went about as well as could be expected. I never assumed the three kahsaks farther from Kolinka would commit to anything, but of the three who have representatives on Caedellium, Sonet and Sensarsha might become receptive to future collaborations if an alliance against Kolinka goes well. And no, there were no overt words to that effect. Just my sense in talking with them.

“Irapah remains something of an enigma, if for no other reason than how and why a kahsak from the Iraquinik far south sent representatives to Caedellium. Their leader, a man whose name I have no chance of pronouncing, danced around without giving a direct answer to my questions. Then, when he asked questions, I wasn’t sure why he was so interested in some things. At the end, I had the sense that either there was something odd about the man or he had deeper motives than I could detect. Still . . . I’m told Irapah has considerable importance for its size, probably due to being the supposed legendary origin of the Iraquinik people.

“The Aro man was also interesting, but for a different reason. He seemed as interested in trade issues as he was in Kolinka or even Narthon. I knew our textile trade was developing but didn’t realize that almost entirely Aro ships were involved in the first exports. He claims Aro is interested in trading Caedelli textiles south to other kahsaks and west to Landolin. It turns out Aro has a major role in trade by sea in Northern Iraquinik and with connections in Landolin. That must mean they have significant shipbuilding capability. It’s something to keep in mind as we go forward.”

CHAPTER 9

COMMAND POSITIONS

“We’ve two open command slots in the Caedelli regiment,” said Kivalian a month later. “Denis Vegga, Mulron Lewis, and Munmar Kellen are already organizing their battalions. But that still leaves us with no one commanding the Fourth Battalion. I’ve had different people making some progress with that unit, but it needs a permanent commander. Halwyn still seems like the wisest option, even though he’s best suited to be a company commander.”

“Keep working with him, Reimo. We need to make a decision soon to give him and the battalion training time together.”

“Then it’s still open who’s going to be the regiment commander? I think it best if I command the Caedelli regiment,” said Kivalian. “I could still serve as your second-in-command and be on the division’s General Staff.”

“No, I need you at my elbow commanding the entire division and helping coordinate with the Iraquiniks and Landoliners. You also need to be at the division headquarters in case something happens to me.”

“Then who commands our regiment? You know my recommendation.”

“I know, and I still have serious reservations about it being a hetman, but I reviewed your arguments and the records about him. He did well commanding our men in blocking Istranik from bringing reinforcements and relief to Gullar’s corps. You think Swavebroke made a few mistakes, but given the circumstances, he did about as well as a more experienced commander might have done. He certainly ended up with the respect of the men, and that’s essential. For the moment, I’ll go with your assessment that he’s a natural, based on officers you’ve had contact with in Fuomon. I don’t have such experiences to allow comparisons, but Mark supports you that some men have that certain something. We’ll need to bring him into the planning as soon as I give him the news he’s about to volunteer. I hope you’re right in your intuition that he might not resist too hard.”

“Of course, I’m right,” said Kivalian, “except when I’m wrong. How soon can you meet with him?”

“I’ll need to go to Shullick and talk with him. I’ll make the logical arguments and point out his own previous opinion that his brother would make a fine hetman. The brother only has to be regent for Swavebroke’s eldest son until we get back from Kolinka.

“He would have to be away from being hetman for maybe a year. First, training with the regiment and division once the other regiments get here, and then the Kolinka campaign. Hell, it could be longer than a year. It will probably be a couple of sixdays before I can get away. In the meantime, I’ll leave you to continue recruiting men for our regiment.”

Kivalian shrugged. “Yeah, but six months or more away from Caedellium might be a hard sell for someone who has never been off the island and is also a clan leader. I’ve gotten a good sense of the strength of clan loyalties, despite your efforts to make everyone prioritize themselves as Caedelli first.”

“I’ll take your suggestion that the Caedelli regiment trains in Swavebroke Province before moving to Selfcell when the Landolin regiments arrive. That means Harmon won’t have to leave home immediately. Then we’ll have a couple months of training together before heading to Ponomyna. That’s when the timing becomes murky. I’ll fib a little and tell Swavebroke it’s only six months away from home. That’s assuming everything goes our way, and we can finish Kolinka within three months. Between us, we’re more likely to be away nine months. I hope not more because then we would be in danger of getting bogged down in Kolinka.”

Two sixdays later, Reimo Kivalian sat in his office in the military department of the island headquarters and stared at the pile of paperwork, each piece of which he assumed someone considered urgent.

By all or none of the gods, he thought, the Fuomi marines and army don’t need this much paper, but I guess what we’re trying to do is different and more complex.

For not the first time, he wondered whether he would have been better off staying in Fuomon.

Too late for that, he thought. Or, as Yozef would say, “That ship has sailed.”

He looked again at the sheet in front of him, sighed, drew a line down the middle of it, and placed it in the reject file. Another candidate for the regiment rejected—in this case, because of a magistrate report noting too many occurrences that indicated a lack of disciple, a penchant for alcohol, and failure to confirm his claimed deeds during the war against the Narthani.

He reached for the next candidate sheet, only to stop when the office door opened. An aide entered—a young Fuomi marine who had opted to follow Kivalian in changing allegiance to Caedellium.

“I’ve just interviewed a candidate I think you’d better talk to yourself, Reimo.”

Kivalian ignored the informality. Kolsko’s views on such things were pervasive.

“And why’s that?” He gestured to the pile. “I’ve got a good hundred more interview notes to finish today.”

“It’s a man named Amaz Muhadi. He’s one of the freed Narthani slaves, but he claims he was once an officer in the Narthani army and is from a military family.”

Kivalian frowned. “Then why was he a slave? Sounds like it might have been punishment for something. We don’t need thieves, cowards, or men who cause problems.”

“Well, I heard enough of his story to think you need to get involved.”

“All right, all right. Where is he now? Bring him here.”

The aide smiled. “He’s waiting in the outer room.”

Kivalian laughed. “I may need to replace you for being too forward, but bring him in.”

The man who followed the aide into the office was of average height, solid build, and erect posture and was probably younger than the gray strands in his beard and hair indicated. Those features faded in importance as Kivalian met steely eyes and an expression he reflexively associated with one of the best superior officers he had ever served with—though the two men otherwise looked very different.

Colonel Hulorian, he thought. As I live and breathe, it’s like Hulorian got transferred into another body.

“Brigadier Kivalian,” said the aide. “May I present Captain Muhadi.”

The aide’s emphasis on the rank accompanied his sardonic expression.

The next surprise was when Muhadi snapped to attention as sharply as any Fuomi marine could do. When the Caedelli salute followed—the flattened right hand to the forehead as introduced by Yozef—Kivalian was momentarily flummoxed, then decided to play along for the moment. He rose to his feet to return the salute before sitting down again.

“So. How is it that a Narthani slave claims to have been a captain in the Narthon army?”

“Sir,” came the instant response. “I’m from a family that has served in the Narthani army ever since our original people were conquered by the empire. My great, great, great grandfather and others of the Muhabi family had fought the invaders, but when we fell, they decided it was better to serve and wait for a day when they could somehow free our people of the Narthani. Subsequent selected men of our family kept the hope alive through the next generations, being careful to keep the intent secret. My father and grandfathers were both brigadiers. That was as high as any of my people have yet to rise in rank. The Narthani are cautious about conquered peoples until enough generations have passed that they have forgotten their origins and are believed to be true Narthani.

“However, my father and grandfather were betrayed and executed. The rest of my immediate family was enslaved and dispersed throughout the empire. I was sent north to work in mines of the northern territory.”

“Yet . . . can I assume you knew about the secret?” asked Kivalian. “If you were also an officer, why weren’t you executed?”

“I knew there was a secret, but I had not been yet trusted to know it all. I was told to be patient until I was older. My father and grandfather started training me when I was nine years old. By the time I was fourteen, I knew as much of the theory of tactics and command as most junior officers. The intent was to ensure my enrollment in the Usmaya Military Academy.” He paused. “That’s the most prestigious in Narthon and a common foundation for high rank.”

Kivalian nodded and waved for the man to continue. He knew of the institution but no details.

“I was accepted and granted a commission when I was seventeen years old. I was then an infantry captain at twenty-one and was told only my age prevented me going to major in the next year or two. Then the betrayal occurred. I was spared only because of my record and the intervention of past superiors. However, only my life was spared. I joined the rest of my family as slaves.”

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty-four.”

Kivalian resisted scratching his head, uncertain what to believe or what to do. As a solution, he opted for more questions.

“Almost all the Narthani slaves were in Preddi Province. What did you do there?”

“In many ways I was fortunate. As I said, I worked in a mine, but after two years, the mine was closed, and I was sold to an animal herder. As hard as the work was, it was outdoors and infinitely better than the mine. That ended four years ago when my owner died. His son sold me to another herder who was ordered to Caedellium soon afterward. He was assigned to take over a ranch in southern Preddi Province. I and the other slaves only heard rumors about what was happening elsewhere on Caedellium. Suddenly, one day, all the Narthani on the ranch loaded onto horses and wagons in a hurry and fled north without telling us anything. It was almost two months later before we learned that the Narthani had left the island.”

“And you didn’t travel to find out what was going on, and no one came to the ranch?”

“It was remote, and the others were afraid to move in fear of reprisals when the Narthani returned. I stayed with them. I . . . well . . . had taken a leadership role among the slaves. There were thirteen of us, and too many were too used to being slaves for me to abandon them. Plus, by then I had my own woman, Borwa, and my son, Stran, to care for.”

Despite himself, Kivalian’s instincts made him inclined to believe the story. He didn’t always trust his instincts.

“Tell me more about your father and grandfather’s teachings. Then we’ll move on to the Usmaya Academy and your army career.”

Two sixdays later, Yozef updated Maera on what was known of Amaz Muhabi.

“As you know, once Kivalian brought me the story, I asked Balwis to look into it and how Muhabi came to be in Orosz City. He put Wyfor on the investigation, and what can be confirmed on Caedellium matched Muhabi’s story—with some surprising omissions by Muhabi. Wyfor tracked down most of the slaves from the ranch. All were still in Preddi Province. They gave Muhabi credit for leading them in what amounted to an armed strike against the ranch owner two years ago. The man was afraid of higher authority finding out he had lost control of the slaves. He and Muhabi came to an understanding that the slaves would continue working on the ranch but without being treated like slaves.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Yozef, shaking his head. “It sounds like an improbable and impractical arrangement, but it seems to have worked. The few occasions when other Narthani came to the ranch, everyone pretended nothing had changed.” Yozef smiled. “It turned out the ranch was more successful under the new arrangement than before. Something not surprising and too often missed in societies with slavery.

“Later, it turned out the ranch’s original owner was still alive. When he returned to the ranch to reclaim it, he wanted nothing to do with the ex-slaves. He tried to force them off ‘his’ land with nothing but the clothes they wore. Evidently, Muhabi’s threats were believable enough that the owner let them leave with a wagon, two horses, and everything they could carry. They went toward Preddi City and split up—finding work on the way and after they arrived.”

“What is your personal impression of Muhabi?” asked Maera.

“He’s solid-looking, a little taller than me, and has the bearing of someone with self-confidence without needing to display it. He’s about thirty-four years old, with his woman, Borwa, a few years older. She was among the slaves brought to Caedellium to work for the family given the ranch I mentioned. They seemed to have first met on the ship here, and it sounded like Muhabi took it on himself to protect her on the voyage such that by the time they arrived, they were pretty much a pair. He and his story are impressive. From the timeline he described, he had a pretty hard transition—from being a well-regarded Narthani officer to a menial slave. Being taken to Caedellium was a huge improvement, but it was still as a slave. I’m not sure many people could have held up as well as he evidently did. He certainly doesn’t have the demeanor of someone beaten down by slavery, like too many of those we freed. I sense there’s a curtain of reserve he cultivated to hide his inner feelings, but I got occasional glimpses of someone who might have been an army colonel or even a new young general in some army.”

“So, how did Muhabi come to Orosz City?” asked Maera.

“That’s interesting but unclear. Among the other slaves was a young woman named Suna who already had two small children. The father was killed in an accident on the ranch. The other ex-slaves found work after the Narthani left, but the woman’s situation was difficult with the children. Muhabi and his woman took her into their family.”

Maera rubbed her chin with the back of her hand. “As another wife?”

Yozef shrugged. “The status is unclear. I take it the Narthani have no formal custom for slave marriages. Evidently, things did not go well for them after liberation. Most of their group of slaves found a livelihood in Preddi, but the Muhabi extended family ran into some problems. Wyfor didn’t give me all the details, but he suspects that Muhabi was involved in the unexplained death of a Narthani who opted to remain on Caedellium. The dead man had several ex-Narthani friends, and that may have been part of the reason for Muhabi to leave Preddi. Also, Wyfor talked with Muhabi and got the impression the family heard the Paramount had two wives and thought opportunities might be better here. Anyway, they walked all the way to Orosz City and have been living in the tent and shack area near the river. Muhabi and Borwa have been working different jobs, and Suna does sewing while she watches the three children, who are between one and four years old. Whatever the relationship is among the three of them, they’ve kept to themselves.”

Maera pursed her lips. “We have to do something about where they live. The conditions are squalid. It’s no place for children, and it breeds crime.”

“I know,” said Yozef, sighing. “There is just so much to get done, it’s one of many things that falls through the cracks.”

“So, what do you think about Muhabi?”

“I think . . . I think we may have struck gold. Oh . . . there’s more to check, and we’ll take steps to keep a close eye on him, but I agree with Reimo’s assessment that he hates the Narthani with a fervor that’s hard to fake. In fact, unless something happens to make me doubt him, we’re going to take him into the permanent Caedellium military. His first assignment will be to tell us everything he knows about Narthon—its politics, its army’s philosophy of warfare, and the inner workings of the higher levels of the Narthani army. Munmar Kellen gave us as much as he knew, but he didn’t have the same level of connections as Muhabi’s family. Then there’s this news that a faction of the Narthani army has discontents dreaming of rebellion. Unfortunately, Muhabi doesn’t have any other details, except his father and grandfather were members—they kept a tight circle of connections that he hadn’t been granted access to. But still, just knowing the group exists may be important someday, though at the moment I don’t see exactly how.”

Maera had more questions, but Yozef had a look she had seen before.

“Something else? I know you’re working to convince yourself of something devious.”

He smiled. “Reimo and I agree we need more men with experience and training in large-scale troop movements and tactics. We’re hoping we get some from Fuomon, but Muhabi may be helpful. We also haven’t settled on who will command the Fourth Battalion in the Caedelli regiment to go to Iraquinik. That presents its own problems, but we’ll see how things develop.”

Best Left Secret

When Yozef was satisfied with the reports, he called Swavebroke and Muhabi to his office. The former had temporarily transferred hetman duties to his brother and had been in Orosz City for three days to work with Kivalian. Muhabi had spent two sixdays being intensively interrogated about everything he knew of the Narthani military and politics. He met several times with Yozef, who came away confirmed that Wyfor was correct—Muhabi hated Narthon with a fervor even greater than that of most ex-slaves.

“Harmon, Amaz, thank you both for coming,” said Yozef with his habitual greeting, ignoring the possibility the recipient had a choice. He waved them to the window table, and they sat.

“You haven’t met before. That was intentional. Let me make the initial introductions.” He looked at Swavebroke and gestured toward the ex-slave/ex-Narthani. “This is Amaz Muhabi. He was a slave in Preddi and before that in Narthon. He was among the first slaves brought to Caedellium when Narthon began transporting Narthani civilians here. Because of his unusual background in Narthon, he has been working with our intelligence people for the last sixdays, giving extensive information about the Narthani military and society in general. From the reports I’ve gotten and from my own meetings with Amaz, I am confident in saying that he hates the Narthon ruling government and many of its society’s elements with every fiber of his being.”

Yozef reversed his gaze and gesture. “This is Harmon Swavebroke. He is also Hetman Swavebroke, the leader of the Swavebroke Clan and province of some fifty thousand people. Harmon has reasons to hate Narthon. Besides the attempted conquering of Caedellium, Narthani troops burned his clan’s capital, Shullick, and his father died in the defense, allowing most citizens to flee.

“During the final stages of the fight to save our island, Harmon led a force that delayed ten thousand Narthani who tried to come to the aid of Marshal Gullar’s corps, which we destroyed after a bitter fight. The battle was a near enough thing that had that force joined Gullar, the present condition of Caedellium might have been quite different.”

When Muhabi glanced at Swavebroke, Yozef thought he detected a glint of respect in his previously reserved expression.

“Harmon has been prevailed upon to temporarily leave his hetman duties to command a Caedelli regiment that will take part in an expedition to punish one of the Iraquinik kahsaks for attacking our Seaborn Province and colluding in that with Narthon. Amaz, you’ll hear more about this later. For now, be apprised that several of the kahsaks and Landolin kingdoms will join us and Fuomon in this campaign.”

At least, I hope so, thought Yozef. Such commitments were still to be settled.

“Harmon, with Amaz’s permission, I’ll share something that only a small number of people know.”

Yozef proceeded to outline details of how a Narthani army officer ended up a slave on Caedellium. Swavebroke did not comment during the revelation, but his expression went from surprised to thoughtful to amused. Muhabi remained impassive.

“Let me guess,” said Swavebroke, grinning back and forth between the other men. “You’re thinking of having Muhabi command the regiment’s Fourth Battalion.”

It was Muhabi’s turn to be surprised. He sat back abruptly from his heretofore rigid posture, his eyes blinked rapidly six or seven times, his hands grasped the edge of the table, and his head tilted as if to bring a better ear toward a speaker when he was unsure of what he’d heard. His eyes darted to Yozef, who shrugged.

“I’m afraid people are getting to know me too well,” said Yozef.

Swavebroke chuckled. “It a matter of expecting unconventional thinking. Once that’s understood, it’s amazing how often Yozef’s intentions are transparent.”

Muhabi’s hands relaxed back into his lap, suspicion etching his face. “I don’t understand. You’re saying you want me to command a battalion when I’m not even from Caedellium and haven’t commanded men for many years?”

Yozef noticed Muhabi did not mention reservations about his being in the Caedelli military or participating in a military campaign.

“I assume you’re wondering whether this is reasonable and truthful,” said Yozef. “I’ll admit it’s unusual, but then, these are unusual times and situations. Caedellium does not have a long history of a professional military. It’s something forced on us by Narthon. We are all called to do things we’re not necessarily trained or qualified for, but that is irrelevant. I never expected to be Paramount Hetman of Caedellium. Harmon never expected to become hetman so soon, then lead a force against a Narthani division, and later to take leave of his people to command a regiment fighting on Melosia. Reimo Kivalian, whom you’ve spent much time with the past sixdays, never expected to change loyalty from Fuomon to Caedellium. You . . . well, I’m not sure what your expectations were when you came to Orosz City, but I’m confident what you’ve just heard was not an imagined option.

“As for not being from Caedellium, it’s true that you don’t have a lifetime of experience with the people and culture, but neither did I, Kivalian, or several other people doing important jobs. What we have in common is commitment. What about you, Amaz? Do you feel a commitment to Caedellium?”

Muhabi sat motionless for half a minute before answering.

“I’ll be honest. I haven’t been thinking long term beyond providing for my family. That’s been changing the last sixdays, but I still don’t know exactly where my mind is at, as far as a true commitment. All I can say is that if I accept what you offer, I’ll be feeling it’s good for my family and is a task I would do to the best of my ability.”

Kivalian had reported Muhabi expressing the same reservations about becoming a true Caedelli. However, what came through in interviews was Muhabi’s concern for men under his command and the other slaves during his Preddi years. A meeting of Yozef, Mark, and Kivalian concluded that once Muhabi was responsible for Caedelli dragoons, it would be a short step for him to feel loyalty to Caedellium.

“No one is more fervent than a convert,” Yozef had told the others.

“What about you, Harmon?” asked Yozef. “Do you have any issue with Amaz commanding the Fourth Battalion?”

Swavebroke shrugged. “If you’re satisfied, I’m sure he’s been checked every way possible. I’ll want to meet with him alone for us to talk, and I’ll want to read those reports, but I expect I won’t find any reason to object. I do have one concern. There’s already an ex-Narthani commanding one of the battalions. Munmar Kellen is widely respected, but adding another ex-Narthani officer, even if he endured years of slavery, will bother some people.”

“That’s why we’ll limit Amaz’s story to being an ex-slave. There might eventually be a time to let his entire background come out, but I’m thinking we’ll amend the story to explain why he is put in command of a battalion. We won’t make it general knowledge, but we’ll leak rumors and hints that he was owned by a high-ranking Narthani officer who recognized his intelligence and ability and privately educated him in tactics. He then served as an unofficial adviser because the owner was confident he had not been part of the political maneuverings within Narthon. As such, for years he witnessed firsthand the workings of Narthani military units and campaigns.

“I know. It’s a thin story, but we’ll let it out that Reimo and I have full confidence. Those stories should hold for a year or more. Amaz. What are you thinking?”

“Uh . . . I have no problem if no one else ever learns my full history. I’ve pretty much put out of my mind that I was once formally a Narthani. In fact, I’ve never told it to my wives. I wasn’t intentionally hiding it from them, but I guess I had so fully shut off that previous life that it didn’t seem important, if it occurred to me at all.”

“Probably best to keep it that way,” said Yozef. “Later, if we decide to change the story, it will be up to you.”

When Swavebroke left to meet Kivalian, Muhabi lingered silently until Swavebroke left the office.

“I suppose there’s no doubt I’ll accept, Paramount, though I want to talk first with Borwa and Suna. I’m well aware it would mean being away from them at times, even months or more. Life has not been kind to them.”

“I understand,” said Yozef, “and let me know what assurances or provisions might help. We can’t ignore the potential risks. Your time as an officer must have made that plain. All I can say is that even in the worst case of your being killed, your family would be taken care of.”

“That’s what Kivalian told me, and I appreciate the help since I came to your attention. The quarters provided for us may be far less than I had when I was growing up, but it’s more than Borwa or Suna have ever experienced. Enough so for Suna that she’s uneasy. I think it’s fear of liking something too much and then having it taken away.”

“I think I know a person or two who can visit them and see if there’s anything they can do to help,” said Yozef. He knew Maera and Anarynd would be more than willing, but perhaps Gwyned was the better choice. She was from a poor family before being captured by the Narthani and had been a slave longer than Anarynd. He would speak to the women that evening and, after explaining the situation, let them decide.

CHAPTER 10

DOUBLE SURPRISE

Assessor Headquarters, City of Kustal, Narthon Empire

Sadek Hizer brooded at the desk in his newly assigned combination quarters and office. The furnishings were sparse but of high quality. It was his option to decorate and furnish further as he wished, but such things were not of particular importance to him.

When he returned to the Assessor Order’s center from the years on Caedellium, his reports and presentations had convinced the Assessor High Council’s proctors that more was happening on Caedellium than a mere military defeat. Although his case was weak, one reason the order had survived was because of its thoroughness of preparation and openness to new thinking. The council assigned him to study all existing records and reports related even peripherally to the island. It also gave him access to the restricted stacks of Kustal’s extensive library. There, confidential records ran back centuries to the founding of the order, not long after the Narthani expanded from their ancestral home in Akatir Bulak. The access came with a promotion to Assessor Three, which would have surprised most of the army’s review panel who investigated the Caedellium defeat. Many of the surviving higher-ranked officers had either been demoted or their future promotion potential placed in doubt. However, the Assessor Order valued accuracy, truth, and logic above mere political considerations.

The free rein to explore wherever evidence and his instincts led was a heady experience, as was for his name to be recognized by Assessor Twos and even a couple of the proctors, Assessor Ones.

His early dedication to finding out more about Caedellium and Yozef Kolsko faded within months, and frustration fed his concern that perhaps he had looked for something that did not exist.

Then came the reports about the Frangel man named Mark Kaldwel. Hizer had proposed that agents throughout Anyar be alert to investigate anyone with knowledge of Yozef Kolsko or Amerika. Hizer reasoned that if Amerika existed and was not an illusion Kolsko created to hide his real origin, then surely there were other people who knew of its existence, no matter how remote the location.

Unfortunately, by the time Hizer received the report about a man on Frangel who recognized the name “Amerika,” the agent involved had attempted to abduct the man. Kaldwel eluded the attempt, and the following pursuit ended with the man vanishing, even after searches and investigations that were helped by bribed Frangel authorities. However, the loss of the man was ameliorated by reports that Kaldwel’s origin story was nearly identical to Kolsko’s: a homeland called Amerika, abducted by parties unknown, kept prisoner on a long sea voyage, and cast naked on a beach.

Hizer’s suspicions that there was something extraordinary about Kolsko were confirmed with later reports that Kaldwel had made novel introductions, including some related to a textile industry in advance of anything known to Narthon. One such mysterious person could be a natural phenomenon; two such persons separated by so much of Anyar insinuated a connection. Hizer’s fading belief was rekindled and burned brighter than ever. Using wording that implied a higher level of importance, Hizer modified the alert to assessors and agents to include the common threads of the origin stories given by both Kolsko and Kaldwel.

His concerns proved prescient. On this day, the latest pile of correspondence waiting to be read added fodder to his frustration. Sighing, he picked up the first report. Three hours later, the pile of reports destined for burning was slightly larger than the pile of reports still to be read.

He looked at the clock on the wall. The main dining hall did not start serving midday meal for another ten minutes. Time for three or four reports at the rate he scanned them. The next one was from the Osmuya Bulak. He had been there before. Dreadful climate and poor land, except where irrigated. He broke the seal, discarded the protective heavy paper around the handwritten report, and read quickly. Within seconds, he sat up straighter in his chair and went back to the beginning. He read the report three times.

His clerical assistant was doubly surprised when Hizer rushed into the anteroom to his quarters. The first surprise was that the Assessor Three was smiling, a state notably lacking the last few months. The second surprise was Hizer’s demand.

“Arrange the fastest transportation as soon as possible. I’m going to the town of Esrohir in Osmuya Bulak. Don’t ask me exactly where that is. Look it up!”

Esrohir

“What’s all this fuss over a slave woman?” groused Engin Halaglu, when not one but two assessors and the town’s priest arrived at his estate to interrupt his day.

“This is Assessor Three Sadek Hizer,” said Gukman. “Assessor Karmotz tells me Assessor Hizer came all the way from Kustal to see this woman.”

“Why do I care where he came from? And you didn’t answer what this is about.”

“The reasons are not your concern why Assessor Hizer wants to talk with this woman,” said Karmotz, sweating from the heat and nervous from meeting his first Assessor Three. Hizer had seemed amiable enough, but it was important to Karmotz’s position that the visit go well. “Before that, he needs to speak with someone who knows slave Morva’s history since she’s been here.”

Halaglu spent another five minutes grousing before he summoned a middle-aged slave woman who had lived her whole life on the Halaglu estate. She served as a midwife and provided medical attention to the other slaves. Hizer questioned the woman for half an hour before he had an overseer bring the slave woman named Morva to a small room in a workshop structure. Hizer waited in one of two chairs at a crude table. An overseer pushed the woman into the room and left after being dismissed by Hizer.

Her worn dress had a length of rope for a belt. Her hands were dirty from whatever work she had been given that day. They were rough from years of labor. She matched Karmotz’s description of age and appearance, including lines and a scar on her face that together made her look older than her years.

“Sit in the chair, Morva,” Hizer ordered, motioning to the only other piece of furniture in the room.

She was leery of the man who watched her with too much intensity. Being singled out and taken from a work crew during the day was never a good thing. She could not think of anything she had done that would lead to punishment. The crew’s assignment that day was weeding a field of a melon-like fruit destined for a city she had never seen. She had hastily told her son to switch to helping another woman and not worry about her. Everything was fine, she told him. He did not believe her.

She was conscious of her appearance. Being summoned by a man had been all too unwelcome in her first years here, but at least since her looks faded, she’d had fewer of those experiences. She kept her expression neutral as she examined the seated man. His clothing was all black but of as high a quality as she had ever seen. It was similar to that of the man she had seen earlier when he’d visited the estate to assess its value for taxes—the details of which were unknown to mere slaves. She had a moment of panic that somehow this summons was related to taxes owed by Halaglu. Was she being sold to help pay those taxes? Being separated from her son was her main worry in what passed for a life. But no, that feeling passed quickly. The man was too well-attired and his manner too confident to deal with a slave of her value.

With no other choices, as was usual in her life, she sat.

“They tell me your name is Morva,” said Hizer. “Is that correct?”

“Yes . . . yes . . . uh, Master.” She had never spoken with anyone off the estate after she had learned the language. She did not know the proper address for this man. Experience had drilled her in the value of avoiding any mistake.

“I am not a master. You may call me Assessor Hizer or Assessor.”

“Yes, Assessor, whatever you say.”

Hizer reached into a bag on the floor and pulled out a shirt he laid on the table, followed by several small metal objects. A seam on one sleeve had come partially undone.

“This is a favorite shirt of mine. I want you to repair the sleeve.”

Her head tilted to one side, one eyebrow raised. “What? I don’t understand.”

“Repair my shirt.”

She shifted uneasily in her chair. “But I don’t have a needle and thread.”

“Use what’s available.”

Still frowning, she picked up the shirt, looked at Hizer, then at the only other objects in the room. She picked up one of the crude safety pins, looked again at Hizer, and began closing the shirt seam with a series of the pins.

Great Narth, thought Hizer. Without hesitating to puzzle out what they are, she knows how to use them. He now had no doubt she was from Amerika or wherever Mark Kaldwel and probably Yozef Kolsko had originated.

“Very good. Now answer my first question. Are you Morva?”

“Yes.”

“That is the name they gave you when you were found naked on a beach not far from here. But what is your real name? The one you were born with.”

“I’m Morva, Assessor.”

“Let us be clear. When I ask a question, I expect a truthful and complete answer. As bad as you think your life may be, trust me that I can make it much worse. I also warn you that I am skilled at detecting lies and when people avoid telling all the truth without lying.”

A chill passed through her. The confidence in his voice was unquestioned.

“My . . . my name was Robin,” she said, the word coming as if she were not quite sure, it had been so long since she had spoken it aloud.

“Just Robin? Was that your complete name?”

“Robin Abigale Kehlee.”

“And where are from originally, Robin?”

When she did not immediately answer, he said, “Let me help you. You’re from Amerika, aren’t you?”

She recoiled and all but physically shrank in her chair.

I haven’t said that to anyone in years, she thought. He must have questioned other slaves or staff. She had assiduously avoided giving any hints of her origin once she understood that some people suspected her of being a demon.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, uncertain what else to say.

“I’ll warn you again. Answer truthfully. You are from Amerika. Yes or no?”

She answered as she had the first times anyone had asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know where it is on Anyar, and I don’t know how I got to Narthon.”

His smile was disconcerting.

“Let me help. You were abducted, kept a prisoner aboard a craft for a long voyage, and cast naked onto a beach.”

She blanched as she scrambled in vain to remember whom she might have said this to.

“Tell me about ether, kerosene, and kotex. All three in any order. I understand you described such things when you were delirious when first discovered on a beach.”

Hizer’s false claim was to deflect the woman from wondering how he knew such words and not suspect they came from other Amerikans.

Her mouth dropped open, her vocal cords frozen. How did he know of these names? The first months and year on Anyar had so many blank spots when she was confused and despairing. What else had she said that she did not remember?

When she didn’t answer, he moved on, sensing he had her on the verge.

“You also said once that where you came from, it was possible for people to fly.”

Hizer and Robin stared at each other, consumed by different thoughts. He suspected she had referred to balloons like Kolsko used on Caedellium, while she again tried to remember whom she might have talked to about airplanes, such as the ill-fated United Flight 4382, San Francisco to Chicago.

“People flying is crazy,” Robin said desperately. “Even if I said that, I must have been lying or the person misunderstood.”

“I don’t believe you. Remember what I said about my ability to detect lies. If you continue like this, things will go badly for you. Much worse than it is now. On the other hand, if you cooperate, I can help you in many ways. For example, I understand that you are afraid your son might someday be sold to another owner, and you would never see him again.”

Hizer was lying, but it was a reasonable fear for a slave mother.

“If you cooperate, I can prevent that from ever happening. If you do not cooperate, however, I can make it happen this very day.”

He had no intention of carrying out the threat, but how was she to know that?

She put both hands to the sides of her head and rocked in the chair. Squeak, squeak, squeak went the wooden joints while he waited. Tears streamed down her face. He waited.

“You’ll think I’m insane if I tell you.”

“So what?” he said. “It makes no difference to me what your story is, no matter how outlandish it sounds. What do you have to lose?”

“All right, all right. But whether you believe me or not, I beg you not to let them take my son away. He’s all I have of my old life.”

“But what about the child you’re carrying?”

For the first time, there were hints of fire in her eyes.

“I would probably love it, but they already told me it will be sold as soon as it’s born. Just like the other child two years ago.”

This was news to Hizer. He imagined the buyer would be a family who had just lost a child and wanted a replacement.

“Then I will make you another promise. If you cooperate fully, I will see that you are allowed to keep the new child.”

Whether she believed him or not, what choice did she have? At least, there was a sliver of hope, and she visibly relaxed, as if surrendering to whatever happened next.

“All right. Ask me your questions.”

“Are you from Amerika?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen a map of Anyar?”

“No,” she said bitterly. “How would a field slave see a map?”

“But you must have some idea where Amerika is. What do you know about other nations, especially those bordering Amerika?”

Her laugh was semihysterical. “No other nation here borders Amerika!”

“Amerika is an island, then?” said Hizer, believing he was getting the first useful information about the mystery location. There was only one place it could have remained unknown.

“In the Great Ocean?” he asked.

“Hah!” she exclaimed, the sound reverberating around the room. “It’s not even on this damn planet!”

Two hours later, Hizer emerged from the small room, his mind whirling from wondering about his own sanity and the implications if the impossible were true. Prelate Gukman and Assessor Karmotz were sitting under a tree near Halaglu Manor. Both stood and waited for him to approach.

“We were starting to worry, Assessor Hizer,” said Karmotz, “but you insisted we not disturb you and the woman. Are you finished with her?”

“Finished,” Hizer said wonderingly. “No . . . I think I’ve hardly begun. I need to see Halaglu immediately. Is he in the manor?”

“I believe so,” said Karmotz. “He rode up from somewhere about an hour ago and glared at us before he went inside.”

“Come,” ordered Hizer, who walked swiftly toward the manor. A different overseer than the one who had brought Morva stopped yelling at six slaves stacking wheat sheaves and jogged to meet them.

“Are you finished with Morva?” said the overseer. “If so, I’ll get her back to work. She’s one of the best workers, never gets sick, and heals fast whenever there’s an accident. It’s hard to get slaves like that.”

“Take her to her quarters and have her stay there,” ordered Hizer. “In fact, I expect she’s thirsty and hungry, so arrange food and drink for her right away.”

“What? She missed midday meal and will have to wait till this evening for food. Anyway, that’s not my responsibility.”

Hizer moved quickly to stand inches from the overseer’s face.

“I am Assessor Three Sadek Hizer,” he hissed, “and you will do as I say, or you will spend the rest of your miserable life in the sulfur mines of Dunzali.”

If arrogance could transform instantly into fear, Gukman and Karmotz had just witnessed it. They looked at each other in wonder as the chastised overseer ran off. Then they both shrugged and hurried to catch up with Hizer.

Halaglu reclined on a back veranda cushion, sipping a drink. A slave child pulled a rope controlling an overhead pendulum panel that moved air over the estate master. He groaned when he saw them coming.

“Demons of the Underworld! Are you people still here?”

“We’re almost finished,” said Hizer. “I am purchasing from you the slave named Morva. Her and her son.”

“What!? Who said I was interested in selling them?”

“Whether you’re interested or not, I’m buying them in the name of the empire.”

Halaglu’s instinctual protest died as he eyed Hizer warily. “Well . . . I suppose I would be willing to sell if the price was right. Morva is a good worker, and she’s fertile. The child she’s carrying will bring a good price, based on what the other baby brought. Oh, and the son. He’s a good worker, and I’ve thought of selling him soon.”

Hizer turned to Karmotz.

“Assessor Karmotz, your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated. I will be sure to mention you in my report to the Assessor High Council. Since you are familiar with this region, quote for me a reasonable price for Morva and the son.”

Hizer was tired of Halaglu, and his praise for the local assessor ensured a reasonable price quote and political protection from any future ire of the estate owner.

“Well . . . let’s see,” said Karmotz with relish. “I think we can grant her work use, but it’s field work after all. Not like she was a trained house slave or had skills like leather working or weaving. She’s also possibly at the peak of her work ability, so that will slowly taper off in the coming years. As for the boy, he looks healthy, so should fetch a good price, though children of that age are still something of a risk. And the child Morva is carrying. Well, who knows if it will even survive birth or live long enough to work? I think that part can be ignored.”

“A fair price, Karmotz,” prompted Hizer. He recognized the pleasure the local assessor had in spiting Halaglu, but he wanted the transaction both finished and not to cause lingering consequences from too aggrieved feelings.

“Ah, yes. I think two hundred and sixty kurus would be more than reasonable, Assessor.”

Halaglu was disappointed. He had visions of dipping into the coffers of the empire. Yet it was a good price, possibly even a little higher than necessary. Even better was that he would be rid of the assessors and whatever reason they had for being interested in the slave woman.

“Fine,” said Halaglu. “I am always eager to help assessors in their service for the empire and our glorious emperor. I’ll have the papers drawn immediately, and you can take her and be on your way within the hour.”

“Please hurry,” said Hizer, sounding more polite now that the issue was settled. “Have someone tell her she and the boy are leaving and to gather whatever belongings they have.”

The slave quarter building was a hundred yards long and only ten feet deep. A row of doors led to small rooms, one of which was theirs. She and her son shared a narrow cot. A wooden box for a chair. A simple, four-shelf piece of furniture she had made from scraps of wood and that served as storage for all their possessions. Robin Abegale Kehlee, aka Morva, and her son Aleks were finishing their last bites of bread and cheese when an overseer slammed open their door. She had had a moment of panic when Halaglu’s overseer told her she was leaving the estate and now belonged to a man named Hizer.

“What of Aleks!” she cried out desperately and pulled Aleks to her. Her son was her only tie to Earth, and caring for him was the only reason she had not gone insane or tried to kill herself.

“The whelp goes with you,” he said offhandedly to something so insignificant. “Hurry and gather your things. You’re leaving now. Assessor Hizer is waiting for you, and I don’t have all day to stand here.”

Her panic subsided, replaced by stolid acceptance. The worst was avoided, and she had long past come to expect nothing other than a future of enduring each day as long as she lived and doing what little she could to add some light to Aleks’s life. She waffled between the tragedy of his living an entire life as a slave and being thankful he at least had no awareness of freedom. For him, it was the only life he knew.

It took only a few minutes for her to hurriedly bundle their clothes. She wore their only pair of shoes. Aleks, wide-eyed and frightened at what he didn’t understand, watched after his mother handed him his two prized possessions. One was a small glass bottle he had pulled from a rubbish pile behind the manor. A crack ran down one side, but the bottle had remained otherwise intact the two years since Aleks had found it. He’d discovered he could see rainbows if he held it at just the right angle from the sun. She never explained to him about the glass refracting the sun’s rays according to their colors. That was about all she knew about the effect. She avoided telling him about Earth and a previous life he could never experience or understand. The only exception was his second possession, a ragged cloth facsimile of a fantasy animal she called a teddy bear.

She took one last look, not for anything left behind—they had too little for her to have missed anything—but with a wish to expunge from her memory the years she’d been a slave of Halaglu. With a deep sigh and hope that whatever came next would be better, she took Aleks’s hand and walked out, leaving the door open and never looking back.

“Narth’s ass!” exclaimed the overseer from the shade of a tree twenty yards away from the open door. “It can’t have taken that long.”

He stalked off, waving for them to follow and then grumbling at their slow pace. Robin walked as swiftly as she could, holding Aleks’s hand as he ran to keep up.

When they got to the front of the manor, three men stood by a carriage. She recognized the Narth priest. He occasionally preached the attributes of Narth to the gathered slaves, focusing on the natural order of their slavery and duty to their owner. It was one of too many such times she had trained her mind to be somewhere else.

The third man was Assessor Hizer. She did not know what the title meant, but the expressions and body language of the other two men placed Hizer at a stratum above them. Perhaps even higher than Halaglu, whom she had seen interacting with the priest.

“Ah, here we are,” said Hizer.

Karmotz and Gukman nodded, then glanced at each other when Hizer turned to Robin.

“You may forget the name Morva. You are Robin Kehlee. As I told you before, you may refer to me as Assessor or Assessor Hizer. You and your son now belong to the Assessor Order. Please get in the carriage.”

She was startled. Not by finding out she belonged to an organization, rather than to the man, but by his order to get in the carriage she obviously would share with him. She had a moment of incredulity. It was out of the question that she would do anything except remain invisible in the presence of her master. Hizer’s upright bearing, his plain but well-made clothing, and his manner were incongruent with her tattered clothing and body odor from the day's work. She had not yet been allowed to bathe this sixday.

When she hesitated, Hizer showed his first emotion toward her by waving impatiently toward the open door. She tugged on her son’s hand, and they climbed in. Naturally, Hizer did not offer to help.

Robin held her son on her lap as the carriage started off. The boy didn’t understand what was happening and hid his face in his mother’s neck.

“What is his name?” asked Hizer.

She had been staring out the window but startled at the unexpected question.

“Aleks,” she said and, without thinking, muttered, “He’s named after his father.”

“Is the father back at the Halaglu estate?”

“No. He’s in Amerika.”

The question brought up memories she had worked hard to suppress. Earth. Home. Aaron, her husband. The rest of her family. He friends. The thousands of details that had been her life. She clutched Aleks tighter. He was a miracle. She and Aaron had given up trying to have children. Too many miscarriages and heartaches. They had talked about adopting, but somehow the years passed without making a decision.

Then . . . waking up in the sparse, white room. Finally accepting where she was and what her future options were. Only to be shocked, when she thought she was beyond revelations, when the disembodied voice casually mentioned she was pregnant.

“It was a minor defect corrected as you were repaired,” were the words dropped on her. “Otherwise, the development would have been faulty.”

She never got an explanation of what was the fault and how it had been corrected, but the result was Aleks. The joy at holding on to a piece of Aaron and Earth was later tempered with the realization he would be born a slave.

Hizer thought he detected a sheen of moisture in her eyes. It was another piece of information that might be useful.

She wore the same clothing as before. The boy was barefoot. Both were soiled from earlier work, though Hizer thought she had taken time to wipe both their faces and hands. She clutched a coarse sack in her lap. It held the few possessions she considered theirs. The carriage was crowded with the four adults plus child. Both Gukman and Karmotz were averse to sharing the carriage with slaves, but Hizer appeared unconcerned, so they kept their peace. It was only a half-hour ride to Esrohir, where the carriage would leave them.

She sat, shocked, as her mind processed the last few hours. The man had listened intently, had asked many questions, had made her repeat the answers many times, and, most important, had not denounced her as lying. She felt the tingling of something that had been lacking in her life for too many years. Hope. The tingling was faint, but it was there. Whatever lay in the future at least had the possibility of being better than her being owned by Halaglu.

When they reached the town, the parting with Gukman and Karmotz was brief. Hizer’s mind continued to churn. The two men were no longer important.

“Thank you for your assistance. It will be appreciated by the Assessor Order if you now forget about this episode.”

He was eager to lose both of them. Then, there was one more task before moving on. Hizer had lived under many disagreeable and harsh conditions before and after becoming an assessor. He was not particularly sensitive, but he would just as soon avoid traveling with the odor emanating from the two remaining passengers.

They stopped at a clothing establishment in Esrohir. The owner was aghast at the proposal to clothe a slave and was initially outraged when Hizer ordered him to arrange baths. However, few citizens argued with high-ranking assessors.

The woman ordered by the owner to assist eyed Robin disdainfully, but she dutifully obeyed Hizer’s demands and selected three sets of clothing for both Robin and Aleks. Next, the woman led them to a room in the back of the shop to a tub filled with water.

“Here. You heard your master. Clean yourselves up and get dressed. Get those filthy rags off so I can burn them like he said. There’s soap and cloths to dry with.”

Robin had lost any modesty years ago, and Aleks didn’t know the difference. She stripped them both, and they sank into the tub. The shop woman picked up the pile of clothing as if she were worried something was crawling inside and left the room.

The water was lukewarm and the soap bar rough. The bath was the most luxurious she had had in years. She had cleaned Aleks and started on herself before she broke down, reminded of what had been and what she had endured. Aleks had never seen her cry. Startled, he feared something was wrong but did not know what it was.

“It’s all right, baby,” she said, trying to stifle her sobs. “Momma’s all right. She’s just sad and happy at the same time.” He splashed to her and clasped his arms around her neck, not understanding but seeking reassurance.

When the slave pair emerged, the transformation pleased Hizer and shocked Robin when she passed a mirror. She looked closer to her true years, and these were the first new clothes she had worn since arriving on Anyar. Aleks tugged at his clothes, adjusting to the new feel and rocking back and forth in his shoes. It occurred to Hizer they might be the first ones the boy had ever worn.

Hizer nodded. It was a major step to obtaining her full cooperation. There would be many hours and days of travel to reach Kustal. He expected to hear her entire life story by that time, further double-checking aspects of the tale and learning more about Earth. Her and Aleks’s appearance would also make travel less noticeable. People were less likely to notice a family group traveling than an assessor and two slaves.

In days to come, she would often ponder what Hizer was to her. He was not a friend, but neither was he a master. At least, not a master like Halaglu. He had not touched her the way men did casually to a slave. Nor had any other man. In the first hours since leaving Halaglu’s estate, and after her bath and the new clothes, he had told her that in her new status, she need never lie with a man unless it was her choice. He was invariably calm with her, though she never forgot she was tied to him and feared her status could change if he wished it. Whatever he was, her life was so infinitely better than before that she sometimes wanted to cry again, reflecting on how far her expectations had fallen.

“It will take sixdays to reach Kustal,” said Hizer when they were a few miles from Esrohir. “At first, the carriage ride will be bumpy and slow. Once we leave the local roads by the end of tomorrow, it will be easier and faster on the imperial road system. It will be like that all the way to Kustal. I want to get there as fast as possible, but we will stay and eat at inns each night. For midday meal, we will eat what we buy at the previous night’s inn or at markets where you and Aleks can help choose what to buy. During the day, do not hesitate when you or your child need to stop to relieve yourselves. I know a woman carrying a child has the urge more often than usual.”

She had a question, but it was three days before she gathered enough courage to ask.

“Will Aleks stay with me when we reach Kustal?”

His smile conveyed approval. Why she did not know.

“He’s your child. Of course, he will stay with you, except when you are being questioned about your curious story of where you came from. Your living conditions will be agreeable, and you will have work duties. I’m sure your cooperation will give no reason for the situation to change. It will be the same for the new child when it is born.”

She did not ask how exactly the living conditions or keeping the children might depend on her cooperation. Whatever the answer, she responded completely to the questioning that began the next day. For a typical day, he asked questions for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon. She was eager to answer to be sure he believed she was fully cooperating. It also helped pass the time and gave her a chance to recall Earth, something she had trained herself to otherwise avoid.

CHAPTER 11

AKUYUN’S STAR

Tormkee, Korinshir Bulak, Narthon

General Okan Akuyun reached the 22nd Corps’ headquarters outside the town of Tormkee half an hour before the morning sun peeked above the horizon. He had come by carriage from the Military Zone 4 army’s headquarters near the city of Dinzlon. The army’s commander, Senior Marshal Turkok, was in the capital, Usmaya, for meetings. In addition to being army commander, he was direct commander of the 22nd Corps. While Turkok was away, Akuyun was acting commander of the 22nd. He had met in Dinzlon with the army’s second-in-command, Marshal Norzip, who was also commander of the 19th Corps positioned south of the 22nd Corps along the north/south–running border between Narthon and the Harrasedic Confederation. The 41st Corps was north of the 22nd and commanded by Marshal Barkin. The border reached from the Gulf of Selucian in the south to a protrusion of the Hilmarnin Sea in the north and had not moved more than twenty miles in either direction for over a generation.

Akuyun had briefed Norzip on suspicious movements in the 22nd’s sector. Norzip, as army commander during Turkok’s absence, took note of Akuyun’s report and ordered heightened awareness all along the border. Akuyun would have liked to have sent probes in force across the border, but he agreed with Norzip’s reluctance. The three corps were too thinly positioned in the army’s current depleted condition to risk stirring up the Harrasedics. One purpose of Turkok’s trip to the Narthon capital was to attend meetings on the need to strengthen the army.

Akuyun sighed as he sat at his desk. A dust storm had left a fine layer on every surface of the corps’ headquarters, no matter how tightly closed every window and door were. He eyed the pile of paperwork waiting for him, picked up the top folder, blew off the dust, and began what promised to be a tedious day. Not helping was a headache because he’d gotten too little sleep during the trip from Dinzlon.

The office door burst open, and his long-time aide and bodyguard Major Perem Saljurk barked from the doorway, pulling along a disheveled cavalryman.

“A rider from Brigadier Zulfa, sir! A major Harrasedic force is advancing on his positions!”

Akuyun’s heartrate jumped. He looked at the rider.

“Out with it, Sergeant. What exactly does Brigadier Zulfa say? Is there a written report?”

“Sir. The brigadier says reports will come as fast as he has more information. Right now, I’m to tell you he has confirmed Harrasedics pushing back the forward posts, and he is deploying the entire division in the primary defensive positions. He sent me on to get you word as fast as possible that something is happening. Something big. He’ll be sending semaphore reports as soon as it’s light enough and most of the dust from last night’s wind is cleared. Also, written reports by rider will follow.”

“Nothing yet on numbers, composition, main targets?”

“Only that the brigadier is getting reports from all along the division’s position.”

Akuyun rose and moved to a wall map of the 22nd Corps’ position. He perused the details for a minute, several times glancing at the corps’ division structure tacked next to the map.

22nd Corps, Grand Marshal Korn Turkok, Commanding

General Okan Akuyun (Chief of Staff, 2nd-in-Command)

1st Division – Brigadier Yossir Tezcon

2nd Division – Colonel Jomzik Jurna

3rd Division – Brigadier Kamil Avan

4th Division – Brigadier Huran Istranik

5th Division – Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa

He spoke to the air. “Zulfa is on our right flank. Any news from the other divisions?”

“Nothing yet,” came the answer.

He looked at the rider. “Did Zulfa send alerts to the adjacent division—the Fourth?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Akuyun turned to Saljurk. “I want the corps’ staff here immediately. Also send alerts to the other four divisions by both rider and semaphore when it’s operational.”

Akuyun assumed Zulfa had sent alerts, but only an incompetent left anything to chance or human error. Now came the most hated part of higher command—waiting and not knowing what was happening.

By the time the full staff had gathered, riders from the 3rd and 4th Divisions had arrived with similar reports as those from Zulfa.

“It’s almost certainly a general attack across our entire front,” said the corps’ operational officer, Colonel Dorak.

“I agree,” said Akuyun. “We should be hearing soon from the other two divisions. The bigger question is whether the 22nd Corps is the only target or if the Harrasedics are attacking across the entire border.”

“We should prepare Tormkee for evacuation,” said Dorak. “There’re thirty-two thousand people in the area.”

Akuyun clasped his hands behind his head as he stared at the map. Seconds passed.

“I’m afraid not. Where are they going to go? And if the Harrasedics break through, miles of refugees might become defenseless in the open. We could find ourselves retreating and leaving those people undefended. No. Tormkee sits in a fairly defensible position within these hills.”

He turned to the mayor of Tormkee, who had been summoned. “We won’t leave you undefended. Get your people digging fortification positions and mobilize the local militia. No need for most citizens to do anything yet but be prepared to consolidate into the center of town and the strongest buildings.”

Aivacs Zulfa, Commanding 5th Division

“Our regiment on the right is heavily engaged and reports large enemy forces moving toward the gap between our corps and the Nineteenth Corps south of us,” said Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa to his staff. “I believe the frontal attack on our center is just to hold our attention while they flank us. General Akuyun has worried about something like this happening. With only three corps covering the entire border with the Harrasedics, there’s no way to lengthen the lines between corps to close gaps and still be able to repulse major attacks. As the response to this contingency, each corps is to consolidate its units, withdraw from the border, and change positions as necessary so the enemy cannot launch a flank attack—that is, ‘refuse both flanks.’ For us, that means staying in contact with the Fourth Division on our left and keeping our right flank facing the enemy.”

“Give up Narthani ground!” exclaimed a newly assigned and outraged battalion commander.

“Yes, give ground,” snarled Zulfa, “until reinforcements arrive and we can counterattack.”

Evening, Day 1

Reports had been arriving as soon as it was light enough for the semaphores. Akuyun had already decided to give orders for the redeployment, but he had no illusions his ideas were always the best. Getting input from competent subordinates who had different strengths was only rational. Plus, it supported those subordinates’ feeling their views were valued by their commander.

“Before dark, it was confirmed by semaphore that the 19th and 41st are also engaged,” Akuyun told brigadiers Avan, Istranik, and Zulfa. The three division commanders had ridden hard to reach him after the sun set and the Harrasedics paused for darkness. The other two divisions were too far away for their commanders to get to a meeting. Given the distances from corps’ headquarters near Tormkee, Akuyun and part of the corps’ general staff had also ridden hard to an agreed-upon site.

“The Harrasedics have attacked along the entire border,” said Akuyun. “It’s the biggest attack they have launched in decades. Units of at least four of the Harrasedic states are involved and possibly more. They obviously knew our dispositions since there are four major thrusts on our army’s flanks and between the two gaps separating our three corps. They have smaller forces launching frontal assaults to try to fix us in place while the larger forces break through and try to get behind us.”

“What news of the other two corps?” asked Istranik.

“The last reports say they are withdrawing like we are,” said Akuyun.

“Are those orders from Marshal Norzip?” asked Avan.

“Only to follow the withdrawal plan for this contingency.”

“So. Do you think marshals Norzip and Barkin ever believed it would be necessary?” asked Zulfa.

“I try not to attempt reading the minds of marshals,” said Akuyun, “but all three corps are following the plan.”

“Why did the Harrasedics surprise us?” snapped Istranik, glowering at Assessor Tirvak. “I thought we had enough spies and contacts within the different Harrasedics to prevent this.”

The short, stocky assessor evidenced no umbrage at the implied accusation. “It is my understanding that our reports were not deemed confirmed enough to disseminate to line units. As you know, the policy was changed a year ago so that all reports are routed to the new Imperial Intelligence Service for assessment.”

“Narth-damned court interference is going to be the death of all of us,” Istranik said bitterly. “Anyone with a brain could have predicted this would happen once the court started mucking with information flow and especially when an idiotic cousin of the emperor was put in charge.”

“Rumors are the court is concerned about having more direct access to intelligence than through intermediaries,” Avan said softly, not voicing suspicions the court had lost trust in the Assessor Order.

Most eyes flickered to the assessor, who remained placid without commenting.

“All that is irrelevant—for the moment,” said Akuyun, his words implying the topic might be revisited at a more propitious time. “Our concern is the immediate future. We have major forces moving on our flanks. All three corps are withdrawing, but if the Harrasedics push on and before reinforcements can get here, we will have the difficult problem of protecting Tormkee. We have to hope the Harrasedics are too focused elsewhere to bother razing the town.”

“Which might leave us exposed if the other two corps withdraw farther than we can,” said Zulfa. “But is that likely to happen? When could help get here?”

“Colonel Dorak has been following that issue,” said Akuyun.

The operations officer’s dour expression foretold the answer.

“I doubt we can expect any significant help for several sixdays. Maybe longer. The first to arrive would have to come from Military Zone Five facing the Fuomi, which is considered a greater threat than the Harrasedics. Grand Marshal Forsek has to worry that his sending help would tempt the Fuomi to attack his weakened positions. He may also feel he has to get higher permission for that decision.”

“So . . . we’re fucked,” stated Istranik. The dour Division 4 commander had been part of Gullar’s corps on Caedellium. Akuyun had been impressed by his willingness to make correct decisions under pressure. After returning to Narthon, Akuyun had looked into Istranik’s record and brought him east, along with Kamil Avan, another of Gullar’s generals. Both men had had their career advancement prospects clouded by the embarrassing Caedellium defeat. Akuyun also appreciated Istranik’s bluntness, though he had already given the man warnings about when being forthright was not always advisable.

“I prefer to consider that we are facing significant challenges,” said Akuyun.

Chuckles and grunts served to lighten the mood . . . slightly and temporarily . . . as intended.

“However, let’s not get too pessimistic yet. It will be several days before the situation clarifies. Our immediate concern is refusing to be eventually flanked.” Akuyun pointed to the map. “Unless I hear contrary reports, it seems the frontal attack on our corps is not a serious threat if we were to weaken our center. It will fall mainly to the First and Fifth Divisions to prepare to refuse the flanking. What if we lengthen the Third Division’s line and begin shifting the Second and Fourth Divisions to support the flanks?”

“So, it’s decided the three corps will not support one another?” asked Zulfa.

Akuyun shook his head. “We all knew the idea of extending each corps’ positions to make contact with the adjacent corps was only feasible for limited attacks at corps junctions. Higher Command never believed the Harrasedics would launch a campaign of this magnitude in the near future. That’s part of the rationale for why so many units of this army were transferred to face the Fuomi and to the western campaigns.”

Day 6

“It’s decision time,” Akuyun announced to the five division commanders at their first full meeting since the invasion began. “Our corps has withdrawn about ninety miles, but the other two corps have pulled back even more. This means the gaps between us and the adjacent corps have grown so wide that the screening cavalry trying to slow the Harrasedics’ main thrusts will be ignored by them, and the Harrasedics will threaten to encircle the Twenty-Second.

“Istranik, what’s the latest on Tormkee?”

The 4th Division’s commander drummed a finger on the table the men sat around. His division had been tasked with supporting the 5th Division’s refusal to be flanked and sending a battalion to help prepare the town’s population to repel an attack if the corps withdrew farther.

“Before coming here, I ordered the evacuation of women and children stopped. The Harrasedic cavalry is starting to appear behind us. There’s not enough of them to threaten our main formations, but too many for us to protect refugee columns streaming west. The last group left this morning. There may be seventeen thousand remaining in Tormkee, including most of the men. They’re being concentrated in the most defendable part of the city. The battalion will stay with them, but Tormkee is otherwise on its own.”

Tezcon, commander of the 4th Division, raised an eyebrow at Akuyun. “At least, that’s true unless the corps lets itself be surrounded, and we use the city as a base to defend until help arrives.” Tezcon was the only original division commander not replaced by Akuyun after Turkok gave him day-to-day authority with the 22nd Corps.

“It’s the best we can do,” said Akuyun, “so from now on, Tormkee will not be part of our decision making. As for being surrounded, that’s not going to happen.”

Akuyun was silent for a moment as he looked at each of his division commanders.

“Gentlemen, no one would be fooled by thinking our position is not precarious. However, I believe the Harrasedics have presented us with an opportunity.”

Akuyun laid a map on the table and used a finger to point. Ten minutes later, questions began.

“Has Marshal Norzip approved this?” questioned Istranik. “He’s formally the army commander while Turkok is away.”

“Unfortunately, we have been out of contact with Norzip for two days after the semaphore lines were cut. He has problems of his own. Last we heard, the Nineteenth Corps is intact and withdrawing west.”

He pointed again to the map.

“They’ve launched four major assaults—at the two gaps between our three corps and north and south of our army’s deployment. Obviously, they intend to isolate each of the three corps, get in our rear, and force each corps to either withdraw or get encircled and destroyed. We’ve confirmed that units from five of the Harrasedic states and the free city of Vilgar are involved. Starting in the south, a Raplinin force, with Vilgar involvement, is trying to push south of the Nineteenth Corps and potentially threaten Dinzlon. That’s a city of 250,00, so the Nineteenth will be forced to withdraw to defend the city. In the far north, a combined Voljunda/Kuresin force is trying to flank north of the Forty-First Corps by pushing between them and the Orlak River inland delta. Then there’s us in the middle. We have Voljunda pushing between us and the Forty-First and a combined Polva/Astonin force moving between us and the Nineteenth Corps.

“Norzip’s last contact with us confirmed his plan to withdraw as slowly as possible toward Dinzlon and hold out until a counterattack from Military Zone Five south of us develops in the next sixday or more. At least, that’s what he’s been told is supposed to happen. As for us, Norzip advises us and the Forty-First to similarly stay intact until pressure is eased. I should receive word by tomorrow if the other two corps do as I requested. However, we will act on our own if necessary.

“Gentlemen, we’re about to get a vigorous test of the changes in tactics we’ve been implementing. I have every confidence that the Harrasedics can be driven back. Get to your units and prepare.”

Akuyun nodded to his division commanders, and they dispersed back to their units.

The balloons are going to be a shock to the Harrasedics, though Akuyun, just like they were a surprise to us on Caedellium. We’ll also see how our dragoon units perform.

He had given Marshal Turkok in-depth briefings on the Caedellium experience when he took the post. Turkok had not hesitated to allow Akuyun wide latitude in reorganizing the 22nd Corps as a testing ground for the other corps under his command. Turkok was one of the first army commanders to switch all pike units to muskets and was not reluctant, under the proper circumstances and company, to show disdain for the High Command’s slowness in considering new ideas. He and Akuyun got along famously from their first meeting.

Converting some of the infantry to dragoons gave the 22nd Corps more mobility without an appreciable reduction in infantry capability. A month previous, two innovations finished implementation: equipping sniper units with rifles that fired a standard ammunition copying that of the Caedelli, and changing from the blue-and-maroon Narthon uniform colors to uniforms approximating expected battlefield conditions in this part of Narthon—a light brown for drylands and a drab green for where vegetation thrived.

As important in his opinion, if not more so, was convincing the officers and the common soldiers that the changes made the 22nd an elite unit of the Narthon army. Whether the campaign to improve morale was successful now faced a critical test.

When the others left, Akuyun went back to leaning over the map, though his mind was elsewhere, on a topic that never seemed far away.

I wonder what Kolsko would have done had he been in charge of this invasion?

He had read a copy of the short treatise of war supposedly written by Yozef Kolsko. It had been found on a captured Caedelli officer. The contents had remained unknown until Hizer arranged for such papers to be translated. If Akuyun’s assessment of the Harrasedic invasion plan was accurate, they were violating several portions of the Caedelli On War.

“Well . . . I guess we’re fortunate Kolsko is not in charge here,” he whispered.

Day 7, 19th Corps Headquarters

“It’s a risky proposal,” said Marshal Norzip’s adjutant. “Akuyun could lose the entire Twenty-Second Corps and leave Tormkee open to the Harrasedics.”

“Yes,” said Norzip, “but I would also add audacious. I understand Akuyun’s reasoning, but I’m not sure I would do what he proposes. I certainly agree with him that the Harrasedics made a tactical mistake by attacking all along the border. In their place and with the resources they’ve committed, I would have launched everything at the juncture of the 19th and 22nd Corps, broken through, and then turned north to roll up the 22nd and 41st Corps before our reinforcements could arrive. What they’ve done is lay themselves open to being defeated in detail, even though for the moment they outnumber us.”

The adjutant shook his head. “Akuyun is assuming he understands Harrasedic internal politics.”

“Yes, but I think he’s right about why they’re doing this. One reason we’ve held this border with relatively few forces is that the Harrasedics are not well organized, and only two of them have borders with Narthon. Because those states farther distant from Narthon have never committed totally against us, along with their distrust of one another, it’s kept them from becoming a major threat. From all the reports, there are at least six Harrasedic states involved in this attack, and they probably could not agree on a unified command.

“Again, I agree with Akuyun’s reasoning that breaking up even one of their major thrusts will likely collapse their entire offensive.” Norzip smiled grimly. “Probably.”

“You could order him not to proceed. After all, you are the army commander while Turkok is away.”

Norzip shook his head. “That was fine as long as the Harrasedic attack hadn’t occurred. As it is, everything is happening too fast. Even the limited communication we’ve had between corps is bound to be lost as the Harrasedics advance. That leaves us with following established plans for such a contingency. What Akuyun proposes is a violation of those plans—an action not normally looked upon favorably by the High Command. It’s been one of Narthon’s weaknesses that senior commanders have been slow or unwilling to take independent action without receiving higher orders.”

“Well, Akuyun is certainly addressing that issue,” said the adjutant, grimacing. “He’s not even the Twenty-Second’s commander and is just a general.”

Norzip shrugged. “We know why Grand Marshal Turkok kept direct command of the Twenty-Second, instead of bringing in a marshal. He wanted to test Akuyun’s ideas about revising the army’s organization and standard tactics. Akuyun is Turkok’s chief of staff. That gave him no option but to leave Akuyun in command of the 19th Corps during Turkok’s absence. No one anticipated the current situation.”

“So, what are you going to do about Akuyun’s request and suggestions?”

“He’s right that the Nineteenth has to protect Dinzlon if the Harrasedics continue advancing. He’s also right that giving him half our cavalry and all the cavalry light artillery is not going to appreciably weaken us.”

Norzip leaned over a map. “If Barkin also sends half his cavalry to Akuyun, the Twenty-Second has a chance to succeed.” The grand marshal used a quill to draw arrows on the map. “He intends to launch an all-out attack on the limited Harrasedic force at his front, then wheel his infantry south and attack the main Polva/Astonin advance between him and us. At the same time, the combined cavalry he has will attack the rear and supply lines of the Harrasedics being counterattacked by his infantry. The risk is that by turning away from the force to his north, he exposes the 22nd to being trapped between two forces if his attack south is not successful.”

Norzip stared intently at the map for almost a minute, as he focused on positions, lines he had drawn, and his own thoughts.

“Risky? Yes. But definitely audacious and memorable . . . if he succeeds. So . . . what am I going to do? We’ll send him half our cavalry and their artillery. We’ll also continue withdrawing toward Dinzlon and make plans to counterattack the Polva/Astonin Harrasedics to our left flank. That way, if Akuyun succeeds, we can crush that Harrasedic force between us and give ourselves the opportunity to focus on trapping the Raplinin/Vilgar force against the sea and the Galavar River Delta.”

Day 15, Raplinin Command Position, Southernmost Salient of Harrasedic Advance

It was not appropriate for the commander of the entire Raplinin army to appear both infuriated and frightened at the same time. Eras Korpla had not risen to the rank of kundrin without being aware of appearances. Nevertheless, his not speaking for almost two minutes delivered a clear message to his staff.

Finally, it fell to Vice-Kundrin Lumi to convey a response to the potentially catastrophic news.

“If the Polva/Astoninin army is routed, we have to consider our own position, sir. There are already reports suggesting the Narthani corps that had been withdrawing from us is preparing to counterattack. It’s also apparent that some of the Narthani units that defeated the Polva/Astonin attack are threatening to get behind us and cut off any retreat. We could be in serious danger.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Kundrin Korpla said bitingly. “What all this means is that our position is hanging on a limb the Narthani could cut behind us.” His pride at advancing more than 150 miles into Narthon now lay shattered. He had a sour taste in his mouth and felt hints of panic in the back of his mind.

“We have no choice but to pull back. I doubt the Narthani would be so ambitious as to push so far into Raplinin to take the bridges over the Galavar River, but neither did I think the Polva/Astoninin army could be crushed so quickly.”

“Surely, we could find defensible positions to hold onto some of the Narthani territory we’ve conquered,” complained a division commander.

Korpla cast a disparaging eye at the officer, whose evaluation had just plummeted. “And find ourselves trapped if the Narthon forces north of us cut off our retreat? The entire plan was to solidify a new border before Narthani reinforcements could arrive. Now? Hold onto territory despite the new situation? I think not. We’ll have to be content to return to the original border. At least, we’ll have given the Narthani a scare they won’t forget.”

The last words were a feeble attempt to put a positive spin on the bitter reversal. He turned to Vice-Kundrin Lumi. “Start drawing up the orders. All units to disengage at our front. Withdrawal is to be as fast as possible, but leave a few units in contact so the Narthani don’t realize what’s happening for as long as possible. We don’t want them to counterattack while we are retreating and before we get back to Raplinin territory.”

Day 21, Narthani Eastern Army Temporary Command Center, Southeast of Tormkee

Senior Marshal Korn Turkok leaned over the map, murmured to himself while he considered options, then sighed and looked up to Akuyun and marshals Norzip and Barkin. “I must say, gentlemen, that the situation is far better than I’d feared when I heard the first reports. I almost killed a couple of horses, and my ass will take sixdays to recover.”

The Eastern Army commander had been returning from Usmaya, the Narthon capital, when dispatches reached him. When he rode to the forward position of the 19th Corps fifty miles into Raplinin territory, he stopped briefly, then continued on to the 22nd Corps, accompanied by Norzip, the 19th Corps’ commander. Marshal Barkin of the 41st Corps came south to meet them.

“I agree with Marshal Norzip that the Raplininers are too well positioned for us to attempt another major attack. Even when reinforcements arrive from Military Zone Five, they won’t be enough to convince me otherwise. Plus, I’m sure Grand Marshal Forsek will pull his units back to Zone Five as soon as he learns the Harrasedic threat is gone for now.

“Similarly, I confirm General Akuyun’s decision that trying to encircle the Raplininers would have been too ambitious, especially with Voljunda forces still in Narthon territory.”

“What’s the latest situation, Barkin?” asked Norzip.

“Now that I’ve gotten back the cavalry I sent to Akuyun, my counterattack on the Voljundans between us and the 22nd‘s original zone is slowly pushing them back,” said Barkin, “according to a dispatch I received this morning. They are evidently loath to give up Narthon territory they believe is now theirs, but we’re inflicting heavy casualties, and I expect the Voljundans to accept the inevitable within the next day or two.

“The Voljundan/Kuresin forces on our left flank between us and the Orlak River Delta never advanced as far as the other attacks. We suspect there was more marshland than they planned for, which slowed them down and gave us time to react.”

“Let’s speed the Voljundans along,” said Turkok. “Akuyun, I think the center of the front is secure enough for you to send two divisions north to threaten the Voljundans. The other three divisions of the 22nd can stretch their positions to cover the corps’ sector of the new border.”

Both Akuyun and Norzip noted Turkok’s implying that Akuyun was the 22nd’s commander even though, on paper, Turkok had kept formal command of the corps— delegating day-to-day details to Akuyun.

Turkok smiled at his three subordinates. “I don’t know if you’re blessed by Narth or are as skillful as I think you are, Akuyun, but if we can keep pressure on the Voljundans, the entire original border will have been pushed a good fifty miles or more east after being static for so many years. I won’t be surprised if the Higher Command accepts that the Eastern Army in Military Zone Four needs strengthening, and you, Akuyun, are likely to find yourself a marshal in formal command of the 22nd.

“Well deserved,” said Norzip, “but are they actually going to accept this zone needs more attention? We should never have been in a situation where we were taken so much by surprise and did not have the forces to stop the Harrasedics at the border. I won’t even mention the need to have enough corps to threaten the Harrasedics, instead of just maintaining a status quo.”

Turkok chuckled. “As it happens, that topic was discussed at the meeting in Usmaya. It was generally agreed that Zone Four should have two more corps, but that needs elsewhere would have a higher priority unless the situation changed here in the east. I think the events of the last sixdays may well qualify as such a change.

“However, our immediate concerns are to finish pushing back the Harrasedics and then plan on how to secure the new border. We were lucky. I agree the Harrasedics made the mistake of not ordering one massive thrust into Narthon. They could have destroyed at least one corps and forced the others to retreat deep into Narthon before reinforcements could arrive. Instead, their mutual distrust caused them to divide their attack into sectors with their forces all or mainly from one of their realms.”

Turkok looked at one marshal and then the other. “I’ll want to get more extensive reports, but I think the evaluation of the changes implemented by General Akuyun will be graded as successful. In that case, I’ll be writing reports to the High Command with strong recommendations for widespread implementation. Any comments about the Twenty-Second’s innovations?”

“I agree,” said Norzip. “I was going to ask your permission when you returned to do the same with my corps.”

“I’m not quite that convinced,” said Barkin, “but I’ll also want to see the full reports. I suspect I’ll change my mind after that.” Barkin scratched his throat under his chin. “Before we get back to the Harrasedics, Marshal, there are rumors floating around about what’s happening in the west. Anything you can tell us about what you heard in Usmaya?”

“If you think there are rumors here, it’s many times worse in the capital, especially among the common people. Even officers of my rank have trouble getting a complete and accurate picture of what’s happening. Despite efforts to keep news close within the court and High Command, they can’t suppress everything. Things are not going well in the west. Details are scarce, but I suspect some veteran eastern units will be transferred west. If that’s the eventual plan, a sure sign will be if we start getting new divisions and even corps to train. Only then could some of our veteran units be sent west.”

CHAPTER 12

STRESS

Orosz City

Wheels were in motion, but the wheels were large, heavy, and grinding on Yozef Kolsko’s shoulders. Ambassadors required more meetings after consulting with staff and ruminating over their people’s situation and the implications of Yozef’s proposals. Meetings with Mark over weapons, immigrants, and other projects. Meetings with Kivalian and other selected commanders of the Caedelli regiment. Hours spent staring at the maps in Pits 3 and 4. More hours with smaller maps and reports at the headquarters and his manor office.

Yozef’s hours of sleep at night shortened, supplemented with brief in-place naps wherever and whenever his body rebelled. Eating became a necessary chore interrupting what was more important. The outer room to his headquarters office once housed a small, bustling community of staff proud to serve the Paramount and the union. Now it had quieted, with people’s voices lowered and their eyes darting around for the next signs the Paramount would criticize someone’s performance. Reports were not found or filed quickly enough, and research was demanded, instead of requested as before. Unease permeated the staff after a second person was dismissed for a perceived lack of performing to standards not previously made explicit.

It was not that Yozef was unaware of his behavior. Rather, he felt justified, given the stakes and an outcome that apparently depended totally on his solving every problem and accounting for every scenario.

Three months after the Seaborn attack, Maera was cleared by medicants for normal activities. Thala Seaborn had arrived in Orosz City and was temporarily staying at Kolsko Manor, making the manor even noisier and harder for Yozef to work there in peace. His stress was not helped when he learned the office manager, Kloona Swarton, had not come to work for the second day in a row.

“Damn it, where is she!?” Yozef yelled over the heads of cowed staff members at their work stations. He stood next to the desk where the staff leader usually sat. “Doesn’t anybody know? No wonder I can’t get anything done fast enough! Someone! Go find Awlina and tell her to get in here!”

He stomped back into his office and slammed the door, not noticing a woman racing to find Awlina Wuthrin, his chief of staff, in her office across the hall. He had hardly sat at his desk when the office door opened and a woman in her forties entered, light brown hair streaked with gray and light blue eyes nearly the shade of Yozef’s. She closed the door behind her—sharply. Her lips were pursed and brow wrinkled.

“It does no one any good when you yell at people for reasons they can’t control,” she bit out.

“I can’t do what needs to be done if no one is helping. Kloona is supposed to be here. And why isn’t she? What good is she?”

“She’s about as good a person for that job as anyone else, and you’re about to lose her because of your abominable behavior. She’s considering quitting, so I told her to stay home until tomorrow.”

“YOU told her,” he said, incredulously, then hesitated while he formulated an appropriate diatribe.

“Careful, Yozef,” she said, her expression and voice flashing warning signals. “Kloona is not the only person who’s becoming tired of how you’ve changed since Seaborn. You’re the Paramount and have a world of responsibility I don’t envy. But the Yozef Kolsko I first came to work for got more out of everyone than the current version and did it with loyalty and respect that’s difficult to replace. I’ll do Kloona’s job for the rest of today, and hopefully you’ll let her do it as well as before when she returns.”

Awlina spun and left the office, closing the door quietly. Yozef sat semi-stunned  that anyone working for him would speak that way. Then, as minutes passed, he was able to grasp that his workdays could be far worse without help from people such as Kloona and Awlina. His period of reflection lasted until mid-afternoon during his visit to the group working on fuses, when he learned they’d made no progress.

His mood persisted in the following days, only slightly helped by the St. Wyan’s chief medicant determining that Maera had recovered enough from the wound suffered on Seaborn to resume all activity.

“The limp will probably linger, Paramount. I warned her of that before I left so she could dress. I thought you would like to hear the evaluation directly from me. Whether the limp eventually fades can’t be known, but you should expect it to come and go, especially during changes in the weather. I recommend that she take regular walks and make an effort to suppress the limp. Otherwise, it can become an ingrained habit as the body considers it the normal gait. There should also be no problem with conjugal activity if that hasn’t already resumed.”

Sex? thought Yozef. Not hardly.

The topic had escaped his attention since Seaborn. Maera remained withdrawn, and he had tired of trying to draw her out. He had prioritized so many other demands on his energy and time without planning to. He vaguely recognized Anarynd hovering around them both, catering to anything that might help Maera, and he often found her gestures of affection to him annoying. After returning from Seaborn, he had rebuffed Anarynd’s subtle and not-so-subtle offers of sex, though he occasionally acquiesced if only to keep her from persisting.

The medicant’s words drew him back to the moment.

“All in all, a wonderful recovery, considering the severity of the wound. She could easily have died. Although we couldn’t know all the internal damage, it had to have been significant.”

The nanos, thought Yozef, bless their little hearts. Back on Earth, the surgeons would have done exploratory surgery to check her insides. Here, in this shithole, it was just wait and see if the person survived.

He did not realize it, but for the first time in years he had a flash of regret that he was not back on Earth.

Maera came from the treatment room.

“I’m a little tired, Yozef. Can we go home? I’d like to take a nap.”

He barely managed to bite off a retort that he had work to do and would find someone to see her to the manor.

“Fine,” he said preemptively before the thought reached his lips. “I’ll take you, then will have to return to my office.”

He turned to the chief medicant, who was giving him a disapproving look. “Thank you. I’ll talk to Anarynd about seeing that Maera does as much walking as she is able.”

Never-Ending Stress

The following sixdays only heightened Yozef’s stress. He learned that the Aroian ambassador had left a sixday earlier without word to anyone and without explanation. The Mukamonese were pressing for more reasons as to why they should join the alliance against Kolinka. The ironworks in Elmor had shut down for a sixday after a minor riot broke out between Caedelli and Munjorian immigrants—the cause still under investigation. The team working on mortar fuses suffered a death and three injuries when an explosion of undetermined cause wrecked the project work area. The birth of his daughter, Luna, had brought happiness to some members of the Kolsko family, but the infant cried incessantly on many nights without an obvious reason.

“Oh, it’s just a phase,” assured Anarynd, Gwyned, and the medicants after examining Luna. The assurances led Yozef to spend more time in his office and the new Pit building—sometimes sleeping in a narrow bed he had installed in a small, converted meeting room. An incident that contributed to his being away from the manor more than before occurred late one night. He was pouring over the latest reports on what was known of Narthani activity on Landolin. He had pulled out an earlier summary of the Amalor Kingdom when suddenly—

“I’m thirsty.”

Yozef jerked, his hands scattering pages across the desk and onto the floor.

“What!”

His heart raced as he looked over at six-year-old Dwyna standing in what had been a closed doorway.

“I’m thirsty, Papa Yozef.”

He slammed his palm onto the desktop. “JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST, HOW CAN I GET ANYTHING DONE AROUND HERE!?”

Dwyna’s sleepy expression morphed into something else, her face white against her black hair.

“GET OUT!”

With a gasp, the small figure turned, bumped into the door frame, recovered, and disappeared. Yozef stomped over and slammed the door, unaware and uncaring that his voice and the slam reverberated throughout the manor.

He forced himself to ignore voices from elsewhere in the house until he fell asleep at the desk.

He woke, neck stiff and right arm asleep from hours of his head lying on it. He didn’t feel as if he had slept at all. He leaned back in the chair, then rose and stretched. It didn’t help. Papers lay askance on the desk, a few on the floor.

What was I doing last night? he wondered.

His stomach protested that he had come home the previous night when everyone was asleep and forgot to eat. His mouth felt fuzzy, and his throat was parched. Voice came from the kitchen. Subdued women’s voices, but none of children. Voices became louder as he walked down the hall, and they stopped when he entered the kitchen. Three women looked at him. He didn’t notice their expressions: guarded, indifferent, and angry. Two children scurried from sight—he didn’t notice which ones.

“You scared Dwyna,” reprimanded Anarynd. “I had to hold her in bed until she went to sleep.”

“Dwyna?” inquired Yozef. “What about Dwyna?”

“You scared her last night. I heard you yell at her to ‘Get out!’”

“That was Dwyna? I was trying to work, and she interrupted me.”

Anarynd sighed. “She only wanted a drink and would have gone right back to bed. You couldn’t have taken a few minutes from whatever you were doing?”

Yozef slapped the door frame. “Whatever I was doing? I’m trying to save us all from the Narthani, despite not getting as much help as I need.”

He whirled and retreated to his office, muttering, “I see I’ll have to spend more time at the headquarters if I expect not to be disturbed right and left.”

University of Caedellium, Medicine Department

Diera Beynom smiled as she walked back toward her office. She had observed a cluster of medicant trainees during morning rounds in St. Wyan’s hospital wards. It was a routine she knew well from her own past. She remembered the trepidation she felt during the first months, in fear of making a fool of herself in front of senior medicants and other trainees. Now, her morning rounds were a welcome respite from paperwork and meetings that took her away from ministrations.

Today’s rounds also allowed her to observe Thala Seaborn, the daughter of Hetman Seaborn and a trainee presenting an unusual problem. The tall young woman’s previous medicant experience had been sporadic, due to her family’s status and a conservative, though apparently not fanatically so, father. Normally, Thala would have been assigned training appropriate for a novice. However, her piecemeal training and serving as a medicant aide during the Battle of Orosz City meant that starting at novice level would waste her previous experiences.

When Thala first arrived in Orosz City, Maera had brought her to Diera, suggesting an evaluation but leaving it to Diera on how to place her. The half-hour interview stretched to two hours and ended with Thala being assigned to the higher tier of medicant trainees and given all the class materials for novices. She was clearly well behind the other trainees in her section but appeared to catch up more each sixday. Diera was particularly impressed by how Thala refused to be embarrassed when she stumbled to answer questions during rounds. She calmly absorbed corrections and admonishments that would have intimidated most trainees.

Diera hummed as she neared her office, then stopped when she found Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland waiting to see her.

“Hello, Anarynd. Are you looking for Maera?”

“No, Diera. I need to speak with you.”

“Are you all right? Do you need to see a medicant?”

“No. It’s about Yozef. I’m worried about him.”

CHAPTER 13

THE ROBIN CONUNDRUM

Kustal Assessor Center

The first part of the trip from Esrohir was the slowest going. When they neared the border of Edana Bulak, the roads were the best in the entire empire because of the presence of the capital, Usmaya, and the high population density. The fast travel time was further aided by frequent changes of horses, and they arrived in Kustal two sixdays after departing Halaglu’s estate.

By the time Hizer finished the first interrogation at Esrohir, he had concluded Robin believed everything she said. Still in doubt was how much was real and how much the creation of an addled mind. His two sixdays of travel and hours of talking with Robin had accomplished two things. First, he had exhausted his attempts to find discrepancies in her story. Second, it gave him time to relate Robin Kehlee to Yozef Kolsko and Mark Kaldwel. Now came the difficult part—convincing the Assessor Order High Council.

Four days after their arrival, Hizer was in a room he had not known existed. It was adjacent to the chamber where the complete council met—attended, as the occasion warranted, by aides and anyone else needed for the current business. He sat facing three men on the other side of a table. Asir Caglun was an average-looking man of middle years who bordered on corpulence. His round face, avuncular manner when he turned it on, and harmless appearance served as camouflage for a keen mind, able and willing to make ruthless decisions. He was an Assessor Two and in charge of covert spying within and external to the empire. Everyone knew the order’s assessors and agents reported to Kustal, but to whom was known by only a few people.

Assessor Two Valod Dalkorn was a physical and mental contrast. Taller and leaner than Caglun, with a face that presented a stern demeanor hiding a gentle nature, Dalkorn was privately suspected to be one of the more brilliant leaders of the order’s version of academia, a body of assessors who served as advisers to the High Council on matters dealing with aspects of the world, the universe, and factual data on people and places. Neither Caglun nor Dalkorn would ever rise to Assessor One and join the High Council in making major decisions. By having no further heights to ascend in the order, they would hopefully be isolated from personal ambition. In fact, neither would have accepted an ascension if it were offered. They were content to be where they were and doing what they did best.

The third man facing Hizer was a High Council member. His age was indeterminant in the manner of someone with interior resources that rendered time slightly less important than for other humans. Assessor One Dervis Sunchek was only one of nine, but he carried great weight with the other council members. He had sat silently while Hizer laid out his conclusions, interrupted frequently by Caglun’s and Dalkorn’s efforts to find errors in his logic, assign alternative explanations, and press Hizer for the likelihood the woman Robin Kehlee’s story was real. The sun had set when Sunchek first spoke.

“I think we all will agree that it is impossible to be completely confident the woman’s story is true, despite Hizer’s compelling arguments. I myself am of two conflicting conclusions. After reading Hizer’s reports and listening for hours today, I believe at least three people on Anyar originated from another planet with a civilization far in advance of anything on Anyar. At the same time, I believe the story is too fantastic to be true and is most likely the product of coincidences that are only apparently interconnected and that led to the first belief. If my conundrum sounds confusing to you, imagine how it is for me.”

Sunchek’s smile affirmed his genuine amusement. “It will make for interesting discussions at the full council meeting next week.”

“I suspect it will be that way for meetings well into the future, Dervis,” said Dalkorn. “We have all heard the saying about Anyar moving beneath our feet when we experience something profound. I never thought carefully about such a comparison, but now I know exactly how it feels.”

“Valod is correct,” said Caglun. “If this is true, then everything is changed. The theology of Narth is that he is the only true god. But nowhere in the holy writings is there any allusion to other intelligent beings in the universe except us. It was a tumultuous period only a century ago when the disciples of Narth were first told about the existence of other planets circling the sun, and the stars were other suns so distant as to be mere points of light. I hesitate to publicly claim that not only are there planets around those suns, but that at least some of them harbor intelligent, nonhuman creatures with technology so far above ours as to make us essentially helpless were they to attack us. Instead of Narthon having a special relationship to Narth, we become insignificant figures in an existence beyond our understanding.”

Dalkorn nodded. “It would not be as distressing for our order as for others. Many of us reserve whether to believe in Narth as a matter left to each order member. It will not be the same for the rest of our people, and the priests would whip them into a frenzy over such blasphemy.”

“If priests and theology were the only problem,” said Sunchek wistfully. “In fact, it might bode well for the existence of the order. It is not discussed openly below the Assessor Two level, but many other members—including you, I suspect, Sadek Hizer—know that the order’s influence has steadily waned in the last fifty years. I regret to say that predecessors on the council were slow to accept the trend, but that situation has changed with the current members.

“The corruption blight of Usmaya’s Imperial Court has spread to every bulak—more so in the center and the west, less so but significantly in the east. Worse is the mind-set of infallibility that permeates the court and sycophants who surround the emperor. The Assessor Order still has influence with the military, but we are on the path to irrelevance with the court. When that happens, the day may come when we are seen as not merely of no importance but as possibly even a threat to some factions.

“One thing that might cause the court to turn further against us is our exposing a belief in outlandish claims about these Amerikans. The court is already ignoring too much of the Assessor Corps’ advice. Right now, it’s obvious the court does not believe any of our enemies are a threat to defeat Narthon. They are too geographically separated and mutually suspicious of one another culturally. On the other hand, the geography also works against us because we have to split our resources on multiple fronts. All parties have settled into an equilibrium. Oh . . . there are border changes, but little of significance over time. That’s one reason why the order advised against the Ganolar and Landolin ambitions. The equilibrium could be upset against us if we divert resources. It might have helped if we could have been more definitive, but I’m afraid our analysis using probabilities and uncertainties is not something the court can understand.

“The council is divided, but a few, including myself, believe Narthon should be satisfied with the extent of the empire, at least for the next twenty to thirty years. But this brings us back to our current conundrum. Despite our reservations about the Landolin plans and Caedellium’s involvement as a stepping-stone, no one could have foreseen Gullar’s disaster. Depending on whose opinion, the blame has been directed at Gullar, Akuyun who commanded the initial force, the military High Command, or the unexpected existence of the charismatic Yozef Kolsko. Naturally, the emperor’s family or the rest of the Imperial Court could not be at fault. However, now we have another possible explanation—that it wasn’t Kolsko’s genius that was the factor, but his knowledge of technology well beyond ours.

“Let us assume for the moment that the Kehlee woman’s story is true, leading to our believing Yozef Kolsko and Mark Kaldwel are also from Earth. From Sadek’s reports, she knows little of practical use to us. That is likely not the case with Kolsko and Kaldwel. Both introduced novel products, machines, and military equipment—and strategies, in Kolsko’s case. A fundamental question is whether what we’ve learned so far is the extent of what they can do, or is there more possibly beyond what Narthon could survive if it’s used against us?”

“In retrospect, the subjugation of Caedellium should have been secondary to capturing or killing Kolsko,” said Calgun. “When we tried to assassinate an important hetman, Kolsko happened to be present during the attempt. Instead, we should have sent ten times the number of men with Kolsko the target. With Gullar’s corps, the objective was the Caedelli army. We could have focused only on Kolsko and maybe even gotten him to surrender if we’d taken thousands of Caedelli prisoner and threatened to kill them. Now, I doubt any direct action is possible. Not after the Kolinka failure. Kolsko must now know he’s a major target, and the entire island will be alert. If an entire corps couldn’t defeat the Caedelli, Narthon would have to send three or four corps, something that’s not possible without alerting our enemies and weakening where the corps are taken from. No, we’ve lost any element of surprise, and we can’t go back in time.”

“But where does that leave both Narthon and the order?” asked Dalkorn.

Three sets of eyes turned to Sunchek.

“Now we come to topics of such delicacy that what transpires absolutely cannot leave this room, even in casual conversation with other high-ranking assessors.” He paused to go from face to face, waiting for each, in turn, to nod assent. “For the last twenty years, the order has supported the work of one of our brothers in Harket Bulak. You don’t need to know his name or exact location. He has spent his life studying all that’s known of the major recorded events on Anyar. Narthon is not the first empire to rise, but all of the others eventually were defeated or they self-destructed from internal dissension and civil war. He has proposed that there is no logical reason to think Narthon will be the exception. We are also not the first people to believe in a divine mandate or the support of a god or gods. Based on his theories, the order has kept a close watch on all the conquered peoples. Their assimilation varies from total to only a façade that is enough to prevent stern measures against them. That leaves open the possibility of major revolts should the empire become overextended and suffer even more severe setbacks than Caedellium. The Assessor Council members are, one by one, coming to believe the fall of Narthon is inevitable, though we couldn’t know when it might happen or how events might unfold to speed or delay the end.”

Dalkorn and Calgun looked at each other with similar thoughts—seconds later verbalized by Calgun.

“It’s no secret such concerns have simmered far below the Assessor Council. Even at the lower levels, some of our brothers feel we sometimes are fighting the empire’s leadership as much as Fuomon, the Iraquiniks, and the Harrasedics. I’ve reported this to the council, though I have yet to receive guidance on how those reports were received.”

“The council paid close attention,” said Sunchek, “and those reports are factors in the shift in member attitudes. If it seemed we were ignoring you, it is because we feared encouraging rumors that would feed the court’s alienation from our order. Our history of considering all possible outcomes runs too strongly against the current court’s belief in its own infallibility and the priesthood’s zealotry. The winds are shifting away from our historic role toward caution to prevent doubts being seen as coming from traitors and blasphemers.”

Hizer had been silent since his report and defense. Nothing he had heard was a surprise, except that the council was this concerned about the future viability of the empire. He had tried to suppress similar thoughts of his own since Caedellium, assigning them to a tendency to look for the worst. Thus, it was a revelation that his thinking paralleled the council’s. He hesitated to say what was on his mind, but he had to have confidence in his training that honesty and trust within the order were absolute.

“So, what can the Assessor Order do?” Hizer asked. “And underlying that is another sensitive issue. What should be the order’s highest priority? Survival of the empire or of the order? If it’s the empire, is it time to change the leadership?”

Dalkorn grunted, Calgun sighed, and Sunchek smiled.

“Our new friend cuts to the core,” said Sunchek, “as we hope he will continue to do. Yes, it’s time to consider the unthinkable. We will not come to any conclusions among ourselves here today, but I charge the three of you to concentrate on the topics we’ve discussed.

“Sadek, I want you to consider possible actions related to Caedellium and Yozef Kolsko. You’ve already been doing this, but come up with a series of options, and let’s meet again this time in a sixday.

“Now, I have other obligations. More meetings, though none as weighty as this one.”

Hizer took his time walking back to the cluster of buildings that included his residence and the office assigned to him while at Kustal. The grounds were beautifully maintained, and he felt a need to be away from stacks of papers. Time to think over what he had heard. He already knew most of what he would propose to Sunchek and the others. They needed more intelligence on what was happening on Caedellium.

Hizer had cursed and smashed an expensive vase against a wall when he learned about the origin of the Kolinkan adventure and its failure. A court favorite had conceived and initiated the raid in collaboration after bribing the Kolinkans of the Iraquinik Confederation. The man was the administrator of the Usak Bulak, the part of Narthon abutting the northern Iraquiniks. The local assessors and generals had objected, to no avail, and by the time word reached Kustal, there was no time to attempt an intervention. Hizer awaited confirmation, but he feared one consequence was losing some or all of the deep-embedded agents he had left on Caedellium when Narthon withdrew from the island under the agreement between Kolsko and Akuyun. Therefore, a high priority was somehow regrouping a set of agents on the island. He was not optimistic.

Then there was finding Mark Kaldwel. The man and his family had truly disappeared, as had the Narthani agents attempting his capture. The last report was that Kaldwel had fled central Frangel, but to where? Robin Kehlee had no knowledge of others like herself on Anyar. From the little Hizer knew of how Kolsko and Kaldwel lived their lives, he doubted they knew of others. Even if queries about Amerika and Caedellium had alerted Kaldwel about other Amerikans, traveling across most of Anyar with a family to reach Caedellium seemed too unlikely. Therefore, he was probably somewhere on Drilmar—maybe Novaryn, where the language and the culture were closest to Frangel’s. Hizer would propose expanding the search to all of Frangel and would insert several agents in the vicinity where Kaldwel had lived to watch his family and friends in case he made contact.

There was also ample reason to believe others like Kolsko, Kaldwel, and Kehlee were scattered across Anyar. The search for them should be intensified. If Kehlee could not provide practical military information, additional discoveries might prove difficult.

Hizer smiled when thinking about Kehlee. He was not as sure about her limited usefulness as other assessors who had been given access to question her. Her description of being an “economist” had intrigued him. He had recruited several Kustal resident assessors who followed the status and flow of coin in Narthon and other realms where data was obtainable. Although the experiment was in its early stages, they were working with Kehlee to develop models of the Narthon economy as she introduced them to novel concepts and analysis tools. He had alerted Assessor Two Dalkorn of the development and been told to keep him updated, although the possible benefits seemed long term.

As for Caedellium and Yozef Kolsko, if the agents could not penetrate what had to be enhanced security, Narthon might be more successful with realms the island interacted with. Hizer would recommend bolstering the number of agents in the Landolin kingdoms and Iraquinik kahsaks, with instructions for extra focus on interactions with Caedellium.

Hizer smiled again. Assessor Two Calgun would be pleased that so many of the proposals would fall to him to implement, which meant added resources and personnel.

Those were the main suggestions. Hizer thought they would be well-received. He was uncertain about two others. The first was to consider planning a secret contact with Kolsko. Hizer had attended enough of the meetings between Akuyun and Kolsko to sense that Kolsko had no inherent animosity toward Narthon and that he and Akuyun had developed a respectful relationship, as much as could happen between enemies. If any of the worst scenarios about Narthon’s future appeared likely, and somehow Kolsko and Caedellium were involved, discovering a way to neutralize Kolsko could be decisive.

Hizer smiled for the third time in minutes. Kehlee’s fantastical story had more and more insinuated itself into his thinking. However, if she was to play an important role in dealing with Kolsko, she needed to be protected. Despite assessor brotherhood loyalty, there were almost certainly assessors in Kustal who deliberately or thoughtlessly revealed information about the center’s activities. They were likely junior and less talented brothers, but eventually the order’s interest in a person related to Kolsko might leak out. What could also not be discounted were spies within the order. Hizer was not privy to Assessor One Sunchek’s innermost thoughts or those of the rest of the council, but he suspected they might somehow use Caedellium and Kolsko to help secure the order’s existence. How, he didn’t know, but he felt that Kehlee should be sequestered somewhere farther from Usmaya and central Narthon than Kustal. He had an idea about where that place might be.

Extraction

When Hizer first arrived back at Kustal, he gave Robin and Aleks two days to relax from travel and get accustomed to the Assessor Complex. The time also let him go over the voluminous notes he’d made during their travel and then plan and recruit the staff to extract every possible piece of information from Robin’s memory. He chose carefully. The characteristics he wanted winnowed down the candidates: intelligence—the higher, the better; flexibility in thinking; specialized knowledge of the natural world to evaluate what Robin revealed; a background in the comparative history and philosophy of Anyar’s peoples; and language ability. Hizer needed to be confident they would strictly obey orders and speak about their duties only to authorized persons. Whether a detailed knowledge of the English language was necessary would be determined only in time, but Hizer included it in as broad an approach as possible to understanding Robin Kehlee, Yozef Kolsko, Mark Kaldwel, and anything else about Amerika.

By late afternoon of the second day, he had most of his candidates. Interviews and final choices of the men would begin the next day. He envisioned one more role and one specific candidate. Robin’s cooperation was vital. The more relaxed she felt, the easier it would be for the staff to probe as deeply as possible and for Robin to endure what would inevitably be questioning sessions lasting for months.

Hizer accepted that he could not judge or fully appreciate the degree of isolation Robin must feel. Easing those feelings could only have positive effects. He was not the person to address the issue. Robin needed someone she could grow to feel comfortable with, even consider a friend. A woman.

He walked a quarter mile across the complex to a two-story structure set in a garden the workers tended to on their own time. The man at the entrance snapped to his feet when an Assessor Three entered the building.

“Assessor. How can I help you?”

“Thank you. I know where I’m going. You can log Assessor Three Sadek Hizer as visiting transcription room number three.”

Hizer left the clerk writing in a large, bound journal and climbed the stairs to the second floor. His goal was the first door on the left. The low buzz of voices died away when he entered the room. Twenty-three women’s faces turned to face him from desks and work tables spread with papers, books, and piles of folders and envelopes.

“Uncle Sadek!” shouted someone from a far-corner desk. A woman jumped to her feet, raced around the furniture, and embraced him, forcing him back a step.

“Great Narth! It’s been years and years since I’ve seen you!”

If he could have seen his smile, he probably would not have recognized it was the broadest one he’d had in the six months since last seeing his niece, Yennaev Hizer. He had little in common with his brother, a middle-range supervisor in the Usmaya docks, except for the family connection. He was fond of his parents and siblings, but his own life had taken a turn that put him out of the sphere of their daily experiences. His marriage had been short-lived, his wife dying in childbirth. His work involved regular and long-term travel, not conducive to child-rearing, and the infant had been left in the care of the family of a merchant cousin in Usmaya, the Narthon capital. He had only seen the child four times in the following years, and they were effectively strangers, neither feeling a close connection to the other.

There was one exception to the lack of close family connections. A daughter of his brother, Yennaev, had been recognizably precocious by the time she spoke whole sentences far earlier than most children. At Hizer’s encouragement—and insistence, on occasions—she had been given more opportunities for education than most Narthani females. Not that such opportunities were forbidden, as much as custom and opinions on proper roles made them more difficult.

Once it became evident that Yennaev’s talents were inconsistent with finding a place her family deemed appropriate, Sadek wondered whether he had done Yennaev harm by encouraging her preparations without offering an outlet for her talents. He had hesitated to make a suggestion that would take her away from her family, but he’d relented, and she had enthusiastically accepted.

The Assessor Order consisted entirely of men. The idea of accepting women emerged once or twice in a generation but was always rejected. However, the waste of potential talent had seeped into people’s thinking in previous decades. Women were slowly being accepted into defined roles that required high levels of specific talents. With Hizer’s recommendation, Yennaev was allowed to train for processing assessor reports from all over Anyar.

All reports were first read in the raw form, then sent for copying, translation, and correlation with other reports. On occasion, they were used to prepare summaries of individual or multiple analyses that were passed up the assessor chain.

Yennaev had blossomed—for a while. Her travel to the semi-mystical Kustal, training in languages, logical thinking and clear writing, and access to happenings all over the entire planet filled her life for a few years. Finally, when Hizer saw her after returning from Caedellium, she voiced how she had come to understand that as far as the Assessor Order was concerned, she would be doing the same tasks into an indefinite future. Once they were given access to such reports and records, it was difficult for the women to leave Kustal. Most ended up marrying within the staff and never again traveling more than twenty-five miles from where they worked.

“I know, I know,” said Hizer, gazing fondly at her. “It only seems like years. That’s because I’m your favorite uncle.”

Objectively, she was of average appearance, a woman in her mid-twenties whom unfamiliar observers would find unremarkable in a group of women. That impression might last an extended period until those observers would one day wonder why they’d ever thought her unexceptional.

“You are my favorite uncle. Lucky for you there aren’t any more; otherwise, you’d be last.”

They laughed in unison. She released him and stepped back.

“Where were you off to this time, or was it again something so sensitive you can’t discuss it?”

“Let’s find someplace quiet where we can talk.”

One eyebrow rose, but she nodded for him to follow. In a room two doors down the hall, they sat at the corner of a large table.

“There is an opportunity for you to leave Kustal and engage in an assignment I place great importance on.” Hizer preferred straightforwardness, a temperament he knew was shared by Yennaev.

The pupils of her brown eyes widened.

“Leave? Assignment? For the order? Or for Narthon?”

He allowed himself a faint grin. It was a pleasure to speak with someone who was in sync with him or, in her case, sometimes a step ahead.

“Yes, for the order. Possibly or hopefully also for Narthon. I cannot tell you details at this moment. It would be an Anyar-shaking change in your life, and the consequential effects are too varied and obscure to predict. There would be an element of danger, and whether you ever return to this life or your family is also beyond prediction.”

He paused for a breath and a few seconds. He had uttered cautionary words to ward off any future guilt. He had no doubt that what he said next would so fascinate Yennaev that her acceptance was assured.

“There is a woman here in Kustal. She has a story so unbelievable that only a fool or an idiot would believe it.” He smiled again but grimly this time. “I believe it. She is cooperative, but it is paramount that she continue to be completely open with us as we study what she tells us. A team of assessors with different areas of expertise is being assigned to her. You would join this team. Of course, not as an assessor. I’m sorry for that, but you know, as I do, the limitations that exist. However, I assure you that your participation would be as important as that of any of the assigned assessors and probably more so.”

“Exactly what would I do?”

“The team will produce voluminous notes that its members will turn into detailed reports. Your formal role would be a continuation of what you’ve already been doing. Although one of the men will be the official leader of the team, it would be clear that you are not merely serving in a supporting role. However, for reasons that can be explained later, you would not go under the name ‘Hizer.’ You would choose a different family name, best if it’s one unlikely to ever be questioned.

“You would also be learning the woman’s language. She calls it English. You’ve never heard of it, nor has anyone else. You would learn later why we think understanding her language is important, but it includes becoming fluent in both the spoken and written forms. It would also give you more time with the woman. I believe that having another female working to pull all possible information out of the woman will yield better results than all the men are capable of. Realistically, a woman may say things she would hesitate to say to men. It would help if the woman comes to see you as more of a friend than an interrogator. You would also bring a female view to how to keep this woman cooperative.

“Travel will be required. How much and to where, I cannot yet say. It could even be frequent and over great distances. I must also warn you that once you accept the assignment, there will be no turning back.”

He relaxed into his chair—a clear signal he was passing the moment to her.

Yennaev had listened, silent as he talked, her eyes seldom blinking, her body statue-still.

“How important do you think this assignment is, Uncle Sadek?”

The resulting pang would haunt him. Her regard and his next words would seal her decision as if he had taken control of her mind. Which . . . in a sense . . . he had.

“I believe there is nothing more astounding, engrossing, or important you could ever do for the rest of your life.”

Hiding Robin

For Sadek Hizer, the next six months were exhilarating and frustrating. Being in direct contact with the Assessor Council, if only peripherally, was stimulating, as was having access to records previously closed to him. Less positive were so many gaps in intelligence on what was happening in Caedellium. Most of his recommendations had been implemented, though success in finding Kaldwel and other Amerikans was as yet elusive.

Yennaev and the assessors working with Robin Kehlee told Hizer they could continue talking with her for years, but they believed they had gotten the most important information for the order’s immediate needs. At Hizer’s insistence, from the beginning, her questioning was limited to half a day; the other half she spent working with the crews to tend the center’s extensive gardens. Her help wasn’t needed, but her status was ill-defined, and he wanted to keep it that way to ensure her cooperation. There were no slaves at the center, but he assumed she was eager to be considered on par with the maintenance people. Even when her pregnancy advanced and she could no longer work in the gardens, she was given tasks commensurate with her physical ability, up to the day her contractions started.

Hizer visited Robin the day after her daughter was born. Yennaev had been present at the birth at Robin’s insistence. The medicants told him the birth had been one of the easiest they had witnessed and her recovery fast enough to be almost miraculous. He remembered what Halaglu’s overseer had said about her fast healing, and maybe that explained the transformation she had undergone once she was removed from the Halaglu estate and fed better. Even though the birth was easy, Hizer was surprised to find her walking and humming to the infant, looking years younger than when he first saw her. She smiled when she told him she’d named the child Nell after an aunt.

He would give her another few sixdays to be sure the newborn was healthy. She and the boy had been kept relatively secluded, but that had to change if they were to keep her trust. Yennaev’s companionship had helped, but Hizer had avoided a major problem when she asked how Hizer knew about ether, kerosene, and kotex?

“You rambled when you were first found on a beach. I interviewed people who interacted with you those first days. They said you raved about impossible things. Those words you asked about were part of what everyone thought were delusional ravings.”

She had seemed to accept his explanation, but he was concerned his answer had not squelched her wondering. It was time to channel her thoughts in another direction. He had told her at Halaglu’s that Kustal was only a temporary destination and that she and the boy would eventually move elsewhere. He decided it was time, and there was a window of opportunity to make travel from Kustal to Harket Bulak faster than during most times of the year. Instead of traveling overland for up to two months, they could take a ship from Balaseer to Ordum on the Gulf of Numara. The gulf separated Narthon from Fuomon, and the waters were a war zone seven months of the year. During the other two months, an undeclared truce allowed fishermen of the two nations to harvest the rich seasonal breeding ground of the gulf. With favorable winds, the sea route would take half as long to cover almost twice the distance. From Ordum, it would be two sixdays by carriage to where Hizer hoped to hide the Kehlees and enter into discussions on the future of Narthon with a select few men on behalf of the Assessor Order.

CHAPTER 14

REUNION

When Akuyun arrived in the 22nd Corps’ headquarters in Tormkee, he reported to Grand Marshal Turkok on the 22nd Corps’ repositioning along the new border between Narthon and the Harrasedics. Although the rationale for the trip from the front was valid, the impetus was different. Three hours later, he was embraced by his wife after his surprise appearance. She had evacuated to her family estate when the Harrasedics invaded but had returned recently. Rabia helped him remove clothing infiltrated with dust from the last fifty miles. His carriage had thrown a wheel, and rather than wait for repairs, he had commandeered the mount of one of the escorts and ridden ahead to be at Tormkee before dark.

“A bath and food are being prepared. I assume I don’t have to guess what brought you home in such a hurry? When Hizer arrived, he said he had sent you a message. Any idea why he’s here?”

Akuyun shook his head. “I haven’t had contact with him since he left Caedellium on one of the first evacuation ships, but you know how the Assessor Order operates, so it wasn’t unexpected. He didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nothing, and he’s not just passing through. The visit is definitely to meet with you. And he didn’t come alone. Three other assessors and a woman assistant came with him. They seem somehow involved with a woman and two children who are also with them. I don’t know her story, but she speaks with a definite accent I can’t place. Hizer asked if I could look after her until you returned but said that I was not to question her in any way. Very odd.”

“Do you think she’s his woman? I don’t know much about his history, but he did mention having a wife who died and a child living with his relatives.”

“I didn’t get the sense there was a relationship like that. More like he was protective because of who she was and nothing personal. For her part, she’s obviously uneasy about being around new people and seems anxious to know Hizer hasn’t left her here alone with strangers.”

“Well . . . I suppose I could still see him tonight, but I’m tired, so I think I’ll wait until morning. I’ve a feeling whatever led to this visit is going to need me being fully alert.”

Hizer was as Akuyun remembered him: tall, lean, and his hair with a few gray strands. They were not friends—the Assessor Order kept itself and its members apart from the rest of Narthani society. Maintaining objectivity was the formal rationale. However, Akuyun respected Hizer’s competency and believed the feeling was returned. While on Caedellium, Akuyun had often thought that under other circumstances, they might have acknowledged friendship.

It was then that Akuyun noticed a difference. “Assessor Hizer. A surprise to see you here, and if I’m correct, you have risen in the order.

“Another surprise, General Akuyun,” said Hizer, “and this one for me. I’m now an Assessor Three.”

“I won’t pry, not that it would do any good, but you have to expect my curiosity. While the rest of us involved in the Caedellium disaster had our careers damaged, you seem to have emerged in better shape than going in.”

“Life is full of ironies,” said Hizer without commenting on how he came to rise in the order, “but you have not done badly. I’ve read reports about your successes against the Harrasedics.”

“I fell into a good situation with Marshal Turkok. He was willing to take me on his staff at a time a staff opening was planned.”

“At Grand Marshal Fazellon’s recommendation, I believe,” said Hizer. “I assume it also helped that Turkok is not enamored with certain members of the High Command who wanted a far different outcome for you.”

It was a gentle reminder, on purpose or not, that the Assessor Order had tendrils throughout the empire, and what the assessors were aware of should never be underestimated.

“So,” said Akuyun, waving to a chair and seating himself at the same small table. “Are we going to continue with casual pleasantries, or should we jump straight to why you’re here?”

Hizer smiled. “One of the reasons it was a pleasure to work with you. Getting right to business. I believe I remember that was a trait you also appreciated from Yozef Kolsko.”

It was as if signal flares had suddenly appeared on a battlefield. Akuyun could not yet decipher what information would be forthcoming, but it was unlikely to be trivial.

“I can see your mind churning, Okan, so I won’t keep you in suspense.”

Hizer’s switch to the first name lit more signal fires.

“This visit is about Yozef Kolsko . . . and perhaps much, much more. I assume Rabia has told you of the woman traveling with me.”

Akuyun just nodded.

“When on Caedellium, you and I talked about where is this Amerika of Kolsko’s and whether it was real or a creation of Kolsko’s for whatever reason. What I’m going to tell you now is of the highest sensitivity. Much of it is known only to a few high-ranking assessors. It is ultimately at your discretion to share anything I say, but the advice is to be extremely circumspect. Your father-in-law, retired Marshal Ergoman, is one exception and possibly Grand Marshal Turkok at some point. But I think you will see it is extremely unwise not to be careful.”

“You’ve found out where Amerika is?” asked Akuyun, guessing.

Hizer laughed, an action Akuyun had rarely seen from the normally inscrutable assessor and certainly not with that degree of emotionality.

“That story will take some time to tell and perhaps considerable effort on your part to believe, if at all. I’ll start with the easy part. We know of two other Amerikans. One was a man in Frangel. There was an incompetent attempt to acquire him, and he’s disappeared. The search is still on, and we’ll eventually find him. In fact, the search has been greatly intensified once we got more information about the man named Mark Kaldwel. Similar to Yozef Kolsko, Kaldwel introduced innovations—in his case, cloth-making methods unknown on Anyar. Although it’s not directly relevant to military matters, the spinners and looms are major advances in textile manufacturing. For reasons I can explain later if you’re interested, he had to flee to central Frangel, where he worked on a ranch. While there, he had a gunsmith make a special rifle he used to go solo destrex hunting. You’re heard of the creature?”

“I know of destrex leather made from the hides but only stories about the creatures themselves. If they’re half true, it is insane to hunt them alone. What kind of a rifle was he using?”

“It wasn’t the rifle so much, although it was more like a small cannon. It was the bullet.”

Hizer reached into a pocket and held his hand out toward Akuyun.

“Take a look at this,” he said and dropped a large minie ball into Akuyun’s hand. “One of our agents managed to search a cottage where Kaldwel lived. He found this under the furniture. There were two of them. Probably dropped and rolled out of sight.”

Akuyun only needed seconds to respond.

“Same principle as used by Kolsko. Much smaller, of course, for the Caedelli rifles, but the skirting looks very similar and must serve the same purpose of expanding to improve the seal as the ball travels down the barrel. It allows more of the gunpowder’s energy to push the ball to go farther and have more impact. I can see how a bullet like this might work on even a destrex.”

Hizer nodded. “Then there’s the third Amerikan we’ve identified. A woman.”

“Let me guess. The one who came with you?”

“Yes. Her name is Robin Kehlee. She’s told us amazing things about Amerika. Things that you may find impossible to believe. And trust me, I will sympathize. I had my own doubts, but even after I talked with her for only a couple of hours, it was like previous mysteries were explained—but only if you could believe the unbelievable.”

For the next two hours, Hizer laid out the known facts, the essence of Robin’s fable, and how the appearance and impact of Yozef Kolsko could fit easily into Robin’s story. Akuyun didn’t say anything for the first half hour, his expressions alternating among surprise, disbelief, irritation, and anger at being called from the Harrasedic front to listen to a ridiculous story. By the end of the first hour, doubt was evident on his face. It was then he began to ask questions, at first haltingly, as if embarrassed to suggest what Hizer was saying had any truth.

At two hours, Hizer said softly, “That’s it, Okan. I can tell you that by the time I was convinced, it was as if the ground under my feet would never feel as solid again.”

“And you believe all this, Sadek? Truly believe?” The wonder in Akuyun’s voice was palpable.

“Much of me wishes I could say no, but I can’t.”

“But . . . people flying? Going to a moon around this planet Earth? A single explosive that can destroy the largest city and surrounding land out to a hundred miles? Instant communication from opposites points on the planet? Machines that can perform incredible calculations and store all knowledge? I’m having a hard time thinking some of what you say is even plausible in a fantasy.”

“Believe me, I had the same initial reaction. I think I finally became a true believer after talking with her about what she calls the fictional literature on Earth. There is not much of that in Narthon, but it is more common in some of the other realms, particularly Fuomon and some of the Harrasedics. I probed deeper when she mentioned a type of this literature where the characters live in an alternate reality from what does or did exist. Let’s take an example for how this might be for us. What if our ancestors had not come out of central Melosia, or, if they had, they were defeated and destroyed? What would the world be like now?

“Or, more relevant, what if you or I were magically transported to an early time, perhaps two, three, or four hundred years ago? How could we use our knowledge of the past to affect things? She described a couple of those stories from her world, and when I applied the thinking to Kolsko and Kaldwel, so much seemed to fall into place. It was such a simple, though fantastical, explanation of so much: why we had never heard of Amerika, why we can’t find it, how two men from far distances apart on Anyar could make new innovations with no apparent background to support how the ideas came to be.”

“For the moment, let’s put aside her story about being from another planet,” said Akuyun. “If she’s from Amerika, wherever it is, does she know things to help us counter Yozef Kolsko?”

“Unfortunately, no. I will attribute it to simple chance, but the Amerikan whom Caedellium got was probably what Robin’s people call a scientist, someone who studies the nature of the physical world. One interesting exception is the brief military treatise from Kolsko that we got a copy of—do you remember it?”

Akuyun nodded. “Interesting, but many parts of it could have been taken from our own and other nations’ writings. Although I’ll admit it has some novel outlooks, and those have given me several ideas.”

Hizer frowned and shook his head forlornly. “The Assessor Order believes sections of it were too novel for some of our leaders. Our effort to get high officers and the High Command to read and think about the treatise has been disappointing. We let the Robin woman read a copy. She claims it might be the creation of a man named Sunsoo . . . or something like that. She says she never read the original, but that its principles have been adapted for other fields besides war. In her case, for merchant transactions. She’s read such a version as part of her personal experience on commerce and how buying and selling products are carried out.”

“She’s a merchant?” said Akuyun dismissively.

“Not a merchant as we think of them, but someone who believes there are underlying principles to commerce. Perhaps we could think about it as commerce from a national perspective, rather than a specific business or even a single industry. It’s too early to know whether this will be useful, but if it is, it will be longer term than dealing with Kolsko and will take some time for the Assessor Order to understand and evaluate what she calls economics.

“However, even if she won’t be of help with innovations as Kolsko and Kaldwel have, she has a general knowledge of the Amerikan culture that has already proved valuable, even if not in the ways you would have wished. I’ll give you just a few examples.”

Hizer held up both hands, fingers spread, palms facing Akuyun. “She told us the tiny ridges on our fingertips are unique for every individual. Before we left Kustal, we tested more than a thousand men and women. So far, her claim is confirmed. None of the thousand or more shared the same pattern of ridges. The order will continue testing to ten thousand before distributing a report on how it will be useful in criminal cases. It will also be possible to make absolutely confident identifications if we can determine how to use what will be voluminous records.

“Other of our assessors are excited about what she knows of how traits are inherited from parents. She knows general principles but not details that the other two Amerikans might know. Yet even that much has stirred the enthusiasm of assessors studying such things. They say it is so logical and explains so much for animals, plants, and humans, that it must be true.

“And there are two things that will impact our military. Not in the methods and tactics for fighting, but in helping save the lives of wounded men who can return to service, instead of dying. I won’t go into details unless you want them, but it involves transferring blood from a healthy person to someone suffering blood loss and who would otherwise die. There is also a way to bring back to life someone who has quit breathing for a few minutes and would be considered dead.”

One of Akuyun’s eyebrows arched the highest yet.

“I know,” said Hizer. “An even more outlandish claim. I haven’t witnessed the procedure myself, but medicant assessors report success in reviving people thought to have drowned and a few cases where persons undergoing surgery had quit breathing. Both the sharing of blood and restarting breathing do not work every time, but success seems to improve as we learn more about how to apply the techniques. For your purposes, you can imagine saving men to return to service and the effect on morale when they know they have increased chances of survival, even if wounded severely.

“More relevant to the current situation on Anyar are some of the things I’ve already mentioned: instant communication over thousands of miles, vessels that travel completely submerged and launch self-propelled bombs that can strike ships underwater, flying warships with speeds and weapons to make anything we have insignificant, firearms that do not require reloading for every shot and that fire hundreds of bullets a minute, land warships of iron that move under their own power without horses and that would be impervious to any of our cannon, bombs of such destructive power that entire cities can be obliterated by one explosion, on and on.

“Even more important, examples like these further support that she is from Amerika and give more credence to the outlandish claims of where Amerika is.”

“I don’t agree,” said Akuyun, “that the two are required to be connected. Amerika could still be somewhere on Anyar. An undiscovered island or continent or somewhere supposedly uninhabitable.”

Hizer shrugged. “The first is plausible, though highly unlikely. There’s nowhere on any known continents and islands that could support the Amerikan civilization she describes.” He spread his hands. “I ask only that you come to this with an open mind. Read the reports I’ve brought with me . . . and there are volumes of them. Then, meet with her yourself. I’ll just ask that when you do, remember that we’ve worked to make her trust us, and we haven’t said anything about other Amerikans.

“I think you’ll come to accept her story, despite yourself. It has been the same for the few people who have interacted with her. What I’m asking of you is that once you are convinced, you let me leave her in your family’s care until I retrieve her. She would be in a party—Robin, her two children, three assessors who continue studying her and what she says, and a woman assistant to the assessors and female companion to Robin.”

“Finding her a place is no problem,” said Akuyun. “Rabia and the children have planned another extended visit to her family since I’ll be away at the new borders more often than before. Your people will go with them. I’ll talk with Rabia, but there’s no reason for her to object. But what should I tell her?”

“Nothing for now,” said Hizer. “The same for her father, Ergoman, at least for now. I know I don’t have to caution you not to spread this story. I’ll leave the explanations to you. In the meantime, I have other duties to perform and will be around the eastern part of Narthon for some time.”

CHAPTER 15

COUNSELING

Rhaedri Brison watched the guest’s back as the person walked away.

Life is always full of surprises, he thought, though this one may take some time for me to resolve whether it’s a good or bad one.

It was not just the request the guest had made. It was also who made it. His first impulse had been, “Why are you telling me all this?” Then he had considered what other options might exist and had failed to find any.

You’re a theophist, Rhaedri, he told himself. It may have been many years since you regularly counseled people with problems, but maybe you’ve been too absorbed with what you thought were the “big” issues and forgot that often the “little” ones end up mattering the most—at least, when they accumulate.

And in this case, if there was ever an individual whose personal problems were important to deal with, for himself and everyone else, it was Yozef Kolsko.

Orosz City

“A boy brought a message for you, Yozef,” said Awlina, handing him a folded and sealed paper. “It’s from Rhaedri Brison.”

“Rhaedri? We haven’t spoken for . . .” He hesitated. “Well, it must be several months when the topic was the latest theophist meeting in Orosz City. The more conservative theophists are still fussing about other religions being observed on Caedellium. I had hoped that issue was settled by now. Don’t tell me it’s cropped up again?”

Awlina shrugged, smiling. “Don’t ask me. I’m not privy to what Septarshes say to each other.”

Yozef frowned and restrained himself by a thread from snapping at her. He settled for only an annoyed grunt, snatched the message from her hand, and didn’t notice her expression before she left the office.

Impatiently, he broke the seal and, in doing so, tore the message in half. Sliding the pieces together, he read, then stared out a window.

“What does Rhaedri need to see me about—and at his cottage deep in the cleft?” Yozef said to the office. “I thought he was living full time in Orosz City.” The office did not respond.

The message requested that Yozef come see Rhaedri at the earliest convenience sometime in the next three days. Since no time was convenient for a Paramount ruling 800,000 people and planning a war against Kolinka and then Narthon, and since there was no advisable way to avoid a request from someone on whom Yozef depended for support, he might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

Yozef grabbed a brimmed hat and a light coat from pegs on the wall, then went looking for the stableman or his youth assistant to saddle a horse. He found neither one.

“Where the hell are people when you need them?” he groused. He would have to saddle a horse himself. Which horse? In a fleeting thought, he wished Seabiscuit were still available, but a previous injury had led to advice the horse be either put down or retired to pasture. The latter had been Yozef’s choice, and the animal had been taken by train to Preddi City, where Balwis arranged for Seabiscuit to live the rest of his life on the Balwis’s family horse ranch.

That left Mr. Ed and Man O’War. There was no choice. He had not ridden Mr. Ed for more than a year. The name he had given the horse had too many connotations that seemed inappropriate for “Paramount Yozef Kolsko.” Man O’War was a more appropriate name, and the large black horse was impressive—belying his gentle nature.

Whatever Rhaedri wanted, Yozef needed to get it over with and get back to work. The Mukamon ambassador had hinted that his ruler might vacillate on the number of men the kahsak would commit to the invasion. He needed to give the ambassador a letter that threatened consequences if Mukamon backed out of their previous commitment—without being explicit and laying a foundation for plausibly claiming Mukamon had misinterpreted the letter.

He was almost finished saddling the horse when Synton stormed into the stable.

“I don’t care if you’re the damn Paramount or not, you’re not to go anywhere without escorts. What are you doing, sneaking out of the office when we weren’t looking?”

“I don’t need to account to you,” Yozef said with a snort. “I’m the Paramount and can do whatever I wish.”

Synton didn’t respond, but he and a man Yozef did not remember hurriedly saddled two more horses. They headed for the Orosz City main gate to pass through the city before entering the cleft into the mountains.

Half a mile from Kolsko Manor, the cleft narrowed to fifty yards. They came to a branch that opened into a meadow two hundred yards across with a spring-fed stream. Rhaedri was sitting on a porch chair and reading a small, red-covered book. The elderly theophist looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, smiled, laid the book on the small table next to the chair, and stepped down from the porch.

Yozef reined in hard five yards from Rhaedri. A few pebbles bounced off the theophist’s robe. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice, but his expression flickered momentarily to sadness.

“Yozef. Thank you for coming so soon. I just sent Elstyn with the message an hour ago.”

Yozef jumped off Man O’War, let the reins fall, and slapped a hand to the horse’s thigh.

“What is it? I’m buried in important work and need to get back.”

Rhaedri sighed. “I think we need to talk.”

The last word was laden with meaning, but about what? Yozef was put on guard.

“Come walk with me,” said Rhaedri. He started toward a worn path without waiting for a response.

Yozef caught up in a few steps. The urge to get back to the headquarters was still there, but he needed to maintain good relations with the most respected theophist on Caedellium. He also felt a glimmer of guilt that he could not remember the last time he had talked with Rhaedri. He liked the old man and remembered thinking of him as one of those genuinely gentle and insightful souls.

The path led toward the vertical rock wall at the back of the meadow and branched in both directions at the wall.

“As you can see, I have worn paths over years. It sometimes helps my thinking to walk while my mind is elsewhere. I also find difficult conversations can be easier when both of us move unencumbered by the trappings of civilization.” He smiled. “Don’t ask me why that is.”

Yozef’s senses shifted to a higher level of alertness. The reason for the visit’s request was not likely trivial.

Rhaedri’s left hand casually touched a grass cluster’s seed fans as they passed.

“And how is Yozef Kolsko?”

“Huh? Well . . . I’m fine,” Yozef said cautiously.

“Fine? That’s one of those words that is too often used to avoid a real answer. Being Paramount is an enormous responsibility, even in peaceful times. It must be far greater now after the Seaborn attack and the plans for Caedellium to become embroiled in fighting far from the island.”

“It is what it is,” said Yozef, who then realized from Rhaedri’s quizzical expression he had used Caedelli to say a phrase from Earth.

“It means reality is real, and we must deal with it.”

“Yes, but how is Paramount Yozef Kolsko dealing with it?”

Yozef sighed. The urge to get back to his desk receded as he became conscious of the weight on his shoulders.

“I wake every morning thinking about what critical decisions I have to make that day. I then spend long hours making those decisions or putting them off, hoping the answers I come to are better than the ones currently apparent.”

“And you are the only person who can make those decisions? Could some not be delegated to others?”

“Who? I seem to be the only one with a broad-enough perspective to understand what’s necessary! Meeting with every damn ambassador to keep their nation’s commitments. Overseeing projects necessary for Caedellium’s future. Keeping an eye on every hetman and clan that they do what they’re supposed to do on time and the right way. Analyzing details of the island’s economy and balancing changes that happen with industrialization to prevent active opposition. On and on.” His shoulders slumped and feet dragged more as he spoke.

God’s mercy, thought Rhaedri, disconcerted that each of Yozef’s words seemed heavier than the last.

“I’ll ask again. How is Yozef Kolsko? The man I first met those years ago. The man who did the best he could, even though he sometimes felt overwhelmed by what people might come to expect of him. Yozef Kolsko, not the Paramount, but the man?”

Yozef didn’t answer right away. They reached a spring coming out of the rock face. It was one of the theophist’s favorite spots. Several rocks had fallen from the heights in times past—one of which was roughly oval-shaped, five feet long, and high enough to sit on with feet flat on the ground. Rhaedri sat near the middle of the rock. Yozef hesitated, then sat as far from Rhaedri as he could. Still . . . they were only inches from touching.

A minute passed. Three. Several small turquoise-colored murvors landed yards away and flittered back and forth. Rhaedri often brought dried bread crusts that he crumbled and tossed on the ground. Several murvors had distinctive darker markings, and he had named them. None of this he told to the man sitting next to him.

Five minutes. When Yozef spoke, it was as if cracks in a dam had finally succumbed to water pressure.

“At first, despite my misgivings, I felt a glimmer of excitement about being made Paramount and having so much power and so many people looking to me to solve problems. I guess it built up over time, but the excitement faded when the responsibilities became all too real. Too much of the time, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do any of us always know what we’re doing?” asked Rhaedri. “Although I should qualify that by referencing rational people and not those too self-absorbed or stupid to realize their own inadequacies.”

“I know,” said Yozef. “At least, that’s what I tell myself. Also, there’s something else.”

He was silent for several moments.

“I’m afraid,” Yozef whispered.

“Afraid of the coming wars?” asked Rhaedri.

“The wars. The deaths that will inevitably result. Me making mistakes and losing the war. Me making mistakes and causing who knows how many more thousands of needless deaths. Maybe tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands.”

The theophist was momentarily stumped for a response—a condition he noted was unusual for him. He had counseled many people during his life, including hetmen, but never someone with the level of responsibility that weighed on Paramount Yozef Kolsko.

They stood and walked in silence until they reached where they had started on the path around the meadow’s perimeter. The completion of the circumference prompted Rhaedri to probe deeper. He was a theophist and supposedly committed to helping troubled souls whenever he could. He knew Yozef was ambivalent about the existence of God. Theological arguments did not seem appropriate in this case, so he resorted to what he hoped was logic that would help a man more filled with mysteries than anyone Rhaedri had known in his lifetime.

“I can’t say anything to ease the burdens you feel, Yozef, but can we talk about how you deal with them? Is it reasonable to never expect to make a mistake?”

“Of course not! Only a fool thinks that. But if I make a bad decision, people will die.”

“And if you make good decisions, won’t people still die because of the course you’re guiding us to?”

“And that falls on me, too.”

“Then is the logical path to make no decisions?”

“You mean about fighting the Narthani?”

“Narthon. Kolinka. Any actions off Caedellium? And what would happen then? Has your view of Anyar’s future changed? Do you now think the dangers to the island are not as threatening as you previously thought?”

Yozef shook his head. “No. No matter how I look at it, Caedellium’s future is tenuous. The Kolinkan raid just made it more obvious. And it’s not just Narthon. Oh . . . I don’t know if there’s a specific threat from any one Iraquinik kahsak, but there are so many of them and with histories and agendas we don’t understand that it’s foolish to ignore them. One thing I’ve learned from our People’s Department is that, ironically, the Iraquiniks have the Narthani to thank for putting a stop to their seemingly endless fighting and scheming among themselves. I’ve suspected before, and now believe, that if Narthon were no longer a threat, then the Iraquiniks might be next in line as a threat to Caedellium.

“Then there’s the Landolin kingdoms. I don’t sense a specific future threat from them, but who knows? One of them could be tempted to absorb Caedellium in hopes of it helping against the other kingdoms. Naturally, this assumes the Narthani haven’t taken over the entire world. Sometimes I wonder if that would be better than world-spanning wars without end.”

“That would be a bleak world,” said Rhaedri. “It could be argued that whatever sacrifices were necessary would be better than a Narthani world existing far off into the future, perhaps forever.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Yozef.

“That would take digging deep into my soul and praying on my knees enough to turn them raw. Even then, I’m not sure I could come to a correct conclusion. All I can say is that Rhaedri Brison, a fallible human, would probably come to believe that it was necessary, no matter how he worried it might damage his soul.”

“So . . . it’s something you would have to live with?”

“Yes, though it would be difficult. One thing I believe is that God expects us to make decisions. He hopes we make good ones, and he’s merciful if we make bad ones with the right intentions. That doesn’t mean we don’t live with the consequences of bad decisions, but I don’t believe he means us to quit living as well as humanly possible. That would be against the wishes of the God I believe in. He doesn’t want us to refuse to live as well as possible, no matter what went before.”

They walked in silence a quarter of Rhaedri’s circuit. Turquoise murvors landed on tree branches twenty yards away and then flew off as they approached. Yozef wondered whether they were the same murvors as before.

“I’m also afraid I’ve lost who I was,” said Yozef. “I suppose I never thought deeply about defining myself. Oh, I wished things about myself were different on—”

He had almost said “Earth” before catching himself. Maybe this moment of talking about his deepest fears prompted an urge to reveal all to Rhaedri Bison. Was it in hope that the theophist could somehow cure what was ailing him? If so, did he feel he needed to be totally honest to earn that ablution?

No, he thought. This still isn’t the time or the person, no matter what’s going wrong with me.

“I know I’m trapped,” said Yozef, the tone of his voice now with hints of steel—though only hints. “I do believe there are dangers to Caedellium that need to be faced and dealt with. And, despite what I may wish, I also believe I have a strategic role in acting against those dangers.”

“But you’re not the only person who has an important role,” said Rhaedri. “To believe otherwise is to embrace the sin of vanity. No matter how important a role you have to play, what you see as necessary will require many people. Certainly, those you know about, those close to you and others with more distant relationships, but also those you are unaware of now and perhaps will never know of. One can never know everyone who makes contributions. That is where I propose to you that we each do the best we can and have what I call faith. In my case, I can have faith that God will provide those other people.

“What if you don’t act, and the worst happens? And I don’t mean the outward consequences. How would you feel about yourself? In your case, if you do not believe in God, you might argue that to be at peace with yourself, you need act as you believe as a matter of principle, whether or not others will help and whether you will be ultimately successful.”

“Even so,” said Yozef, “that doesn’t do anything about the fear of failure.”

“Maybe not, but it could reassure you that you did your best, no matter what happens.”

“Then there’s how people view me and put so much faith in me. Those men on Seaborn, they died protecting me. Oh, Maera was there and the two children of the hetman, but it was me they sacrificed their lives for. Who am I to deserve to live so that so many die?”

“Do you honor those men?” asked Rhaedri.

“Of course!” exclaimed Yozef, his tone suggesting outrage.

“Then must you not also honor their sacrifice? If you believe yourself unworthy of the sacrifice, then are you not saying they died for no purpose? Maybe what disturbs you is that you doubt you are capable of being the person worthy of their sacrifice.”

“But I always have such doubts. I never wanted or even fantasized about leading a people in peace and war. I was satisfied with what I considered a normal life with limited ambitions.”

Rhaedri sighed. “You are hardly the first person to find that life is not constrained by our wishes. God, the fates, the universe, or whatever you might consider behind what has happened to you might have a different agenda from yours. All we can do is deal with where we find ourselves. No one, and certainly not me, can tell you how to live your life. Our credo is that while there are teachings to be mindful of, each person must find his own peace. In your case, no matter what you say about having so much responsibility, I see you acting as you believe is the best course. That doesn’t mean you never make mistakes, but I’ve never sensed that you lust after authority.

“As for what happened on Seaborn, I see nothing wrong with doubting you deserve those men’s sacrifice, as long as you do not dishonor them by believing they died in vain. They died for what they believed in, and that’s you because they saw you as important for Caedellium’s future. As for self-doubts, allow me to introduce a bit of my beliefs. Questioning oneself is the way God keeps us humble and doing the best we can. People without self-doubt make decisions based only on their image of themselves, which is usually a fantasy.

“Yozef, do the best you can. Listen to others. Make decisions you honestly believe are the best, even if none of the options are good. Then, hope or pray that God is merciful if you are wrong. But don’t paralyze yourself and not make decisions. That, in and of itself, is making a decision—in that case, one of abdication.”

For the second time, they came to where they had originally met the circular path. Rhaedri stopped and turned to put a hand on Yozef’s shoulder.

“There’s something else,” said Yozef. “I’ve always had the feeling I wasn’t quite good enough, no matter what I attempted. I considered myself relatively . . . I don’t know what to call it . . . maybe less intelligent than others at school, maybe less ‘masculine’ compared to other men . . . I don’t know. Even though I knew I was comparing myself to only a small fraction of all men. It was irrational, but there it was.”

Rhaedri’s hand slipped to grip Yozef’s forearm. “You certainly should have gotten over that after everything you’ve been through these last years.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should have, but old habits are hard to break,” said Yozef, without elaborating on his wonder at how much his alien-enhanced body affected his self-perception.

“Then there were my studies in chemistry. I had a choice of becoming a chemistry researcher or working for establishments needing chemistry knowledge. I considered the first option to be for the most intellectually gifted chemists, which I didn’t see myself as. That’s why I picked the second option.”

Once again, he didn’t elaborate. At Berkeley, he had told himself and his girlfriend, Julie, it was because he did not want to be involved in campus politics or the circus of grant writing. Only in the last few months had he begun to think it was instead lack of confidence, even if his graduate research was widely respected.

“But you told me you had finished your studies and were proud of the result. Another way to consider it is that despite your perceptions, you persevered and were successful. I would argue that even if the original feelings were misplaced, it was admirable that you did not let them stop you.”

Yozef smiled wanly. “That’s something I’ve told myself. Sometimes it helps.”

“Yozef, I believe you have much to think about. Remember what we’ve said today, and I would like you to come see me every sixday. I’ll come to meet you at the center if that’s best for your overly full schedule. I’d also like you to think about how others see you right now, compared to in the past. Without revealing a confidence, I will tell you that someone came to me very worried about you and how much you’ve changed in the last months.

“Based on that, I’ve tried to be inconspicuous in drawing out similar impressions from other people. That seems to be a general feeling. Please think back on a time that you remember as being happy. Not necessarily the happiest you’ve ever been, but a fond and memorable time. Is there any way to recover that feeling? Obviously, your family has to be part of this. Whenever it seems time, you should talk with Maera and Anarynd.”

Yozef was uncomfortable with the suggestion, but he said, “I’ll think about all this, Rhaedri, and thank you for asking me to come. I doubt I would ever have approached you with my problems on my own.”

“Let’s walk back to my cottage, Yozef, and before you ride back, tell me how the children are doing.”

Rhaedri watched the three men ride away until they turned onto the road toward Orosz City.

We didn’t touch on those secrets I’m sure he holds, particularly about where he came from originally. That must also put a strain on him every day. Still . . . I wonder if I’ve ever met anyone with such a disparity between how they see themselves and how others see them. This wasn’t the time to tell Yozef, but to accomplish what he has and plans to do while simultaneously holding such doubts makes me wonder if he’s not one of the most courageous persons I’ve known.

He smiled. Perhaps he really is a Septarsh. I don’t know if I believe in them, and certainly not myself as one, but the myths don’t require any specific characteristics. Only that they are important to the world and act as though they are touched by God. I would find it difficult to defend the view that Yozef does not qualify by that definition. Of course, perhaps only God knows how the course Yozef is on will end. He shrugged to the trees. If even God knows.

So many things have changed since he came to Caedellium. Knowledge to help people and knowledge to better kill. We might argue his presence was key to ridding us of the Narthani, but at what cost? So many lives lost through violence. Perhaps more than in our entire history. Is it the hand of God that put Yozef Kolsko into our lives? Do we accept the deaths as required? Rhaedri shook his head. Good and evil. Life and death. Knowledge to heal and knowledge to kill. Is it nothing more than the symmetry of the universe? The balancing of our existence? If so, it’s a fearful symmetry. If we were created by God, is this balance, this symmetry unavoidable? Is Yozef Kolsko just a clear example of what has always been and will always be part of us?

Rhaedri would ponder. He would write. He would never know the answers to an enigma that might lie beyond theology. How to evaluate a person, an idea, a piece of knowledge, a single act, a piece of art or writing that could bring both exaltation and despair, blessings and evil. He sighed.

Stepping Back

Rhaedri was not alone in mulling over the last hour. Yozef had walked slowly to where Synton and the other escort sat under an Anyarian tree near the road.

Decisions. Rhaedri is right that not making a decision because of feared consequences is also making a decision . . . one of omission. It would be so much easier if I could only think of what was directly in front of me and ignore thoughts that project out into the future.

He grimaced. Fat chance of that!

Synton noticed his approach and poked the other man. Both men stirred to their feet.

Yozef thought about himself—his self-image, his connections to other people.

Maera felt in her natural environment when dealing with intrigue, organizing the university, delving into records. Then, she was confident, so different from when she doubted her maternal instincts. He had contradicted her at times when she voiced reservations, but should he have done more? What?

In many ways, Anarynd was the complement—happiest at home with the family and struggling to be the mother of a future hetman and wife of the Paramount. Both were brave, dedicated, and each wonderful in her own way.

What about me? What is my natural state? Where do I fit most? Paramount? Fount of exotic knowledge? I would have said the second, but I spend all my time on the first. Is it out of necessity, or is that earlier Joseph Colsco fading away or already gone?

Yozef trusted Maera to be honest with him, but she might soften comments or couch replies with her attempts at understanding and support. However, Yozef could rely on three people to be bluntly honest—Carnigan, Synton, and Balwis. A hundred yards from where they turned onto the road, Yozef gestured for Synton to come alongside Man O’War and the other guard to move ahead.

“Synton, what do people think about how I’ve acted the last month or two?”

“Everyone or anyone in particular?”

“Start with yourself and work from there.”

“Well, everyone is accustomed to you usually knowing what you’re talking about, but you used to make a little effort not to make it seem as if you thought other people’s ideas were idiotic. That’s been gone at least the last month. Sort of like a puddle of water that slowly disappears in the hot sun. You’ve been snarling at people too often as if they’re deliberately making mistakes or for not knowing what they’re supposed to do before you even tell them. People have started to be careful around you, with some obviously avoiding you if they can.”

“Why haven’t you or Carnigan said something earlier?”

“I’ve seen the big oaf try a couple of times before giving up. He told me it’s just something you’re going through and not to worry and that you’ll wake up one of these days and stop acting like a nutrum.”

Yozef winced. The nasty-dispositioned, rat-size Anyarian animal was fortunately not that abundant, likely due to its proclivity to challenge any other creature in its vicinity for no apparent reason. Yozef had seen one attack a horse that proceeded to stomp it into the dust.

“How about you? You usually don’t hesitate to give your opinion about anything.”

Synton did not answer immediately or look at Yozef. Almost two hundred yards passed before he sighed and shifted in his saddle.

“I hoped Carnigan was right. Don’t tell him I said this, but I like him as I do few men. He’s as honest as you can be in this life and so trustworthy it can be annoying. I like you, too, but it’s different. Carnigan is the way he is because he doesn’t know any other way to be. You’re different. I see you knowing the options of how to behave and treat people and choosing to be the Yozef Kolsko I’ve served these last years. My father and his brothers . . . well, let’s just say they would do anything to anyone if it was to their benefit. I guess I learned too much from them.”

Synton paused in speaking for a few seconds, then continued.

“I try to learn from you to help me be different from my family. I figured if I was to be different, I needed to learn from someone like you. The last month, anyway, has been difficult for me.”

His last words were coated with sadness. It drove a dagger into Yozef’s chest.

“Synton . . . I’m sorry. I—”

Seconds passed.

“I don’t know how I feel about someone using me as a model of how to be a good person. I’ve never thought of myself that way. If anything, I was always perhaps too conscious of my failings. Well . . . maybe not recently.”

“That sounds more like Yozef Kolsko. What did Rhaedri do, hit you over the head with a metal bar?”

Yozef gave a weak smile. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled.

“It doesn’t take too many of the right words from Rhaedri to have that effect. Someone came to him, worried about me. Was it you?”

“No, but if I’d thought of it and known it might shake loose whatever was happening to you, I’d have done it sixdays or months ago.”

When they reached Kolsko Manor, Yozef gave Man O’War to Synton and climbed the front veranda’s steps. Notable in their absence were children greeting him. When had that last happened? Inside, he heard voices in the kitchen and toward the bedroom wing. He walked to the former and found Maera, Anarynd, and Gwyned working and talking. Luna, wearing only a diaper, was in a cradle Anarynd rocked with a foot pedal. He stood a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene. Maera saw him first.

“Oh . . . Yozef. We were wondering where you took off to. Did you . . . ”

She broke off when he picked up Luna. The child squinted at his face, her expressions alternating as blue eyes like her mother’s evaluated what she saw. He passed inspection, and a tiny hand grasped his beard. The three women looked at one another with mixed expressions.

CHAPTER 16

AN INCONVENIENT HISTORY

At the next meeting with Maklos Bota, Yozef was prepared with more background information. The MIU Iraquinik Division had had several months to interview members of the Iraquinik kahsak delegations, research what was available in the St. Wyan’s Cathedral library and carry out intensive interrogations of all the Kolinkan prisoners. All the sources were useful, but he planned to use the prisoner-derived information to make the most progress.

Bota had been sequestered from the other prisoners after his first meeting with Yozef. While the others were held in a secure facility built five miles from Orosz City, Bota was moved to a cottage south from Orosz City one mile toward the river—intentionally near the final Narthani battle’s remaining section of the defensive fortifications and the monument to the fallen, which had inscriptions that included tallies of dead on both sides.

The cottage had no bars, but Bota was not free. There were strict limitations on when he could leave the cottage. Even then, four guards accompanied him everywhere, including at scheduled times when he was allowed inside Orosz City or when escorted to meetings. After a few months, he was permitted to attend certain social occasions when accompanied by security.

Since the first meeting with Bota, Yozef had not pressed the Kolinkan for information. It was time for that to change. In the future, on the second day of the fourth and sixth sixdays of a month, Bota would be escorted to the Orosz City Snarling Graeko by Synton Ethlore and Carnigan Puvey. By this time, Bota had heard tales about the two friends and guards of the Paramount. Those stories and the aura of menace surrounding the two men precluded any ideas of his doing anything untoward. There were also carefully planted stories about Yozef Kolsko’s actions in battles and attempted assassinations. Even if Bota escaped from custody, where would he go?

“Good evening, Maklos,” said Yozef, waiting at the pub’s entrance on the evening of Bota’s first visit to the pub. “You’ve behaved well enough that a reward is in order. The Snarling Graeko is my favorite pub. As it is for Carnigan, although he and Synton have endless arguments.”

Yozef opened the door. Bota hesitated, nonplussed by a polite gesture from the man he had tried to capture or kill. Synton went ahead, and Carnigan’s slow but firm hand on his back got Bota moving. The pub was oddly divided—half of the room with tables crowded together and the other half with a single table against a back wall. The reason for the arrangement was immediately obvious once the four of them sat at the lone table. Four other guards formed a picket line to prevent any patrons from coming too close—not that they would have because word had spread that the Paramount’s table and unknown guest were to be respected.

Now what happens? thought Bota.

He didn’t have long to wait to find out. A woman with four steins of beer set them on the table. There was no toasting, but the three Caedelli picked up the beers and drank. After hesitating, Bota followed suit. Inconsequential talk ensued until a large metal platter was plopped onto the middle of table along with four cloths. Bota looked, perplexed, at the platter’s contents. A two-foot diameter object appeared similar to a wide, thin, open pie of cheese, sliced sausage, and possibly small pieces of vegetables. Steam rose from the object along with an aroma that surprised Bota at how quickly his mouth salivated.

There were no plates or utensils, but the purpose of the cloths was evident when the other three men lifted sections of the pre-cut pie off the platter with their hands and began eating. Yozef noted Bota’s inaction but waited until he swallowed his first bite.

“It’s called pizza, Maklos, and is from my homeland. There’s no fixed set of ingredients for the topping. This happens to be my favorite version. It’s called a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms. It’s become quite popular in Orosz City, and I understand it’s spreading to other parts of Caedellium.”

Well, thought Yozef. Maybe the sausage isn’t real pepperoni and I don’t know how to categorize the fungus-like stuff that sort of tastes like mushrooms, but it’s close enough.

Heather had made the introduction months previous. Tomatoes or their ancestors had not made the transplantation to Anyar, as far as the three Amerikans knew. It was Heather who pointed out that tomatoes were not required, there being popular versions on Earth without that ingredient—her favorite being mushroom and truffle oil. The latter ingredient, or a reasonable substitute had not been identified, but Heather held out hope that would be rectified as Caedellium had more contact with the rest of Anyar.

“This version is all right,” said Carnigan, “but one of the salted seafood versions go best with beer.”

Synton sneered. “Tastes like salted krykor dung. As for me, only pepperoni is best . . . just more of it.”

Yozef smiled to Bota. “I’m the host tonight, so it’s my choice. I don’t mind the anchov . . . ” He stopped before saying “anchovies.” Not that it mattered, but he too often was tempted to lapse into Earth references. Anyway, whatever was the salted seafood, it wasn’t real anchovies.

“Uh . . . salted seafood is good in small quantities, but Carnigan’s preference is nothing but that and cheese and is a little too much for Synton and me.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Carnigan. “The salt lets you drink more beer.”

“As if you needed that,” said Synton. “I think they already tap a new keg every time they see you enter the door.”

Yozef joined the banter as Bota tentatively retrieved a slice of pizza. Three minutes later, he was a devotee and had visions of explaining the dish to a brother who ran a pub in Kolinka.

In the next hour, the three Caedelli moved on from pizza and talked of other mundane matters: weather, family, rumors about an upcoming tournament of a game he’d never heard of, and details of rules he didn’t understand. By the time the food was gone, there had been two refills of beer for Synton and Yozef, three for Carnigan, and one for Bota.

I have to keep my head clear, thought Bota as he nursed his second stein. Kolsko might think he can loosen my tongue.

“I think Maklos and I will talk alone for a while,” said Yozef.

Synton and Carnigan joined the other four guards, all with their backs to the isolated table.

“I’ve had time to get some research done, Maklos. The island’s records are not detailed about Kolinka, but we’ve learned a lot from the other kahsaks and from the other Kolinkan prisoners. Not all of them have been cooperative, but I’ll honestly say seven or eight of your men told us everything they personally know about Kolinka and your rulers. Several of the others were not as forthcoming, but after long interrogations over several months they’ve let slip more details and confirmed what we learned from the others.”

Bota didn’t respond, but Yozef could see his lips tighten at the unwelcome news of the degree to which his fellow Kolinkans had not kept silent. After a moment, he suppressed a sigh.

I have to be honest, Bota thought. There were too many men to expect all of them to keep their mouths shut, but I’m surprised by how many are cooperative, if I can believe Kolsko.

He also thought Kolsko and the Caedelli were clever. He had been allowed to observe the other prisoners several times, though with no direct contact. Clearly, they were being well cared for, and he grudgingly admitted relief that the most extreme treatment didn’t happen. It must have helped his men relax. They knew that in the reverse situation, prisoner conditions would’ve been far worse.

“It’s still a little early,” said Yozef, “but I’m told by Carnigan that he thinks at least two or three of the men will ask to stay in Caedellium if there comes a time when they might be released back to Kolinka. It’s similar to what happened with the Narthani. When it was time for them to leave, thousands opted to stay, rather than return to Narthon. Obviously, they felt life on Caedellium was far better than they knew they would have if they returned home.

“One interesting thing we learned was that the Litlik family is not well loved. And that includes the arklun. My impression, from what they say, is that Meelis Litlik is ignorant, cruel, and clueless of anything not involving his own thoughts or desires.”

Bota struggled to stay impassive. His resolved weakened while Yozef sat alternately staring at him, looking around the room, and taking quaffs from his stein.

“Rulers are commonly unpopular,” said Bota. “Arkluns have to make decisions that inevitably have negative consequences for some of the people, and sometimes things that need doing are best in the long term, despite causing short-term pain.”

Yozef nodded. “Yes, I agree. However, I wonder what long-term good was achieved for Kolinka and its people by the raid on Seaborn to capture or kill me? Caedellium had done nothing to earn Kolinka’s enmity. Although we had no contact before, it can be argued we were allies of a fashion because Narthon is the enemy of us both. I don’t expect you to confirm it, but many of the other prisoners had heard rumors that Arklun Litlik had struck a deal with the Narthani. Of course, they did not know the details, but it’s not hard to guess what Meelis Litlik might have thought was to his advantage. Things like gaining more territory after the eventual Narthon victory and a promise to leave the Litlik family ruling Kolinka as either independent or loosely confederated with Narthon.

“If true, that alone is confirming evidence of Litlik’s stupidity. In their history, the Narthani have shown no evidence of tolerating anything except absolute victory and control over all conquered peoples.”

Bota’s eyelids flickered slightly away from Yozef, then back.

No coming quick to the defense of his ruler, thought Yozef. I don’t think Maklos is a fan.

“Even if the raid had been successful. Even if Narthon eventually conquers all of the Iraquiniks. Whether you have admitted it to anyone else, you’re an intelligent enough man, Maklos, to know the Narthani would eventually turn on Kolinka. So, how do you justify the actions of Arklun Litlik and the rest of his family and lackeys?”

“A man cannot choose his ruler, Kolsko. He has loyalty to those leaders; otherwise, there would be endless conflicts among factions. Our arklun is the glue that holds my people together.”

Now I know he doesn’t think much of the Litlik family, Yozef thought.

“There is much to that,” said Yozef. “However, would it not be better for everyone if the ruler considered the interests of his people at least as important as his own? You must also admit there should be a limit to loyalty. If Meelis Litlik is leading Kolinka to destruction, at what point should an honorable Kolinkan decide his loyalty to the people overrides loyalty to the Litlik family? And speaking of honor, what honor is there in attacking people who have done you no harm?”

Bota’s sudden stiffening alerted Yozef.

“No harm? The Caedelli have no place claiming innocence. Not after having stolen these islands from Kolinka.”

Yozef sat stunned, processing the Kolinkan’s accusation.

What? he thought. Where did that come from?

“Stolen? How is it that Caedellium was stolen from Kolinka?”

Bota smirked, unsettling Yozef that the meeting had turned around. The Kolinkan seemed to feel he was on the offensive and Yozef, the opposite.

“You’re not originally from here. I’ve heard the story from the guards. Haven’t they told you that these islands originally belonged to Kolinka? The people who call themselves Caedelli came here centuries ago. Kolinkans had already settled this island many years before that. Caedellium was an island not yet heavily populated, and my people welcomed the newcomers, only to be stabbed in the back, murdered. The rest of my people had to flee back to Kolinka.”

Two hours later, Yozef sat with Maera in her university office.

“And you’ve never heard the story?” he asked.

Her hair brushed both shoulders from a vigorous headshake.

“He was obviously trying to avoid the conversation you were having. It must show you were getting to him.”

“I haven’t explored the early history of Caedellium,” said Yozef. “I’ve had casual curiosity, but there’s always been something else keeping my attention. So . . . what is the story of how the Caedelli came here?”

“You aren’t taking what Bota said seriously, are you?”

“He seemed to believe what he said, and his demeanor changed in an instant when I claimed Kolinka had no reason to feel enmity toward the Caedelli. Anyway, I don’t need to believe what he said to ask about Caedellium’s early history.”

She sighed and shrugged. “It was four hundred years ago. My people came looking for new lands and found Caedellium almost uninhabited. That much of what Bota said is true. However, it was the people we found living here who attacked us, despite our wish for a peaceful life. Eventually, the fighting ended, and the two peoples merged into the Caedellium of today. I’ve previously described to you how the northern clans still retain some of the customs and names of the original people on Caedellium.”

“Where did the Caedelli originally come from those four hundred years ago?”

“That’s still a mystery. There are almost no records of that time. I once wondered if we would find clues to that origin as Caedellium made more contact with the rest of Anyar. Shortly after the Kaldwels came here, I thought there must be some connection between Caedellium and Frangel. Otherwise, it would be too coincidental that the languages are so similar. Neither Mark nor Heather knows anything about it, nor did Eina when I asked her.”

“No records? But those original settlers must’ve had a written language. Humans are similar enough everywhere that there must’ve been paper accounts.”

“It was long ago,” said Maera. “Those people probably had more important things to do, and the clans didn’t become established until later. That’s when the first surviving records came to be.”

Maera’s honest, thought Yozef. I believe she doesn’t know of any such records, but I’m dubious. There must be more somewhere on Caedellium, but where?

Brother Murdmyn

Rhaedri Brison alternated between his cleft cottage and staying in Orosz City. He was surprised when Yozef arrived at his residence late that afternoon. Neither Tomis Orosz nor St. Wyan’s abbot knew of records of Caedellium’s settlement, but the abbot casually suggested Rhaedri Brison might be the person to ask.

“Why the sudden interest?” asked the elderly theophist.

“It’s something that came up during conversations with the highest-ranking Kolinkan prisoner from the Seaborn raid. He made the claim that Caedellium had been stolen from Kolinka. I know, it was an outlandish claim, except that I had the impression he believed it. I’ve been asking people where there might be records of the Caedelli coming to these islands, and it was suggested that if they existed, you might know where.”

Rhaedri sighed and shifted in his chair. “Why is this important, Yozef?”

“I don’t know if it is important, but if the Kolinkan truly believes the story, then I need to have facts to refute it if I want him to be more cooperative.”

“I suspect this is going to be one more example of how Caedellium changes since the arrival of Yozef Kolsko,” said Rhaedri, sighing. “There is someone you can check with. Brother Arwell Murdmyn in Pewitt is the person to visit. He’s a librarian at St. Hopelan’s Cathedral in Penmawr. He doesn’t travel anymore, so you would have to go there.”

“That’s not a problem. There are projects and people I need to see in both Pewitt and Swavebroke provinces. But tell me something about this Brother Murdmyn. Also, if he knows more about the early days of Caedellium’s settlement, I think Maera would like to come with me.”

“It’s best if you see him without me saying anything more, and it’s best if you see Brother Murdmyn alone.”

“What is Murdmyn’s position? I’ll assume he’s a scholastic.”

“Uh . . . actually, he’s neither, or should I say he could be considered a scholastic, but he’s a member of the militant order.”

“Militants? I remember Sistian or someone mentioning them soon after I arrived on Caedellium, but he said there weren’t many of them. I’d forgotten about them. Something about focusing on meditation, self-discipline, and martial arts? Also, more prominent elsewhere in the world?”

“Mainly on Melosia where the order originated, but not many there anymore. At least, since Narthon’s accession. They . . . uh . . . have a complicated history. You may learn more if you meet with him. As for your questions, afterward you’ll have to judge what to do next. Please be cautious, Yozef. You’re about to step into quiet waters whose disturbance could have long-lasting consequences.”

Penmawr, Pewitt Province

“I’ll return after meeting with Hetman Pewitt,” said Mark as the train pulled into the Penmawr station. “He is still worried about the latest influx of immigrant workers. I’m afraid he has reason for concern. I have reports of dissension still breaking out between nationalities, even during working hours. I’ll tell the hetman it will be dealt with. Don’t ask me how.”

Yozef bit off asking why he hadn’t heard about this earlier but restrained himself. Part of his effort to avoid thinking he had to be involved in every detail was to let other people handle issues, unless he absolutely had to jump in. Still, this type of problem couldn’t be allowed to fester.

“Take care of it, Mark. We’ve already talked about this, and it has to be nipped as soon as possible. If there are troublemaking individuals or groups, then we’ll ship them home if their behavior doesn’t change. I leave it to your judgment whether such people might be salvaged by moving them to other projects on Caedellium.”

“I may not see you again before you head back to Orosz City, Yozef. Are you still not giving me any clues about why you’re meeting some obscure abbey brother in Penmawr?”

“Not really. I’ll just say something came up that pointed me toward Brother Murdmyn. Being honest, I don’t know what the topic of the meeting will be or what might come of it. And no, I’m not sure of my schedule. After Murdmyn, I have to go on to Shullick for a short visit. It’s time to tell Swavebroke organizing and training the Caedelli regiments needs to begin to plan moving to Selfcell to join up with the other regiments as they arrive.””

The train car door jerked open.

“You two going to sit there talking while the rest of us stand around doing nothing?” barked Synton.

“We were betting on how long it would take for you to get impatient,” said Yozef. “Mark won. I owe him a large gold coin.”

“Then, Kaldwel, you owe me a couple of steins the next time we’re in Orosz City’s Snarling Graeko.” Synton turned to Yozef as the two men stepped onto the ground. “They only have one carriage, instead of two like they were supposed to. I sent for a second one, so who wants to use what we have and who will wait?”

“Mark, you go ahead. I’m sure Brother Murdmyn doesn’t know when I’m coming, so there’s no schedule. We’ll get another carriage.”

Mark’s carriage pulled away from the station when Synton stepped closer to Yozef and lowered his voice so the other guards couldn’t hear.

“I’m still surprised Swavebroke agree to temporarily step aside as clan hetman. From what I learned, he’s one of the better hetmen as far as thinking of his clanspeople. With the training in Swavebroke and Selfcell, then the trip to Ponomyna and however long the campaign takes sounds to me like that’s more time than you even told Mark. More like a year.”

“As I said before I started with the logical arguments about how his clan won’t be harmed. I thought that would convince him. Otherwise, I’d of moved on to the good of all Caedellium and hope that works. As a last resort, I’d be Paramount Kolsko. I haven’t yet had to give a direct order to a hetman to override his wishes. I lucked out and he understand the reasoning.”

“Well, God’s mercy, Yozef. I know you don’t like it, but I didn’t hear you playing the Septarsh role as an option. You should have just told Swavebroke ‘It comes to me’ that he needs to take temporary leave of being a hetman. God will be pissed if he doesn’t.”

“Even if I wanted to, I’m not certain how much of a believer Swavebroke is.”

“Don’t worry about that. Most Caedelli are either fervent believers or are unsure enough about the existence of God not to take the chance of getting him angry. At worst, Swavebroke is among the latter.”

“Well . . . I’ll assume that problem is in the past. Right now, I assume the carriage coming our way is the one taking us to St. Hopelan’s.”

Inconvenient Truths

The cathedral was rather undistinguished compared to other provinces’ main cathedrals. Scaffolding covered the north side, reminding Yozef that he had approved funds to help Hetman Pewitt start renovations for age and weathering deterioration.

Thirty or more people milled around the front entrance. Yozef and Synton wove their way through them and almost reached the main entrance before someone noticed who was among them. Ongoing conversations died or were replaced by softer murmurings. Inside, more people sat in pews or stood talking in small clusters. Most remained oblivious to the Paramount’s presence, and they were directed to a side door by a middle-aged sister.

A long, dimly lit corridor ended in stone stairs going downward, where they passed an elderly brother who confirmed they were headed in the right direction.

“How did you know that one wasn’t Murdmyn?” asked Synton.

“Not old enough. Rhaedri said Murdmyn had trouble moving around. This brother was climbing pretty sprightly.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a square room with a single door in the middle of each wall. This was as far as their directions took them, but their destination was evident through one of the open doors where they could see bookshelves. A young brother strode to meet them. His eyes widened when he immediately recognized Yozef.

“Here to see Brother Murdmyn,” said Yozef, preempting questions.

“Uh . . . ,” stumbled the startled man, then pointed down an aisle between bookshelves. “I believe he’s still at his work cubicle.”

They found one of the oldest-looking men Yozef had yet seen on Caedellium. Even though he was sitting, they could tell his back was bent. He could not have weighed more than ninety pounds, and only wisps of white hair adorned an age-spotted scalp. The man focused on a faded scroll, large ill-fitting spectacles sliding down his nose and being pushed back every few seconds. Yozef hadn’t been sure what to expect after Rhaedri said the brother was a member of the militant order. He knew the man was old, but somehow he had pictured a white-haired warrior carrying a sword or a kung-fu master spouting aphorisms.

Yozef cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Are you Brother Arwell Murdmyn?”

“Hmmm? What was that?” asked the man as he looked up.

As old as he appeared, the eyes behind the glasses were alert.

“Ah. The Paramount. Brother Rhaedri sent me a telegraph message that you were coming. That was exciting. It was the first telegraph message I’ve ever received. It was amazing to think Rhaedri sent it to me all the way from Orosz City only perhaps an hour before.”

Murdmyn plucked the spectacles off and held out an arm.

“Help me get up. If I sit too long in one place, the body gets stiff.”

Yozef complied and was surprised by the strength of the grip when Murdmyn put a hand on his arm.

“Let’s go to a table I asked my assistant to set up. The walk will get my muscles and bones working again just in time to sit once again to tighten up. It seems to be an endless cycle. Oh . . . excuse me. Who is the handsome man with you, Paramount?”

Synton’s right eyebrow raised, and he directed a sardonic expression at Murdmyn.

I bet that’s the first time anyone has called him handsome, thought Yozef, unless it was a woman flattering him to get something.

“This is Synton Ethlore,” said Yozef. “He’s a friend and associate.”

“Always pleased to meet new people,” said Murdmyn. “I’m sure we could have an interesting conversation, but you’ll have to excuse the Paramount and me. This will be a private meeting, but feel free to look around the library. However, please ask one of the other brothers or sisters to help you if you want to look at any one item. Some of them are very fragile.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll just look around and be within earshot if you need me, Paramount. Just call out.”

It suddenly occurred to Yozef that he had never seen Synton reading and didn’t even know if he could read. He would ask him later.

Murdmyn watched Synton until he was out of earshot before turning to Yozef.

“Brother Rhaedri’s message was cryptic to anyone reading it, except me and perhaps three or four other brothers. If I’m not mistaken, you want to know about how the Caedelli people came to Caedellium and the first years. I admit I was surprised by the message. It’s been many years since I’ve had someone initiate those questions, rather than my broaching the topic with them. That time the person was Rhaedri when he was a newly ordained brother.”

Good Lord! thought Yozef. Just how old is Murdmyn? I’ve figured Rhaedri is about seventy to eighty Earth years. That would have to put Murdmyn up at or even past a hundred years old.

“That’s correct,” said Yozef. “I asked those questions of Rhaedri, and he directed me to you. Why is that? He obviously knew some of the history but deferred to a brother I’d never heard of in a musty library in Penmawr.”

“There are things not widely known by the people of Caedellium. A decision was made centuries ago that ignorance of some things is sometimes for the best. It’s a question that has been discussed and argued endlessly in the following centuries, but the original decision has been honored. However, probably as a compromise among the people making that decision, it was decided that history should not be totally erased, even if hidden from the common people. Certain historical details would be sequestered from all but a small number, with one person serving as a gatekeeper, as one might call it, for when others not within that small group needed access. It was left to them to decide when such moments occurred. It has been at least thirty years since that last occurred, and now there’s you, Paramount. If I ever get a chance to speak again with Rhaedri, I’ll be curious to ask whether he sent you to me because you’re the Paramount or if there is some other reason.”

“I hope you’ll understand, Brother Murdmyn, if I say that I am extremely curious but have more than a little trepidation,” said Yozef. “I have to assume that the early history on Caedellium has details that were too horrendous to burden future generations with.”

“That’s essentially correct, although I wouldn’t have said horrendous but more reprehensible. Of course, that’s a matter of personal opinion, but I can see your phrasing being deemed appropriate by some people.”

They arrived at a small alcove with a table and two chairs side by side, facing outward. Yozef pulled a chair back for Murdmyn and steadied him as they sat. Murdmyn shifted his chair. “Paramount, do you mind turning our chairs a little more sideways to each other? It’s impolite not to face the person you’re talking to, and I’m afraid I have trouble turning my head in that direction.”

When Yozef complied, Murdmyn leaned closer until their eyes were only a foot and a half apart.

“Rhaedri asked me to tell you everything we know. Even so, there are gaps, and many events are known only by scanty and partial records—some only from fragments of letters and written in what we think is an earlier version of Caedelli. I’ll start with what we know the furthest back. Of course, our people came from somewhere else on Anyar. Where exactly is a remaining mystery. An obvious suspicion is somewhere close, either from Landolin or western Melosia. That this is not the case is indicated by two references to a long and difficult trip lasting many months. One record is a single page from a longer letter, evidently written by two family members. It talks of family members’ deaths separated by months, perhaps six months or more, although some of us who have studied the records believe it may have been years.

“The second record appears to be part of an attempt to write a history of travel from our people’s origin somewhere on Anyar. Unfortunately, all that we have is a section that talks of them having to move again after being in a place where they attempted to grow crops. It was apparently either a forced move or a decision that where they were was not God’s intended destination. It was hinted that they believed there was a divine intent to lead them to a land of plenty and safety.”

“The promised land?” said Yozef, thinking of Earth.

“Yes!” said Murdmyn excitedly. “That phrase appeared several times. There was also considerable excitement within our small circle when Rhaedri reported to us that the language spoken by the Kaldwel family is very similar to Caedelli, suggesting our origin may have been Frangel or perhaps one of the other realms on Drilmar. A few of us discounted that possibility, arguing the distance was too great. I was open to the possibility but was convinced when Rhaedri was told by Brother Beynom in the town of Abersford in Keelan Province of a man originally from Novaryn on Drilmar. The man was a scholastic of some kind and traveled to Landolin to learn the High Landolin language. There, he met someone from Caedellium and noticed the similarity in languages.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Paramount, but when they first found you on a beach near Abersford, they tried to see whether you knew a language to help identify you. The Novaryn man knew several other languages and was brought in. He didn’t recognize what language you were speaking. We would have been interested in talking with the Novaryn man, but he died a few months after you arrived. That was unfortunate, not only because he could have helped clarify our records but also because he must’ve had a fascinating history.

“Now that you have been brought into this, I’m sure one of our people would like to talk with the Kaldwel couple, although we would need to do it without telling them the reasons. Anyway, that’s the limit of what we know about coming to Caedellium. I take it that your interest is also what happened after our ancestors arrived. It’s common knowledge that there were people already living on Caedellium. How long they lived here is uncertain, but given the favorable conditions of the island and how relatively sparsely populated it was at that time, this suggests that perhaps the island had been inhabited for no more than a hundred years.

“Where common knowledge diverges in the hidden records concerns relations between the people already on Caedellium and the new arrivals. Contrary to what is commonly believed, conflict started almost immediately. Records from about the time right after arrival and accounts written much later all claim the conflicts were the fault of the Kolinkans.”

“Kolinkans!? You mean the Iraquiniks!?”

Yozef was stunned. Seconds passed before he realized his mouth hung open. He closed it with a snap as his mind whirled.

“That’s where the records are vague,” said Murdmyn. “They were either independent but related to the people of Kolinka or were part of Kolinka. You would have to check with them to know what their history says. Whatever the case, we called them Kolinkans.”

Yozef was aware of Murdmyn talking, but the words weren’t registering.

Ho . . . ly . . . shit, thought Yozef. Maybe Bota wasn’t spouting bullshit after all. Even if all this is true and happened four centuries ago, these things can linger as grievances, particularly when a ruler wants to drag them up.

He could see the Kolinkan ruler using this justification to retake the land stolen by the Caedelli. Yozef would have to investigate why this had not come out during interrogations of the prisoners.

He was suddenly aware again of Murdmyn. “Sorry, but what were you saying?”

“The fighting. After the initial conflicts, those referred to now as the Caedelli moved farther south from the Kolinkan settlements mainly in the north and west of the island. There was a long period, perhaps seventy to eighty years, where the two peoples lived separate lives, only interacting occasionally and at local levels. It seemed to have changed when the population increased enough that the two growing communities came in contact more. Once again, the records, which by now are more extensive, put most of the blame on the Kolinkans, though there were occasional admissions of Caedelli culpability.

“What is in the records is the thread proposing to rid Caedellium of the Kolinkans. A person would have to be naïve to read the records and not believe greed, prejudice, and the urge to blame someone else for their problems were the basis of Caedelli attitudes. The conflicts increased. It may have been because the settlements had become interspersed, making them vulnerable to raids motivated by local grievances. What’s clear is that atrocities were committed by both sides.”

Murdmyn put a hand to the side of his face. “Even after reading some of these accounts many years ago, it still affects me to think about the descriptions, which, of course, were from only one side. It would hardly be surprising if Kolinkan records, if they exist, tell the opposite story.

“Anyway, over time, it was the Caedelli who pushed the Kolinkans out of some of their land. Thank Merciful God that at last reason and compassion were found. Maybe it was because both sides had gotten so weak. Maybe because the right leaders rose on both sides. Whatever the cause, a truce was declared. We infer from records that memories of the bad times were so strong that for the following generations, most people on both sides made efforts to avoid conflicts. Slowly, the two communities developed more interactions, and it was the Kolinkan community that gradually adopted most of the customs and language of the Caedelli.”

“The northern clans,” said Yozef. “Maera told me they were a little different from the other clans by having more history of the original inhabitants of Caedellium.”

“Yes, that’s mainly Farkesh, Skouks, and Vandinke, then less the neighboring provinces like Swavebroke and Pawell. About the time clans as we know them were forming, it was decided that to prevent history from interfering with clan relations, it was best to try and ignore the past. That intent slowly changed to deliberately obscuring that era of Caedellium’s history.”

Murdmyn waved a gnarled hand and smiled. “You’ll have to excuse me, Paramount, but I tire. I’ll need to lie down for a while. We can talk more later. I can let you read copies we’ve made of the old records. You can also view the originals—we only ask you not to handle them. They’re so fragile, they easily fall apart.”

“How extensive are they?”

“I can have an assistant pull out what I would consider the most relevant. You should be able to read them in three or four hours. Oh . . . there are some differences in Caedelli over the centuries, so you can ask when you don’t know a word or the structure seems unclear.”

Yozef considered. He would like to scan some of the copies, but it would take more time than he had to do a decent evaluation.

“Brother Murdmyn, would it be possible for me to have someone else read the records in detail? Someone with a better background in the common version of Caedellium history? I’m thinking of my wife, Maera.”

“I think that having brought you into the secret, Paramount, it will be no riskier to include Maera Kolsko-Keelan. Rhaedri vouches for her, and from what he says, I agree it may be the best way for you to understand the history and how it relates to today’s Caedelli people. After all, you do lead the entire island— something that hasn’t happened before, and who knows what the future will bring? Maybe knowledge will help you in your duties.”

It was two days later, during the train back to Orosz City, when Yozef remembered he had forgotten to ask Brother Murdmyn about the militant order. The news about Kolinka had crowded out his intention to ask.

Kolsko Manor, Orosz City

Yozef was not looking forward to bringing up the topic of Kolinka’s future with Maera again. He had slowly softened his initial declaration on Seaborn, but Maera remained firm on a maximum punishment. He decided to get the difficult conversation out of the way as soon as he returned from Pewitt. No setting seemed ideal, so he went straight from the train station to her university office.

“Yozef, you’re back. I want to hear about your trip, but if you wait a few minutes until I finish writing this letter, you can tell me about it on the way home. I’m also curious about the immigrant problems in Pewitt.”

Yozef was not in the frame of mind to wait even a few minutes.

“Yes, there’s news about the problem with immigrants in Pewitt and my meeting with Hetman Swavebroke. They were important purposes of the trip, but the main reason I went was to meet with a brother at St. Hopelan’s in Penmawr. He was recommended to me by Rhaedri Brison. It has to do with the early history of Caedellium and how it relates to Kolinka.”

Maera’s lips pursed at the mention of that kahsak. They had had one of their few serious arguments when she believed he was willing to be too lenient with Kolinka. She had remained firmly supportive of destroying the kahsak and scattering its people to the winds.

“I don’t want to argue again, but I learned something new about Kolinka. Hear me out.”

She put aside her quill and sat back in her chair, a blank expression on her face. She didn’t speak until he got to Rhaedri telling him about the hidden records.

“I’ve never heard of this,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I’ve read widely about the clans’ histories. Not everything, of course. Every clan has its own records, and nothing is centralized. That’s one of the things we’ve talked about . . . the need to create an island-wide information record exchange. But Pewitt is one of the clans where I was able to visit the capital’s library. I didn’t hear anything about such hidden records, and I spent a full sixday there.”

“You probably didn’t meet with a Brother Murdmyn.”

She shook her head.

“He and two assistants are in charge of the records and apparently it’s the only place on Caedellium where these exist. Aside from those three, only a small number of people are aware of the records. Rhaedri is one, but Sistian is not.”

He moved on to Murdmyn’s story of the oldest records. At her first interruption, he asked that she wait until he finished, anticipating it would go better if she heard the entire story before trying to pick holes in it.

As he suspected would happen, her skeptical expression waned the more he talked. By the time he finished, her expression was neutral, and her stiff posture had relaxed.

“You’re right. I’ll have to go to Penmawr myself to talk with Murdmyn and read the records in depth. I have to say I don’t like what you’re telling me. Part of me hopes that after going to Penmawr, I can refute the story. On the other hand, I doubt that will happen because Rhaedri believes it, and you’re obviously convinced by Murdmyn. I expect you will also use this as further justification for more leniency to Kolinka. It still doesn’t change what Kolinka did.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Yozef. “There’s still going to be a change in Kolinka as far down the leadership levels as we can manage. But this new information tells us that the underlying history between Kolinka and Caedellium may have made the Seaborn raid easier to justify.”

They talked for another half-hour, focusing on details of her forthcoming trip to Penmawr and the potential ramifications of the hidden files—assuming they were accurate. She was as firm as Yozef in her opinion that there was no positive reason to reveal the contents—at least, at this time. Yozef didn’t mention that he believed one reason was that too many changes were already happening on the island. He didn’t need these revelations to complicate the next few years.

CHAPTER 17

AKUYUN AND ERGOMAN

Ergoman Estate, Korinshir Bulak

It was two months before Akuyun was confident enough in the stability of the new Narthon/Harrasedic border to visit the Ergoman estate where Rabia had been born and raised. He had multiple reasons for the visit. She and the children had remained there while he dealt with the new border position. He also wanted to check on the Amerikan, which led to him contacting Hizer.

They agreed it was time to inform ex-marshal Khalid Ergoman of the third known Amerikan. Hizer was not initially in favor of disclosing this but acquiesced when Akuyun was positive Ergoman would keep the secret. The retired marshal retained contacts within the senior officer corps, giving him access to military news and imperial court rumors. Akuyun wanted to hear more about the current political and military atmosphere.

“There was no problem finding them a place on the estate, Okan,” said Ergoman, when Akuyun inquired about the Hizer’s party of four adults and two children. “Plus, we’re always happy to have Rabia and the children back with us for a while, and she takes care of our mystery guests. I’m curious about who they are and why you’re so interested in them.”

“I’ll explain more later, Khalid, but it’s a sensitive matter. First, I’d like to know any news related to what you confided to me when I returned from Caedellium. You thought there were troubling times ahead for the empire and too much internal rot. You warned that I should pay attention to events elsewhere in Narthon. Of course, being in the empire’s far eastern border didn’t give me many opportunities to hear much.”

For the moment, Akuyun did not mention he had shared a few letters with Grand Marshal Fazellon, who had supported him during the hearing into what happened on Caedellium. Fazellon had also hinted at changes, without being specific. The limited correspondence from Fazellon had been generally innocuous, though Akuyun sensed the grand marshal had concerns he could not put into writings that might be read by the wrong parties.

Ergoman sighed at Akuyun’s question and leaned back in his chair. “I hear more and more discontent at meddling by members of the imperial family and the sycophants who surround them. Oh . . . there’s always some of that happening, but it’s getting to the level where in the past it has signaled troubling times for the empire.”

Ergoman’s words were almost the same ones used by Fazellon when he and Akuyun last met.

“Where do you see things heading, Khalid? Is there widespread unrest?”

Akuyun’s father-in-law gave him a piercing look. “These are things carefully talked about, Okan. If we were not on this estate, with its thick walls, and this room’s doors and windows shut, what I will say could be dangerous. And then I’d say it only to a very few people in whom I have absolute trust not to repeat anything outside this room.

“The army is steadily splitting into two factions, those with absolute, blind loyalty to the Imperial Court and those increasingly worried that Narthon’s greatest enemy is not beyond our borders but in the capital, Usmaya. Favorites of the court are increasing in numbers at the highest levels in the army. The navy is not quite as bad, but it’s there, too. In the past, the army could dissuade the court of its worst ideas or, if not, at least ameliorate the effects. That is becoming harder to do.

“If the court had people of intelligence, leastways the ideas could sometimes have merit. Now, too often, the proposals are from people too stupid to realize their impracticality. They have such bloated opinions of themselves, but what usually comes out of their mouths is illogical and counterproductive.

“As bad as the corruption is now, there has always been a degree of bribery, self-indulgence, and self-serving behavior. Even so, as long as the empire was strong and significant dangers well in hand, it was tolerable.”

Ergoman paused and licked his lips. “You say you haven’t heard much of what’s going on elsewhere in the empire?”

Akuyun shrugged. “Nothing I could call significant,” he said, leaving out the earthquake of Hizer and Robin’s appearance.

“There has been a concerted effort to keep the details secret, but a major uprising occurred in Morzin Bulak about six months ago. It was serious enough that the local authority was losing control and at least one entire corps was pulled from Military Zone One to put it down. There were even rumors it threatened to spread to neighboring parts of the Ezirlufa and Udaban bulaks.”

“Great Narth!” exclaimed Akuyun. “I haven’t heard a whisper about this. It’s got to be one of the reasons the Landolin adventure has seemed to stall. But that’s been a puzzle for a year or more. How long has the uprising been ongoing? I doubt the unrest developed suddenly, and that’s why further Landolin deployments were postponed.”

“A reasonable thought,” said Ergoman, “but probably it could be confirmed only by someone like Grand Marshal Fazellon.”

Or Hizer, Akuyun thought. But he didn’t mention anything like this. Surely, the Assessor Order knows what’s happening in Morzin.

He would grill Hizer later, but for now, Akuyun made a decision.

“Khalid, there’s a man I arrived with whom I would like to join us for what I’m about to tell you.”

“The tall one?” said Ergoman, smiling. “I was wondering. He wore army clothes like your other escorts, but something about him doesn’t fit. I assume what you want to tell me is sensitive, and he’s part of it. Go ahead and get him, but let’s not go into what you and I already discussed.”

Ten minutes later, Akuyun returned with Hizer, who had changed clothing. Surprise was evident on Ergoman’s face when a man wearing the typical raiment and insignia of an Assessor Three entered the room.

“Marshal Ergoman,” said Akuyun, switching to the formal address, “this is Assessor Three Sadek Hizer. He was on Caedellium with me. Two months ago, he came to me with a fantastical story that I have come to believe.” Akuyun smiled. “I ask that you trust me enough to keep an open mind, no matter your first impression of what we’re going to tell you.”

Ergoman sat quietly for the next hour and a half as Hizer and Akuyun laid out the arguments to support Robin Kehlee’s story. After the first expressions of incredulity and bewilderment, his face became blank. Only his eyes shifting between the men and the occasional drumming of fingers on the tabletop gave hints of his responses to what he heard.

“That’s what we have, Khalid,” said Akuyun. “I don’t doubt you might have initially thought us stark raving mad—somehow deluded into believing this story or having some nefarious reason for telling it to you.”

“And you actually believe this?” asked Ergoman.

“At first . . . no. Then later, after knowing more of the supporting evidence, talking extensively with the woman, and fitting it into my experiences on Caedellium, it became all the more plausible until I have to say that I believe it is the truth. Assessor Hizer reports she knew of many of the Kolsko innovations by Amerikan names. Balloons, ether, kotex, kerosene. And not just the names but what they are and how to use them. There’s absolutely no way she could have learned about these directly from Kolsko. She had to have prior knowledge. The obvious way was for both being from Amerika.

“Now, that could mean Amerika is just somewhere on Anyar and not yet discovered. That has become increasingly less likely as Narthon and Fuomon scour Anyar for a previously unknown realm. Both of our navies are still searching, but, according to Hizer’s information, our admirals don’t believe any such place can have remained hidden. And even if it’s still somehow missed, that presents another whole list of ambiguities and contradictions. That’s just one reason why the woman’s story rings true, no matter how fantastic.

“Could I be wrong? Yes, as could Assessor Hizer. Trust me . . . if given a choice, I would have all this turn out to be nonsense. Perhaps a long series of coincidental events and facts got woven into a logical-sounding account by our minds groping for answers about things we don’t understand.”

“Well, I certainly don’t understand what you’ve told me. Okan . . . if I didn’t know you, I would question your sanity or motivations. But I do know you. As for you, Hizer, I don’t know you, but the Assessor Order is not accustomed to having unstable or unintelligent men at the Assessor Three level. I’ve never met an Assessor One, but the Twos and Threes I’ve interacted with were all among the smartest men I’ve known. Nothing personal, but they also tend to be too cold-blooded in their application of logic for my taste.

“Having said that, you must understand why I can’t just accept what you’ve told me. Despite that little issue, let’s for the moment assume what you’ve told me is true. What would the consequences be . . . or, more precisely, what should Narthon’s response be? My first reaction is that we should forget everything else—the Iraquiniks, Fuomon, and the Harrasedics—and put every resource into destroying Caedellium and eliminating this man Kolsko and every reference to him. Otherwise, there is literally no way to underestimate the consequences of our enemies possessing such knowledge and the turmoil within every society on Anyar.”

“I might agree,” said Akuyun, “except that we believe there is at least one other Amerikan on Anyar besides Robin Kehlee—a man named Mark Kaldwel.” Akuyun proceeded to describe what was known of the third Amerikan, his history, and his innovations.

“Hizer makes a good case—or, at least, a logical case—that there are likely more Amerikans scattered around the planet. Narth only knows what knowledge they might possess and who of our enemies they might share it with.”

Ergoman sighed. “Well, then . . . maybe the first option would be attempting to capture Kolsko and taking extreme measures to find other Amerikans. Those things may or may not be possible. It would require the empire redirecting its efforts, something that won’t happen unless you have more proof and can convince enough of the right men.”

“Is that something you could try to do, Khalid?” asked Akuyun.

“At this moment, absolutely not. For one thing, I would have to believe as much as the two of you do, which I do not. Second, I would have to carefully select whom I approach. They would have to be men who trusted and respected me enough not to just wave away what I told them as the delusions of a harmless friend or comrade doddering into old age.”

“I would offer another path forward,” said Hizer, who had been silently observing the exchange between Akuyun and Ergoman. “What if the arguments for focusing on Caedellium and the Amerikans do not include Robin Kehlee’s account of Earth? There are rational arguments that do not need to delve into those details. If someone such as yourself were convinced the Amerikans threatened Narthon’s existence, you could work to change the High Command’s and the court’s plans.”

“I suppose if these hypothetical persons were high enough,” said Ergoman, “but that does not include me.”

“Let’s not pretend you are not influential, Ergoman,” said Hizer, “and not highly regarded. Otherwise, the High Command would not have dangled your being a grand marshal if you would return to the army.”

Akuyun, surprised, looked quickly at his father-in-law, who stared placidly back.

“They’ve been at it the last year. I keep saying no, but it makes me suspect events are not going Narthon’s way in the west. First was the Caedellium affair, the western armies not performing as well as expected, continuing entanglements in Rustal, the Landolin campaign delays, and then the Morzin revolt. If I did return to service, I would be sent west to the Iraquinik front, possibly even to Landolin. I’m content being where I am and away from the constant petty intrigue and dealing with incompetent men. Besides, I’ve spent enough years serving Narthon.”

“Service is a complex concept,” said Hizer, his tone suggesting a lecturer carefully framing a sensitive topic, “especially for someone who does it willingly. It can involve a commitment to a greater good than the person’s self-interest—possibly doing things he would prefer not to. I also note that you said, ‘at this moment,’ when declining to convince people about Earth and Amerikans being a threat to Narthon. This is something the Assessor Council is taking seriously. Yes . . . turning Narthon’s attention back to Caedellium is not an easy objective, but deciding whether to commit to a task is intricately tied to its importance. The combination of the Assessor Order and a large-enough body of influential military leaders could change opinions.”

When Hizer ceased speaking, Ergoman rose from his chair and walked out of the room without comment.

Hizer looked at Akuyun. “You know your father-in-law. Did he just give us his answer?”

Akuyun shook his head. “Wait. He does this when he has serious thinking to do, and the presence of others is distracting. Rabia says she saw this often when she was growing up, and I have witnessed it several times. It’s actually a good sign that he’s not dismissing what he’s heard.”

“How long is he usually gone?”

Akuyun chuckled. “There is no usual. Rabia says once he got on a horse and was missing for two days before returning with a decision. She didn’t tell me what the cause was, but I suspect she had told him she wanted to marry a lowly officer from an insignificant family—not exactly the match General Ergoman had in mind.”

The two men sat quietly for twenty minutes before Akuyun called a servant to bring water and cups. At one hour, both men relieved themselves and returned to the meeting room, Hizer to read a book he pulled from a satchel and Akuyun to walk in a garden visible from the room’s windows. At two hours, they were both in the room and Akuyun was considering plans for the rest of the day should Ergoman need more time, wherever he was.

The room’s door to the estate’s main hall opened. Ergoman stomped in, sat, and glared at them from his re-occupied chair.

“All right. I’ll think about this. I’ll read everything you have, Hizer, and spend time with the Kehlee woman. But don’t expect anything. What you claim is too fantastic to be true, but I’ll look for flaws and weigh any possibility that it’s true against the consequences for Narthon.”

Four days later, Akuyun prepared to return to his posting in Military Zone 4. Rabia would go back with him to Tormkee, the 22nd Corps’ headquarters, leaving Robin, her children, her woman companion, and the assessors at the Ergoman estate. Rabia assured him they would be fine without her presence.

Akuyun and Hizer met a last time before separating.

“I’ll stay another sixday,” said Hizer. “Ergoman is taking this seriously, which is probably the most we could have hoped for. I’ll continue working with Robin and the other assessors, then there are other duties I’m assigned to here in the east.”

“I respect Khalid,” said Akuyun. “I believe there is a good chance he will come to our point of view, though I can’t predict how long it will take. Even if he never believes the story, he may decide that a miniscule possibility it’s true is enough for him to act. I think he already believes Kolsko and Caedellium are important enough issues to deal with, and he can justify acting as you suggested. Then there’s something else.”

Akuyun put an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on the back of his hand. Seconds passed.

“I don’t know if I should share this with you, but Khalid didn’t say not to. I also have to suspect the Assessor Order has as much or more information about what’s happening throughout Narthon.”

He paused again before continuing.

“Oh, Great Narth, why not? Khalid has been hearing more rumors and reports from old contacts in Usmaya and elsewhere. We’ve talked about almost nothing else the last two days. There have always been different personal views of Narthon’s destiny, but he thinks the court, the officer corps, and many other important Narthani are grouped into three factions more distinct than before. One faction consists of the true believers in Narthon’s destiny to rule all of Anyar. Men in this group have been the most influential in the last ten years and were prime movers in the Rustal and Landolin adventures.

“A second faction worries that Rustal and Landolin will overstretch our resources. They are largely those who are satisfied with their current positions or who hope to rise higher. Their concern is mainly for themselves. For them, a stalemate everywhere is the best option. Then there’s a third group, the smallest so far and the most reluctant to engage publicly. They worry a stalemate is inherently unsustainable and that attempts to bring more of Anyar into the empire at this time threatens to turn back on us. There’s even concern that Narthon is not invincible to suffering an eventual decline and fall. How would the Assessor Order view the beliefs and worries of these three factions?”

“I can’t speak for the High Council, but there are trends within the order and personal discussions that support assessors falling into all three of the factions you mention. However, the discussions assume the outcomes are only long term. We may have more immediate concerns. Time is a key factor. For every month that passes, I find myself worrying about what is happening in the west and the influence of Caedellium. For all we know, there is a clock counting down how long Narthon has to deal with a threat whose magnitude we don’t understand. Will the Caedellium/Amerikan episode end up being a minor footnote in Narthon history, or will we find we waited too long to take action?”

Akuyun and Ergoman

Another two months passed before Akuyun found a plausible reason to visit the Ergoman estate again. It was prompted by an otherwise innocuous letter from his father-in-law, casually mentioning a problem with Ozem, Akuyun’s teenage son. Ozem and Akuyun’s daughter, Lufta, had remained at the estate when Rabia returned to Dinzlon. It took three sixdays before Akuyun could be absent from duties related to securing the new border with the Harrasedics and constructing new bases.

“How is the Kehlee woman faring?” asked Akuyun when he met Ergoman after several hours of catching up with his family.

“I don’t see her that often, but all indications are she’s doing fine. At Hizer’s suggestion, she is helping tend the formal gardens. The head gardener has instructions she’s to be given enough to keep her busy without putting pressure on her.” He smiled. “Rabia told me before she left that the idea was to make her feel like parts of the garden are hers personally. Anything to keep her relaxed and busy and at same time not see herself as doing the work because she has to.”

Akuyun nodded. “Sounds fine. Hizer doesn’t know what her eventual fate will be but wants to keep her looking to Narthon for a dramatically better life. As for your letter and concern about Ozem, we had already settled that issue, but no one else would know that.”

“He’s a fine son,” said Ergoman. “I know you and Rabia preferred he not enter the army, but it was always fated he would follow the other men in his family.”

“It’s not like we could have stopped him,” Akuyun said with a sigh. “Not with Narthani law mandating a boy is free to join the military on his sixteenth birthday. In other families, fathers might prevail by forbidding it, but knowing Ozem, he’s stubborn enough to go against me and invoke the law.”

“You’re a wise father as well as general, Okan. A good cardinal rule is don’t fight battles you can’t win. The boy needs to take his own path.”

“Yes, but another battle is coming. In five months, he graduates from officer training. He’ll still be sixteen and commanding a platoon of men, some of whom are more than twice his age and veterans of one or two decades of experience.”

“It was the same for us, Okan. I know you’re aware of that, and I understand you will always worry about him. But what is this other battle you mention?’

“When he moves into the regular army, I’ll see to it he’s assigned to my corps. He will erupt. I can hear the arguments. ‘I want to make it on my own and not as the son of a general.’ ‘The men will think I owe my command to my father and not because of myself.’ ‘Other officers will either try to ingratiate themselves with me or stay away.’ It won’t make any difference. I’ve already lost one son due to an incompetent commander. I already had Morzak transferred to me. Both he and Ozem will take their chances like any other soldier under me, but at least I can ensure the chain of command above them is the best I can manage. All right, Khalid, I appreciate the chance to see my family, but what’s the real reason you got me here?”

Ergoman’s “family time discussion” face morphed into his “respected and experienced army marshal” expression.

“I’ve been exchanging letters with Grand Marshal Fazellon.”

Akuyun felt relaxed enough with Ergoman that he let his eyebrows convey his surprise.

“And no, he doesn’t say anything so sensitive as to raise alarm in some circles, but I served with him enough times and years to pick up clues. From what I sensed in his letters, I probed other officers I know and trust, as well as a few officials near the court in Usmaya. Those who passed on information, and they were not a majority, are forming a picture that few men outside a small number in Usmaya are aware of.

“For one thing, the disturbances in western Narthon have been significantly worse than disturbances in the official story. There was a full-fledged slave revolt in Morzin Bulak. I already told you they had to pull a corps from the Iraquinik line to put it down. I’ve learned that there are still sporadic resistance pockets and attacks on small units. The revolt has now caused more troops to be withdrawn to the Usak and Ezirlufa bulaks as a preventative measure to ensure the revolt doesn’t spread. We’re actually fortunate the Iraquiniks don’t know the state of our western units. If they knew that and were more organized, they might attempt a major attack similar to or greater than what the Harrasedics tried.”

“I assume what happened is never going to be called a revolt,” said Akuyun.

“Of course not. Word would then spread that revolts are possible, even if doomed. Usmaya is doing everything it can to prevent reports from reaching other bulaks, but you know how futile that is. They can slow word from spreading, but it will eventually reach everywhere and be known to the lowest slave.”

“Is that confirmation why the Landolin campaign has stalled? At least, that’s the rumor I’ve heard from a couple of transferred officers who were in the west.”

“Right. Usmaya is leery of sending more troops off Melosia until the situation in western Narthon is stabilized. I’ve one source that tells me units intended for Landolin have been left stationed in bulaks, even in Dunzali and western Udaban.”

“Any word on what ignited the revolt?” asked Akuyun.

“Nothing leaking from Usmaya, but the rumor is that serious unrest started when they tried to implement slavery like in the central bulaks. The west is the most recently incorporated, and the peoples have not been totally absorbed yet. Despite efforts to eradicate the previous cultures, strains of them remain, as well as unofficial gatherings being held to remember the past. Not for all the people, of course, but enough for them to foment discord if given the excuse.”

Both men knew the history. When the original Narthani roared south out of what was now Akatir Bulak in central Melosia, they ruthlessly incorporated conquered tribes and nations into the Narthani culture, and slavery was an accepted tenet. The Narthani expansion paused for a century when it reached Bineltep and the ocean. When Urlerfor the Great became emperor, he attempted to add more territory to the east. The ensuing wars lasted thirty years and devastated the eventually conquered peoples and significant parts of the empire. Narthon was so exhausted and the opponents so debilitated that they acceded to a limited Narthon suzerainty in exchange for leaving remnants of the original cultures. Historians suspected Urlerfor had planned to complete the subjugation once Narthon recovered from the wars, but he died before he could act. Subsequent emperors were not as committed to expansion. When Urlerfor the Second ascended to the throne, his attempt to complete what his namesake intended was met with too much opposition.

As the decades passed, the eastern bulaks became more like the others, but one remnant was that slavery was allowed but not encouraged. Workers where technically free but were commonly bound to estates.

Akuyun grunted. “I have to wonder if the conservative elements in Usmaya remembered what happened here in the east and moved to implement more slavery laws, along with other laws suppressing past customs, before the western bulaks became too much like those here in the east.”

“That would be my suspicion,” said Ergoman. “They may also have worried that too many people, especially in the Ezirlufa and Morzin bulaks, know about relatives across the border. One might think constant warfare would have long ago severed such ties, but humans will find a way.”

Ergoman’s gritted teeth and frown reeked of disgust. “The damn court is so corrupt and full of sycophants that I doubt anyone dared object when the coterie surrounding the emperor’s family pushed with either the Rustal and Landolin adventures or the changes in western bulak laws. The incompetence and corruption of Usmaya is one reason I retired. I would have done it sooner, but I hung on for years because of worry Narthon was digging a hole it didn’t even know existed. I suppose I thought I could help, but that hope finally dwindled too much for me to continue.

“I also get reports that there will be a number of new corps established and possibly one or two new armies of three to five corps. One rumor is that one army will reinforce the Iraquinik front weakened by the revolt. The other army would be for Landolin to get that campaign back on track.

“I’ve also had more definitive contacts from Usmaya—not ‘suggesting,’ as before, but explicit that if I returned to service, I would be raised to grand marshal. Whether to command one of the new armies or take over an existing one, I don’t know. We’ve already talked about you not being surprised if eventually you get transferred west, possibly with the entire Twenty-Second Corps you now command. If that happened, it would be similar to me not knowing whether my destination was the Iraquinik front or Landolin.”

Akuyun had mainly listened to his father-in-law, but all the while another thought kept cropping up.

“Khalid, do you think Narthon is destined to fall?”

Ergoman’s focus went from Akuyun to some object far away as he considered. The abrupt question did not surprise him.

“I don’t know, Okan. I’m not knowledgeable enough or bright enough to conclude that. I have served the empire most of my life. Ten years ago, it would never have entered my mind that the empire would not always exist, either as it is now or expanded. I’ve never been a fervent believer that the destiny of Narthon was to rule the world, but my loyalty was to the people and the emperor. That was ten years ago.

“If I were superstitious or a follower of the arts that look at stars, the casting of stones, or mystical messages, I would worry about potential omens when I consider the revolt, the stalled Landolin campaign, the Harrasedics surprising us with their attack, the defeat on Caedellium, and the rise of Kolsko. Who’s to say? If anything comes to mind, it’s that momentous decisions will be made in the coming years. Part of me hopes I’ve passed on to whatever next existence there is, if any, before those decisions are needed. In that case, it would be you or your sons dealing with what happens.”

“What about the Assessor Order in all this?” asked Akuyun. “Surely, they are aware of more than you are.”

“You’d have to get that from Hizer, and even he might not know. They’re fanatical about keeping the order’s internal discussions to themselves. It’s occurred to me many times to wonder what the order sees coming and where its ultimate loyalty lies.”

CHAPTER 18

LOGISTICS

“I think we need more competent people in on this, Reimo,” said Yozef to Kivalian at the end of one too many meetings on logistical problems where action items from the previous meeting remained unattended to.

“We’ve been talking about general principles, but it’s time to get into the dirty little details of making this work. That’s when we’ll find the problems in the real world. For one thing, there’s just too much to do and too many people and projects to keep track of. For another thing, we’ve got to get more organized about logistics. So far, we have different people working on various parts of the problem, but we need someone overseeing the whole effort full time. You’ve got more than you can already do . . . trying to turn a gaggle of different units into a coordinated division. Same with me, though with different duties and calls on my time.”

“How about Kaldwel? He seems to have a good grasp of military realities.”

“No, he’s just as swamped as we are. In his case, it’s pushing the weapons projects as hard as possible. Take him away from that, and there might be avoidable delays. No . . . it’ll have to be someone else. I’m thinking of Nylan Wantik. He’s obviously got his own hands full, setting up the Department of Industry and studying the Caedellium economy, but we need help with the Kolinka logistics now. The economy is a longer-term issue than being sure our expeditionary force succeeds and the people are supported as best we can.”

Kivalian pulled at one end of his mustache as he considered the suggestion. He hadn’t taken up the Caedelli custom of full beards, but he fancied he looked more dashing with the mustache.

Wantik had been a Preddi merchant and trader who fled his home province with his family and wealth before the Narthani took control. “I agree. He’s sharp and an organizer from my impression of him.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I’ll talk to Wantik and at least get him thinking about the logistics problems. Maybe one or both of his aides can also get involved. I’ve worked with Wantik, and I know he’ll complain loud enough for someone to hear him in Preddi City about how he and his people have too much to do, but in the end something will happen.”

A sixday later, Wantik appointed Gwadlyn Duwey as the G4 (logistics) officer for the 1st Allied Division. Having a short, sturdy, thirty-year-old widow with no children be given the rank of major and command of the division’s quartermaster units brought new problems, but Wantik insisted on her competence, and Yozef acquiesced. Despite Duwey’s insistence that she could take care of herself, Yozef got Synton to recruit one of his previous “compatriots” to serve as her assistant, the chief qualifications being that the candidate had a justified nasty reputation, looked intimidating, and was reliable for certain tasks.

Within two sixdays, Duwey had recruited and organized a formal quartermaster department and had taken over most aspects of logistics—to Yozef’s relief. Duwey also confirmed that the anticipated problems did exist.

“You’ll have to increase the number of Caedelli noncombatant support people you take with you,” she said during a division staff meeting. “The reasons include issues of food, maintenance of equipment, farriers, medicants and staff, handling the huge volume of supplies, . . . oh . . . I could go on. For one thing, with food, it’s people to maintain it in good condition, cook it, and what to look for in foraging.”

She handed him a list. “We’ll have better estimates when you tell us exactly how many people need to be fed and for how long. This list is merely an initial itemization.”

He scanned the list:

Cured meat

Dry sausage

Flour

Cracked wheat

Pearled barley

Santhan

Biscuits

Dried kava

Dried vegetables

Dried seaweed

Dried fruit

Kolo beans

Salt and other spices

“Huh? What’re santhan and kolo beans?”

“Santhan is a grain that grows wild on Caedellium but is also cultivated for feeding livestock. It’s edible for humans, though not often used that way on Caedellium. We got the idea from talking with Iraquiniks where it’s commonly eaten at morning meal. I’ve tried it, and it makes a porridge-like dish similar to what we do with wheat. Uzman Gangala says he believes Ponomyna can supply us. He’s just not sure how much, so it’s best if we bring some of our own. He says if their farmers and ranchers cut back on feeding santhan to their animals, we should have a good supply.

“Kolo beans are new to most provinces. They were mainly eaten in Pewitt and Stent, but Diera Beynom told us that you advised her that beans are a valuable source of protein and nutrients. There’s not enough surplus right now, but if you give the approval, we can distribute beans to plant a crop in time for the Kolinka campaign. As with santhan, I’ve tried it. It’s not my favorite thing to eat, though it’s tolerable.”

“All right, but seaweed?”

“Again, that’s due to your telling Diera Beynom several years ago that some seaweeds are highly nutritious. She’s had tests done with feeding different types of seaweed to animals. Two different types seem to improve animal health. They’re very bland tasting but can be added to stews or other foods.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “It may be a while until we have firm numbers of men and I can give you the length of time to plan for, but go ahead and started by figuring on fifteen thousand persons for eight months. The final numbers are likely to be less, but it’s better to over-plan than end up short. What else?”

“This list is growing by the day. I’ll just mention a few items for now. Saddles and other gear for horses. You don’t want your men having to use equipment they aren’t familiar with. Extra clothing. And, most of all, medical supplies. The Landolin medicants, or whatever they call them, are bound to be woefully worse than ours or the Fuomi’s. They might be okay for assistants, but you’ve got to have Caedelli and Fuomi in charge, or else the disparity in medical care among the division’s regiments will become a problem. Diera Beynom agrees with me and says she’s willing to recruit another fifty or sixty of our younger medicants who are experienced enough to do the job. She also says they will probably use a good number of medicant trainees.”

“All right,” said Yozef, “but try to make as many as possible unmarried or at least not have young children.”

Duwey sniffed. “We’re already doing that. But the medicants are only one medical example. A modest increase in nurses is recommended, though foreigners can probably suffice, instead of more Caedelli. The same for the Ponomynans providing more wagons and some types of supplies to account for more medicant personal and to ensure there’s enough—and that’s assuming the casualty figures are no more than twice what we first estimated.” She cast a cautious eye at the senior staff, including Yozef.

“There are other examples. I won’t go into details here unless you want me to, but it’s all in the written report. More gunsmiths, rifle parts, extra rifles, and the same for those parts of the mortars and cannon that are replaceable. Oh . . . you also need to do more training with the artillerymen in those repairs and parts replacements. On my last tour of the training site, I doubt half the crews had any chance of doing repairs under battlefield conditions.

“And while we’re on rifles and artillery, I don’t see any way to take the number of mortars in the plan. The plan assumes the problem with fusing will be solved before we sail to Kolinka. If there’s a solution, I haven’t heard about it. If the faulty fuse rate on the shells doesn’t improve, you’d need to take at least twice as much ammunition as planned. Transport is already a major issue—and we’ll come to that—so either the mortar numbers need to be cut in half for the planned ammunition or the fuse problem solved.”

Yozef’s exhalation was audible throughout the room.

“I’ll look into the fuses. I admit there’s been so much to do that I keep putting off getting directly involved.”

I suppose it was a mistake to put the mortar project in Pawell, thought Yozef. He had justified spreading work to provinces that had not benefited as much from developments. The decision seemed right at the time, but the downside was his not staying in contact with the workers. He would have to take a train to Adris City and then go by horse or carriage fifty miles to the Pawell town where the mortar development project was located. If necessary, he might have to move the workers and the equipment to Orosz City.

Duwey continued for another twenty minutes before coming to the last item on her deficiencies list.

“Resupply bases. The plan calls for three supply depots between the Penabak port and the Kolinkan capital. I’m wondering if it would be more advisable to only have two. The problem I see is security. Maybe I’m too skeptical, but who knows how well the Ponomynans perform? They’re supposed to be the main guards, but exactly how much can we trust their commitment to protecting the depots and preventing theft? That would leave a supply depot at the launch site near the Kolinkan border and a second one inside Kolinka, the location to be determined according to how the campaign progresses. You might also consider eaving a few hundred of our own men to help guard the second depot.”

“Reimo, what do you think?” asked Yozef.

The ex-Fuomi shook his head. “Then we have increased the problem if the one depot is unavailable for whatever reason. No . . . I already worry about a stretched supply line. However, I’ve been thinking similarly to Major Duwey as far as the depots’ security. I know we’re trying to limit the number of Caedelli going to Ponomyna, but I agree I’ll feel better if we had more of our own people at the depots.”

“How many?” asked Yozef.

Kivalian made an open-hand gesture. “Of course, the more the better, but at least a hundred at each depot. Two hundred, even better. Given the ammunition available and some Ponomynans for security, they could hold off even a major attack until help arrived.”

“An attack!” exclaimed the Naskinese ambassador who was attending the meeting. “I haven’t heard anything about possible hostile forces in our rear and cutting off resupply or retreat.”

Kivalian frowned. He was not a fan of the Naskinese ambassador, but Yozef was firm it was not the time or place to cause discord. Gaya was different. He listened and was insightful.

Give me patience, thought Kivalian.

“The possibility of individuals or small groups trying to steal from the depots has been in a previous report that I’m sure you’ve all read,” said Kivalian with a hard stare at the Naskinese. “Likewise with the remote possibility of larger banditry raids or even raiding parties from Kolinka. The latter is almost impossible for the first depot because it’s well inside Ponomyna. As you all know, one purpose of meetings like this is the continuous modification of the plan as deemed necessary.”

He looked to Yozef.

“General Kolsko, I think we might seriously consider Major Duwey’s concern about security, though I believe we’re still best positioned with two depots where supplies are relayed from Penabak to the first depot and on to the second as needs require. However, adding two hundred Caedelli men to each depot is a reasonable adjustment.”

“All right, Brigadier, look into it. The men we take will be guarding fixed positions, so they don’t need extensive maneuver training. Pick them from a selection of province militias—reliable men, of course.”

Yozef shuffled papers while he considered whether there was anything else about logistics. Satisfied—as much as he could be—he moved to close the meeting. Minutes later, only Maera, Kivalian, and Mark remained.

“One thing meetings like today reinforce is something I already knew. I’m not trained to be a general in charge of an army.”

“But the fact that you know that is important,” said Kivalian. “At least, you came in to all this knowing the importance of logistics.”

“Being aware and fully appreciating through experience and formal training are two different things. I think I only now fully appreciate the old amateur/professional quote.”

When Mark nodded that he recognized Yozef’s reference, Maera just barely suppressed an annoyed prompt. As the outsider when her husband and another Amerikan discussed facts and connotations only they understood, she knew they didn’t ignore her as a deliberate slight. But at times she felt excluded, as if information was being passed between them that they wanted to keep private—even from her.

In this case, Yozef had been with Maera long enough to sense her disquiet.

“It’s a quote. I forget who said it. It goes, ‘Amateurs talk tactics, professionals talk logistics.’ I may have a sense of logistics, but I recognize I’m more interested in tactics.”

“That’s one reason your staff is so important,” said Mark, “and why having the best people possible in those positions is the mark of a good commander. It’s something I strive for. Whether it’s leading a land army, captaining a ship, managing an industrial enterprise, or running any other large organization, having capable subordinates can cover a lot of deficiencies in the person in charge. Naturally, it’s ideal if the ultimate leader is also the best possible, but we live in the real world.”

Well, one of the real worlds, Yozef thought, but things aren’t that much different in the two I’ve seen.

Medical Corps

Diera Beynom arrived in Yozef’s office a minute before the appointed time. He allowed himself an almost smile—Diera was a stickler for being exactly on time.

At least, it’s a meeting that doesn’t focus on killing people, Yozef thought. All too often, I seem to spend my time doing that: planning to kill them, participating in meetings about killing them, or witnessing demonstrations of how to kill them.

“So, I take it you have good news to report, Diera? God knows, I could use some.”

“Well, there’s good progress on three projects and two recommendations you asked for. First, the progress. We believe the testing for the blood types you described has confirmed what you told us. The transferring of blood from one person to another caused considerable consternation in some quarters, but the theophist council finally acceded it was safe and did not violate anything in The Word or the Commentaries. It was a theophist in Hewell that wrote the formal declaration of the council on safety and compatibility with our beliefs. She did quite a remarkable piece of writing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sistian tries to get her to move to Orosz City.”

The Caedelli weren’t the only ones initially bothered by blood transfusions. Yozef still remembered watching aghast at the first transfusions on humans after animal experiments. The needles looked like some more suited for using on large bovines and the tubing for siphoning gasoline. Even that apparatus took developments only possible with Yozef’s knowledge. As soon as he had seen children playing with a version of a rubber ball, he had investigated. The latex from an Anyar plant irreversibly solidified within minutes of collection. The mass’s physical features, including elastic properties, changed with temperature. Yozef had visions of seat cushioning and rubber wheels. He knew the basics of making useable rubber—high heat treatment and addition of sulfur. On Earth, the latex was composed of an isomer of isoprene, a small, organic compound of the formula C5H8. Whether it was the same on Anyar was unknown. With everything else he was involved in, innovations and wars, he left working out those details to a small crew who had gotten as far as producing stable rubber in small quantities—enough for small applications, one of which was tubing.

“Anyway,” said Diera, “we’re satisfied we understand enough about the basic blood types to plan on using blood transfusions as part of acceptable medical practice. Naturally, an immediate and important application is during the Kolinka campaign where there will be serious casualties that might otherwise die from blood loss.

“However, we’re going to suggest no men of AB blood go to Kolinka. What blood they can receive or donate is limited to AB. Under conditions of extensive casualties and field conditions, it’s best to simplify matching blood. This should not be a major problem since ABs are only about three percent of the population.

“We also suggest only taking those B types that are absolutely essential since they are only compatible with B and AB types. From testing throughout the island, it seems like B types are about nine percent, so that’s makes it a little more complicated than simply avoiding AB types. The other two classes, O and A, are about evenly distributed in the population and total about eighty five percent of the people. It’s a fortunate serendipity that only a few women will go to Kolinka, so the Rh factor you describe is not a factor. It is not important for men and only for pregnant women—presumably not an issue for the few women with the division.”

“And you’re sure it’s working and safe?” asked Yozef.

“Well, we’ll continue our studies, but safe enough for cases where the patient will almost certainly die without blood transfusions. In most cases, we will use the salt solution you told us about. “Saline” you called it.”

Actually, it was Heather who remembered from a first aide course that saline was used to increase blood volume when whole blood or plasma was not possible. It was a trick of Yozef’s memory that he pulled out that human blood was about 0.9 percent sodium chloride—table salt.

“One advantage of the saline,” said Diera, “is that we can make it when needed. All we have to do is dissolve the salt in water in the correct proportions.”

Yeah, though Yozef, and horrify Earth doctors by using water only as sterile as local conditions allowed and salt that was only mainly sodium chloride along with minor accounts of other salts. Still, when dying was otherwise likely . . .

“We’ve also confirmed what you told us about the chemical sodium citrate making blood last longer before coagulating after being removed from a person. Unfortunately, it’s unclear how useful the knowledge is, at least until we can keep the blood cool. It’s similar for preserving milk longer using the heat treatment you described.”

Pasteurization, thought Yozef.

“Of course,” said Diera, “the problem is more difficult for military campaigns than for right here in Orosz City.”

Yes, refrigeration is a ways off, thought Yozef. Mark could do something now, but there’s too many demands with too few resources and too little time. Maybe after Kolinka we can do something for refrigeration using steam power. It’s a long shot for having something mobile for a Landolin campaign.

“I’ve also taken the liberty to order the identification tags we talked about,” said Diera. “I understood the advantage of being able to identify the dead or wounded, but I didn’t at first appreciate your idea until blood transfusions became a reality. The tag for each man will have both his name and his blood type.”

“So that’s it for good news about transfusions,” said Diera. “The second project involves the greenhouse complexes in Mittack and Bevans that are fully functional. All early results indicate they will work as you described. We had never heard of them on Caedellium, and from what I’ve learned, it was the same on Landolin. However, Eina tells me something similar is known in Fuomon and some of the Harrasedics, though she doesn’t know about elsewhere. They seem to be fairly rare in Fuomon, and the ones there are smaller structures than we’re planning to use. Eina says she only knows of them being used to grow certain flowers and herbs, but nothing large scale.

“Both complexes are growing a variety of plants, but, of course, the ones you’re most interested in right now are the poppies. Mittack’s first small crop is being tested for the optimum harvesting and processing conditions. That’s one thing we haven’t received information about from either Landolin sources or you.”

Yozef’s knowledge of opium production started and ended with one or more types of poppies whose seed pods were processed into opioids—nothing that wasn’t already known. His contribution was explaining the basics of greenhouse use to control temperature and humidity. The precise conditions were being empirically determined for different plants.

“How are the chemistry students I sent going to work out the extraction?”

Diera shrugged, smiling. “When I visited Bevans, how would I know what all the glassware and solutions are for? But they seem confident enough to tell the medicant attached to the complex to prepare animal tests.”

“Any estimate whether there might be useable poppy extract available by the time we leave for Kolinka?”

“Sorry, I really can’t say. Maybe. But I think there will be enough that we bought from Mureet. I’ve wondered whether your greenhouses might help us understand why the extract is only produced in Mureet. Why not the other Landolin kingdoms? It must have something to do with the equator because the only other sources Eina knows about are restricted to areas in the extreme southern parts of Fuomon, Narthon, the Harrasedics, and apparently Krinolin, although the latter keep their nation so closed off from the rest of Anyar that it’s not certain.

“I’m also curious. Did you know or suspect there is something special about the soil where the poppies thrive? Otherwise, why did you steal soil, as well as seeds?”

“It was one of those ‘just in case’ situations. If it had turned out to be something specific, we needed to produce the seed pods, then just smuggling out seeds wouldn’t have done us any good. The first tests seemed to have disproved that, so it must be the temperature and humidity it took our greenhouse crews almost a year to figure out.”

“You know, Mureet is going to be furious when they find out what you did.”

“Tough shit,” he murmured in English before shifting to Caedelli. “To Hades with them! I might have felt bad if they had enthusiastically joined the campaign against Kolinka, but they’ve refused. I’ve even come to wonder how much help they would be in driving the Narthani off Landolin.

“Plus, the last shipment we got from them cost twice as much as the first time. I’m sure their ambassador, representative, or whatever he considers himself must have passed word about the Kolinka plans back to Mureet. Whoever controls the poppy extract trade must have figured it was an opportunity to raise prices. It’ll be quite a shock when Mureet finds out Caedellium will undercut their prices and eventually give the technology to any other realms who want to produce their own poppy extract.”

“Well . . . again . . . we probably will have enough Mureetian extract for both Caedellium use and the Kolinka campaign, but you know word will get out if you take Caedellium-produced extract to Kolinka.”

He nodded. “Yes, I’d like to keep it quiet until we’re confident of the growth conditions and extractions. More important, we need to be sure we don’t run short because we don’t know how many casualties we’ll suffer. If things go well, and we have extra, it would a potential gift to the Iraquinik kahsaks, including Kolinka, to make them realize there are advantages to a relationship with Caedellium.”

“I’ll leave the politics to you,” said Diera. “The other progress report is for the dental amalgam project for repairing teeth. The men and women on the project have been working for over a year and finally became satisfied enough that it’s been tried on three patients, all with good results. We will wait one month to see any adverse reactions, but if nothing appears, we’ll approve it for another hundred cases and wait two months. If all appears fine, it will then be made available for anyone, although there will only be a few places on Caedellium that can do the procedure. We’re discussing the possibility of creating two or three mobile tooth wagons to reach provinces where people are too far away to travel for treatment.”

“Tooth wagons? Uh . . . that’s what you call them? In Amerika, there are special medicants called dentists who treat only tooth problems. That might mean ‘dentist wagons.’”

Diera frowned, puzzled. “Do you have more tooth problems in Amerika than here? I wouldn’t think it was enough of an issue for a medicant to deal only with such cases.”

“Uh . . . well . . . they also treat other conditions.”

I should have kept my mouth shut, thought Yozef.

Diera was right. Tooth decay was far less prevalent on Caedellium than on Earth, he assumed for a combination of reasons. It had been drilled into him by his parents as early as he could remember to brush and floss his teeth so food didn’t linger and foster decay. Later, his mother nagged on her children about eating less candy because the sugar promoted cavities. For Joseph Colsco it was less an issue than for his sisters—he didn’t particularly like candy. It was years later, in a microbiology course, where he first heard that the main culprit was a strain of Streptococcus that lived in human mouths and promoted decay. When he realized tooth decay was not ubiquitous on Caedellium, he wondered whether the bacteria had not yet inoculated the humans who had been transplanted to Anyar or if it had somehow been deliberately excluded. Either way, it was welcome—something that the humans on Anyar would never appreciate.

“As for the amalgam, the people working on the problem must have tried hundreds, if not thousands, of combinations of the metals you said were necessary,” said Diera. “I visited the Hewell site a year ago when touring medicant practices. I saw them testing amalgam recipes on human and animal teeth. Fortunately, I wasn’t there when they tested on animals. At least in those cases, they used ether to put them to sleep before the procedures.

“That also reminds me of everyone’s initial reservations about putting mercury into people’s mouths, especially after your precautions and warnings when we isolated mercury and used it for thermometers and fuses. It took quite a bit of faith to reconcile the conflict. People finally accepted it when Yozef Kolsko said the amalgam was safe as long as the mercury was bound with the other metals.”

She was correct. It had taken strenuous convincing from him to prove that once liquid mercury dissolved powdered metals, the alloy produced would harden, and the mercury would become captured and unable to interact with human tissue. Yozef remembered which metals were involved in dental amalgam but not the proportions—only that once mercury dissolved powdered silver, tin, and copper, the result would permanently harden. The proportions of each metal had evidently been solved to Diera’s satisfaction.

“Good news, Diera. I’ll leave it up to you to tell me when there’s no more research needed and the procedure is considered safe. I’ll then reassign the chemists on the project and leave you with the people producing the amalgam.”

Yozef was eternally grateful the alien nanos protected him from disease organisms, including any that led to tooth decay. Whenever it occurred to him, he diverted his thoughts from what it must be like to drill teeth without deadening the nerves. Novocain, along with procaine and lidocaine, were the amide-derived anesthetics for local and subcutaneous use. Unfortunately, he did not know the precise synthetic pathway to produce those products because they were not part of his courses at the university. Even if he had known, the chemistry infrastructure on Anyar was years away from producing such compounds.

“Okay, so what about the Kolinka recommendations, Diera?”

She handed him several sheets of paper.

“This is a preliminary list of supplies related to the health of the Alliance Division. You asked about medicant supplies, but there’s more to keeping the men healthy than treatment by medicants. How the men live and the sanitary conditions can be just as important.”

Even more important, thought Yozef. Depending on the era in Earth’s history and the specific war, until relatively recently, anywhere from three to ten times as many men died from disease as from battlefield wounds.

He was grateful the Caedelli medicant traditions had already paid attention to sanitation, even though they had not figured out microbe theory before he demonstrated the existence of living organisms too small for the unaided eye to see. Once they were convinced, he had spent little time harping on sterile conditions and infection prevention.

“You’ll see on the third page the recommended supplies to address living conditions,” said Diera.

He turned to that page and glanced down the list, passing over soaps and elementary first-aid items and then stopping at mid-page.

“Forty thousand packets of sanitation paper?”

“That’s an estimate for four months and ten thousand men. If you think the campaign will take longer, the numbers should go up. And that’s not providing for any of the Iraquinik men. If none, then you’ll have to insist those troops bivouac well separate from the Alliance Division. In that case, we’ll need some basic sanitation procedures for the Iraquiniks, unless you want to risk thousands of men getting sick or dying from disease.”

Yozef frowned. “I thought diseases were not common. I know we’ve talked about a couple of serious plagues that are known, but is there something special about Melosia?”

“We’ve talked with Fuomi doctors. Apparently, there are diseases that do not have high fatality rates and only seem to occur when people are massed together beyond some point, as in cities or armies. At least, that’s when the Fuomi considered them a problem. I know their doctors were excited to learn about tiny organisms that cause disease.”

“Well . . . I don’t know about supplying thirty to fifty thousand Iraquiniks with shit paper. Uh . . . I mean sanitary paper.”

Diera laughed. “Don’t worry, Yozef. We all know what most people call it. Anyway . . . we figure each man can carry his own supply, instead of distributing from a central store. We think everyone will be sure not to lose what he has. ”

“All right, I’ll check with Wantik about producing . . . we’d better say . . . eighty thousand packets by the time to leave, or have you already warned him?”

“One of our medicants talked with him. I don’t know if he’s taken any action.”

“Okay, so what else do we have today?”

“You also asked for my recommendation for lead medicant for the Alliance Division, Yozef, and it’s Krysilla Wydmon.”

“You already mentioned her, but I’d never met her. She’s only twenty-six years old. How can she have that much experience and enough status among medicants to be the lead?”

Diera sniffed. “As for the last question, how many medicants can you name? Hospitals and medicant facilities are hardly where you spend your time. However, I will confess I was unaware of someone with her abilities until two years ago. She’s from Bevans and only came to my attention when one of the St. Tomos medicants in Caernford noticed her name appearing as the source of several new procedures, most of them related to your innovations. When you obliged Sistian and me to come to Orosz City, I brought Krysilla here. It only took a few sixdays for me to rue not bringing her here earlier to be part of the Medical Department.

“Many of my colleagues believe she will eventually take my place. I agree she has that capability, but she might make more impact by continuing to work on new procedures and incorporating those innovations and pieces of knowledge you still drop on us from wherever they come from.”

Yozef ignored the not-so-subtle reference by one of the people who hadn’t committed to believing he was a Septarsh receiving input from God—whether he acknowledged it or not.

“Even if she is that qualified, she would be interacting with medicant-equivalents from other nations. Not all of them provide leadership positions for women. Having her as our lead medicant is bound to create problems.”

“Not with the Fuomi,” said Diera. “Krysilla told me she thought one of the Fuomi medical staff has more than hinted that she would have many opportunities for position and wealth if she moved to Fuomon.”

“What? Trying to headhunt our people?” snarled Yozef, as he forgot and used the English word.

“Headhunt?”

“Uh . . . a word meaning trying to lure away a worker, usually with more pay or other benefits.”

“Interesting. Anyway . . . the Fuomi are as impressed with her as I am. As for the other nations, that’s something you will have to deal with. Remember, you did ask me who was the most qualified.”

“All right, all right,” he groused. “I’ll meet with her.”

An hour later, Kloona led the candidate into his office. His first sight of Krysilla Wydmon made him dubious of Diera Beynom’s recommendation: no taller than Heather Chen, though upward of twice her weight, and even younger looking than her twenty-six Anyar years, which he translated to fewer than twenty-four years on Earth.

He was not inclined to dance around, and his irritability was stoked by having one more unexpected issue and decision dumped on him.

“Sen Wydmon, Diera Beynom believes you are the best qualified person to be the lead medicant for the coming campaign in Kolinka. Frankly, I’m skeptical. You’re far younger than I envision for this position.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I suppose it’s your decision whether to rate your vision over Diera’s professional opinion and years of experience.”

He was taken aback and was aware of his pulse increasing and a flush developing. Not only had she inferred his opinion was faulty, but she had also shown a lack of respect by not addressing him as Paramount. His retort died when an odd feeling interfered. He recognized Wyndon’s implication that he was usurping a decision he’d asked to be made by someone more qualified. A suppressed part of himself made its way to the surface as he remembered a certain meeting with Rhaedri Brison.

“Ah . . . so, why does Diera think you’re the most qualified?”

“She believes this will be a different situation than any Caedelli medicant has ever faced. Oh . . . the Battle of Orosz City had huge numbers of casualties, but that was different. We had time to gather medicants from all over Caedellium, along with stockpiles of medicant supplies. We also had fairly uniform procedures that all the medicants followed. This will be different. The medicant personnel and supplies will be what we take with us. We are already well underway toward integrating our own procedures and knowledge—some due to you, Paramount—with the Fuomi’s, but there will also be inevitable interactions with Landolin and Iraquinik medical people. I suspect I will find them relatively less advanced than our blended methods, but we will always have opportunities to learn from other systems. That happens to be one of my interests, plus I speak Fuomi and have been learning High Landolin while working with some of the Munjorian medicants who came to learn from us.”

Well . . . that’s a plus, thought Yozef. Why not give it a try? There’s time. If she doesn’t seem able to do the job, I can always keep her nearby as a translator.

“Okay, so if this will be a different situation than before, what are some things we could improve?”

“One thing is obvious,” she said unhesitatingly. “Maintaining sterile conditions during treatment will be far more difficult under field conditions. We need something to apply to skin, cloth, instruments, anything that will be exposed to the bacteria you told us about. Another need is a quicker way to purify water. We don’t know what the status will be of water sources, and contaminated water could pose as much or more of a problem for our army as the Kolinkans. Then there’s . . . ”

They were staring into each other’s eyes when he suddenly lost focus as if looking into the distance—as if she suddenly did not exist. He lost interest in what she was saying.

Iodine, Yozef thought. Why haven’t I thought of this before? It’s so simple.

Oblivious to Wyndon still talking, his mind raced.

I remember it’s mainly isolated from a few rare minerals on Earth, but I believe it was first isolated from seaweed. Kelp, I think. Do we have kelp on Anyar? Would something like that have made the transition to Anyar? If not, I’ll bet there are native seaweeds that will work.

He pulled up images and fragments of text in his alien-enhanced memory.

Iodine was first discovered accidentally when processing kelp to produce sodium carbonate used in gunpowder manufacturing. Inadvertently using excess sulfuric acid with kelp ash generated a purple vapor that was iodine. There was a simple procedure to produce enough iodine for use. Boil the kelp ash in water. Collect the filtrate. Add sulfuric acid and then an oxidizing agent. The brown color indicates the iodide ions are converted to iodine. Phase separation extraction of the iodine from water using organic solvents, turning the immiscible organic layer purple—he remembered cyclohexane might be best, but other organics would also work. Discard the aqueous layer. Evaporate the organic. Voila. Iodine crystals are left.

I’m sure there are details to work out, he thought, but I can turn a few of the chemistry students loose on this, and they’ll take off with it.

He smiled. There’s no time to let them figure out too much on their own, so I’ll have to tell them it’s just something I thought of. A new element for them? Should I let them name it, or just say it’s called iodine?

For Krysilla Wydmon, the ten minutes while Yozef Kolsko was somewhere else started off interesting, then moved into unease. She knew the rumors of the Paramount’s strange proclivity and knew of people who claimed to have witnessed such spells, followed by his divulging heretofore unknown information or ideas. She believed in God, though perhaps not with the degree of fervor of many other medicants and certainly not the theophists. She had wondered whether she was more like the scholastics in their comfortable faith, devoid of a need to worry about what they considered theological minutiae. As for God talking or whispering to anyone, she was more than skeptical. Nevertheless, by the ninth minute, she found herself glancing around the room, even upward, for signs of . . . what? Straining her ears for . . . what?

Relief came when Yozef jerked, his eyes refocused on her, and he smiled.

“Ah, yes, I think there’s something we can do about that. Yes. Another way to purify water besides boiling or adding the bleach. And yes, a quick way for efficient sterilization of wounds, skin before operations . . . yes, we will work it out.

“Uh . . . what were we? . . . oh, yes. You’re to be the lead medicant for the Alliance Division. All right. If Diera says you’re the best qualified, I’ll take her word. Continue putting together what is needed and have a report by next sixday.”

She had questions, many questions, but he ushered her out and rushed to the chemistry building to select the team that would take on the iodine project. If he had been aware of his moods, he would have noticed he felt more at ease and enthused than he had for a long time. He didn’t notice. The mood lasted until he returned to his office to find a letter from Hetman Skouks complaining about Pawell fishermen, news that a landslide had blocked the rail line near the Bultecki/Stent border, and the Mureetian ambassador waiting to tell him the latest communication from Landolin, which confirmed that the Mureet king was not ready to commit men to a Kolinka adventure.

CHAPTER 19

MYSTERIES

The Center of Attention

The drone received new instructions from the AI—carry out a multi-parameter survey of the islands containing the three castaway bipeds, to include the entire electromagnetic spectrum, thermal characteristics, and readings for technology the bipeds should not have developed for many centuries. The evident development of wired telegraph suggested the bipeds might be on the verge of making other electrical innovations. The main-island city where the three subjects spent most of their time was centrally located, so the survey was ordered to begin there and then continue on an approximate spiral path before moving to the lesser islands off the west coast.

An anomaly appeared for several parameters as soon as the drone’s path moved away from the city. The readings were consistent over a circular area centered over a small building occasionally frequented by biped-1 and more often by biped-2. The drone then continued with the entire island system survey and found twelve additional anomalous areas of the same size and readings, none of which were associated with movements of the three target bipeds. Databank searches found no obvious geophysical explanation for the anomalies.

A Disappearing Egg, Hilstrom, Stent/Selfcell Border

The sounds of tools and men blotted out the water sloshing against the new pier, though birds and murvors made themselves known. A rocky prominence a quarter mile away remained a nesting site, even with the invasion of humans building the infrastructure for testing steam-powered ships.

“Still estimating three months for the first test ship?” Welman Stent asked Mark Kaldwel. The Stent clan hetman had arrived by horseback an hour before Roblyn Langor, Hetman Selfcell. The two clans contributed men and some of the materials for the site, and Yozef supported the construction with coin and the promise to extend a rail line from Clitwyth, the Stent capital. Langor grudgingly conceded that Yozef was correct that the Stent line was rational. Clitwyth was closer than Sellmor, the Selfcell capital, and the line through Clitwyth was connected to the iron and steel works of the Pewitt and Swavebroke provinces.

“We might beat that by a sixday or two, but not much more,” said Mark. “We believed the gearing problems were solved, but just about that time, as soon as we ramped up the shaft speed we broke or bent two shafts in rapid succession. Couldn’t be helped. All the calculations were on paper and looked good, but you never know with any machinery until you test it for real.

“Of course, this is just a small test boat. If everything works, then we’ll think about moving to a real ship and hope new problems don’t appear during the scale up.”

Langor chuckled. “I want to be here for when you do that first test on the water. You and Yozef may have explained this to me several times, but I’m still having problems envisioning a ship moving under control without sails and without any visible means of propulsion.”

“You should have more faith, Roblyn,” said Stent, frowning. “You’ve known Yozef long enough to take his word on what Kaldwel will be able to accomplish.”

Mark thought the Selfcell hetman bristled. “Don’t try to tell me, Welman, that there aren’t slivers of doubt in you, too. It’s only natural when something seems to go against common sense, even if the logic seems plausible. As I said, we believe, once again, that all the major problems are solved, though I’m sure we’ll have work to do once the first vessel is in the water. Oh . . . and before I forget, Yozef wants me to ask if you’re maintaining the patrols to keep people away from here.”

Stent rolled his eyes, and Langor sighed.

“I know, I know. That’s Yozef worrying about every detail.”

“We’re used to it,” said Stent, “and I’ll admit his habit always makes us wonder what he’s going to prod us about next.”

“That reminds me of something,” said Langor. “Last time I met with Yozef, I asked about the Flagorn Egg we loaned him to study. He mentioned he had been too busy to do much recently but that you were working with it. Have you decided what it is?”

Mark wished he could see their reaction if he told them, “We decided it’s a machine made by a nonhuman race from another planet.”

Instead, he said, “A mighty strange crystalline rock is all I really know.”

“Well, I once told Yozef there were two of them in Selfcell Province I knew of, but I guess we only had that one. I’ve been told the other one has either disappeared or never existed. The local people insist it was always there, as far as they knew, but was gone when some youngster went to look at it. Supposedly, they found a perfectly oval depression in the rock where it used to be. I’d never seen it myself, nor had anyone I know well, so you can never be sure if it was just one of those stories that comes out of isolated areas.”

Mark felt the hairs on his back stand erect against his shirt.

“Uh . . . did they mention whether they thought the egg had been chipped out of the rock?”

“No, that’s the funny part of the report. They said there was no sign of that. It was as if the egg just lifted out of solid rock and left a depression with a surface so smooth, it was like the rock had been fused.”

This is creepy, thought Mark. I don’t know if I should hope the second Selfcell egg never existed or if it’s a sign the aliens are still around.

“Well, like I said, the one you loaned Yozef is a mighty strange crystalline rock.”

Mark would talk with Yozef when he returned to Orosz City. Maybe they needed to expand their thinking about the eggs. A first step might be to find out exactly how many eggs were on Caedellium and whether any stories existed about them disappearing or appearing. Yozef had been told of seven eggs without details of their locations. Perhaps each province could be asked to query its citizenry about any knowledge of egg locations.

CHAPTER 20

A MOST INOPPORTUNE LETTER

Orosz City, Caedellium

The Kaldwel family had woken an hour earlier and finished morning meal when Maghen asked a familiar question.

“Do you really think the letter will get to my parents?”

Mark sighed. “Dear, my answer is the same as the last times you asked these past months. I don’t know, but if forced to guess, I’d say it’s at least one chance in two. I’m sure Paavo Saisannin delivered it to the appropriate mail facility in Kahmo, the Fuomon capital. Eina assures me that the postal system in Fuomon is very efficient, but she wasn’t sure about Frangel. All we can be reasonably sure about is that it got sent from Fuomon to Frangel. After that, it depends on how efficient the system is getting the letter to Nurburt.”

“But Eina was encouraging, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, but we have to be realistic. Caedellium to Frangel is crossing half of Anyar. Well . . . nearly on opposite sides of the major land masses, anyway. The Fuomi courier sloop should have arrived in Fuomon. At least, I hope so.”

“I wish we could have told my family where we are.”

“Me, too, but Yozef was right for telling us not to include information we don’t want the Narthani to have—just in case the letter falls into their hands. That’s also why we had to say they could not send a letter back. You’ll have to be satisfied with this letter and perhaps other letters in future years if there are opportunities. Of course, if Narthon falls someday, then things could change. But not now.”

“I know, I know. I can’t help it. My imagination continues to dream of where the letter is. When I woke this morning, I dreamed it had arrived in Nurburt where the local postal station is at. It would then get to my parents in the next couple of days.”

“And we’ll have to hope they get the letter,” said Mark. “Imagine how happy your family will be to hear you and Alys are safe and in a peaceful place. They will spread the news to people we know in Nurburt and at Toodman’s ranch. I’m afraid you’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

Nurburt, Frangel

Coincidentally, thousands of miles away and in late afternoon, a mail packet was opened in the postal station on the east side of the Nurburt central plaza. As usual, a packet this small normally contained personal correspondence between family members in Frangel. But not always. As Amdor Belkyn sorted the packet contents, one letter stood out. From the thickness of the item, he assumed it was three or four pages of writing. What first caught his attention was the ink stamp indicating the source in Frangel was in Brawsea, the capital. However, a second stamp with a handwritten note identified the letter as coming from Fuomon, the first such letter Belkyn had seen in his nineteen years as the Nurburt postal clerk. Yet it was the intended destination that made the letter extraordinarily interesting.

He looked around as if to see whether anyone was watching—a guilty reflex because the office was empty, and even the few customers seldom came this late in the day. Still—it was best to be safe. Belkyn turned the sign hanging from a window from “open” to “closed,” locked the office door, and took the letter to a work bench. He did not recognize the envelope type but assumed it was Fuomi—different from the common style in Frangel. He thought for a minute. His instructions were to copy the contents of any correspondence going to any Lorwell household or to anyone at the ranch of Keeslyn Toodman.

He didn’t know who was paying him or why they wanted to know the letters’ contents, but he received a moderate monthly credit deposited in a Landylbury bank. In return, he mailed letter copies to an address in Landylbury. That’s all he knew and all he cared to know.

The letters sent from within Frangel underwent the same procedure he used to satisfy his voyeuristic curiosity. He steamed open the letter, read and copied the contents, then sealed the original letter in a new envelope. He had had enough practice over the years to perfect forged handwriting, and no one had ever questioned whether his or her correspondence had been opened and read. In this unique case, he worried about how to avoid detection with a letter from Fuomon that had been opened. He searched through the office until he found blank paper that most closely resembled that of the Fuomi envelope. If it was not exact, he figured it was close enough. No one in the Nurburt area had ever seen a Fuomi envelope.

To his surprise, inside the Fuomi envelope was another envelope, this one of a different style—one he had not seen before. He would include this observation in what he sent to Landylbury.

City of Gurpidir, on the Hakan Sea, Narthon

Sadek Hizer luxuriated in the hot bath prepared by Lurona, the woman servant assigned to him. He had demurred when she asked if he wanted her to join him, as she had occasionally the last month. The expansive quarters and the woman companion were signs that assessors were still held in high esteem in the eastern bulaks. He knew from experience the reception would have been far less appealing in the core bulaks surrounding Usmaya, the capital. Somewhere between the extremes were the western bulaks, where his quarters would have been perfectly acceptable, and the woman might have been a slave, instead of a paid servant. He preferred women with at least a semblance of choice coming to his bed.

He would spend another few minutes in the bath before joining Lurona in bed. The life of an assessor was often spartan but only as determined by assignments and circumstances. There was no prohibition against sensuous pleasures, including carnal, as long as duty was unaffected.

He had a decision to make. He had accomplished what he could in the two Military Zones facing the Harrasedics and Fuomon. After he left Robin Kellee at the Ergoman estate, his instructions were to take as much time as he deemed necessary to meet with other assessors and evaluate the status of the eastern front, the top officers, and the capabilities of the army units.

He read all relevant reports and other records within Military Zone 4, interviewed a selection of officers and soldiers of all ranks, and met with and interviewed civilian leaders and common citizens from the larger towns down to a smattering of villages. He diverted his travel twice to check on Kehlee.

The time also allowed him to meet several more times with Akuyun. His report on the general was the most expansive of any officer’s, particularly focusing on opinions about the Amerikan threat and opinions of the court, the military High Command, and the future of Narthon. All of the later exchanges had been heavy in innuendo, circumlocutions, and double-entendres, but Hizer was confident he had a good sense of Akuyun’s deepest thoughts and the limitations on the general’s potential actions.

To repeat the assessments, he had then moved on to Gurpidir, the city on the shore of the Hakan Sea and the site of Military Zone 5’s headquarters. Whereas Zone 4 faced the Harrasedics, Zone 5’s enemy was Fuomon. The land border between the enemies was split between short sections from the Hakan Sea to the Gulf of Numara in the west and the Hakan Sea to the Gulf of Selucian in the east. The short borders had led to extensive fortifications and trench works being constructed over the last century—very different from the open terrain in Zone 4. However, Zone 5 had more than two thousand miles of shoreline to patrol and defend from both Fuomon and the Harrasedics. Both opponents carried out sporadic maritime raids often enough to tie down significant forces, and several times each side had tried to land major forces, attempting to outflank land fortifications. None of the attempts were ultimately successful.

Tours of the border fortifications, the shore defenses, and the strong points, along with more interviews of senior officers, had led Hizer to match one of the main conclusions he had reached in Zone 4—the army units were capable for defense but inadequate without significant reinforcement for offensive operations to change the long-standing borders.

Hizer shifted in the bath, noticing the water had cooled enough that it was tolerable but not as soothing as when he’d first submerged. He rose, picked up the cloth Lurona had placed on a nearby chair, and dried while he made a decision.

I’ve accomplished about all I can here, he thought, with maybe another sixday to finish up. Tomorrow, I’ll semaphore Assessor Two Calgun and give him my plans.

He finished drying and walked naked into the bedroom. Lurona lay under the single sheet and lifted it for him to lie beside her. Thoughts about the next day vanished, replaced by her warm body.

The next morning, he composed a semaphore message using one of the assessor ciphers. The contents were repeated three times to account for errors introduced during passage through innumerable semaphore stations. At best, it would take several days to hear back from Calgun, who would most likely approve his intention. He edited the message for clarity and brevity—semaphore communications were by necessity limited in length. Satisfied, he transferred the final version to a new sheet of paper and was about to call for a runner to take it to the semaphore station that also served as the postal station for Gurpidir. However, he decided to walk the half mile. The morning weather looked fine, and he could use the exercise.

He chose a light cloak and fifteen minutes later entered the station, there to be greeted by the station master.

“Ah. Good morning, Assessor Hizer. Do you have something to go out, or are you prescient? I was just about to send one of the assistants to your quarters. A priority letter for you arrived at dawn today. A special courier rode in as I opened the office.”

He handed an envelope to Hizer. The only markings were Hizer’s name and location and an embossed seal identifying official assessor material inside. Penalties for unauthorized opening of such correspondence were severe.

Hizer took the envelope and set aside the semaphore message he was about to turn over for transmission. He would first read the letter. Whatever it was must be important, and the contents might change his plans. He returned to his quarters to be alone to decode the contents in a different cipher than the one he’d used for the semaphore message.

He dismissed Lurona for the day, telling her she was free until that evening. When she closed the door, Hizer sat at a table, pulled out paper, ink, and quill, and began. Within the first paragraph, he knew all his previous plans were moot. By the time he had decoded the first of four pages, he knew he would be going back to the Ergoman estate. By the end of the communiqué, he wasn’t sure what he knew, except that he would be traveling for the next month or more.

He sat motionless for fifteen or twenty minutes, he did not know exactly how long. However, his mind was active the entire time, going over consequences of the new information but only after deciding about Akuyun.

I’ll send him a semaphore message to Tormkee. He should be there, or they will know where he is and get him the message. It will be somewhat presumptive of me, but I believe he will comply with my “request” to meet me at the Ergoman estate. That will save me several sixdays.

Ergoman Estate, Western Korinshir Bulak

“How can they be sure, Hizer?” asked Akuyun. “Frangel is a Narth-damned long way from Caedellium.”

“We intercepted a letter from the wife of Mark Kaldwel to her family in central Frangel. The letter came to Frangel by way of Fuomon.”

“You told me you believed Kaldwel was probably either dead or hiding somewhere on Drilmar.”

“That was only an estimate. It was always possible he traveled farther, but that was considered of low probability. Obviously, we were wrong to underestimate him.”

“All right, but after reading the letter’s contents, I don’t see how you can be sure he’s on Caedellium.”

Hizer nodded. “Apparent care was taken not to give away the origin of the letter, but several clues come together for our conclusion. For example, the original envelope is not from Fuomon, so it had to have come from elsewhere. We are familiar with Harrasedic and Iraquinik postal styles and can assume the letter did not originate from anywhere on Melosia. Most of the letter is concerned with routine aspects of their daily lives, the health of themselves and their child, and casual comments about how well they have fit in with wherever they are. From this, we believe the letter originated north of the equator and not south, as Frangel is. There is a comment about sea sickness, a major error by whoever composed or reviewed the letter. That tells us they left Drilmar.”

“Well, that could have meant the Timbar Sea between Frangel and Novaryn,” said Akuyun.

“Possible, but unlikely. The Timbar is known for calm waters, but the crossing to Ganolar can be the opposite, especially the middle part of the passage. Then there is the part about liking the people and fitting in. On Ganolar, we occupy much of Rustal and the rest is struggling. Sulako and the other nations do not seem likely places where a Frangel family would be safe. Of course, there are the Landolin kingdoms, but there’s one last factor. Kaldwel was alerted to the words ‘Amerika’ and a man named ‘Yozef Kolsko,’ both associated with Caedellium. Given his situation and what we now believe we know of the origin of Kolsko, Kaldwel, and the Kehlee woman, despite the obvious difficulties, it is reasonable to consider that Kaldwel would try to reach Caedellium.”

“All right, so let’s assume you’re correct, and Kaldwel and Kolsko are together. What does this mean? Is Caedellium now twice the threat we talked of before?”

Hizer’s grim countenance foretold his answer.

“It could be much worse. I arrived here four days before you and had time to talk more with Robin. Based on her previous answers to some specific questions, the two Amerikan men might have different knowledge backgrounds. I believe we got enough to confirm that based on ether and kerosene alone, Kolsko is something she called a ‘chemist’—a learned person who deals with mixing ingredients and generating new substances. On the other hand, Kaldwel’s innovations for textiles, a novel rifle, springs for wagons, and safety pins all suggest someone who deals with mechanical objects. She referred to such craftsmen as ‘engineers.’

“It’s plausible that together they might be more formidable than either separately. You can imagine areas of knowledge lacking in one of them to be compensated by the other.”

Akuyun shook his head. “Something like one plus one is three?”

“Or four or five. Or maybe no difference. We just don’t know, but they certainly won’t be less dangerous together than apart.”

“I’m assuming this news will have no more effect on convincing the court or most of the High Command to change plans for Landolin and Caedellium.”

“Unfortunately, no. The same disbelief and fixation on existing plans would hold as before.”

“Well, you didn’t come back here just to give me the news. What are the Assessor Order’s plans? Will they change their minds about trying to convince our leaders of this ridiculous-sounding story? Or what?”

Hizer grunted. “I’m afraid I’m not privy to our High Council’s deliberations, but I’ve been ordered back to Kustal, and I’m to bring Robin with me. I had no orders concerning you, but I wanted to personally give you the news and ask you to give our situation more thought. Feel free to bring Ergoman into your thinking. If I am right, the High Council is likely to see the future as even murkier than we did before finding out Kaldwel is almost certainly on Caedellium. What I do expect is that they will keep all options open.

“Naturally, I have some thoughts, but I’ll see if they are welcome. A few of them may take some explaining since the world has gotten so much more complex.”

Akuyun grimaced. “Life was so much simpler for me, too, before Yozef Kolsko came into it. I’ll do as you ask, but in return, I’d like to be informed as much as possible about what you assessors do. I expect all of this will be on my mind every day.”

“I can’t say how that will be,” said Hizer. “With the distance between us and the need to be circumspect about what is written in correspondence, you may not even hear from us again on all this. However, I will promise to do what I can with verbal updates, if and when there are assessors who can be trusted and are coming to this area.”

“I suppose I knew that would be the answer. When will you leave for Kustal?”

“In two days. I haven’t told Robin of the plan. I’ll give her a day to prepare, and then we’ll head to the port of Ordum. An assessor courier sloop is waiting to take us to Balaseer. The seasonal ceasefire is over, but we’ll have to risk it. From there, it should only be three or four days to Kustal.”

Robin was daydreaming when Hizer found her. She sat in a wicker chair under a tree reminiscent of a large weeping willow. Aleks played with other children in a game she felt was achingly similar to soccer. Yennaev watched the children’s game and called out reassurances to keep the otherwise rough play within bounds. Nell lay on a ground cloth, practicing rolling over and kicking her legs, actions that were a prelude to crawling.

“Leaving!” exclaimed Robin, her face white and tight. “Why?”

“It’s due to circumstances I’m not able to tell you about. All I can say is that your status will not change. You’ve already been to Kustal, so you know it can be a pleasant place for you and your children to live. Once there, you will again have comfortable quarters and will continue to work with Yennaev and the assessors whom I left here with you. They will accompany us. We will also find you other duties to contribute to the center’s operations.”

Color returned to her face, and her jaw clenched before speaking.

“Is this going to continue off into the future? Moving every time we seem to settle into a routine? I was starting to know the people here better and maybe even had a friend or two. I’ll also miss working in the gardens and even the fields on occasion.”

Interesting, though Hizer. This may be the first time she’s indicated any spirit.

“You were assigned gardening work in Kustal before. I’m sure it can be arranged again. However, it is settled that we’re going.”

Having a little spirit is good, thought Hizer, but it does no harm to remind her she’s dependent on the Assessor Order.

“When do we leave?” she asked with resignation.

“The day after tomorrow.”

“What! To get ready for that same long trip that brought us here?”

“You have the rest of today to pack. I’m sorry for the short notice, but it couldn’t be helped. Rest assured, your status has not changed, and the move was not caused by you in any way.”

Two mornings later, Robin held Nell in one arm while grasping Aleks’s hand as they watched the Ergoman estate disappear behind a hill.

Will we ever have a single place to make what we can of a home? she thought, then chastised herself for slipping into self-pity. Their circumstances were infinitely better than before Hizer came to Halaglu’s estate. She clutched Nell tighter, enough for the baby to whimper. “I might not even still have you, dear,” she said aloud.

“Let’s count the number of horses we see, Aleks. On the last trip you saw the most, but I bet I’ll win this time. It’s also time to feed Nell, and then she’ll sleep a while.”

The carriage was roomier than on the trip from Kustal, so she told herself she couldn’t complain. It didn’t work.

CHAPTER 21

ARRIVALS

Unknown Sails

The sea was moderate two hundred miles east southeast of Caedellium, with the easterly wind filling the Valiant’s sails. The Caedelli sloop that comprised half of the island’s navy was cleared for any appropriate active duty. The remainder of the navy, the sloop Resolute, needed another sixday of sea trials before formal commissioning.

In another hour, the sloop would reach the patrol boundary. The captain would then change course and follow a circumnavigation route around the island, the Valiant taking its place with Fuomi sloops in patrolling approaches to Caedellium. The captain was observing the newest crewmembers when plans changed.

“Sails ho!” shouted the lookout perched atop the main mast. “Due east!”

The captain ran to the aft starboard rail. He could not see sails and summoned a nearby cabin boy for his telescope.

“How many?” called the first mate up from the base of the mast.

“Many,” yelled the lookout. “At least three ships. Appeared suddenly out of a squall.”

“What’s their heading?”

“Looks to be west northwest.”

“Straight at the island,” said the captain to the first mate. “Let’s get to within two miles, then we’ll come around to parallel them until we get identification.”

“Narthani?” questioned the mate.

“Who knows? It’s been months since there’s been a sighting and then only single ships. If this is a convoy of some kind and Narthani, we’ll need to get back to Adris City as fast as possible.”

An hour later and from the top mast, the captain knew two things. One, he was getting too old to be climbing into rigging and masts. Two, there were at least twenty ships flying full sail and pointed directly at Caedellium. Even by telescope, they were not in range for definitive identification, but that should change in the next half hour.

Fuomon Embassy, Orosz City

Eina Saisannin hurried from the residence to the embassy next door. She had been walking toward the river with her sons when a gasping staff member ran to catch them with news the Paramount was at the embassy and urgently needed to see her. She stopped at the residence to quickly drop off a meal basket, intended for a picnic that was now postponed. She expected to find Yozef in the reception area. Instead, he stood outside the embassy’s main entrance. Synton Ethlore held their horses.

Yozef spotted her fifty yards away and walked quickly to meet her.

“Eina, I just got a telegraph message from Kilporth in Mittack Province. A Fuomi squadron or fleet or whatever was encountered coming this way. One of our sloops spotted them and came back with news. The captain went to Kilporth as the quickest telegraph station he could reach. I’m assuming it’s the ships you’re expecting. If so, they should be approaching the Normot Gap and waiting to be allowed in. The commander of the forts at the gap has orders in such a contingency to let one ship in to go to Adris City until we can confirm who they are and their intentions.”

She wiped sweat from her face with a cloth. The day was warm, and she had trotted the half mile from where the staffer caught up with her and her sons.

“I’ll need to get to Adris City. Either the ships’ commander or a representative will be on the single ship that’s let through the gap.” She forced a smile. “Looks like the time has arrived to find out whether there are new orders and if I’m still ambassador.”

“When I heard the news, Eina, I ordered a train to be ready to leave for Adris City as soon as you want. We’ll clear the track all the way. Telegraph alerts have gone out, and any other trains will be delayed or moved to side tracks until you pass.”

Fuomi Frigate Sakayo

The jagged rocks were less than a hundred yards off starboard and port of the frigate as it finished passing through the Normot Gap under one-quarter sail.

“This matches the reports,” said Admiral Lomo Torkinian to the frigate’s captain, “but reading the words is different than seeing it in person.”

The captain answered while swiveling his head side to side to check for surprises. “The pilot they sent assured us there was no danger as long as we kept to the middle of this passage, but I’ll confirm that no respectable captain would try this passage two ships abreast, even if they bumped each other on the way.”

“These floating forts also look impressive,” said Torkinian, gesturing toward the starboard of two of what could qualify as floating islands. “And you’re right. The side facing the gap is covered by iron plates. I’ll make a guess that nothing our ships fire could penetrate it.”

“You’d be guessing right, Admiral. I can see enough now to estimate it’s four inches thick and probably backed by three to four feet of timbers. To do any damage at all, you’d have to hit one of the gun ports. Since a ship can’t present a broadside as it approaches, it would be the few cannon it could mount forward versus what I count to be fifteen cannon from each fort, and those must be fifty pounders. And that’s not to mention those behemoths on the top decks.”

“I’ve never seen cannon like that, Captain. Almost shaped like bottles. Have you?”

The captain shook his head once back and forth. “Not only never seen, but never heard of. Their pilot seemed oblivious to any security concerns. He called them Dahlgren guns and divulged that the shape allows bigger charges. He claimed they throw hundred-and-fifty-pound shot well over a half mile. If that’s right, and I have no reason to doubt it, at this short range the shot from those two guns would punch right through both sides of any ship in the fleet. They must be slow in reloading, but if I was commanding those guns I’d aim at the water line. The hole they made would be too large to plug before the ship sank.” The captain laughed. “I told that to the pilot and said it might block the gap. He just laughed back and said that despite the narrowness of the gap, it was deep enough in the middle that a dozen ships could sink before they caused a problem.”

They watched quietly as the sloop moved away from the gap and the forts. After it was clear by several hundred yards, the captain ordered it to furl sails and lay out the sea anchor while the pilot was transferred to a waiting cutter. Once finished, the captain and other officers yelled orders, and the sloop was under full sail within minutes.

“Well, Admiral, maybe in a few hours we’ll find out why Ambassador Koskanin didn’t meet us at the Sonet port of Ulstrakuh. Without instructions, I agree with your decision not to separate the ships and to continue on to Caedellium, instead of stopping at Sonet.”

“I still smell something rotten,” said Torkinian. “I’ve met Koskanin and heard more about him from other officers. Nothing good. I expected to meet him in Sonet, where he was supposed to be by now, along with the other ships and the marines transferred from Caedellium. Instead, we found neither the marines nor most of the ships supposedly now based in Sonet. That’s why I needed to come to Caedellium—to find out what he has to say and what in Hades is going on.”

The taller aide laughed. “Colonel Jormaki looked like he could have pulled spikes out of a ship’s hull with his teeth when he found out that not only were the other marines not waiting for him, but his regiment that we’re carrying had to continue on without knowing why.”

Adris City

The Fuomon naval base lay a mile west of the city’s main harbor. A frigate and a sloop were moored. Another frigate and sloop were anchored offshore, along with two troop transports and three supply ships. The dry dock, completed only in the last month, held its first patient—a frigate that needed the copper plating of its hull repaired and a section of hull replaced. A gap in the plating had allowed borers to begin degrading that section of timber. The rest of the flotilla’s frigates and sloops were at sea on patrol.

The base’s train station was the last one before Adris City. Hetman Klyngo Adris was waiting when Eina arrived from Orosz City with a single assistant. The hetman had been alerted by Yozef and requested to let Eina make first contact with the new Fuomi.

“How surprised will they be to find out that idiot Koskanin is gone?” asked Klyngo when he met her at the station. He gestured toward a carriage.

Despite her usual admirable self-control, Eina was distracted by other thoughts, and her eyes perceptively widened at the question.

“Uh . . . I suppose it depends on what orders they were given at Fuomon.”

“Will you still be ambassador?”

When she did not answer immediately, Klyngo continued. “Oh, Yozef hasn’t spread word around, but it’s obvious to those around him that he’s concerned. And, you know, word travels, especially when it has to do with the Paramount.”

He looked around before leaning closer.

“You want me to stay nearby with some of my men in case they try to take you into custody?”

Eina put a hand on Klyngo’s arm. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, and I’m also sure that’s not something Yozef suggested.”

“No, but everyone knows he can be too trusting. And after all, you’ve been on Caedellium long enough and are well-regarded enough that we’d take it badly if anything untoward happened to you.”

She squeezed gently before taking her hand back. “I appreciate it, Klyngo, but everything will be fine. At worst, there will be vigorous discussions to endure. Plus, I’m not sure if the ship coming will have a person in authority or if he is still with the other ships outside the gap.”

“Still,” he said gruffly, “I don’t like you going to meet them with only your assistant. I’ll let you meet with whoever it is, but I’ll keep an eye out if anything looks unacceptable to me or Yozef.”

The carriage stopped at the base of the pier where the Fuomi sloop was tying up. When they exited the carriage, Klyngo waved the driver away.

“The office of my liaison with the Fuomi is in the white-and-brown building behind the next pier. It’s set for you to meet with whoever. I suggest you do it onshore and not go aboard the sloop until you know the shape of things. I’ll be nearby with a few of my men. Over next to the warehouse. Just in case.”

She watched him stride toward a cluster of at least thirty armed men trying unsuccessfully to look innocuous.

A few men, she thought, smiling, then turned and walked toward the sloop. Several workers moving bales were a little too obvious. She accepted that Hetman Adris had planted them, “just in case.” Despite her words to Klyngo, the surreptitious guards were reassuring.

Once abreast of the sloop, they stood and waited for a gangplank. Her assistant held a Fuomon flag with a red border—the sign of Fuomi diplomacy to identify that she was the entire reception committee. The sloop’s crew traded shouts, officers gave orders, men acknowledged them, and other men exchanged banter. Ropes and wood creaked, the last sails were furled by men atop masts, and finally, crewmen removed a section of bulwark to create an opening for the gangplank.

At that point, she didn’t have long to wait. Two junior naval officers and two seamen disembarked first. One officer glanced around as if he were missing something. The two rough-looking crewmen seemingly looked for danger. The shorter of the officers settled on Eina and approached.

“I am Lieutenant Vilania of the Frigate Sakayo. Admiral Torkinian is aboard and will need to report to Ambassador Koskanin as soon as possible. I assume you’re from the embassy. Is the ambassador here?”

“That will take some explaining, Lieutenant. Which I will do when meeting with the admiral. Our host here in Adris City has arranged a room for us to meet. Or we can meet aboard the ship if he prefers that until he has more information.”

“Let me check with the admiral. And whom shall I tell him wants to meet and what is your position?”

“Just tell him I am Eina Saisannin. That should be enough for us to start with.”

Kolsko Manor, Orosz City

“So . . . the new Fuomi accept Eina as the ambassador?” asked Maera.

Yozef shrugged. “That’s what she says. Evidently, the fleet admiral has a very low opinion of the faction of Fuomi politics that Koskanin belongs to. The Surions. I think you told me it’s named after some man.”

“Yes. Avarko Surion. Supposedly saved the ancestors of the Fuomi from an invasion of barbarians from the north. At least, that’s how the legend goes, according to what we know. The Fuomon section of the People’s Department of the university is still sparse of staff, but there’s a little more information on this Avarko Surion if you’re interested.”

“Not right now. I’ve enough overloading my brain as it is. Anyway . . . Eina was relieved about Admiral Torkinian. The Fuomi military is technically not associated with the political factions, but proclivities are widely known. She says a few officers are more blatant about which faction they support. She started explaining more about the major factions and the one she suspects Torkinian favors, but I told her you would be interested to hear more.”

“I will,” said Maera. “She and I have talked before about Fuomi politics, but we’ll get more staff into the People’s Department. I’m sorry Paavo Saisannin went back to Fuomon. I’d been probing the Saisannins to judge whether he might formally join the university, maybe even as head of the People’s Department. But the important thing right now is the attitude of this Torkinian. It’s one thing to accept Eina as the ambassador, but what about the plans against Kolinka and Landolin?”

“Hmmm . . . that’s something we don’t know yet. Eina thinks Torkinian will accept that she has authority until he hears differently from Fuomon—which would take six months or more. Now . . . if that holds, once he hears about how we hope to have Fuomi naval and troop support . . . well, we’ll have to find out. She avoided mentioning anything more until Torkinian comes to Orosz City because she first needs to brief him on the details of our fight against Narthon and the general situation in western Anyar. That, plus her assessments of the dangers of Narthon’s actions this far from Fuomon.

“The other unknown is the Fuomi marine commander of the new regiment—a Colonel Tuvo Jormaki. Eina met him briefly and got the impression he’s what in Amerika we’d call an ‘old-school hardcase.’ That translates into a tough person who rigorously follows traditions, which, in our situation, means he’s likely to follow orders given by Torkinian and Eina.

“Another factor—and surprise—is that Fuomon sent an army marshal with the fleet. Haree Vernik. He can’t be more than in his late thirties, which Eina says is extraordinarily fast advancement for Fuomon. She got the impression from Torkinian that Vernik is a rising star in the Fuomi army. She isn’t sure, but she thinks she recalls hearing about a young general of that name who was involved in a raid on a Narthani naval base. The details were evidently not widely known.

“Eina met Vernik. He told her he was sent to report back with his assessments of military conditions in western Anyar. Evidently, he was expecting to spend time with the Iraquiniks and analyzing the western front against the Narthani. His orders didn’t include coming to Caedellium, but Torkinian said that Vernik volunteered to accompany him here before returning to Sonet. We’ll see where this leads, but I’m hoping to see whether a Fuomi marshal might have advice about the Kolinka plans. That’s assuming he doesn’t just dismiss them as impractical or insane.”

“You should check with Reimo to see whether he knows either Torkinian or Vernik or if maybe he’s heard of them.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. In talking with Eina, we agreed to let the newcomers settle into Adris City for a sixday before getting the leaders here and learning of their reactions to Kolinka.”

Sellmor Harbor, Selfcell Province

Three sixdays later, the cluster of men standing together on the pier consisted of the senior Caedelli and Fuomi officers. Marshal Vernik had no formal command and was currently in Orosz City, providing information to the MIS Department. The other men had traveled fifty miles from the 1st Alliance Division base still under construction. The combination of a relatively uninhabited region large enough for eight thousand men and artillery to train and maneuver and the proximity of the Sellmor harbor were the determinative factors in site selection. Yozef had not shared that it also provided an injection of coin into the Selfcell economy—the province was among those lagging in new developments.

The reason for their presence was the arrival of the Munjorian regiment. Rhanjur Gaya had returned on a Fuomi sloop serving shuttle duty between Caedellium and the two Landolin kingdoms to have committed to Kolinka—Munjor and Naskin. Gaya brought welcome news that his kingdom’s regiment contribution to the Kolinka campaign was following in Munjorian troop and supply ships that would remain for use as needed. Gaya also carried news that the Naskinese regiment should arrive in another sixday.

The first Munjorian troop ship finished tying to the pier when Gaya turned to Yozef.

“I’ll go and check with our men, Yozef. It will do them good to see someone known to them. I doubt if more than a handful have ever been off Landolin.”

Gaya walked to where the gangplank was being secured before Jormaki commented.

“I’ve never met the Munjorian regiment commander, Paramount. What’s his background, and is he qualified to command a regiment?”

Yozef looked at the grizzled Fuomi colonel. Even after sixdays of interacting with the stern-looking and rock-hard regiment commander, Yozef still felt intimidated—as if he imagined Jormaki to be the stereotypical drill sergeant of movies and books.

“Colonel Gaya is extremely intelligent. His direct experience in commanding troops is limited, but I’m assured his second-in-command would normally be leading a division-size unit. Rhanjur will keep him close and listen to everything he says.”

Yozef’s interpretation of Jormaki’s grunt was honed by his experience with the guttural expressions of Carnigan. The Fuomi was skeptical. Yozef saw no reason to hide his own or others’ reservations.

“I understand your feelings. We all might wish the Munjorian regiment was commanded by someone with vast experience. But then again, is that possible? The weapons and tactics will not only be new to them, but compounding the issue is that we have no manuals or lifetimes of experience that will exactly apply. We’ll be literally writing those manuals and gaining firsthand experience with new facets of warfare during the Kolinka campaign. It can be argued that a commander with the intelligence, flexibility, and ability to adapt is invaluable. Someone with years of experience might not be able to manifest these traits in our situation.”

Jormaki did not respond. Yozef was sure the Fuomi was wondering how he was regarded. Did the Caedelli leader consider him to have those desired traits? When first learning of the planned campaign on Iraquinik and the participation of a Fuomi regiment, Jormaki had railed serially to Admiral Torkinian, Marshal Vernik, and then Eina Saisannin against the commitment. When his protestations were rejected, his stone-cold demeanor toward Yozef and the plan had tempered only after seeing demonstrations of the new weapons, witnessing the communication protocols, and learning details of the Caedelli fight to free Caedellium from the Narthani. He still was not convinced but was mollified enough to be professional.

When Gaya returned, he was accompanied by a man whom Yozef thought looked like a close relative of Jormaki’s, except for different clothing, beard style, and pattern of scars. He assumed it was the Munjorian officer Gaya had mentioned without giving a name. The two veterans obviously sized each other up and exchanged faint nods they hadn’t offered to others in the group.

“We had no problem departing from our small port at the Munjor/Mureet eastern border,” said Gaya. “I’m told the Fuomi and Narthani navies have something of a standoff there at the narrowest part of the Rudipar Sea between Landolin and Iraquinik. Their ships spar, but serious fights only happen when one side thinks they have a big advantage in ships. It would have taken much longer to get here if we’d had to leave from the western shore. As it was, the departure point was closer to our capital, where decisions are made and enough troops were readily available to draw men from. We also stopped in Naskin and got word there of its regiment sailing a sixday later.”

Shouts came from the Munjorian ship, orders to men who began filing down the gangplank, each man carrying a pack and a small duffle.

“We tried to match the uniform color and design you suggested, Yozef, but as you can see, we ended up with a mixture.”

“Not a problem, Rhanjur. We’ll provide other clothing where necessary, but most of what they bring should be sufficient. We’re not after having the best-looking army, but one that is the most dangerous.”

“Both the men and the officers also protested coming without weapons, despite my assurances.”

Yozef laughed. “Oh . . . I’m sure if we searched them thoroughly, we’d find an arsenal of knives, pistols, and who knows what else? Trust me. After they train with what they will use in Kolinka, you’ll get far more complaints if they ever have to return to the weapons they used before.”

The Munjorian troops were put into platoon-size formation and marched off the docks, led by guides to tents laid out in a field half a mile away. Many of them wobbled to suddenly find themselves once more standing on a surface that didn’t move, and staggers were commonplace, instead of crisp marching strides.

“Now comes the hard part,” said Yozef loud enough for the entire group to hear. “We’ve a tight schedule. Three months from today the entire division heads to Ponomyna. Let’s get this regiment to the base camp and into training as quickly as possible so the basics are drilled into it by the time the Naskinese arrive. They’ll have even less time.

“Rhanjur, we know your men just got off a sea voyage, but we have to push them to get ready. Where they’re being taken is only until tomorrow. For the rest of today and tonight, they’ll have a chance to get used to walking again, be fed well, and get as much sleep as they can. Tomorrow, they will march to the division base. It’s fifty miles, and they have to make it by dark of the second day. We’ll then give them one day of rest before training starts. Reimo has the regimen set for the first two sixdays. After that, we’ll adjust according to progress.”

“It will undoubtably be chaotic and frustrating the next few sixdays,” Kivalian said to the group after Gaya left to join his men, “but I somehow would rather do this job than have Yozef’s, dealing with the ambassadors and the island’s hetmen.”

Five days later, the Naskinese ships arrived. This time, only Yozef and Reimo waited at the harbor. The other men were occupied at the division base and the other three regiments. As with the Munjorians, after a day of rest, the Naskinese marched fifty miles to the base, rested a day, and then joined the training—pushed even harder than the Munjorians in order to catch up.

CHAPTER 22

READY ENOUGH?

Selfcell Province

Yozef’s frown appeared without volition. He did not know how many times he had studied the division organization chart. Half the time he felt reassured—as if the mere appearance of neatly defined units and command positions implied competence. The other half of the time the chart threatened to evoke panic—he was afraid it was a Potemkin façade designed to conceal the division’s frightening inadequacies.

The original concept included a support battalion that started with medical personnel. The impracticality was evident as they added quartermaster duties, cooks, armorers, craftsmen to repair equipment, an ever-expanding General Staff, translators, balloonists, craftsmen to function as engineers, communications, and the special weapons to be field tested. The resulting regiment was commanded by Urig Morglyn, a serious-demeanor adviser to Hetman Mittack and purportedly responsible for that clan running smoothly, despite the hetman not being known for paying attention to details. Yozef recruited those talents to keep the support regiment organized. The non-Caedelli units had support personnel integrated into their units, and Ponomyna would provide more support.

Yozef forced himself to push the sheet aside. The General Staff meeting had paused while his eyes seemed compelled to stare at it. The men and the women in the other chairs patiently waited for one of Yozef’s idiosyncratic spells of silence to abruptly end—which it did after his consciousness nudged him that there were matters to deal with.

He looked around at everyone seated at the large table or in chairs along three walls.

“Where were we? Oh, yes . . . still issues with the Landoliners accepting women in positions of authority.”

“Mainly Naskin,” said Gwadlyn Duwey. “Issues with Munjor are annoying, more than causing substantial problems. Not that I think the Munjorians don’t have the same feelings of offense at reporting to a woman, but Gaya has firmer control over his men than Bindbar has of his.”

Yozef’s right thumb beat on the tabletop. He had impressed on the Landolin leaders that he would be extremely displeased if Duwey were not given all possible cooperation and respect. Logistics were too important. The other woman on the General Staff was less an issue. The second woman, Krysilla Wydmon, interacted almost entirely with medical staff for all the units, of which the Caedelli and Fuomi interactions were the smoothest. Not as initially accepting were the Munjorian and Naskinese medicants, but word had spread about the quality of Caedelli medicine. Most Landoliner medicants were dedicated to their profession and accepted demonstrated competency. The exceptions were warned that they would be sent home in disgrace.

There had been a third woman on the staff, but Yozef decided he needed Awlina Wuthrin to remain as the chief of staff in Orosz City to help Tomis Orosz handle island affairs while the Paramount was away. She turned over the division’s personnel duties to Wifon Maderick, a middle-aged Hewell Province registrar. Maderick would accompany the division to Kolinka, but he would deal mainly with the Caedelli regiment, in addition to helping to keep Yozef organized and screening his priorities.

Yozef had struggled with the decision to include women in the expedition. There weren’t many—two on the General Staff and eighty or so medicants and nurses. Men usually did not complain if a woman treated their wounds. However, the women would be around tens of thousands of men, most of them not from Caedellium and whose attitudes could not be relied upon. Yozef had talked over the issue with Maera and Krysilla. Once on Melosia, the women would stay within the Caedelli support encampments, except when gathering and treating casualties. He ordered that dragoon squads rotate and provide unacknowledged “security” where the women worked and slept. He suspected the best security was asking Synton to see that word spread to all Landolin and Iraquinik units to leave Caedelli women alone. He later learned an unsourced rumor mentioned offenders being skinned alive.

A throat-clearing brought Yozef back to the moment. “I think the problems with the Naskinese will fade,” said Harmon Swavebroke. He and Haree Vernik were the two meeting attendees not formally on the General Staff.

“Word has gotten around about severe accidental injuries suffered by two Naskinese officers shortly after they engaged in one verbal and one physical altercation. The occasions had been precipitated by Duwey castigating and then giving orders to Naskinese officers of noble lineage.”

“I assume there’s no connection back to us about these accidents,” said Yozef, staring at Kivalian.

“None that anyone can prove,” Kivalian answered smugly. “And the point has gotten across to most of the other Naskinese officers.”

“Don’t be too pleased,” said Yozef. “Even if the accidents have the effect we want, we don’t want there to be too many of them.”

Kivalian nodded. “Yes, but we’re also confident there are competent Naskinese officers who are not problems. Unfortunately, it’s the other kind who are in greater abundance than with the Munjorian Regiment.”

“All right. I’m hearing that this problem is getting somewhat better. Let’s move on. What about religious tensions? I haven’t gotten any related reports since that near riot.”

“Nothing significant since then. Not after Gaya punished the instigators among his men. Bindbar initially tried to blame everything on the Munjorians, but his second-in-command, Popul, prevailed, and the punishment for the Naskinese was the same as for the Munjorians.”

Yozef winced. “I suppose I should ask what the punishment was.”

“Twenty lashes and locked up until a ship back to Landolin can take them in chains. The lesson seems to have gotten through.”

“Any idea about the cause of the riot?”

“It sounded like idiocy when Gaya tried to explain it.” Kivalian laughed. “I think he was embarrassed. Something about the meaning of a holiday, feast day, I didn’t quite understand what was special about that day. Do you want me to find out more?”

“No, as long as the problem doesn’t come back. You know . . . we may have some issues when we get to Ponomyna. I’ll have to check with Uzman and see if there are things we need to be ready for. Now, what about training? Let’s hear how the latest maneuver was evaluated. I observed part of it, and I’ll have my own comments later. I also want us to hear Marshal Vernik’s observations.”

When the staff meeting broke up, Kivalian waited to have Yozef alone.

“I know all the arguments, Yozef, but that Naskin torkel, Bindbar, is going to cause a major problem somewhere and sometime. It’s not knowing the where and when that worries me. Too many of the officers directly under him are as incompetent or worse, though it gets better the lower you go in the rankings. In the maneuver the last sixday, I found myself adjusting positions of other regiments to cover the Naskinese slowness to respond to orders or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Yozef smiled at the reference to the torkel—an odd-looking, notoriously pesky Anyar mammal vaguely resembling a striped opossum and common to the major landmasses but absent from Caedellium.

“Believe me, I agree and sympathize, but I’ll need a clear example of incompetence or cowardice in the face of the enemy before I can think of removing him. This alliance is too new and the disparate units too unused to working together. We’ll struggle to make the Landoliners and Iraquiniks understand that in this campaign, they are required to expeditiously follow orders. We have to accept we won’t know the degree of failure until the shooting starts.”

That evening, Yozef recounted the staff meeting to Maera and Mark after evening meal.

“Duwey made a number of reasonable suggestions. We just won’t be able to do everything I’d like. Every little thing seems to involve compromises, but as much as I want to demonstrate that Caedellium is not a place you want as an enemy, the security of our people has to come first. We also need to come out of this with as few casualties as possible. Bringing down the Kolinkan rulers but at the cost of too many casualties would negate some of the impact of the victory.”

“Do you think you’ll eventually remove the Naskinese commander and possibly more of their officers?” asked Maera.

Yozef sighed. “I’m afraid it’s likely. I expect they’ll make enough mistakes and cost enough lives to justify changes. It’s part of the ‘good news’ and ‘bad news’ I’ve told you about, Maera. Only then will I have the excuse to make changes in the Naskinese leadership. I don’t like it, but it will be at the cost of lives. The other alternative is from Synton.”

“Let me guess,” said Maera dryly. “One or more high-ranking Naskinese officers could have unfortunate ‘accidents’ or be casualties once firing begins.”

“Don’t discount that option,” said Mark, who glanced at Maera without her noticing. “Uh . . . it’s not something to do casually, and it might go against a person’s sensibilities, but when thousands of lives are at risk from the actions of one or a few men, extreme measures can be argued if there are no other choices.”

“Well . . . let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Yozef, eager to move on to a different topic.

Dorwyn Plain, South Central Selfcell Province

The Alliance Division training area was selected for its proximity to a major port and its relative isolation. The terrain was devoid of known resources to exploit and the land of poor farming quality. It also provided ample sites to observe large-scale training exercises. Several different maneuvers were scheduled for this day, scattered over the region surrounding the alliance base. One of the maneuver terrains for the day was selected because of a narrow, hundred-foot-high mesa that jutted above the surrounding flatlands. From the top, observers on a wooden platform could clearly see troop movements for two miles in all directions, even farther when using a telescope.

Today’s exercise involved only Major Munmar Kellen’s battalion, with platoons and companies scattered on the plain and simulating the entire division. Communication within the mixed Allied Division was going to be difficult enough, and today would be the first field test of multiple options for rapid communication among units. Five systems would be tested: balloons, heliographs, signal lanterns, flag semaphores, and mobile telegraphs. For today’s exercise, the mesa was a division command point. Yozef would give unit orders to Kivalian, who would pass the orders on to the appropriate systems.

Kellan shifted on both feet and licked his lips.

“Don’t worry, Munmar,” said Yozef. “I expect this to be chaotic at first.”

Yozef was not to be disappointed.

He looked up at a clear sky with distant clouds to the east. “Let’s start off with the heliographs while we’ve got the most sun. Ground-based first and then by balloon. Here we go. Some straightforward commands to begin. The Caedellium first battalion is to move forward two hundred yards west.”

When Kivalian turned to relay orders, Yozef whispered, “Shouldn’t be a problem, but if there is, we’d be fucked in a real battle.”

The battalion was simulated by a platoon not far from the mesa, and Yozef did not need the telescope he was holding. The ordered movement was performed gratifyingly quickly. The following orders progressed to more distant units, more complex single commands, and commands involving multiple movements.

“All right, Reimo, issuing from this height worked well enough. Let’s go through the same procedure with the heliograph at ground level, instead of atop the mesa.”

The procedure repeated with Kivalian yelling at a heliograph crew at the base of the hillock, using a two-person, fifteen-foot-high platform that could be quickly assembled and disassembled. Fifteen minutes into the orders, they had the first problem.

Despite himself, Kivalian laughed and lowered his telescope. “I believe the ‘Munjorian’ regiment just volley fired at the ‘Fuomi.’ They’re going to be pissed.”

“I’ll talk to them later,” Yozef said sardonically. “Order them back to their original positions. We’ll try it again.”

It was the worst snafu until they moved on to transmitting commands by a balloon. Yozef verbally stopped the test within twenty minutes with a sour expression.

“I think we can forget about using balloons and long-distance heliographs. The damn things are just not stable enough. There’s hardly any wind right now, and I doubt more than a third of the commands are getting through.”

“Yes,” said Kivalian, “but the balloons are still useful. We just won’t trust them with a heliograph. It should be better with the signal lanterns.”

“All right,” said Yozef, “we’ll move on to those.”

An hour later, the conclusions were again mixed.

“Works pretty well, even with the balloons,” said Kivalian.

“Yes, Reimo, but the signal light needs to be more intense during the day, though it wouldn’t be a problem at night. Clearly, the farther the transmission, the more errors occurred. I suppose repeating the same message two or three times will solve some of that, but even then, I suspect we’ll have problems. I’ll see what can be done with people working on this back in Orosz City.”

Yozef walked to the signal lantern and examined the inside.

Make it bigger? he thought. Larger mirrors focusing the light in the direction of transmission will help, but I doubt we can increase the intensity more than two-fold—which may be enough. A problem is that it makes the lantern more awkward to transport and use.

The men on the platform looked at one another, some confused about the Paramount’s extended stare at the lantern, while others smiled from being accustomed to such trances.

Maybe he’s having another of the famous Kolsko whispered-to spells, thought Kivalian, not a believer in the rumors but unwilling to completely discount them.

A gust of wind and an awareness of murmurs broke through Yozef’s thinking.

Time to get back to the exercise, he thought. I’ll have to talk with Mark about revisiting the idea of a limelight lantern.

Although a limelight lantern would solve the problem of light intensity over longer distances, it required an intense flame focused on calcium oxide—quicklime. The mineral was easily available, but the intense flame needed to be created from burning a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen, which required gas cylinders of each. He knew how to generate the gases but didn’t have any idea how to get them concentrated into cylinders. Maybe Mark could figure it out.

The final transmission systems requiring line of sight were flag semaphores—a human version of the semaphore system used on Caedellium before the wire telegraph. The results were as Yozef expected: a need for telescopes allowing longer transmissions that also introduced more errors, idiosyncrasies that depended on the sender and the receiver, and transmission being limited to daylight hours—although using lanterns at night was plausible.

“Last one,” said Gaya. “I’m excited about the potential of using your wire telegraph on the battlefield, but I’m dubious about setting it up and moving it quickly enough under real conditions. Most of my officers are not convinced it’s real. Sounds too much like dark magic, which is still part of my people’s mythology.”

Yozef turned to Kellan. “Okay, Munmar, let’s start simple again, this time with the telegraph and beginning with the Fuomi. Their third battalion is to withdraw two hundred yards from their position.”

For this test, all communication would begin with a telegraph team set up at the base of the platform atop the hillock. Wire had already been strung to the simulated headquarters of the four regiments. Orders from the division commander would travel to the regiment commander, who, in turn, would relay orders to lower command levels using the other signaling methods tested that day, written instructions, or verbal commands employing messengers. They would test all three of the secondary delivery systems, as well as the feasibility of rapidly moving the wire.

The observers were reasonably pleased until it came time to move the wires.

“Well, there’s our answer,” said Kivalian. “Simply takes too long to move the poles and keep the connections live.”

“Yes,” said Yozef, “but we can’t give up on it, at least for static positions. The advantages of the telegraph working at night, under all weather conditions, and out of line of sight are just too important. We can try and tweak the system. Maybe smaller poles placed farther apart. Clearly, the spools for taking up the wire and letting it back out have got to be improved. Adding more men to the telegraph crews would speed things up.”

“I’ll leave the details of the mechanism to you, Yozef,” said Kivalian, “but we keep adding more men to support the regiments. If this keeps up, we’ll end up with twice as many or more men.”

Yozef knew the Fuomi understood logistics better than people from most other realms on Anyar . . . well, maybe except the Narthani. . . but he remembered reading that in Vietnam, it took something like six to ten persons to support every soldier or marine in the field. The technology here was less complex, but the issues were similar.

“What’s the solution then, Reimo, assuming we don’t give up on the telegraph?”

Kivalian stroked the brown hair above his lip with one finger.

“I’ll look into how much of the movement can be done by our troops under direction of the telegraph crews. That will create its own problems, but at least it should go faster. We’ll have to try it out before we know what’s feasible.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I think we’ve done all we can for today. Munmar, your men have been out here well past midday mealtime. Go ahead and bring them in and give them my thanks for their performance.” He turned to Kivalian. “As seems to always be the case, there’s more work to do.”

Haree Vernik had observed quietly during most of the exercise, with the majority of the questions from the Fuomi marshal coming during the balloon and telegraph tests.

“Well, Vernik, what do you think?” asked Yozef as they descended the mesa to their horses. He had temporarily given up on getting the Fuomi to use first names.

“Impressive, Kolsko. You and Kivalian found fault with just about everything that was tried, but it’s still far better communication than I’ve ever seen. I’m sure we can both anticipate extending it over much longer distances. Of course, both short- and long-distance communication by dispatch and courier will continue, but these other methods will become more important as details are worked out. Whatever happens with your Kolinka adventure, I’ll be recommending major changes in how the Fuomon army operates. I’ll admit I was skeptical about how it could make as big a difference as you planned for, but I’m convinced.

“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the improved communication between units becomes even more important than the artillery improvements you’re developing. That, along with the increased firepower of your rifles, will have a multiplier effect such as hasn’t been seen in warfare since the invention of lighter and faster-loading muskets a century ago. If I had to commit, I’d say the odds of your campaign working as you plan have gone from one chance in ten to one in four.”

Yozef was encouraged that the skeptical marshal’s overall opinion of their chances had improved that much. He and Kivalian had discussed how Vernik’s advice had not changed major aspects of the plan, but the Fuomi marshal had contributed numerous details that had been missed by those without experience in large-scale army movements.

Yozef thought the moment was optimal for settling an issue.

“If it’s one in four, then what would it be if a Fuomi marshal came with us to offer advice?”

“The odds would naturally improve. Maybe even odds or a little better,” said Vernik, changing neither his expression nor tone of voice.

Well, I guess that wasn’t a surprise, thought Yozef.

“So. What do you say? Will you come with us and offer advice?”

“Although it’s well outside my orders, I think observing the new weapons in a real fight and seeing whether Yozef Kolsko can hold such a coalition together are opportunities not to be missed.”

Yozef held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Vernik reciprocated, and they shook, just as Kivalian returned from finishing the order ending the day’s exercise.

“That’s it,” said Yozef, gesturing for them to take the path down the mesa. “All units are packing up. Well, Marshal, what do you think if we had to sail tomorrow?”

“All in all, the maneuvers have gone well,” said Vernik, “and you still have time before leaving for Melosia. Oh, there are rough spots, but no army goes without them. The way you’re working the men, their progress will continue. Plus, once you’re in Ponomyna, there’ll be more time.”

“I agree, Yozef,” said Kivalian. “Yes, I’d like to have another six months, but realistically, further improvements will come slower until we get into actual field conditions and face an enemy shooting at us. Thankfully, it will be the Kolinkans and not the Narthani.”

“Don’t disrespect the Kolinkans,” said Vernik. “Anything can happen on the battlefield, and you’ll be using novel tactics and weapons that can have nasty ways of surprising you when least expected.”

Yozef used a switchback down the mesa to glance at Vernik. He suppressed a grin. He could not shake the thought that the Fuomi marshal looked like a projection of how Harry Potter would appear by the time he was in his mid-thirties. He was of average height, slight of build, and with a neat, short beard. But it was the face. The features were all too familiar, enhanced by the spectacles and his gestures in adjusting them. Then, of course, there was the first name.

It would better if his name wasn’t Haree and pronounced the same, thought Yozef. It’s a good thing he’s got that sharp edge that Potter didn’t have, or it would be harder to talk to him without my mind wandering.

Yozef had intervened just in time when Heather first met Vernik. His anticipation was based on her proclivity to use names from Rowling’s books—referring to Carnigan as Hagrid was so far the only nickname received positively. By then, Yozef was beginning to understand how Vernik had advanced so rapidly in rank, but a sense of humor and an ability to self-deprecate were not in his personality.

The warning did not prevent Heather from whistling Harry Potter themes aloud or under her breath whenever she and Vernik were near each other.

Adris City

Many of the key players in logistics preparation gathered in Adris City to assess their progress and realistic projections. Although Yozef had become dismayed when he finally realized the scope of the logistics issues and how late the preparations were to start, his worst fears eased as production increased and temporary storage sites filled. Not that every problem resolved itself easily.

Mark assured him of enough Sharps to arm four dragoon regiments—but not much more. Production at three sites reached its maximum of about seventy rifles a day two months before departure. Projections put the final complement at all eight thousand dragoons armed with Sharps, two hundred extras, plus spare parts for field repairs. Production had ramped up far too slowly for Yozef, but he had been forced to take Mark’s assurances that the combination of precision machining and interchangeable mass-produced parts would pay off once the equipment and the trained workers were in place.

Pistols would not be a basic armament of the dragoons.

“There’s just no time and resources,” reported Mark during a planning session. “Oh, we could have the remaining problems worked out in a month or so, but we’d have to switch workers from Sharps to revolvers and change machine configurations. Moreover, I’m not convinced the gain would be worth the resource diversion. The revolvers would be cap and ball and would not use cartridges. It’d be pretty difficult for a dragoon on horseback to reload. In theory, having the dragoon carry multiple cylinders that could be swapped out would solve that issue, but mass-producing precision cylinders is also a few months away at the earliest.”

“No, you’re right,” said Yozef. “It’s the Sharps that are the key. With a firing rate three times that of muzzle-loaded muskets and rifles, longer range, more accuracy, and the ability to reload crouching or lying down, that’s maybe a ten-fold multiplier. Even more significant is if our dragoons get into cavalry fights with the Kolinkans. The Sharps can be reloaded on horseback, something the Kolinkan cavalry won’t be able to do.”

“Yes, but the Kolinkan cavalry will probably be like everywhere else and carry pistols,” said Kivalian. “Fuomi cavalrymen commonly have a short musket or lance and two to four pistols.”

“That’s why our men need to keep the other side at a distance,” said Yozef, “where pistols and lances are worthless.”

Yozef did not mention a drawback to the dragoon’s Sharps. He remembered that in the U.S. Civil War, Union cavalry favored a Sharps carbine with a shorter barrel to facilitate handling while riding. The alliance dragoon would fight mainly as infantry and needed the longer barrel. However, the rare times they expected to engage in cavalry fights still gave the advantage to the full-length Sharps.

“And how are we going with the close-in weapons?” asked Yozef. Although most fighting was intended to be at distances favorable to the Sharps capabilities, there would inevitably be exceptions.

“Well, we might not plan on pistols for every man,” said Kivalian, “but we’ve pulled together about a thousand muzzle-loading pistols for special circumstances, and we’re not forbidding men from bringing their own, as long as they are not slowed down, and they bring their own ammunition. I have to say it still seems wrong not to have bayonets.” The ex-Fuomi raised both hands. “Oh, I know the arguments are sound. What’s the point of putting a bayonet on a Sharps when a Kolinkan musket or rifle will be much longer and heavier? And yes, one point is that the Sharps is supposed to keep the enemy well away.

“And yes, again, I understand Yozef’s argument that other edged weapons are as good or better than bayonets in confined spaces like trench works or structures, but there could likely be times when the bayonet has advantages. We just have to minimize those times.”

Yozef remembered reading that soldiers in World War I found that sharpened entrenching tools, the small folding shovels, were more effective than bayonets in hand-to-hand fighting within trenches.

Kivalian shook his head. “I also think some professional military would find it somehow inappropriate that we’ve no standard bladed weapons. I differ. Let men use what they feel most comfortable with, whether it’s a short sword, axe, or sharpened entrenching tool. Of course, every man will have at least one knife.”

“I think we’ve got that one covered,” said Yozef with a sardonic chuckle, remembering the hodgepodge of blades he’d watched a platoon sharpen. “Let’s move on.

For the next hour, men and a few women reported on the production of what they were responsible for. Warehouses were filling with crates of ammunition; Sharps cartridges made by mainly women at seventeen facilities scattered across Caedellium; primer caps made in Orosz City; cannon and their ammunition, manufactured in foundries in eight provinces; field kits, medical supplies, saddles, boots, clothing—on and on went the reports.

One area that measured up better than projected was food. The Narthani had blocked off-island trade, leading to people storing grain and cured meats with no markets to sell them in. During preparations for the united clans’ fight against the invaders, vast quantities of grains, flour, cured meats, and dry sausage had been stored in remote warehouses and deep caves. Only a fraction of the stored food had been drawn on during the war, and the rest remained available. It required only to be checked for its condition and moved to departure ports, freeing people and resources to work on other foodstuffs.

Another benefit from the preparations for the Narthani war was that the clans had partially processed animal hides, a byproduct of meat production. The stocks of hides were drawn on to finish converting to leather being used in sundry products, including saddles, boots, field kits, water bags, pouches for cartridges and primers, and, once again, on and on.

A serious bottleneck developed with the available rail lines, supplemented by hastily improved roads to deliver supplies to depot departure points along the Caedellium coast. Preddi City and Adris City were the main delivery sites, with secondary points at Penmawr in Pewitt, Morstryd in Skouks, and Salford in Keelan. The division would depart from Sellmor in Selfcell—the nearest port from the training site.

The last item for the day was brought up by someone otherwise out of place. Wyfor Kales would not be accompanying the expedition to Iraquinik—to his initial ire. Yozef wouldn’t have minded having the short, one-armed, and extremely deadly Wyfor around, but an important task needed constant attention on Caedellium, which Wyfor was eminently qualified for.

“And last, let’s hear from Wyfor,” said Yozef, motioning to the rear of the room where Kales had sat listening. Yozef suppressed a grin upon seeing Kales stride forward, clanking on the way.

Good lord, thought Yozef. How many knives and pistols is he carrying today? It’s like he thinks he might have to fight his way out of the room.

Kales wasted no time on preliminaries.

“Graft and other forms of corruption are minimal. Wantik’s people keep good records of who’s supposed to be doing what. I only get involved when the numbers don’t match up.”

Kales stopped, turned his head, and spit to one side—concern for social norms not being one of his interests.

“It’s not that I’m so surprised at greedy bastards trying to take advantage of so much coin going around, it’s that they can be so stupid. Word had spread that Wantik was watching carefully and that I would personally meet the worst offenders. Most of those skimming off coin or trying to foist off poor-quality goods will break down and confess once they’re confronted. Following the Paramount’s order, I didn’t gut or maim too many of those who tried to brazenly argue they hadn’t done anything wrong.”

Kales only slightly massaged the truth. No one died from Kales’s “counseling,” but one owner of a facility that assembled field kits might not regain full use of his writing hand. Yozef studiously refrained from getting details, but he had Synton be sure the story reached the appropriate ears. By now, the protocol was a warning visit from Wantik’s people, resulting in improved performance and restitution, if appropriate. A second visit would be from Kales. In the last month, there had been no second visits.

Yozef also needed Wyfor on Caedellium to help ensure quality production continued apace. A potential Landolin campaign could not afford breaks in production.

When the meeting ended and people dispersed, Yozef was gratified that everything might actually fall into place by the scheduled departure.

Time to Refresh

That evening, after the meal and a measure of relaxation among the military and civilian leaders, Kivalian cornered Yozef when he left to relieve himself.

“It’s time for you to take that retreat you mentioned,” said Kivalian. “Vernik is right that the division is developing as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. Among all the maneuvers we’ve practiced the last sixday, none actually required your presence. Also, from today’s meeting, I don’t see anything you will contribute in the next couple of sixdays. You certainly don’t need to be looking over our shoulders every minute. Just let us do our jobs. Unless you think there are urgent political issues that absolutely require your attention in Orosz City, you should take time to rest and rejuvenate before we leave. Gods know you’ll be overburdened once we get to Penabak.”

“I do need it,” said Yozef wearily, rubbing his neck, “but I’ll feel guilty when the rest of you are working so hard.”

“A commander fully possessed of his abilities is far more important than any incremental contributions you could make at this point. Take some time, then come back for the last sixdays before we leave. If anything happens that absolutely needs you, just be where we can reach you quickly.”

Yozef sighed. “I guess I was hoping you would say this without me prompting you, Reimo. I confess my mind has wandered too much lately—not just from worry and lack of sleep, but . . . oh, I don’t know from what all.” He patted Kivalian on the back. “I’ll get back to Orosz City to tell Maera and Anarynd and try to suppress my guilt.”

When the two men separated, Kivalian went to Synton.

“I talked to him about it. He says he agrees to take time away. Do what you can to see he sticks to it. Don’t allow him to let it slide away once people start pestering him with things they think he needs to do. Be sure Maera helps with that.”

Kivalian moved on to enjoy the rest of the evening. Vernik had proved he actually had a sense of humor—once he’d consumed enough beer—and it was refreshing to exchange anecdotes and jokes in Fuomi. Yozef excused himself to retire, in preparation for returning to Orosz City. Then Kivalian allowed himself a moment of reflection before turning his attention again to sharing nasty rumors about certain Fuomi politicians.

I didn’t lie to Yozef, he thought. Well, not exactly. There’s plenty he could be doing in the next sixdays, but once we get to Penabak, we need him sharp to deal with the different Iraquinik kahsaks and Landolin kingdoms. Then there’s the actual campaign. He may not have the experience to justify commanding the invasion, but he’s intelligent, listens to advice, and doesn’t let his ego get in the way of considering or admitting mistakes. Then there’s the pieces of knowledge he pulls out of the air. You never know which one will be critical. And who knows? Maybe God does whisper to him. Just in case that’s true, we’ll take all the help we can get. I wouldn’t want him to be too tired or distracted to miss one of those messages.

Kolsko Manor

Yozef’s intention to leave for Orosz City at first light the next morning foundered when he had to attend ad hoc meetings prompted by the previous day’s work. Thus, it was early afternoon when he left by train. He walked into Kolsko Manor two hours past dark. The children were asleep, but Maera and Anarynd were waiting on the front veranda, knitted throws protecting them from a chill after the day’s rain.

“We got word you were making good time,” said Anarynd after a three-way hug and kisses.

“I took advantage of being Paramount and ordered the line cleared for my train all the way here. I don’t do that often, but this was a special day.”

In the lantern light, he could see Maera’s left eyebrow raise. “Special?”

“It’s not often the Paramount is going to take three sixdays to be only with his family in a retreat just for them to be together.”

The two women exchanged a look, Anarynd’s face lit by a wide grin, Maera feigning indifference.

He looked back and forth.

“Okay. Who’s the big mouth who already told you? I just made the decision last night.”

“Oh . . . Maera has her ways,” said Anarynd.

He looked at Maera, who waved a hand toward the sky.

“Don’t think you can do anything without us knowing about it. And no, we won’t tell you how we got word. What’s the point of having secret sources if they’re found out?”

“All right, so how long will it take for us to be ready to leave for Abersford?”

“Is tomorrow morning too early?” asked Maera, her mouth twitching with barely suppressed humor.

Both women broke into laughter, with Yozef joining in shortly thereafter.

“So, are there any decisions I need to make, or have the two of you covered everything?”

“Oh, Yozef,” said Maera, “we made basic plans as soon as you said you would make time before leaving for Kolinka. Once we got word about your decision, all we had to do were the final steps. That included confirming a sloop will be waiting in Adris City to take us to Abersford.”

“Will Carnigan, Gwyned, and their kids be ready, too?”

“That’s a last-minute change,” said Anarynd. “Siston and Gwyned are ill, so Carnigan will stay to care for them. Fortunately, the baby is all right and will stay with friends. Morwena and Dwyna were here the last two days so they wouldn’t also get sick. They’ll be going with us. We also decided Elian should stay. She’s a little frail, and one of her daughters has come to stay with her while we’re gone.”

“We’ll have Mared coming from Caernford,” said Maera. “She’ll help with the children. Mother and Father will also come for a few days, but they’ll stay in Abersford while we’re at the retreat cottage.”

Yozef caught that the last word was emphasized. He looked back and forth.

“Okay. What’s the next surprise?”

The woman snickered together.

“The cottage you and I stayed at is far too small for the Kolsko family, Morwena, Dwyna, and Mared,” said Maera. “As soon as you stated your intention for the retreat, I contacted people in Abersford. You, of course, remember Dyfeld Fuller?”

“Filtin’s father. A fine craftsman and the man we used to build our house in Abersford. Yes. I haven’t seen him in years.”

Momentary sadness cast a pall over Yozef’s mood as he recalled Filtin Fuller, an important worker who helped with innovations during the first year. He’d been a close friend and was killed during the Battle of Orosz City.

Maera brought him back to the present. “Dyfeld has supervised expanding the retreat cottage west of Abersford. Well . . . I suppose we can hardly call it a cottage anymore. I didn’t know when we would use it, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He must have recruited Merciful God knows how many people because it was finished almost a month ago. I’ve also been in contact with Cadwulf. He’ll see to stocking the house with food as soon as I telegraph him. It’s fortunate the line to Gwillamer goes by Abersford on its way from Caernford.”

“Don’t forget Diera and Sistian,” said Anarynd.

“Oh, yes. They’re coming with us on the ship. Sistian wants to check on the abbey, and both of them want to see Cadwulf and their friends.”

Yozef took a deep breath.

“You realize this was supposed to be a time for just our family, don’t you? Is there anyone who’s not going with us?”

“Pooh,” said Anarynd. “We three, the children, and Mared will be the only ones in the house. Maera’s parents will stay with the Beynom’s in Abersford. As for Mared, you’ll be glad she’s there to help with the children.”

Chikawan, Kolinka

As he entered the arklun’s throne room, Warmaster Rakatek took one last time to review his preparation for this meeting. In a strange sense, he felt more relaxed than he could remember in other meetings with his people’s ruler.

Arklun Litlik stood at the table on one side of the room. A dozen or more relatives and sycophants clustered around him. Maps were spread out on the table. One of the arklun’s cousins wore military insignia based solely on being a Litlik and was pointing at maps, saying something he obviously meant to sound authoritarian.

Like flies around rotten meat, Rakatek thought.

Meelis Litlik all but snarled when he saw Rakatek approach.

“I told you to find out what the Ponomynans and Mukamonese are doing behind those closed borders.”

“My apologies, Arklun,” said Warmaster Rakatek, “but every patrol we try to slip through the border either never returns or is turned back after not getting far. I continue to recommend we start calling up regional forces, particularly those in the west, and start them moving toward Chikawan.”

Litlik dismissed the comment with a hand wave and a sneer. He had never liked the warmaster—too arrogant, and, as far as Litlik was concerned, he had questionable loyalty to the Litlik family. Then there was his tendency to be sanctimonious, too confident in his definition of what was right. Yet whenever Meelis was on the verge of replacing the man, it never seemed to be the right time.

A factor Meelis Litlik subconsciously suppressed was the possibility that Rakatek had as much or more support within the military than the Kolinkan arklun had.

“I asked about at least starting mobilization,” Rakatek said later to his staff. They had gathered in a candle-lit room at his headquarters outside the capital’s walls. “He refused—as expected. There’s nothing we can do about forces closest to Chikawan. Word of the mobilization would get back to him too quickly. The best we can do is alert the more reliable commanders so they won’t be caught completely by surprise if something does happen.

“Farther west and north are different. We will send orders for those forces we can rely on to begin mobilization but to stay in position. At least then, if something happens, they can immediately be on the move.”

CHAPTER 23

PAUSE AND RECHARGE

Orosz City Train Station

The stars were fading the next morning when they arrived at the station. The children were either asleep or too bleary to understand what was happening.

“This must be as carefully planned as some of your military operations,” said Anarynd. “I know Maera spent many hours talking with people and organizing everything.”

“Maybe not quite,” said Yozef, “but in this case, Maera was right to have us sneak out with as few people as possible seeing us.”

A two-car train with cloaked windows waited at the Orosz City station. With a quick transfer, they would leave unobserved. Sistian and Diera Beynom had already left the previous day and were waiting on the Caedelli sloop Resolute, anchored at an isolated pier in Adris City. The train trip was arranged to have them arrive and aboard the sloop not long after dark. Then, accompanied by a Fuomi sloop, they would sail to the Keelan port of Salford and transfer to carriages for the thirty-mile trip to Abersford. Yozef remembered watching people and cargo being transferred via longboats to the beach where he was first found. For his family’s safety, he preferred the docks at Salford.

Helping to transfer children and far more baggage than Yozef imagined necessary were three of the family’s regular guards: Synton Ethlore, Arlen Pawell, and Toowin Kales. The number of children seemed to keep growing. In addition to their own five children, the Kolskos brought along Morwena Puvey and Dwyna Kolsko-Puvey. Dwyna was the daughter of a Keelan retainer killed during the assassination attempt on Culich Keelan and Yozef. There was no father in the child’s life, and Maera could not find a relative she trusted the child to. Eventually, Dwyna had lived with the Kolskos so long and became so accustomed to Gwyned and Carnigan Puvey being around much of the time that the two families had jointly adopted the child. Bringing Morwena seemed best because she would have been the only ambulatory child not going.

“I could tell Carnigan was disappointed,” said Maera to Yozef. “He remembers the time we slipped away from the Beynoms for the picnic where you kissed me.”

“Yeah, and I thought I’d just committed a major crime. I thought about claiming it was your fault for flirting with me, but then it would be your word against mine.”

Maera poked him in the stomach and mimed an aristocratic air.

“Uff!” exclaimed Yozef

“If anyone else had seen it,” Maera said, “I would just have claimed it was an unseemly affront by a boorish upstart of a stranger to Caedellium.”

Yozef’s Cove, West of Abersford

The late morning sun only occasionally hid behind scattered clouds. Yozef, lying on a cloth on the sand, noticed momentary decreases in light through closed eyelids. He believed he was finally relaxing—something he had struggled with the first couple days. The light wind off the sea wafted across his face, and he drank in the unique smells of sea air and faint whiffs of seaweed that washed up on the beach.

A hand shook his shoulder.

“Papa! Papa! Come chase us! Be the monster!”

He opened his eyes and at first saw only a silhouette hiding the sun. The shape shifted, the sun hit his open eyes, and he identified Aeneas’s smiling face.

“The monster was sound asleep, young tasty human. You know what happens if you awaken him!”

“Can’t eat me if you can’t catch me,” taunted Aeneas. He ran squealing as the terrible monster jumped to his feet, wadding up the cloth in the sand, then roared after fleeing small humans.

Thirty minutes later, the exhausted monster sat on a driftwood log next to Maera. Several little humans had been caught but always managed to escape before being eaten. Finally, the novelty wore thin, and the prey moved on to other games.

“Another few minutes and we’ll have to get them under cover,” said Maera. “Much longer and they’ll start to burn. They play outside at home, but the sun here seems so much brighter.”

“It’s the sea’s waves that reflect sunlight and the crystalline parts of the sand that do the same,” he said, letting his mind wander into memories. “Makes it seem as if the sun is turned up. My mother used to lather me with sunscreen when we went to the beach.”

“Sunscreen?”

Watch it, bozo. Yozef castigated himself for his lapse in unplanned Earth references. It was perfect weather, watching his children play as only carefree children can, and the beginning of relaxation like he hadn’t felt in . . . months? Years?

“Ah . . . a kind of lotion to put on skin to prevent sunburn.”

“What’s it made of?”

“Uh . . . now that I think about it, it shouldn’t be hard to make. The basic ingredient is any substance that deflects the sun’s rays from the skin. Zinc oxide is one of those, and we certainly have enough of that.”

“Ana could certainly use it,” she said. “Her skin’s lighter than most, and she says she learned early not to be out uncovered too long on sunny days. But this ‘sunscreen’ is just made of zinc oxide? I know the formula from the chemistry I’ve learned, but I have a hard time imagining how to put it on. Would it be a powder?”

“No, it would have to been suspended in a lotion of some kind.” Yozef leaned forward and put a finger along his cheek.

“And now that I think about it, my mother used a lotion for rashes she got from an allergy when the weather warmed after winter.”

He paused while he took his own advisory about the cautious introduction of English words.

Why not? he thought. It’s harmless.

“The lotion she used was called aloe.”

Maera chuckled. “Aloe? I’m afraid you’ll have to describe that one, too.”

“It’s made from plants. I don’t know what they look like, only that the leaves are fleshy. You somehow process the leaves and get something that’s oily, waxy, or both—I’m not sure, but it shouldn’t be hard to make. The problem is finding the aloe plant or something that produces a similar substance. Then, we’d just have to mix in powdered zinc oxide.”

Yozef’s face lit up, and his voice rose. “In fact, the aloe by itself is worth trying to produce. Thinking of my mother’s rash reminds me it was also used for various skin disorders and to help burns. Why didn’t I think of this before?”

Maera shook her head slightly. “Don’t criticize yourself. I think you’ve had a few other small matters on your mind.”

“Yes, but I’ve been here for years. After the ether, I tried to think of other things I knew of that could help people. I talked with Diera and other medicants often in those early years, but not so much after that.”

His mind raced as it had not for longer than he could have remembered—if he had been aware of his current state, which he was not.

“There was the aspir . . . uh . . . tree bark remedy for mild pain. I worked with a team to find local plants whose bark contained a substance called salicin. We succeeded, but it’s been, what, three, four years since then. We’re much better along in chemistry now here on Caedellium, so I bet we could improve the preparation.”

He almost said it would be a long time before they could make aspirin—acetylsalicylic acid—a synthetic compound with similar structure and properties to the tree bark medication. On Earth, the source was bark from trees like willows. Whether the tree source on Caedellium would be an introduced Earth willow or an Anyar analog went beyond his limited knowledge of trees.

“There’re also other pain treatments from plant sources,” he mused, thinking of spices—turmeric, cloves, and ginger, possibly oils such as from lavender if he remembered correctly, and capsaicin, the active ingredient in hot peppers. He shook his head at the last recollection, unable to imagine how capsaicin would be applied because he was not a fan of hot spiced foods.

He also thought he should check with Mark and Heather. Maybe they knew more details than he did. Mark had made a few references to relatives using home remedies, and Heather might have picked up knowledge of Chinese herbal medicines.

“I need to make notes of what’s coming up in my mind right now so I can talk later with Diera.”

He rose quickly from the log and took two paces toward the house before stopping and turning back to Maera.

“Oh. Sorry. Do you mind? I won’t be long.”

“No, go!” said Maera, smiling and rising to give him a quick hug. “You won’t be here mentally anyway. We’re all fine.”

He gave her a brief kiss and did not quite run away from the beach.

“What’s up with Yozef?” asked Anarynd from twenty feet away. She walked toward Maera. “I could see him getting agitated from far away.”

Maera met Anarynd and hugged her, with Luna between them and in Anarynd’s arms, then stepped back.

“Ana, he suddenly became more animated about his chemistry than I’ve seen him for, oh, so long. We were just talking about not letting the children get sunburned, and he took off with enthusiasm for ideas like I haven’t seen for years. Though maybe not with the same level of excitement since we moved to Caernford and certainly not since Orosz City.”

“I didn’t know him in the earliest days,” said Anarynd, “but on this retreat he’s certainly been the Yozef I first knew, more than he has these last months. Do you think he’s really coming back to how he used to be, or is it only temporary until he gets back to Orosz City and being Paramount?”

“I think it has been a change,” said Maera. “Back in Orosz City, the change seemed to start, but I was hesitant to believe it at first. I still think it was somehow due to his visit to Rhaedri Brison. He hasn’t said what it was about, and certainly Rhaedri wouldn’t tell me anything if I asked him. Synton’s the only source. Evidently, Yozef said something to him after meeting Rhaedri, but Synton is mum beyond that, which is novel because he usually will blab about anything.”

“Well!” Anarynd said, a wicked smile lighting her face. “He’s certainly been more fun in bed the last sixdays.”

Maera blushed at her friend’s usual unabashed view of sex. “As if anyone in the family or nearby didn’t know it from the sounds you’ve been making, especially last night.”

“Look who’s talking? Dwyna came into my room two nights ago and asked if Mama Maera was all right.”

“She didn’t!?” exclaimed Maera, turning even redder.

“And I heard her telling Aeneas the next day that you were making noises because Papa Yozef was tickling you.”

“What?”

“Well . . . I had to tell Dwyna something and that just popped into my head. And then I had to explain it was special ‘mama and papa tickling’ when she asked if she could join in.”

Maera’s peals of laughter made everyone within hearing turn in her direction. After the two women laughed together, Anarynd’s countenance turned serious, and she put her free arm around Maera.

“I was happy to hear it, dearest. Yozef may have been changing over the last years, but you have also been different since Seaborn. Not that I don’t understand, but with Yozef different and then you, I’ve been worried for all of us. I didn’t say anything because . . . well, I don’t have such serious things to weigh on me. I actually have felt a little selfish that I was worrying about me.”

“I guess none of the three of us have been as open and happy as before,” said Maera. “As the Word tells us, wounds heal with time but remain with us. I’ll always hurt at losing the baby, but we have other children, and I have Yozef and you. With so many blessings, I believe I’m moving on. However, I’ve started to pray that if something has changed with Yozef, it doesn’t go away once we return to Orosz City.”

“What are you two so serious about?” asked Mared Keelan, walking barefoot off the beach and taking a break from playing with the children. Maera’s youngest sister was almost twenty years old (seventeen by Earth years). She had arrived from Caernford to spend time with her sister’s family and help watch the children so the parents could have more time alone. There would be more visiting members of the extended family coming but not staying at the beach retreat. Culich and Breda Keelan, Maera’s parents, were due in three days to spend a sixday.

“Nothing I’m going to share,” said Maera, smiling. “Have the children started wearing you out yet?”

“They’re doing their best, but I think I’m good for the rest of the day. In fact, Anarynd, if you’re finished feeding Luna, I can take her for a while.”

“Watch what you ask for,” said Anarynd, handing over the baby. “If she follows her routine, she’ll need to be changed in a few minutes. After that, rock her in your arms, and she’ll fall asleep.”

Mared smiled and walked away, already swinging Luna in her arms.

“Has Mared told you how things are going for her in Caernford?” asked Anarynd.

“We’ve only had one time alone since she arrived yesterday. Still, things don’t seem to have changed since I saw her in Orosz City after we came back from Seaborn. Fate has made the world so different from the one she expected to become an adult in. She was the youngest of four sisters. One of us was supposed to eventually produce a son who would be the next Keelan hetman after Father. It was generally assumed it would be a son of mine. Now, of course, that won’t happen. With Aeneas possibly becoming Paramount and Odysius as the future Hetman Moreland, I agree with Yozef that it might be taken badly for another son of his and a Keelan daughter to also be a  hetman—too much centralized power.”

Anarynd didn’t comment on Maera’s assumption she would have no more sons after the wounds from the Seaborn attack. It was not definite, but the medicants were not optimistic.

“Then there’s Ceinwyn. One of her sons will become Hetman Preddi, and the same argument holds as with me—inappropriate for the same Keelan daughter to produce two hetmen. With poor Anid killed in the Narthani raid on Keelan Manor, that leaves Mared to birth the next Keelan hetman. It was a duty I knew of since I was old enough to understand, but Mared thought she would not have such a duty. Before events dictated otherwise, her thoughts about the future had focused more on what she might want, rather than on what was expected of her.”

“But are those exclusive?” asked Anarynd.

“No, but she feels it cuts down her options. Plus, Father’s attitude has turned to having her remain living in Keelan Province. Perhaps marry an appropriate man such as a younger son of another hetman and live in Caernford. That conflicts with some of the things Mared has talked with me about. One is to study in Orosz City at the University of Caedellium. Exactly what, she wasn’t sure, but at different times she has mentioned the People’s Department, medicine, or one of the science and mathematics departments.”

“I don’t know,” said Anarynd. “It sounds like it’s your father who’s the problem. Even if she lived outside Keelan, an arrangement could be made like with Odysius—where he spends up to a month a year in Moreland Province before moving there permanently and changing his name when he’s older.”

“I agree with you, as would Mared and our mother, but Father hasn’t come to that yet.”

“Do the two of you plan to work on him while he’s here?”

“Mared wants to, but I’ll discourage it. This visit is for Yozef and the rest of our family. I don’t want any discord to mar the time.”

A corner of Maera’s mouth curled up. “Of course, if he brings up the topic, and there seems to be an opening, who knows what could transpire?”

“Now, that’s the Maera I know. In fact, I suspect you might have already recruited Sistian and Deira Beynom, haven’t you? Probably gave them just enough details about Mared’s situation that they could be the ones to bring up the topic.

“Oh, by the way,” said Anarynd, attempting to mimic Diera. “I understand Mared might be interested in studying medicine at the university. We’d love to have her. She’s such a dear young woman and so bright. I know it would be leaving home, but with other family members there and Culich and me to look out for her, she wouldn’t be among strangers.”

“Honest,” said Maera. “I haven’t said anything to Diera about becoming involved, but who knows what might happen?”

Anarynd snorted. “Right. Who knows? she says. What else have you schemed about without being too obvious?”

“Well . . . Yozef is clear he won’t become overtly involved with internal Keelan family matters. He needs Father’s full support with the other hetmen. However, it so happens that the next railroad line that starts will be from Orosz City through Caernford before reaching Salford on the Keelan coast. Feren Bakalacs will be angry it’s not going to connect Farkesh Province, but Yozef will argue that giving the southern provinces the line is fairer than Farkesh next. He’ll placate Feren by saying the next line after Salford will link with Farkesh by extending the lines from either Shullick or Cherona.”

“So, what do you think will happen with Mared and your father?”

“It’s likely he’ll come to accept that Mared will move elsewhere, either to Orosz City or to another province if she happens to marry a man who, for whatever reason, won’t move to Caernford. Mother says Father just needs time to come to the conclusion it will work for Keelan’s future and will give Mared more chances to be happiest. Of course, that puts off the questions about how her son would have to come to live in Keelan Province if he’s to become hetman.”

“You know, there’s always the chance Mared won’t have a son,” said Anarynd. “Not all women are fertile, and even if she is, she might only have daughters.”

Maera nodded. “He’s aware of that. Mother says he’s told her that if that happens, he would prefer to see one of my or Ceinwyn’s sons as hetman, but only if he believes the other hetmen would be honestly agreeable, which he’s skeptical about. Then there’s the obvious option of going outside our immediate family to another Keelander. In the old days, it would have been one of father’s brothers or would go down the line of their oldest sons.”

“But your father agreed to ending primogeniture in Keelan. He could choose who he believes most qualifies.”

“Agreeing and making it work are different. It’s still a novel idea among hetmen families, and it hasn’t happened yet so we can see whether it will be easily accepted. For the Keelan family, I have a number of cousins Father could choose from. And, as Yozef says, there’s time.”

“Is it right that no other clans are even considering changing first son succession?” asked Anarynd. “Not since the first group committed to change.”

“No, and we don’t expect them to. It will probably be well into the future before that happens, and only after they’ve seen it work in the few clans that have gotten rid of primogeniture. Yozef won’t even be bringing up the topic to any of those hetmen unless they do so first.”

“But I’ll bet he’s doing something quietly, Maera. Yozef can think ahead, even many years.”

“Yes, but very carefully. He can’t be seen as undermining a hetman with his clanspeople.”

Their conversation ended abruptly when cries erupted from where the children were playing. Two-and-a-half-year-old Xena tottered through the sand toward them, crying with her face screwed up. Her twin brother Odysius walked next to her, looking as if he wanted to do something but not sure what. Morwena Puvey ran up to Maera and Anarynd before the other two arrived, her face chagrined.

“I’m sorry, Mama Maera and Mama Anarynd. I didn’t mean to push Xena into the wave. Aeneas, Dwyna, and I were playing tag. Xena and Odysius don’t understand the rules, but we were letting them run around with us. I turned to chase Dwyna and didn’t see Xena behind me.”

“That’s all right, dear,” said Anarynd, gathering the tearful Xena into her lap. “These things happen. We know you didn’t do it on purpose. Go back and play. We’ll take care of Xena.”

Morwena, relieved, ran back to rejoin whatever game was in progress. Anarynd murmured to Xena, who quieted, wiped away her tears, jumped off Anarynd’s lap, and followed Morwena.

“If only all problems could be solved so easily,” said Maera, sighing.

“Especially when it seems the solution is playing games,” said Anarynd. “Which reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask what that game is I’ve seen the Fuomi play near their embassy. At least, I assume it’s a game. Usually, it’s men running around and bumping into one another. The first time I saw them, I thought it was a fight, but then I heard yelling and laughter.”

“Yozef says it’s a game similar to one in Amerika. Rugby, he called it. If you noticed, there was a leather bag filled with pebbles. Two groups act like enemies and have to move the bag around several poles—or something like that. Reimo tried to explain the rules of the game. It sounded fairly intricate, and I wasn’t that interested. The Fuomi women sometimes join in, but then the rules change to forbid blows.

“Evidently, group games are common around Anyar. We didn’t have any such until Yozef tried to introduce the ones he called baseball and football, which is somewhat like the Fuomi game. Football hasn’t gotten much interest in Orosz Province, although I hear it’s played in Farkesh and Skouks. Baseball is more popular, especially since craftspeople were able to make the small balls to Yozef’s satisfaction. He keeps saying he’ll find time to play himself, but the time never seems available.”

“Could we play it here?” asked Anarynd, eyes sparkling. “It could be a surprise!”

“I think the equipment is too complex to get it here in time. Maybe a version of his football. Let’s give Yozef a little more time, then pull him back outside and get him to teach us football.”

Two hours later, all the adults and the ambulating children were exhausted. In the end, no one was sure of the final score. Yozef insisted his team had won, but Synton disagreed, saying Mared had clearly made the final points, and Yozef was just trying to change the rules so his team would win.

That evening, after eating and putting the children to sleep, the four adults sat watching the ocean while they drank wine and talked. Later, after a long and tender love-making session between Yozef and Maera, they lay together on a bed. The house was quiet. They could hear sounds of low waves on the beach. Maera stroked her husband’s chest and lay a leg over both of his.

“Are you happy, Yozef?”

He sighed but did not answer immediately. His arm tensed under her neck.

A louder than usual wave broke on the beach. He thought about the theory of every seventh wave being bigger.

I doubt that’s true, he thought. There’s no obvious scientific backing I can think of.

“I often tell myself I should be happy. I excuse myself by blaming the Narthani, the weight of being Paramount, and . . . yes, more recently the loss of the baby. You know I went to see Rhaedri Brison some time ago. Some of what we talked about has made me wonder whether I think I shouldn’t be happy. That it’s inconsistent for all the reasons I give myself. Rhaedri didn’t go there specifically, but I somehow came away, at least a few days later, wondering if I have been deliberately trying not to be happy.”

They were both quiet with their thoughts and listened to the waves.

He shifted on the bed. “It’s when I attempt to stand outside of how I’m feeling and look at it rationally that it seems irrational.”

“You mean, irrational to try and not be happy because you aren’t supposed to be?”

“Something like that. It seems odd to think you have to work at being happy, but maybe that’s the way I have to look at it. I have to consciously and continually remind myself not to link whatever is good in my life—and there is a lot of that—to the responsibilities of being Paramount, as well as other people’s expectations and my own. It’s like keeping them in different rooms or different drawers.”

“Is that even possible?” asked Maera. “Everything we do and experience is interconnected.”

“I know it’s impossible to totally isolate any one part of our life, but neither should one ‘room’ or ‘drawer’ control the others.” She could see his wan smile in the dim light. “It’s something I have to work at, and there’s no doubt you, Anarynd, and the children are a big part of helping me.”

She hugged him tighter.

“You know we love you and will do anything we can.”

Three mornings later, light filtered through the gauzy curtains and foliage outside the window—the latter quivering from the gentle onshore breeze. Ana shifted slightly, murmured gently, still asleep, and turned to face him. He rose on an elbow to gaze on Ana’s bare form, the sleeping cloth covering her from the hips down. One breast rested on the mattress, the other supported by an arm whose hand lay against her throat. Her breasts were larger than when they’d married, engaged as they were in breast-feeding her third child, and not as firm as before. The sunlight accentuated the stretch marks on her abdomen. She was beautiful.

He wondered whether it was strange that the changes made him desire her more than when they’d married. Then, it was an odd arrangement about which he had not processed his feelings. Now . . . they had a history. Their time together. The nights sharing a bed. The children. Whatever it was, he wanted to reach out to stroke her. Not out of budding passion, but a tender caress. He refrained to avoid waking her. Or was it because of feelings he hesitated to deal with?

She stirred. A leg stretched under the cover. The corner of her mouth arced upward.

A dream, he thought.

Knowing Ana, he assumed it must be something about the children or Maera. Or himself, he admitted with clear guilt.

I know she loves me, he thought. I don’t say the same nearly often enough. When was the last time? A measure of remorse washed over him. I haven’t been a bad husband, have I?

He thought hard but could not dredge up the memory of the last time he had told her. He addressed the same question in regard to Maera and then the children, only to fail again and again.

Have I really been that self-absorbed? he thought.

She opened one bleary eye, then the other, and raised her head slightly.

“Yozef? What is it? You have a strange look.”

“I was just thinking it’s been far too long since I told you I love you.”

Her eyes popped open, and concern transformed her face. She sat up quickly, reached out, and put a hand on his arm.

“What’s happened! Is something wrong?”

She might as well have stabbed him. Was his telling a family member that he loved her so unusual that the first reaction was shock and fear? Who was he?

She gripped his arm more firmly when he did not immediately answer. He didn’t understand, but at that moment he needed all his strength to not cry. When more moments passed, he pulled her to him and they lay together, both their arms around the other. A minute passed. Two. She had not spoken again. Five minutes. Finally, he found his voice and a low laugh.

“I’m sorry, but we have to move. I’ve got my arm in the wrong position, and it’s starting to kill me.”

They released each other, and he rolled onto his back. Ana followed to lie on top of him, her head turned and on his chest, one hand on his shoulder, the other against a cheek.

“But nothing is wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that I don’t do enough to assure you of how much I love you. You’re my wife, and life would be so much less without you.”

She didn’t respond, but the slight tremors and wetness on his chest needed no explanation.

“I know you love Maera more than me. That’s all right. I understand. She’s so much more than me and so much like you, with all the things the two of you can share that I can’t.”

Her words stymied Yozef in searching for a response until he knew what was the truth.

“No, Ana, I don’t love Maera more than you. Oh . . . maybe it was that way when we first married, but that has changed. I love you both in different ways. In both cases, I love who you are. It’s just different. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better husband.”

She rose to her knees and slapped him smartly on his chest. She scowled and put both hands on her hips. It was a distracting view.

“You’re a wonderful husband! And anyway, you’re the Paramount and have more important things to do than worry about me.”

“No matter what duties I have, and even if I don’t always have enough time with you, there’s no excuse for you not understanding how much your husband loves you.”

Her eyes welled. She lay back on him. He clasped her. Five minutes later, a voice called out.

“I heard you two talking,” said Maera from the other side of the bedroom door. “If you’re finished whatever you’re doing, the rest of us are ready for morning meal.”

“Be right there,” Yozef called out.

They rolled out of bed, reaching for their clothes. Ana had pulled a dress over her shoulders and let it fall. She started to arrange the fit, then stopped.

“Oh, Yozef. I tell Maera everything. But I don’t want to hurt her if she thinks you don’t love her best.”

‘I think Maera can handle it,” he said dryly. “Neither of you is a small person, and Maera loves us both. I suspect she’ll be happy for you and mad at me for not telling you this far earlier.”

Anarynd’s face lit up. “You’re right!”

Cadwulf

Maera had not seen Cadwulf Beynom for almost two years. He looked changed only by more maturity in his face and the now healed hand that had been mangled in the Battle of Orosz City.

They hugged without speaking before they stood apart, each with hands on the other’s shoulders.

“It’s been too long,” said Maera. “For me, but especially for your parents. I hope you have forgiven me for taking Diera and Sistian away.”

“I think it was actually Yozef,” said Cadwulf, smiling. “And I’m sure they both knew their obvious place was in Orosz City. As dear as Abersford is to them, their place is near the center of Caedellium’s future. I couldn’t be prouder of them both.”

“As they are of you, Cadwulf. From everything I hear,” said Maera, smiling, “the Mathematics Department here is doing great things, even if I don’t understand exactly what they are. Eina Sassanian tells me we can expect some Fuomi mathematicians to arrive sometime in the next few months when a future Fuomi convoy gets through the Throat.”

“That’s great! The one Fuomi we have now calls himself an amateur and got permission to temporarily leave his position at the Fuomi embassy. He’s very good, but he claims there are far better professional mathematicians back home.”

“Let’s sit for a moment,” said Maera, her tone turning serious.

Cadwulf’s expression changed to match. He gestured to a small table with strewn papers covered by mathematics. When they sat, Maera sighed.

“As happy as I am to see you, Cadwulf, I’m afraid I bring unpleasant news. The University of Caedellium is developing well in Orosz City, but we have to postpone establishing smaller campuses. The only one we currently have is here in Abersford.”

Cadwulf sat back in his chair and grimaced. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I suspected this might happen when Mother and the plan for a Biology and Medicine Department moved to Orosz City.”

“I’m sorry. At first, we thought mathematics was what Yozef calls a ‘standalone’ subject, and we could put the department here so you could be the leader and get it organized. Yozef has discovered that having advanced mathematics capability in Orosz City is more important than he realized. With Mark Kaldwel arriving, engineering and physical sciences have risen to the highest priority. An Engineering Department is under consideration, and Yozef believes there will eventually be more departments than chemistry for topics related to the physical world and astronomy. Mathematics will be a natural partner.

“There are also political considerations. With the embassies moving to Orosz City and with Adris City less than a day’s train trip away, the university will play an important role in Caedellium’s future. It will be easier if all departments are together—something that Yozef calls having a ‘critical mass,’ whatever that means.”

Cadwulf shook his head. “I understand the arguments, but the Mathematics Department may have to move without me. I have too many strong personal reasons not to leave Abersford.”

“Well, we only tried the department here because we knew you didn’t want to move. Yozef says to talk with him. He didn’t say anything to me, but I suspect he will try to convince you otherwise.” She laughed. “God’s Mercy, he might think he has a solution. He often does. Many times, it’s a good solution and sometimes naive or impractical, but who knows? He’s spending this morning with the children, but he said he’d come see you this afternoon if you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“He can try, but I doubt there’s anything he can say.”

The sun had just touched the western horizon of the sea, and Maera was sitting on the veranda when Yozef returned from Abersford. Anarynd watched Aeneas build a sand castle just out of reach of spent waves, Mared oversaw Xena and Odysius playing in loose sand, and Anida and Luna lay on a nearby cloth in the shade.

“How did it go?” asked Maera. “I had the impression even the mysterious Yozef Kolsko would be stumped this time. Cadwulf seemed as firm as before.”

He shrugged. “Nothing decided. It was an interesting conversation. I came up with a novel solution, but I don’t know whether it’s practical or not. For one thing, I’m still not clear on all the details of Caedelli culture. You’ll have to enlighten me. I don’t know how any of this would be received among the Caedelli. It certainly emphasizes I don’t have the background and/or intuition for how islanders think about all issues.”

“Well . . . now you’ve really got me interested,” said Maera.

“Okay, but this is confidential. You know . . . not to tell anyone else, although I suppose you could tell me it’s nothing to worry about.”

She nodded.

“It goes back to my first year here. Cadwulf was helping me set up the bank. I thought Cadwulf had a woman friend in Abersford. I forgot about it until Wyfor Kales mentioned seeing a man he thought was Cadwulf sneaking into town—as if he didn’t want anyone to see him. He followed Cadwulf one night and discovered he was meeting a young man at night.”

“Oh,” said Maera pensively. “I don’t see Diera and Sistian having a problem. The Word says to accept people as God made them, and Cadwulf is their son. Still . . . not everyone approves. If I had to guess, I’d wonder if he isn’t sure about everyone in Abersford. After all, his father is . . . . or was the abbot. Or who knows what people think? Then there’s the other person’s family. Maybe they’re the problem. What’s his name, and what does he do?”

“Dolwyn. Dolwyn Walmer. He’s a trainee magistrate. I guess that caused problems because his father wanted him to join the family leather goods shop with the father and the brother, his only other sibling. Cadwulf says Dolwyn’s parents have been urging him to marry and have children. His parents had wanted more children, but they only had Dolwyn and his brother, who has been married three years with no children resulting. For all of Dolwyn’s life, he’s been told that his parents expect the two boys to produce lots of children.”

“Well, it’s the women who actually do the producing,” Maera said with a sniff, “but I can see that as a problem. Caedelli put a high value on families and children. I’m sure Diera hasn’t said anything to Cadwulf, but she’s hinted to me several times she’s looking forward to Cadwulf’s children. Of course, Diera and Sistian have other children and  . . . . Oh, I don’t know, maybe six or seven grandchildren already from their daughters. I’m not sure what—”

She stopped suddenly. Yozef had a “look” and was slowly scratching the side of his beard. Her mind cycled through her years of experience with her husband, and she settled on thinking that either he had done something he wasn’t sure about, or he was just short of smirking about a brilliant idea.

“All right, what did you tell Cadwulf?”

“Well . . . first I suggested it might do Dolwyn good to get away from Abersford, at least for a time. Since we’re planning on starting an island-wide magistrate force, Orosz City will need more magistrate staff. That way, they can be together and maybe worry less about the opinions of people who know their families.”

“Yes, but something tells me that’s not the only thing you told them.”

“As for children, I had an idea. Maybe if I’d thought about it more, I wouldn’t have said anything, but it just came out. It occurred to me that there might be two young women with a similar problem, either here or in Orosz City. Assuming they could find such a pair, and assuming they got along well enough . . . uh, you can see where I was going.”

“You mean . . . why that’s the most rid . . . uh . . . insane and novel idea I’ve yet to hear from you. And how exactly did you imagine the four of them producing children?”

Yozef held up both hands. “That’s information I don’t need. I would expect them to figure it out.”

Aragorn

“You can’t delay any more, Yozef,” said Maera, when she came upon him sitting on a low dune a hundred yards west of the house. The sun had not yet peeked above the horizon, but its rays lit the tops of the tallest trees while she was looking for him.

“We’re due to leave in a sixday, and they surely already know you’ve been in Abersford without visiting them.”

He knew what she was referring to. He smoothed over doodles he had made in the sand.

“I know. The first sixday, it was just so good to be here. I told myself there was plenty of time. Then, the last sixday, I didn’t want to break the mood. The letter you got from Bronwyn had strong hints there were problems with Aragorn. I didn’t come here to solve problems.”

Maera put a hand on his shoulder. “She said he was a healthy, vigorous boy, so maybe it’s just something mothers worry about. You won’t know until you go.”

He sighed. “You’re right, of course. You usually are. I’ll go today.”

“No. Tomorrow. It’s only right you let them know when you’re coming. Paramount or not, you shouldn’t suddenly appear. Later this morning, someone is supposed to bring us more food. We’ll give him a message for Bronwyn and her family that you’ll visit tomorrow. I’m not sure whether I should go with you or not.”

Neither was Yozef. He felt conflicted. Maera’s insights and typical Caedelli acceptance of the reality of his earlier interpersonal relationships were appealing. However, he remembered how awkward he had felt during previous occasions in the presence of both Maera and Bronwyn.

“No. I’ll go alone. Tomorrow, then. I should be back by late afternoon.”

Yozef’s ride to the Linton farm the next morning brought back memories with a tinge of melancholy. Two guards of his guards accompanied him. He had traveled most of this route many times during the months of his affair with Bronwyn. But then, the destination had been the farm of Bronwyn Merton. Now, it was a half mile farther to the home and farm of the Lintons: husband Cynwin, sisters and wives Bronwyn and Dellia. He had known his relationship with Bronwyn had to end—he was not going to move to a farm, and neither was she leaving the farm to join him in town. Then, to his surprise many years ago, he arrived at her farm one day and found her with her sister Dellia and husband, Cynwin Linton. Bronwyn informed him that they were joining in a three-way marriage—an arrangement allowed on Caedellium, though not common.

He had felt relieved that the split from Bronwyn was ending without drama, but his feelings became more complex when she told him she was pregnant, and the child would be raised in the Linton family with the other children. On one hand, he’d thought the plan would be best for all, but, on the other, it was tempered by his past experiences of involuntarily leaving Earth and Lucy, his pregnant fiancée. He remembered the feelings of aloneness that had gripped him as he rode back to Abersford.

He tried pushing aside that memory and focusing on others: the first meeting with Bronwyn when he needed a farm to test the guano mined from the coastal formations and the inlet he had named Birdshit Bay, the initial physical and emotional warmth of his time with Bronwyn, his positive feelings when he held Aragorn as a baby. Unfortunately, the last thought elicited guilt at how few times he had visited Aragorn over the years, especially before moving to Caernford and then Orosz City.

His weighing of past actions and inactions paused as the Linton farm came in view. It was as neatly cared for as he remembered. As in the past, fields of wheat and turnips alternated with fallow ground. Horses in a corral next to a barn stopped eating to note his approach. A shout came from somewhere. He couldn’t see the source, but the voice was a child’s, and it brought a flow of humans from the house.

They must have been inside, waiting for me, he thought. They’re all dressed for visitors and not for a workday.

The three Linton adults stood above the bevy of children. He remembered Dellia and Cynwin had three children before Bronwyn joined them—ages about three to seven. Then there was Aragorn, another child from Bronwyn, and he remembered something about Dellia having another child. That would be six children, several fewer than his quick count of children on the  porch next to the adults or standing on the ground.

Nine children, he counted, including a babe held by Dellia.

My, my. They’ve been busy, was his first thought, followed by chagrin that he hadn’t kept up with the Linton family status.

The three tallest children must be the Lintons’ original children, a boy the oldest and two daughters. Because their mothers were sisters and the children had the same father, he couldn’t distinguish the younger children’s mothers by appearance. As he got closer, his eyes went from one child to another, checking whether he could detect any differences to put them in two categories: the original Lintons and those born after Bronwyn. Yozef assumed he had passed nanites on to Bronwyn, as he had to Maera and Anarynd. Bronwyn would be a source for further transmissions: Bronwyn to Cynwin, Cynwin to Dellia, and mothers to children.

It had occurred to him earlier that the Linton family could provide additional clues to nagging questions. Because the nanites were passed on, would the effects be maintained or lessened with transmissions? If the latter, they would eventually disappear from Anyar. If the former, the consequences could be dramatic—and/or catastrophic. Eventually spreading to Anyar’s entire population? Despite that option having appeal, the years between had a potential for crises to erupt. Creating two classes of humans? People exhibiting the nanites’ effects being treated as abominations, as objects possibly for breeding, or who knew what else?

Because of those unknowns, he needed to observe the Linton children. But how and when would he have the time and opportunity? It was an issue for another day. This day’s visit had another purpose.

He dismounted and gave his reins to Synton.

“Welcome, Yozef,” called Bronwyn as she descended the steps to greet him with a hug. A toddler boy hid behind her dress.

Hers, thought Yozef. That had to mean she’d had at least two more children since Aragorn.

“Thank you, Bronwyn,” he said, cringing internally for the reminder. “It’s been too long since my last visit.”

“I understand. We all understand. You’re the Paramount. You don’t have time for one small farm.”

Maybe not, he thought, but what about one small boy?

She took his hand and led him onto the porch where greetings with the other Lintons were exchanged, along with several minutes of casual talk, before Bronwyn sensed his attention was elsewhere.

“Aragorn,” she said, after turning to the only child of the appropriate gender and age, “come say hello to your other father.”

“Other father,” thought Yozef. I forgot that was the custom here to differentiate biological fathers from men who raised the child.

The sole candidate for Bronwyn’s request walked hesitantly to Yozef, who knelt.

“Do you remember me, Aragorn?”

The boy looked at his mother, then back at Yozef and shook his head.

“But you know who I am, don’t you?”

“You’re the Paramount. You’re also the father I came from but not the one in the family.”

Something bothered Yozef about the boy’s expression and an edge to his words.

“You and I will talk. Maybe we can go for a walk. But first, I need to talk with your mother.”

Aragorn did not answer but returned to where he had been standing against the wall.

“Let’s go inside, Yozef. We can talk alone, and Dellia made some sweets we can nibble on. Cynwin will show your men where they can wait in the shade.”

He wasn’t hungry, but he thanked Dellia, nodded to Cynwin, and followed Bronwyn inside. He sat across from her at the kitchen table.

“You’re looking well, Bronwyn, and the number of children is more than I remember.”

“We are blessed, Yozef. All of the children are healthy, and we’ve had few sicknesses. Even accidental injuries have been more minor than they first seemed, especially for most of the children.”

He wanted more details, but she continued before he could think of what to ask without raising suspicions.

“Cynwin wonders if it’s somehow due to you. Everyone has heard of your miraculous recovery after fighting the Narthani at Orosz City. Dellia thinks maybe Aragorn, being your son, has blessed this family with good health. I know I considered him a blessing after I had not known whether I would ever have even one child. Of course, now I have three of my own, and there’s those of Dellia.”

She rubbed her shoulder and shifted uneasily in her chair.

“I hope it was not inappropriate for me to write to your wife, instead of to you. She was so gracious when we first met her and the times we saw her in Abersford or here at the farm. And, of course, as Paramount you must have so many important matters to deal with every second.”

“That’s fine about Maera, Bronwyn, but she believes you wrote because of some problem to do with Aragorn.”

She wrung her hands briefly before self-consciously laying them flat on the table.

“It’s something that only began when he first started school. Of course, it’s very small, but we’re fortunate it’s close enough to the farm that the children walk there—it’s only a mile and a half. That’s when he first started to understand that his father—his original father and not Cynwin—was the Paramount. We had never treated him differently from the other children . . . he was just one of many, all of them loved. He also had never been around other children or adults for extended periods of time until he started school. But that changed. Some of the children treated him as if he had some authority over them. A couple of others acted as if they were always angry at him, even struck him once. After we spoke with the teacher and a few other parents, people we’d known for many years acted as if we were, if not strangers, then maybe a family they were not as comfortable being around as before. Dellia believes even the school’s two teachers would rather Aragorn not be a student there.”

“Have you spoken to a theophist you trust, Bronwyn?”

He started to ask about the teacher’s superiors but realized he didn’t know how local schools were organized. Was each a separate entity, or was there a regional organization? Maera would know, but she wasn’t here.

“I’m not sure what I can do,” said Yozef. “I confess I don’t know how local schools such as the one you describe function. I suppose I should have made sure Aragorn—and all the other children, of course—had good teachers. I could certainly use my position to bring in new teachers. As for my directly speaking with the existing teachers and the other parents, I could also do that, but it might only make the problem worse by causing Aragorn to believe he should be treated differently than other children.”

“I’m afraid that’s already happened, Yozef. We only found out that Aragorn now expects some of the other children to do whatever he tells them because he began acting this way at home. It’s causing bad feelings among our children, and they used to get along so well. Oh . . . there’s always problems, as in any household, but it’s gotten worse. Some of the children resent Aragorn, and one younger child even fears him. We’ve spoken to Aragorn about his behavior and the sense of . . . I guess I would call it privilege . . . that he’s developed, but if our talks have had any effect, it’s could only make him hide his true feelings when we’re not around.”

Bronwyn sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“I’m afraid we’re not sure what to do. I know Dellia and I feel as if we’ve somehow failed Aragorn, and Cynwin . . . well, I’m not certain what he’s feeling.”

It was evident to Yozef that Bronwyn had said everything she’d planned and felt. Now she was figuratively handing him the problem, in hopes that Yozef Kolsko had a solution.

I think there’s more clarity with what to do about the Narthani, he thought. It also seemed ironic that he came to Abersford to temporarily escape responsibilities related to nations, only to find himself embroiled in a problem with a boy not quite seven years old.

Well, six on Earth, he transcribed, then took a few moments to be honest. Although he wished he didn’t have to deal with Aragorn’s problems, he accepted that he had to make an effort. It was also one more weight on top of everything else that made him sometimes feel as if he were being crushed.

I’m not the Yozef Kolsko who is responsible for solving every problem and who can never be wrong, he told himself with some degree of confidence. I just have to make whatever effort I can.

“Let me talk to Aragorn. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever had a real conversation with him—I’ve been here so seldom since he learned to talk. I’ll ask him to show me the farm and the animals. Most children like animals, and I can ask his favorite ones. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll say or what good it will do, but . . . well . . . I have to start somewhere.”

The sun was one finger above the western horizon when Yozef and his escorts arrived back at the beach house. Morwena saw them first and yelled out to alert the others. Mared came out of the house, looked in their direction, and hurried away, only to return moments later accompanied by Maera holding Anida and Anarynd breast-feeding Luna.

Aragorn loosened his two-handed grip on the saddle’s pommel and clutched at Yozef’s sleeve as they reined in near the gathering.

Two hours later, Yozef sat with the three women, sipped wine, and watched the mobile children playing in the sand—having been warned it was too late to go in the water with no adults joining them. The initial introductions had started awkwardly but quickly relaxed, largely due to Morwena’s and Dwyna’s excitement at learning they had another brother. Aeneas was more reserved—Maera whispered that learning he was not the oldest boy might take Aeneas some time. She amended this when it seemed to occur to Aeneas there were advantages to having another boy to balance out Morwena and Dwyna.

“I hope you don’t mind me bringing Aragorn here for the rest of the sixday,” said Yozef. “I talked with him for a couple of hours, not knowing how to get across to someone his age how best to treat others. Then it—”

He stopped, cutting off what he was about to say: “It comes to me . . . ” The phrase had come to be taken as his receiving one of the mysterious whispers from God. Although he wasn’t above using the words as a tactic when necessary, he was loath to use the phrase with people he cared about most.

“Uh . . . I wondered whether I might find it easier to talk to him about how to treat others if he spent time with children who have the same status that he has. You know . . . ‘Here’s how you should treat everyone, not just your brothers and sisters.’ I was tempted to go the stern route with him at the farm, but I decided it was too early. He doesn’t really know me. I hope after a few days I can get to those conversations. Hell . . . I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Anarynd laughed and put a hand on Maera’s arm in the adjacent chair.

“That’s one thing we love about you, Yozef. When you’re yourself, it’s the degree of humility that surfaces, even if you’re the Paramount. It’s so relaxing to be with someone who doesn’t believe they’re always right. Maera may have had some of that in her family, but I certainly didn’t.”

“And don’t be concerned about Aragorn, Yozef,” said Maera. “It’s time he met his other brothers and sisters. As for how to reach him and deal with his sense of entitlement, you probably know as much as any of us. Maybe what you describe will work, and maybe it won’t. I don’t know, but it sounds like a plausible and thoughtful approach. Time will tell. In the meantime, looking at the children play, I think the rest of the sixday will be fine.”

They watched, talked, and sipped wine until, even with lanterns, it became harder to see all the children at once.

“Time to go in and eat,” said Maera. “We made a stew and left it over the coals, so it will only take us a few minutes to lay everything out.”

“I have a thought,” said Mared. She had been silent while the Kolskos discussed Aragorn. “Have you considered that Aragorn might leave his family and come live with you?”

“Take him from his family!” exclaimed Anarynd. “Who would do that?”

“But isn’t that something that should be considered, if necessary?” said Mared. “What if, no matter what they try, his behavior worsens, and he gets older, feeling this entitlement and not being satisfied. I could imagine him becoming bitter. But something else. Yes, he is in a family that Maera tells me is a good one. But he is the son of the Paramount. Nothing will change that. As I understand the commitment for Paramount succession, it is to be a son chosen by the Paramount and approved by the Senate—which for now means the hetmen.

“Aragorn is a son. There’s nothing in the wording I’ve read that says he has to be a son of Maera’s or Anarynd’s. I see two problems. One is personal for Yozef. You must know that Aragorn would receive a better education and have more opportunities, Yozef, when living with you, instead of with the Lintons. Then there’s a political negative. I know you have deep support from the hetmen and most of the people, but things can always change, especially once you are gone. A disgruntled Aragorn might be a tempting tool for factors who want their own candidate for the next Paramount.”

“You’re looking at worst cases unlikely to happen,” snapped Maera.

“That’s all right, dear,” said Yozef. “Mared is simply following a logical train of possibilities, not claiming it’s certain. Can you honestly tell us anything she said is not possible?”

Maera did not immediately answer. She looked out into the darkness as she gathered her thoughts. Aragorn and Dwyna were chasing a seagull that preferred to squawk and scurry away, instead of fly off. The other children had quieted, sitting on the sand or moving toward the house and the adults. A puff of wind blew Maera’s hair across part of her face. She brushed it back.

“I was just wondering whether my reaction to Mared’s idea was because I saw Aragorn as a competitor to Aeneas being the next Paramount. I hope not. I also had a flash that maybe I’d prefer Aeneas not to be Paramount. Not after I see the strain it puts on you.

“But back to what Mared said. I admit I have wondered whether Aragorn might someday come to Orosz City to be with his father. Being the son of the Paramount and expecting to live a normal life in a farm family in a rural part of Caedellium may be too difficult a road for anyone to travel.”

She turned to Yozef. “What are your thoughts? You’re the one at the center of this.”

“Like you, that idea occurred to me, but I’ve not dwelled on it. Maybe I should have. It was too easy to put Aragorn and his future out of my mind when so much else was happening in my life. As for what to do about Aragorn’s current situation, I’ll be talking with him in the next few days. Whatever comes of it, the answers will have to wait. I’m inclined to leave him with the Lintons. They’re the ones who have been raising him, with the brothers and sisters he’s known. Besides, I’ll be gone from Caedellium for months, and whatever happens with Landolin and the Narthani will make it difficult for Aragorn to be around me—that’s assuming such proximity is important.”

“That’s looking at it from your perspective,” said Anarynd, “but what about his? It’s not just you, but it would be good for him to be around his other brothers and sisters. You know, besides those in the Linton family.”

“Hmmm. I guess you’re right. I was just wondering when I’d have time to interact with him. All right, let’s think about him visiting us in Orosz City, in addition to times when I can be in Abersford. I’ll talk to Bronwyn when I take him home. If she’s agreeable, we’ll put off a decision until I return. For the moment, he seems to be accepted as part of the children’s group here, so let’s all enjoy the next sixday and accept that we can’t solve Aragorn’s problem for now.”

Last Days

A series of shadows wafted over Yozef’s face—enough to wake him from his slumber. He stretched and rose to his elbows, careful not to brush sand onto the cloth. More shadows made him look up. It was a type of murvor, but for a moment he thought they were pelicans. There was a similarity in the flying form, but he had seen them up close enough since they arrived to know their beaks housed teeth like no pelican had, and there was no pouch to carry fish back to nestlings.

Coloration was another difference. He had seen two different species of pelicans in California, the Brown and the American White. The Anyar analog, as apparently with many indigenous flyers, tended to flamboyancy. These “pelicans” were at least three shades of blue, ranging from deep blue to robin’s egg blue and ultramarine highlights. Wherever they came from inland, more of them headed to join others swirling over churning water a hundred yards offshore.

While he watched, several flying pelicans turned to the water, streamlined their shape, and plunged in. Others took to flight from the surface, presumably emerging from their dive.

A school of fish, he thought, or the Anyar version. He had only casually noticed the contents of seafood markets in Abersford—not being a seafood fan himself.

Suddenly, a dark form leaped from the middle of the murvor gathering. Then another, this one with a flash of white on its ventral side.

Dolphins? he wondered.

Whatever they were, he watched for half an hour until the jumping and diving stopped.

Must have exhausted the school or the survivors moved off, he thought.

He lay back on the cloth, loath to leave the warm of the sun and the sand while listening to the surf. He felt calmer than at any time he could remember. If only they could stay here forever. Maybe someday? Maybe they could make this a yearly trip. Something to look forward to each year. In the last sixday, for the first time, he wondered whether the time would ever come when he could not be Paramount. If this position were to last the rest of his life, he needed more time like the last sixdays to compensate for his life not being what he wished.

No more negative thinking, he thought, standing up and shaking thoughts from his mind and sand from his body. My life and family are too much better than many humans have for me to dwell on why everything isn’t perfect.

He would see what Maera and Ana were doing. Most of the children should be waking from their naps, which were common these days after hours of play and the midday meal.

When the time came to leave the beach cottage, Yozef took Aragorn home. The boy’s parting from the rest of the Kolsko family was more emotional than Yozef would have predicted. Whatever entitled behavior Aragorn had exhibited in the past had not been evident, and Yozef hoped the ploy had worked, of surrounding him with children he could not see as lesser. That, plus serious talks about responsibility, treating others as he wanted to be treated, and obligations to others as part of being a good person. Yozef also made a strong pitch that the Paramount and all his family needed to be concerned with the welfare of everyone else and not just themselves.

As a final tactic and after discussing it with Maera and Bronwyn when they met her one day in Abersford, Yozef told Aragorn he would be asked about his behavior the next time Yozef came to Abersford. He expected to hear no more about entitled behavior, which was inappropriate for the son of the Paramount.

By the time they reached the Lintons’ farm, Aragorn’s subdued mood when leaving the beach had vanished, and he rushed to his mothers and excited siblings, who wanted to hear everything about the Paramount’s family. Yozef stayed long enough only to assure Bronwyn that the sixday had gone well and that he had spoken to Aragorn about his behavior. Yozef promised not to let as much time elapse before his next visit. He wasn’t sure how well he could keep the promise, but while riding back to the beach, he acknowledged that his excuses would be harder to justify once the train line extension through Caernford and on to Salford was finished.

CHAPTER 24

RETURN TO WAR

Yozef’s vow to put aside thinking about Kolinka during the retreat had succeeded admirably the first two sixdays. It faded partially when his dealing with Aragorn changed the family dynamic, though not in a bad way. It was a change that let war plans come seeping back into his thoughts. By the day that their transporting sloop sighted Adris City, he was nervous—not with dread, but as if holding his breath. He would soon find out whether his vow had been fruitful in regard to letting people assigned to various tasks do their jobs. He was to be both gratified and disappointed.

Kloona was the first person to see him when he went back to his office. Awlina Wuthrin was away with the division, helping the General Staff manage without Yozef while he was gone, and Kloona was filling in for her as office chief of staff.

“There’s written reports and summaries about the Alliance Division status in the pile of papers on the far-right corner of your desk. Ambassadors and foreign realms on the far left. Caedellium politics near right, and industry near left corner. There’s more, of course, that people think needs your attention, but I was ruthless in deciding what seemed the most important. Welman Stent and Teresz Bultecki came for a sixday each and helped Tomis Orosz deal with matters that didn’t seem to absolutely require your involvement. Not everyone was content with your being gone, but the world managed to survive.

“Naturally, everyone thinks it’s urgent to meet with you, but I’ve spaced out scheduling people who seemed most important for you to handle in the time you have left before leaving for Kolinka. Reimo Kivalian is first. He’ll be here in an hour and will probably give you the important points from the military pile of papers. You can scan through them before he comes. I didn’t prioritize them because I couldn’t judge. I’ll leave you to it if you don’t have anything for me right now.”

Yozef was bemused. “No, Kloona, that’s fine. I’ll start right in to see what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Harumph,” she exclaimed throatily, not clearly revealing whether she recognized his sarcasm.

By the time Kivalian arrived, Yozef had looked at every page of the appropriate file, scanned perhaps a third of them, and quickly read a handful.

“Give me the summary conclusion, Reimo. Will we be ready in three sixdays?”

“Ready to fight the Narthani in open field warfare? Not hardly. Ready to deal with Kolinka? Probably. Assuming the kahsaks do what they say they will. Assuming the Kolinkans don’t know we’re coming and haven’t gathered every man they have and established defensive positions we won’t be prepared to overcome. Assuming our estimates for ammunition and other supplies aren’t criminally deficient. Assuming the Ponomynans have good-enough horses waiting for our people. Assuming . . . well, you get the idea.”

Yozef’s wry smile acknowledged Kivalian’s usual attitude when asked an opinion.

“Okay. Let’s consider what you’ve just said as details. Now, as Amerikans would say, ‘What’s the bottom line?’”

“Oh, I think we’ll be fine. The division as a fighting force is like nothing Anyar has ever seen. The worst case of us being wiped out is not going to happen. The Fuomi fleet will effectively secure the port at Penabak, and the division will be able to retreat back there if things go catastrophically wrong with the campaign. I think the realistic worst case is a combination of the kahsaks in the broader alliance failing to do what they promised and the Kolinkans being more organized, prepared, and committed to their kahsak’s defense than we hoped.

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for disasters, but by the time we return to Caedellium, I think we’ll know whether there’s any chance for a coalition to drive the Narthani off Landolin.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “That’s why we’re doing this. That, along with passing on the message that kahsaks can neither attack Caedellium nor collude with Narthon. Let’s get to the details.”

And they did for the next six hours, breaking only to eat while working and make visits to the voiding room on the bottom floor.

“How was the first day back?” asked Maera, waiting on the veranda when he arrived home.

“As expected, although there was a surprise. The representatives from Sonet, Sensarsha, and Irapah have requested that observers be allowed to accompany us on the Kolinka campaign. I didn’t have time to meet with them today, but I’ll schedule it for two or three days from now.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“I want to think about it and talk with Kivalian, but I think I’ll agree to one man each and that they’ll have to be unobtrusive. The men won’t be military, so they’ll be strictly observers to report back to the kahsaks. Neither I nor anyone else will get distracted by them. It’ll be strictly watch and keep quiet.

“Then there were meetings. After I finished with Reimo, it was Tomis Orosz the rest of the day. He did fine in my place, but I think he’s somewhat dismayed he’ll be filling in again after we leave, and this time for at least four or five months.”

“And will your schedule be as you expected until you sail for Kolinka?”

“Full,” he confirmed. “I’ve looked at what’s imperative that I do while here. As soon as possible, I’ll go to Selfcell to be with the division—probably a sixday from now. I’d hoped to return here to see you all before we sail for Kolinka, but it’s just not going to be possible. We’ll have to say our goodbyes here, and I won’t see you all again until we return.”

“I was afraid of that, but it’s the right thing to do. Come. The others have waited for you before eating. Let’s be together and try to ignore what’s coming as much as we can. As it is, we’ll all have just settled back into life here and then you’ll be leaving.”

He pulled her close. “I’m thankful for the three sixdays away. Despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t have done it this close to sailing, I believe I’m far more prepared mentally and physically than if I’d stayed and spent time worrying and not getting enough sleep. It reminds me of what a university teacher recommended one day in class. An important test was coming. I always worked hard and usually was up late the night before tests—cramming in as much information as I could. The teacher urged the students to work hard until the night before. Then, do something relaxing and get a full night’s sleep. He believed we would do better on the test to have our minds clear, rather than grasping at whatever few additional facts we’d learned.

“Of course, I never followed his advice. I even remembered not going to sleep at all one time when I learned I had tests in two different courses the next day. I had somehow missed hearing about one of them. I stayed up all night, drinking coffee. You know. The drink we had that is similar to kava. The next day, I passed both tests, but I remember merely regurgitating facts for most of the questions and stumbling badly on those that required thinking and collating information. I never again stayed awake all night before a test, but neither did I follow the teacher’s advice about relaxing the night before.”

He smiled as they turned to go inside the manor. “I prefer to look at those sixdays in Abersford as a very long relaxing evening and night’s sleep. Now, my goal is not to slip back into not taking care of myself. In Kolinka, I need to be as alert as possible every moment. There are bound to be far too many times when clear thinking is essential.”

Maera’s arm tightened around his waist. “Somehow ‘it comes to me’ that Yozef Kolsko will find a way through any problems that arise.”

“Hey! That’s my line,” said Yozef, laughing as they passed through the door.

“What’s so amusing?” Anarynd called out from the kitchen. “Go into the dining room. Everyone is starving. They sat down as soon as Morwena spotted you coming. Carnigan’s stomach has been growling the last half hour. Xena’s convinced an animal is living in there.”

Maklos Bota

For the next sixday, Yozef caught up on paperwork, had meetings related to his coming absence, reviewed reports, and had more meetings related to the alliance and the impending campaign. He also took generous hours to spend with his family before meeting with Bota again.

“Good morning, Maklos,” said Yozef as the Kolinkan entered his office—unescorted. His furtive thoughts about attacking and killing Kolsko the first time they met alone had not been seriously considered, even less so after hearing stories about the Paramount’s personal exploits. And far less after contemplating what the giant redhead and the forbidding-looking man named Ethlore would do to him.

“Thank you for coming,” added Kolsko. “I’d suggest we take a walk so I could get away from paperwork for a time, but the weather hasn’t cooperated to save me. Please. Let’s have a seat at the window. Being inside when it’s so bad outside is rational, but I love experiencing such weather, even if it’s through windows.”

Not that I have a choice, thought Bota, still uncertain whether the Caedelli leader was genuinely polite or if he was continuing his efforts to put Bota at ease. It was raining and thundering outside, but Yozef’s excuse for staying indoors only heightened Bota’s sense of unreality. Why would the person they had attempted to capture or kill engage in such mundane interchanges with one of his attackers?

Maklos Bota felt far different from the way he had at the first meeting with Paramount Yozef Kolsko. He had not known what to expect, but none of his imagined scenarios had been encouraging. Thus, he had been caught off guard when Kolsko was measured in his speech—almost emotionless, as if reciting Bota’s circumstances and the Caedelli’s intent for Kolinka. At first, Bota was disdainful of Kolsko’s claim that he intended to destroy Kolinka and was dismissive of the offer to show “mercy” if Bota cooperated in removing the Kolinkan leadership. Within days, Bota had learned more about the island’s campaign against the Narthani . . . enough for worry to creep into his mind when considering Kolsko’s threats.

When Bota asked for another meeting, he reiterated that he would not do anything to betray his people or contribute to their deaths, but, under “limited circumstances,” left undefined, he would help save lives when the deaths served no purpose in defending Kolinka. The offer was real, but his rationale was that by appearing more cooperative, he might receive better treatment, gather more information about Kolsko and the Caedelli, and have better opportunities to escape if he accompanied the Caedelli to Kolinka.

There had been a few other meetings—Kolsko asking questions about Kolinka that Bota had carefully censored for anything aiding the promised invasion. Kolsko introducing him to other Caedelli and walks where they talked of mundane matters such as family and personal histories. It was during the latter times that he learned of the astounding origin of Kolsko and the other two “Amerikans” he met later at a social gathering at Kolsko Manor. Their similar stories of origin and the innovations from Amerika, along with Bota’s learning more details of the fight against the Narthani, all contributed to fan his worries that Kolsko’s threat was not braggadocio.

What Kolsko had not done again was directly talk about an invasion of Kolinka or more attempts by the Paramount to turn him into an informant. Until today.

“I understand you’ve been away, Paramount. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from comments I’ve heard,” said Bota.

Despite Kolsko addressing him by his first name, Bota always used the Caedelli leader’s formal title. He was cautious about relaxing his guard and giving in to the insidious tendency to forget Kolsko was an enemy.

“Yes, it involved some travel around the island, but such things are easier than it used to be,” said Yozef, sitting at the table at the same time as Bota. “Now we have trains to Preddi City and a few other provinces. I’ll be happy when all provinces have service. There’re also our first Caedelli sloops.”

Yozef did not specify what the travel involved, although Bota would have liked that piece of information. It was time for the Kolinkan to see fully what his kahsak’s military would face.

“You haven’t ridden our trains yet,” said Yozef. “It’s time we change that. I have something to show you. You’ll be leaving Orosz City and coming with me on a train trip that will take us two days to get to Selfcell Province in the southwest. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. You won’t be returning to Orosz City, so pack anything you want to see again.”

Bota tried to ask questions, but Yozef called for the guards who had brought the Kolinkan to his office.

Goodbyes

That evening was the last for the Kolskos and the Puveys before Yozef and Carnigan left for the Alliance Division base in Selfcell. The evening meal was boisterous and long, tinged with apprehension in those being left at home. Those departing felt a combination of regret at leaving their families and anticipation—or trepidation, in Yozef’s case—of what they were heading into the next morning.

When the evening ended, Anarynd took Yozef’s hand and led him toward her bedroom. He looked for Maera’s reaction. She smiled and turned to help clear away the evening’s remains. The next morning, a hand shook Yozef’s shoulder. He mumbled and turned onto his back to find Maera leaning over him.

“It’s time,” she said. “Or, at least, it will be in a while. Until then, you need to remember another reason to get back to us as soon as you can.”

It was only then that he realized she was naked. This distraction led to his being fully occupied for the next hour.

The leave-taking was short and choreographed. The adults had said their goodbyes the previous evening, night, and early morning. Now it was time for the children, who understood Papa Yozef and Papa Carnigan would be gone on a long trip. Children were hugged, kissed, and asked to care for one another and the mothers. With final hugs, Yozef and Carnigan met Synton outside, holding the horses.

Alliance Division Base, Selfcell Province

Bota’s escorted walk to the train station took fifteen minutes, with him wondering the entire time what the Paramount was being mysterious about. He suspected it was related to Kolsko’s stated plans for Kolinka.

Little was said during the walk or the train ride. An hour passed until Bota couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

“Do they have trains like this in Amerika?”

Yozef smiled. “Like this? Well . . . the principles are the same, but the trains are larger and faster.”

“I suppose that helps with connecting distant parts of a nation,” said Bota, probing for information.”

Yozef smiled again and looked out the carriage window without answering.

The train ride from Orosz City impressed Bota by its mechanism; the obvious prosperity of the farms, the ranches, the villages, the towns, and the major cities they passed through; and the congeniality of the citizens who recognized the Paramount. They arrived at their destination two hours after dark the following day.

When Bota met Yozef the next morning, the Paramount wore clothing that was different than he’d seen previously on Caedellium. The color was drab green. On the shoulders were patches with two five-pointed white stars.

Almost like a rank insignia, thought Bota.

Yozef led the way to where Carnigan and Synton held the horses. They wore similar garb but with different markings. As they rode along from the place where they had stayed the previous night, Bota noticed that for hundreds of yards, the ground had the original grass beaten down to bare earth by what were obviously tracks of many horses and wagons heading to the northeast.

Whatever happened here was recent, and there was a lot of it, thought Bota.

During the next hour, several times single or small groups of riders were seen in the distance. Once, a rider passed them going in the opposite direction, giving only a gesture to Kolsko. Finally, Yozef said, “We’ll deviate from the direction we’ve been following and climb to the hilltop to our right. Up there will be a better view to see the entire scope of what I’ll show you.”

Of all the possibilities Bota had imagined, the panorama from the hilltop was not among the options. To their left and spread out in the valley below were thousands of tents in orderly rows and obvious sections. Larger tents, some of them intermixed with rising smoke, sat between tent sections. Yet what next drew Bota’s attention was the view to their right and continuing beyond the tent complex. Although the farthest details were not discernible, Bota was close enough to identify masses of men in military formation. The common color of clothing matched that of Kolsko and his accompanying men.

“When we first met, Maklos, you were skeptical that Caedellium could carry out my threat to destroy Kolinka. Of course, that was understandable. We are not big enough, nor do we have ships to get to your nation. However, we never planned to do it on our own. What you see, Maklos, is an allied division practicing maneuvers in preparation for invading Kolinka. It’s composed of four regiments of dragoons, men who ride to battle but fight as infantry. There is one regiment each from Caedellium, Fuomon, Munjor, and Naskin. The Narthani are threatening Landolin, but Munjor and Naskin are the first two Landolin kingdoms to appreciate taking a broader view of the war against Narthon. It’s not enough for each realm to fight on its own. To have any chance of resisting Narthon, all of Narthon’s opponents need to think of their own position as part of a single great war and not focus entirely on themselves. The other two Landolin kingdoms, Mureet and Panhan, were slower to come to this realization, but we declined the help they offered for the campaign against Kolinka only because it was not needed.”

Yozef was lying. Mureet had flatly refused to participate, and Panhan was not asked because it had its own problem by being on the Jahmnor border and smaller in population than Munjor. Neither would Yozef mention the promises he’d made to secure Naskin’s help or that Gaya had used major political favors at home to send the Munjorian regiment to Caedellium.

“As for the Fuomi, they have recently greatly increased their naval presence in western Anyar. This includes two regiments of Fuomi marines, one of which you see in the farthest distance. But these are not the only forces aimed at Kolinka. We’ll continue to let you see up close the different regiments and then an outline of what’s planned.”

How did he get the Landoliners to send troops? Bota wondered.

His mood shifted toward distress as they rode through the tent encampment. He had not traveled outside northern Iraquinik before the raid on Seaborn, but he had heard enough stories and read enough to believe there were Fuomi and Landoliners in the valley. His mood changed to resignation when they moved to a vantage point overlooking a company-size force. It was arrayed to face a hundred or more hay bales with paper covering the side closest to the battalion.

“You should use your imagination: the hay bales represent a Kolinkan force facing an attack by a Caedelli company.”

Bota looked closer at the Caedelli disposition. Instead of the men standing in three- or four-deep lines to prepare for volley fire, a single line of Caedelli were lying on the ground and spaced at least twice as far apart as normal for an infantry formation.

Yozef waved his hat three times. Bota could hear shouts from the Caedelli position just before a volley of fire came from the prone men.

Now what are they going to do? thought Bota. They’ll have to stand to reload.

He could see the advantage of firing while lying down—the men presented a smaller cross-section for incoming musket balls. However, if they fired from lying on the ground, it would dramatically slow their rate of fire. Plus, the spacing meant the volleys would have less impact.

Bota was just about to turn to Kolsko when the prone men fired again—no more than seven or eight seconds after the first shot.

“What!” he exclaimed in Kahsakist and focused on the Caedelli troops. Maybe only every other man had fired the first time, he thought. That possibility vanished when he clearly saw every man fire a third time. He knew from the Seaborn raid that the Caedelli used rifles, and by the fifth salvo he could see the men doing something near the rear of their rifles. Suddenly, he realized what he was seeing.

“But . . . they are not reloading down the barrel,” he whispered.

“Correct,” said Yozef. “We call it breech-loading.”

Bota watched for almost two minutes as the men kept firing. By the time a bugle sounded and the firing ceased, many of the hay bales were piles of straw, and most of the covering paper had been torn away.

“How many firings per minute?” Bota asked, thinking of the two to three for trained Kolinkans.

“Pretty consistently around eight per minute, depending on each’s man’s dexterity and how accurately he needs to aim. By a hundred firings, it’s best to stop and clean the barrel, but that only takes a minute.”

Images flooded Bota’s mind, unbidden. A Kolinkan regiment facing a single Caedelli battalion. The Kolinkans having to move hundreds of yards while under rifle fire to close within musket range. Each enemy rifle firing twenty, thirty times before the Kolinkans fired once.

My God! he thought. None of our people might even get within range! It would be a slaughter!

He knew the demonstration had been staged by Kolsko to impress him. It worked. He attempted a nonchalant manner.

“Very impressive, Paramount, as I’m sure you intended. But no matter how impressive, there can’t be near enough men to seriously threaten Kolinka.”

“True, if these were the only forces to threaten your people.” Yozef gestured to their rear. “I have more to show you.”

Bota turned in place. While they had been observing the valley floor, men had erected a canopy, under which stood a makeshift table spread with papers.

“Come,” said Yozef, leading the way.

Bota followed and stood beside the Paramount, who leaned over a map of the northern Iraquiniks and used a finger to indicate features.

“Our division will sail on Fuomi ships to the Ponomynan port of Penabak and move northeast to the border with Kolinka. There, we will merge with a large Ponomynan force to form the main invasion army. We will be joined by thousands of men each from the Aro and Gympo kahsaks.”

Bota’s body stiffened. His face froze.

“Yes, Maklos. Your attack on Caedellium has aroused other Iraquiniks against you. We gave them evidence that Kolinka is conspiring with Narthon. We only have evidence of the connection to the Seaborn attack, but we did not have to convince the other kahsaks that it is reasonable to assume Kolinka has had other discussions with Narthon, which would give advantages to Kolinka at the expense of the other kahsaks. At least among some kahsaks and their leadership, Kolinka is now considered a traitor to all the Iraquinik people.”

Bota stared at the map for several moments.

“And the other arrows?”

Yozef once again addressed the map.

“The objective is to surround Chikawan and cut it off before Kolinka has time to gather men from elsewhere in the kahsak. You see two arrows crossing the border with Ponomyna and pointing northeast. In addition to the main army aimed directly at Chikawan, a large Ponomynan force will quickly block or destroy major bridges to west and northwestern Kolinka. There will be no retreating to drag out the fighting or reinforcements coming in time. Our second, and larger, force of infantry, dragoons, and artillery will go straight for the capital and force Kolinka to send most of its men to stop that force. At the same time, Mukamonese will cross the border, move northwest, and finish the encirclement of Chikawan and the part of Kolinka that’s most heavily populated. Abaton will enter Kolinka from the north, meet the Mukamonese force, and together they will block anyone trying to reach the Shawsoon Sea and escape to Narthon—people like your leadership, who may feel Narthon is their only refuge.”

Lines deepened in Bota’s face, but he stayed silent.

“Using information from the other kahsaks, we believe the total number of men on each side will be approximately equal. However, you now can imagine this allied division to be equivalent to at least four times the number of Kolinkan men. There will also be confusion within the defense, both because of dealing with invasions from all sides, but also because your own leadership will find itself in jeopardy. We have learned enough from other prisoners and sources that the leaders of Kolinka are not highly regarded by most of their own people. One man said something like, ‘A bunch of greedy idiots who don’t care about anything not related to themselves.’”

Bota did not realize that his faint sigh and the slight relaxation of his shoulders suggested he agreed with the quote’s originator.

“And finally, to prevent the last main escape route from Kolinka, the Fuomi navy will blockade Onunza, your main port, on the far west of Kolinka.

“In the end, Kolinka’s military will be crushed, all the leadership removed, and its land divided among its neighbors.”

“Assuming everything you say is true, why are you showing me this?”

“Because I am open to the possibility of this not happening.”

Yozef pulled a second map from underneath the first—also of northern kahsaks. Bota’s frown at what was wrong with this version lasted only a few seconds. Kolinka was missing.

“This was roughly my original intention,” said Yozef, “that Kolinka would disappear from maps of Anyar and its people be scattered or absorbed into other kahsaks. Under this scenario, Ponomyna, Mukamon, and Abaton would each absorb portions of Kolinka.”

“But is that fair to all the common people of Kolinka who had no influence on the leadership’s decisions?” asked Bota, dismayed.

Yozef shrugged. “It’s one of the unfair aspects of life. Our fate can be tied to other people whether we want it to be or not. In your case, the actions of the Kolinkan rulers inevitably get transferred to people who carry out the leaders’ wishes and even to the common people with no direct connection to those actions.”

Bota looked at the map again, then at Yozef. “You say this was your original intent. Does that imply there has been a change?”

“I would call it a possibility of a change. No matter what happens, Kolinka will pay a high price for attacking Caedellium and betraying the other kahsaks. The only details are how high a price. One thing that is not optional is that Kolinka will have new rulers. Exactly who they are and what form of rule will happen would largely be up to other Kolinkans, but that action is fixed. We will not leave the same leadership in place. Just how deep into Kolinkan society the change goes is another detail, as is the damage done to your kahsak.

“What is left is the possibility that Kolinka might not disappear, though it will pay a price.” Yozef pulled out yet a third map of the northern kahsaks—this map showing lettering for a smaller Kolinka and expanded neighbors.

“This is not a proposed future map, but only a suggestion out of many possibilities. Much will depend on what happens next. It is perhaps ironic, but the more Kolinka resists the removal of its leadership, the greater will be the cost in both lives and Kolinka’s future. If the fighting is bitter enough, and the other kahsaks suffer enough casualties, there may be no choice but to eliminate Kolinka from the world.

“When we leave for Ponomyna, you will come, too. It will be your option and decision whether to help me save Kolinka from disappearing so that it has a future that could be better than you ever imagined.”

CHAPTER 25

MURVOR ISLANDS

Paavo Saisannin

The lack of movement felt unnerving for several minutes after Paavo climbed out of the longboat, but he adjusted quickly as his muscles and brain remembered what it was like to stand on land—in this case, an island named Bunda and the harbor of the settlement Eurako. Captain Luutin told him they would be here for a sixday at most to replenish, make minor repairs, and give the crew and the passengers a taste of land before continuing. Paavo intended to make every minute count.

He sighed deeply, drawing the attention of the man who had followed him out of the longboat.

“I hope I don’t get seasick all over again when we leave here,” said Johnin Murninin.

Paavo laughed and slapped his son-in-law on the back. “I hope the coming leg is my final sea voyage for this lifetime. My first trip to Caedellium was my first time at sea, just as this is yours. I know there are people who say the sea gets in your blood, but why will forever be a mystery.”

“I think Noora might be one of those strange individuals,” said Johnin. “Neither my wife nor our two children were bothered, even the first few days. Well . . . maybe Erika took a couple of days to adjust, but the three of them spent as much time on deck as possible. It was much the same with your other daughter and her son.”

Paavo had a moment of guilt that Pula and her son, Mikel, would probably be forever separated from their husband and father. But it was only a moment. His other son-in-law was everything Johnin was not—egotistical, indifferent to his family, and, worst of all, firmly embedded in the Surion faction of Fuomon politics. Paavo expected to confess to Eina how relieved he was that Pula had not hesitated to slip away without her husband finding out.

“Speaking of family,” said Paavo, “we’ve got an hour or so before the rest of the passengers come ashore. I’d like to see as much of Eurako as possible before then—which shouldn’t take long because the island’s settlement is still under construction. Maybe later, we will have more chances to explore a little of the vicinity. It’s not often that you come ashore on an island you didn’t even know existed until two days ago.”

Paavo Saisannin’s work as a historian made familiarity with Anyar’s geography de rigeur. However, his ignorance of the Great Ocean was shared by most Fuomi. With the major land masses concentrated in one hemisphere, the vastness of the ocean covering the other side of Anyar drew little attention.

“It’s all due to this Yozef Kolsko of yours,” said the frigate’s captain as he approached. Luutin had alerted Paavo that the land they would soon sight was not Caedellium unexpectedly early, but a chain of islands halfway to their destination. “The search for this mythical ‘Amerika’ the last few years has had unexpected consequences. Oh . . . there were rumors and half-legends of strange lands hidden within the Great Ocean, but with Fuomi and Narthani ships crisscrossing this half of Anyar, we know far more about what’s here than before.”

“But no lands of giants, monsters, or the Land of Afterlife, as legends say?” said Paavo wryly.

“Yes, I know. Another set of fantasies crushed by truth,” said Luutin, “but that’s life. Yet it did let us discover the Murvor Islands.” The captain waved a hand upward at the ubiquitous swirl of murvors and birds in all directions. “I’ve seen nesting places along the coasts of half of Anyar, but nothing like this. Even more amazing is that no sailor has ever seen some of these murvors and birds before crossing the Great Ocean.”

“These islands’ isolation might be the explanation,” said Johnin. “If they nest here, then they likely feed at sea but have to return to roost or breed. It’s not like there’s other land nearby, so they never spread to the major land masses.”

“Yes, but why just here?” asked Paavo.

“There is one exception,” said Luutin. “The Solitary Bird. They’re seen over much of Anyar, but no one had ever discovered where they nest. There are even legends of them never landing—breeding and raising their young in the air.”

“Alas,” said Johnin. “Another beautiful image done away with by discovering the Murvor Islands.”

“Yes, but it has provided an ideal station for the Fuomon navy,” said Luutin. “That’s assuming the interest in western Anyar keeps increasing, as Kahmo believes it will. This is my first time across the Great Ocean, and Brunda Island’s harbor could hardly be more ideal—about midway across, fresh water supply, possibly food replenishment, though that’s still in development, and the great natural harbor.

“There seems to be disagreement about whether we found these islands first, or it was a single Narthani ship. Either way, they’re ours now, and we intend on keeping it that way. Rumors are the Narthani might have a base of their own somewhere in the Great Ocean, but if so, it hasn’t been identified yet.” Luutin shook his head. “Who would have thought the Great Ocean could become part of the war against Narthon? So far, it’s been mainly only a few cannon fired, but I know of one frigate that got caught by three Narthani ships. They managed to sink one of the Narthani and took major damage and casualties but slipped away after dark.

“One of the cargo ships that came with us will unload cannon that will be used to defend this harbor’s entrance once it’s positioned on the eastern point of land on the harbor approach. We’ll also leave a company of marines to provide security, although in my opinion neither of those will matter if the Narthani seriously decide to capture the Murvor Islands. The best defense is their distance from everything else and the fact that the Narthani are fully occupied elsewhere.”

The flotilla of eight warships, eight troop carriers, and ten cargo ships had kept formation off the south coast of the largest of the Murvor Islands, while Paavo’s frigate was the first to dock. He had been nervous when the Firestorm followed a tender through the opening in what, from a distance, looked like an unbroken line of cliffs. The frigate passed through the opening into a bay large enough to easily handle the six Fuomi naval ships at anchor. Another two warships were on patrol, and the settlement bustled with construction.

“Will we get an opportunity to meet the local people?” asked Johnin.

“Unlikely,” said Luutin. “I asked that question of the sloop captain who met us yesterday. He said the word is that they fled inland when our first ship arrived. Later searches for them couldn’t find them, so it’s believed they moved to the five other islands in the southeast. They’re smaller than Bunda, but although we haven’t explored the other islands, ships have seen thatched huts like those here on this island.” He pointed to structures a few hundred yards south of the new dock.

Paavo smiled at his son-in-law. “I expect you’ll have plenty of chances to meet new people once we get to where we’re going.”

Johnin sighed. “I know. It’s just the idea of a people we knew nothing about. How did they get here? Are their language and customs similar enough to other places on Anyar for us to find out who they’re related to? What are their customs?”

“I’ll leave you two to ponder. I see the settlement commander coming our way. I need to check with him on his status, our resupply, and whether there’s been any sign of the Narthani in these waters.”

Luutin hurried to meet the officer walking their way.

“This is definitely a different voyage than mine from Caedellium to Fuomon,” said Paavo. “That was on a courier ship. I was quartered with a junior officer in a closet they called a cabin. Thankfully, he was amiable because he and a few other crewmen were the only social life I had. Ex-ambassador Koskanin and his staff members, who were also banished from Caedellium, never said a word to me during all of our months on board. I suspect the sloop’s captain was also a supporter of the Surion faction that Koskanin is part of. He was formally polite but never made an effort to interact with me more than minimally necessary.”

“Well, the universe has more than compensated this time,” said Johnin, laughing.

“I think I deserved it,” said Paavo. Besides the officers and the crew who were agreeable, he had family, including grandchildren to dote on, and a dozen scholars sent to Caedellium for various reasons. There had never been a day when he was bored. Even the weather had cooperated. The voyage back to Fuomon involved hugging the coasts of the Throat and watching for Narthani warships, which made for tense sixdays. As if the social isolation and the worry about Narthani were not enough, Paavo had felt uncertain about how the reports he carried would be received in Fuomon.

He had been both relieved and concerned when told the return would be via the Great Ocean. The rationale had been explained that they would use the seasonal winds to avoid encountering the Throat’s dangers and oppositional winds.

As expected, Koskanin and the other Surions had tried to besmirch Eina’s performance as ambassador before Koskanin’s arrival on Caedellium and what he described as her disloyalty. Paavo would have liked to have been present when Koskanin’s and Eina’s reports were examined together—they would have seemed to account for completely different events. In the end, Paavo suspected that Admiral Mermi’s reports supporting Eina were decisive, though the final outcome might still be uncertain. Another frigate in the return flotilla carried someone Paavo had never met but who was rumored to be destined for Fuomon’s top leadership. Paavo’s interaction with the man had been restricted to a single short meeting, where it was explained to him that there would be an on-site review in western Anyar of the entire situation. What exactly that meant, Paavo had no clear idea, and he made it a rule not to worry about unresolved matters over which he had no control.

The presence of two troop regiments in the flotilla was explained as “potential” replacements for the marines already in western Anyar—leaving it vague whether it was a routine rotation or a possible reinforcement. The troops were another reason for Paavo to see as much of Bunda as possible before the island was invaded by several thousand soldiers trampling over every inch.

For now, he would enjoy the time on shore. The other passengers would debark during the rest of the day. He and Johnin would join in erecting temporary shelters. He would also find time to wander away to be alone—something all but impossible on the ship. It would be a welcome relief and would give him a few hours to think about the meetings he had attended and how Caedellium and the Amerikans fit into Fuomon’s future.

CHAPTER 26

SELLMOR TO PENABAK

Once underway, lookouts perched atop the main masts in the center of the fleet would not see the sails of the most distant ships. It was the biggest gathering in the recorded history of western Anyar. Fuomon vessels comprised the largest contingent, 103 total ships: 8 war galleons, 12 frigates, 8 sloops, 6 of the immense troop transports, and 10 supply ships. Munjor and Naskin together contributed 36 ships: traders, large fishing vessels, and 6 Munjorian warships intermediate in class between sloops and frigates (what Mark offered could be called corvettes). Completing the assembly were 15 Ponomynan ships and the entire Caedellium navy of 2 sloops and 6 recently purchased merchant ships from Iraquinik and Landolin. The ships varied in size from the Fuomi troop transports designed for 500 men, now carrying more than 700, to a Naskin fishing boat carrying 57 of their countrymen. That number of ships was necessary to transport the entire division in a single trip to Penabak, Ponomyna’s capital and main port.

Along with men, the ships carried supplies and ammunition, including 8,000,000 cartridges for the Sharps rifle and lesser amounts for muzzle-loading pistols and those rifled muzzle-loaders issued to support personnel because there were not enough Sharps. The artillery of the Allied included the main batteries of improved bronze versions of the 6- and 12-pounder cannon and four steel 12-pounder howitzers intended to eventually replace the 6-pounder cannon used when speed was essential for cavalry and dragoons. Also along for field testing were three of the first operational rifled steel cannon on Anyar—a version with features of the U.S. Civil War 3-inch Ordinance rifle and 3-inch Krupp gun first used by Prussia in the mid-1800s. The latter two guns fired shells and shrapnel with longer ranges and higher accuracy than the other pieces but were ineffective if canister was needed. All of the pieces were muzzle-loading—Mark believed breech-loaders were coming; he just could not predict when.

The final test pieces were three Gatling guns and four medium mortars. The Gatlings had regular problems with jamming, but three of the workmen and tools from the Gatling project sailed with the guns and the crews to continue working on them. Yozef wasn’t convinced the mortars provided enough novel features over the other weapons, but neither did he discount that experience might change his mind.

Other supplies had been shipped to Penabak in the last three months, including cured meats pulled from caverns stocked in preparation for the final Narthani campaign but never utilized, wheat to be ground in Ponomyna for breads, and enough dried fruits, vegetables, and two seaweed varieties to ward off nutritional deficiencies. Ponomyna had pledged to feed the Allied Division, but no chances were taken on running short of food.

The Fuomi commitment left Caedellium with no naval force to defend the island from invasion, but even the hetmen most opposed to the campaign conceded that the island could withstand landings from any plausible Narthani force before the Kolinka expedition returned. Farther south, enough of the Fuomi naval strength was left to hinder, if not defeat, any Narthani force venturing up the Ruidpar Sea between Landolin and Iraquinik.

“Well, I’ll admit it’s going to be one fuckin’ impressive sight,” said Synton. They stood on the aft of the Fuomi frigate carrying the Paramount’s party and watched the Sellmor harbor disappear. The ship then joined others and sailed south to meet ships from Preddi City, then those from Adris City, before making the open-sea voyage east to Penabak.

Loading every ship had taken three full days, including nights with the harbor lit by thousands of lanterns. The Sellmor harbor had never been designed for such a task, and the ships cycled into the piers, loaded, withdrew to anchor, and were replaced as soon as there was room to maneuver. The division loading happened last.

Once gathered, the fleet assumed deployments for the voyage. Yozef felt self-conscious in the positioning of his frigate—sailing between two lines of four war galleons each, with single frigates leading and trailing. The rest of the fleet members’ dispositions varied from orderly lines of Fuomi ships to gaggles of Landolin and Iraquinik vessels, the entire fleet escorted by the remaining frigates, sloops, and Munjorian corvettes. Admiral Torkinian dismissed Yozef’s unease at overprotecting his frigate.

“The war galleons are most effective when maneuvering together, so we can’t disperse them. They’d be best utilized if we encountered a serious Narthani fleet. Besides, if anything happens to you, this whole charade might as well sink. Well, nothing’s going to happen to you. While we’re at sea, I’m in charge, and that’s it.”

At the other end of the scale, Yozef’s personal security detail was small but made up of veterans. Three were unmarried: Synton and Toowin by choice, which was unusual for Caedelli men, but they both professed not to be ready for family responsibilities when so many women required their attention. Arlen was the youngest, and his expected marriage had recently been canceled when the bride-to-be changed her mind. The fourth regular guard, Gowlin Reese, was still limping from a wound he had received on Seaborn. He was also married with children. Yozef excluded him from coming, leaving Reese in charge of the safety of the Kolsko and Puvey families. The latter was necessary because Carnigan had flatly refused to obey Yozef’s intent to take only unmarried guards away for the uncertain number of months.

“Forget it, Yozef,” the big man had asserted when informed he was to remain on Caedellium. “I’m the primary protection of Yozef Kolsko. I approve of that reprobate Synton, and Toowin and Arlen are almost as good, but I’m the one who has fought beside you the longest and saved your butt the most. So. That. Is. It. No matter what you say, I’m coming. And think about it. Who’s going to stop me?”

Yozef briefly figured he could find five or six men to restrain Carnigan when the time came, but the truth was, he felt reassured knowing the big oaf would be at his back and side.

Penabak

They chose the window for sailing from Caedellium based on when the Alliance Division was minimally ready and the best time to take advantage of seasonal prevailing winds blowing west to east. As a result, the last ship in the fleet reached Penabak in four sixdays. However, the first ship was there three days earlier. Admiral Torkinian, frustrated with the slower Landolin and Iraquinik elements, began sending some faster ships ahead when the fleet reached the halfway point—telling Yozef that it was a calculated risk if Narthani warships were encountered. They had not been seen in these waters for a year. Thus, by the time the last fifty ships reached Penabak, all the first ships to arrive had unloaded and were anchored away from the harbor.

Yozef’s frigate was among the last to arrive; the warships in their grouping had stayed with the slower and most vulnerable ships. Torkinian ignored Yozef’s claim that he needed to be there sooner to meet with the Pononyman leadership.

“Relax,” whispered Carnigan, standing at Yozef’s left shoulder as they waited for the gangplank to be extended and secured. “There’s nothing you can do about the delay getting here. The rest of the General Staff and Swavebroke will have taken care of the essentials with the division.”

Yozef sighed. “You’re right, I’m sure.” Sighed again. “I guess I regret not being here right from the start when the first men arrived. It’s like before. I have to have faith that others can get things done, even if I’m not around. I just have to keep telling myself that.”

Carnigan snorted. “And there’s also nothing you can do to change anything that’s past.”

Yozef chuckled. “So, suck it up and do your job? That’s it?”

“That’s one of your Amerikan sayings. Seems appropriate and something you’d relate to. And don’t forget Uzman Gangala was on the first ships that were sent ahead.”

He’s right again, thought Yozef. Uzman is solid. As much as I wanted to be among the first, I expect Uzman was more important if only one of the two of us got here first.

Months earlier, the younger son of the Ponomynan ruler had informed Yozef that he would be the commander of the Ponomynan forces taking part in the main thrust toward Chikawan, the Kolinkan capital. Although no Ponomynan troops were part of the Alliance Division, Uzman had tied himself to Kivalian during training and planning sessions. Yozef and Kivalian approved of Uzman’s view that he needed to know as much possible about the division’s weapons, tactics, and troops if he were to coordinate during the campaign. The Ponomynan also used the time to improve his Caedelli.

By the time of their departure for Penabak, Uzman had satisfied Yozef and Kivalian that he was at least a reasonable commander for a Ponomynan force and not only in the position because of his family connection. He had also traveled with Yozef’s party until Torkinian decided to send faster ships ahead. Uzman had then transferred to a Fuomi troop transport carrying five hundred Fuomi marines and two hundred Caedelli dragoons, including Harmon Swavebroke.

Before then, Uzman had participated in shipboard paper war games conducted daily by Yozef, Kivalian, and Marshal Vernik. Two men each were assigned to be Kolinkans and the alliance; the pairings changed every day or more often. Vernik scored the results, usually agreeing with the opinions of the other three men. At first, it was evident that Uzman’s pair fared poorly, even with Vernik as a partner—both men were required to make decisions alternately. However, by the time Uzman transferred to another ship, the negative effect of having him as a partner had markedly declined. Undetermined was whether he learned to make better decisions or he could intuit better how Vernik and Kivalian would act. Yozef decided the answer was unclear and perhaps irrelevant. Yozef told himself to be content that his own presence held up in the scoring—less so than Vernik’s and close to Kivalian’s.

“Does Uzman’s performance make that much difference?” Kivalian asked Yozef after one session. “Either way, it bodes well for our coordination that he understands as much as he does.”

Yozef remembered the comment as he prepared to debark. The gangplank was secure. Toowin Kales and Synton were going first. To Synton’s disgust, Yozef had vetoed a Caedelli platoon leading the way. The welcoming party at the base of the gangplank included Uzman Gangala and two men who must be the father and the brother, Dhupa and Tasman Gangala. Yozef did not want to risk the Ponomynan leader feeling as if the Paramount he had never met harbored security concerns at their first meeting.

When Yozef and Dhupa were six feet apart, Yozef stopped, put his right hand over his heart, and held out his left hand, palm up. Yozef had learned from questioning Uzman that the gestures were meant for encounters of equals. Uzman had been circumspect in his comments once he realized Yozef intended to use the format when first meeting his father. Yozef understood his reservation. Ponomyna’s population was many times that of Caedellium’s, an island Dhupa had probably seldom thought of before the Narthani incursion. Ponomyna was also a recognized kahsak, a member of the Iraquinik Confederation. And Caedellium was what?

With hesitation that might have only been Yozef’s imagination, Dhupa made the same gesture and moved forward a single step.

Yozef suppressed his feeling of relief.

Uzman must had clued him in on my intent, thought Yozef. The old boy must have had time to think it over.

Yozef wanted to clearly define their relative standing right from the start. He had to recognize Dhupa was the leader of a nation, but the Ponomynan needed to acknowledge Paramount Kolsko as a leader who had defeated the Narthani, an ally of the Fuomi, and the organizer of a coalition against a traitorous kahsak whose actions might not have been punished otherwise.

Yozef mirrored Dhupa’s move, and the two men rotated their extended hands to grasp and shake once, before releasing the grip.

Dhupa said something in Kahsakist. Uzman translated.

My father says, “Greetings, Paramount Kolsko. I’ve heard fantastic tales from my son about the mysterious Yozef Kolsko of Caedellium. I expected to find you eight feet tall and snorting fire.”

The Ponomynan ruler was an older version of his two sons. All three stood maybe an inch taller than Yozef, wiry build expanding at the waistline for the father, black hair and beards except for Dhupa, who had streaks of gray. The dozen men standing behind the three Gangalas came in assorted shapes and ages and were probably aides and various officials.

Yozef smiled. “Tell your father I used to be eight feet tall, but I shrink a bit every time I have to deal with assholes. I also only snort fire after dark when I need to see where I’m going.”

Dhupa laughed when his son translated, and Yozef thought he detected a general relaxation of posture from most of the men in the group.

“I’m to show you to where the division is encamped,” said Uzman. “We assume you’ll want to check your men and meet with the officers. The harbor master believes it will be near dark before the remaining men can debark. They will be taken to the encampment, but the rest of the supplies will have to wait at the harbor until tomorrow when they can be moved near the encampment.

“I’ve told Father your preferences for how the campaign proceeds. I’ll be honest and say that he was skeptical that different realms would contribute, despite my reports about the Landoliners. However, he became convinced when the first ship with Munjorians arrived. There’s also the fact that the Aroian and Gympoian men finished arriving a sixday ago. The Aroian men sailed to Penabak across the Nohwark Sea, but the Gympoians marched around the coast.” Uzman smiled. “I understand Mukamon wasn’t pleased to be obligated to have soldiers from another kahsak crossing his land, but their ruler could hardly stop them since they had both committed to the campaign.”

The Mukamonese guy is going to be problem, thought Yozef. What’s his name again? Something or another Washtah?

“I’m surprised they didn’t sail across the Nohwark, like Aro did,” said Yozef. “It would have been a lot faster and saved all that walking.”

“The Gympoian commander is what Kivalian said you refer to as ‘old school.’ We heard from some of his men that he wanted to be sure his troops were in top condition before the campaign to both increase their chances of survival and not bring shame on Gympo.”

I think I might like this guy, thought Yozef. I’ll have to arrange a meeting with him and the Aroian leader as soon as possible. Sounds like Gympo will do nicely to cover one of the division’s flanks.

“What about the Mukamonese leaders? Sounds like all the other main parties are here now.”

Uzman turned to spit to one side. “Vinok Washtah arrived with a full battalion escort almost a sixday ago. He’s been sitting at a fortified position they built about twenty miles from here. All we’ve seen of them is one man who shows up every other day to see if you’ve arrived. Nothing yet from Washtah directly.”

“And is this his usual behavior?” asked Yozef.

Uzman looked as if he wanted to spit again. He substituted a snarl. “Typical.”

“Can we trust him to do what’s necessary? If not, we might need to rethink doing without Mukamon.”

Uzman looked as if he wanted to say more against Mukamon, but he shrugged.

“I think he was similar to Father in wanting to be sure all the other nations came as promised. Now that everyone is here, he won’t want to be left out—if, for no other reason, because of the potential of adding Kolinkan territory to Mukamon. If we’re successful, he’ll try to grab as much as he can without coming into direct conflict with us or the other realms after he sees what the Alliance Division is capable of. Having said that, it’s good we don’t expect to depend on Mukamon to support our or your units. Unless the general plan you described on Caedellium has changed, Mukamon’s role will be secondary, though important.”

Yozef shrugged. “Well, I’ll get a chance to assess the Mukamonese. Can I assume they’ll know the last of the men have arrived?”

“The man going back and forth was here at the harbor when the first of this last group of ships docked. He then vanished, so I assume he dashed back to Washtah to confirm your arrival.”

“What about the Aroian leaders? We know little about Aro and Gympo, other than both joined the campaign despite having no territorial ambitions. I’m supposed to meet their troop commanders as soon as possible.”

“I mentioned the Gympoian leader. Aro is formally led by the kahsak’s heir, Sachar Aro. I’ve met him several times but don’t have a clear personal impression of him or his competency as a leader. You’ll see him always accompanied by a mature man named Zashtah Tonkan. My understanding is that he has participated in fighting the Narthani more than some senior officers of the kahsaks with borders on Narthon. Word is, he’s competent, if somewhat irascible.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “Tomorrow I’ll inspect the division and meet with my staff. The next day I’d like a meeting of the leaders of all nations so we can go over the plan and see if any changes are needed from what you heard on Caedellium or on shipboard. Now we need to go over the details for what I’ll present to the leaders. Are the maps we talked about available, along with reports and men familiar with the territory we’ll be crossing?”

“As much as we could gather. I explained back on Caedellium that Kolinka has always been more closed and secretive than the other kahsaks. We don’t know if it’s merely a characteristic of the ruling family or for what reason. Trade has never been as much as you might expect between neighboring kahsaks, and both terrain and what seems like a deliberate policy have minimized our peoples’ interactions. As it happens, those interactions are mainly around the border we’ll be crossing. Farther west, the mountains along the border are rugged enough that not many people live on either side.”

“Well, give us the maps and reports, and have the people who know the territory meet with our operations and intelligence staff early tomorrow. I expect they’ll be working nonstop for the next couple of days.”

CHAPTER 27

THE PLAN

Yozef’s intent to meet with all the leaders in two days was delayed when Gartherid Kennrick and Kivalian found the abundance of intelligence gathered by the Ponomynans required more time to evaluate and collate. Then they’d need to meet with the rest of the General Staff to revise the campaign plan.

“The delay doesn’t make that much difference,” said Kivalian. “It will take time for the division to get to the staging area near the Kolinkan border. Then we have to get organized, get a sense of the men from Aro and Gympo and confirm the final launch date.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I’m encouraged by the Ponomynans—at least, by their organizational commitment. Swavebroke reported the horses that the division is matching up with are of good quality. He doesn’t see a problem with being ready to leave in three days. Gwadlyn Duwey left a message that the supplies from previously anchored ships are still arriving at the staging area, but everything seems acceptable there. The last supplies will leave here as soon as they’re unloaded.”

“I wouldn’t get too encouraged,” said Vernik. “My experience is that something will always go wrong. The best to hope for is it’s not too critical and is restricted to only a single or a few such surprises.”

Yozef hoped he didn’t need to be cautioned, but he appreciated that Vernik felt free to comment. The Fuomi marshal had not changed his mind overall. He would not have suggested a campaign of such disparate forces that had no interaction experience and with limited information on the terrain and the enemy capability. Still, it had not affected his willingness to offer suggestions and criticize on occasion.

“Marshal Vernik is right,” said Yozef. “There’s a saying in Amerika that ‘What can go wrong, will go wrong.’ That may be too pessimistic view of the world, but it’s good not to get complacent when things are going well. It’s also one of the reasons we’re here in Kolinka. We need to find out not only what works, but what are some of the things that can go wrong. Then we’ll have the opportunity to make adjustments before we consider facing the Narthani on Landolin.”

Four days later, the leaders of all the allies met in an ornate hall that reminded Yozef of a large mosque when he was first shown the building. Uzman explained elements of the common Ponomynan religion, but Yozef’s mind was elsewhere. He left the details to a young Caedelli theophist who was part of the General Staff members gathering information on Iraquinik customs and mores.

The morning of the leaders’ meeting, the Caedelli party happened to arrive at the hall the same time as the Aroian leaders and aides. Pleasantries were exchanged through a translator.

Gartherid Luwis held Yozef back for a moment and whispered, “Yozef, did you notice the clothing of the Aroian men?”

“Huh? Clothing? What about it?”

“The buttons. I swear, I think they were made in Caedellium. You know. Out of that ‘plastic’ material you introduced.”

“Huh. Must have been through trade,” said Yozef. “I’ll have to check with Wantik when we return. I haven’t kept track of whether a market was developing.”

A good sign, thought Yozef. If the royal family, or however they’re considered, takes to something new, it could turn into a major fashion trend. I wish that was the only kind of issue I had to deal with.

He nodded to Gartherid, and they moved to the other end of the hall. Chairs formed an arc facing a large, cloth-covered map fastened to a mosaic wall. Behind the chairs stood advisers, subordinates, or courtier equivalents, for all Yozef knew. Included were Yozef’s General Staff and the commanders of the four battalions in Caedellium’s regiment. The latter were included to give them more experience in such meetings, but also to dilute the effect of seeing two women among Yozef’s staff. He was annoyed that he had to do this, but there was no point in ignoring Anyar’s societies, which were all, to Yozef’s knowledge, paternalistic.

The ruler of Mukamon was the last Alliance leader to arrive for the meeting—as predicted by Uzman. Yozef suspected it was deliberate to emphasize Mukamon’s major role in the campaign. Yozef had met Arklun Washtah the previous day and within five minutes was afraid the Mukamonese leader would be a weak point. The initial meeting and Uzman’s warning factored into the final plan. Mukamon’s role was the least crucial of three main thrusts into Kolinkan territory. Nevertheless, it was important for tying down Kolinkan forces that would otherwise be available against the other two thrusts.

From his chair to the left of the map, Yozef nervously tapped the tiled floor with one foot. All the leaders were present and seated, except for Vinok Washtah.

Is that what this asshole is doing? thought Yozef. Being sure we all know the meeting can’t start without him?

His subsequent sigh was caught by Vernik, who grunted in agreement.

I guess I should be satisfied we don’t have to depend on Mukamon in key roles, thought Yozef. We’re lucky so far with Ponomyna.

On cue, Washtah entered from the far end of the hall, accompanied by ten men, more than any other leader at the meeting—with the exception of Yozef’s staff. The clicking of their boots on the tiles reverberated in the cavernous structure. Seated men and those standing behind the chairs turned to the Mukamonese’s approach. Murmurs passed among the group. Yozef didn’t need to understand what was being passed back and forth to guess the contents.

Yozef rose from his chair. He did not expect to spend much time sitting.

“Greeting, Arklun Washtah,” Yozef said as cheerfully as he could manage. He hid his impatience when the new arrivals drew near. “Now that you’re here, we can begin.” He gestured to the only empty chair, momentarily worried the Mukamonese leader would understand his sarcastic tone. He needn’t have worried. Once Washtah sat, the connotations were lost in translation by the arranged translator standing behind Washtah’s chair.

“The people standing in the rear will listen to this briefing,” Yozef said, “although they will not participate in discussions. Once we are agreed on the plan, later there will be opportunities for more detailed briefings with your people.”

He stopped to allow translation wherever necessary for speakers of the four languages represented: Caedelli, Fuomi, High Landolin, and Kahsakist. The latter two were languages—or dialects, depending on the definitions—spoken among the Landolin kingdoms and the kahsaks, respectively, where local languages were related but not totally mutually comprehensible.

The language issue was one of the factors in the carefully planned seating arrangement in which people faced the wall map. Arklun Washtah was so disliked by the other Iraquiniks that he was placed away from the others. The Ponomynans were contributing the most men and providing wagons and other essential support. As a result, Dhupa Gangala had the center seat next to his son Tasman, with one of the few Caedelli who spoke fluent Kahsakist kneeling between them. Dhupa’s other son, Uzman, spoke fair Caedelli from the time he’d spent as ambassador and was seated between the Aroian and Gympoian leaders to serve as their translator.

The second formal translator knelt between Rhanjur Gaya and Vinok Washtah. Yozef never asked how Gaya had found a Munjorian who spoke Kahsakist. Rounding out the translation problem was Kivalian, sitting between Tuvo Jormaki and Haree Vernik—the latter sitting to one side, next to Yozef in his advisory role. The final chair held Harmon Swavebroke, the last of the four Alliance regiment commanders.

Gartherid Kennrick was not seated. He stood on the opposite side of the wall map from Yozef, in case input was needed from the Intelligence Section leader.

The language issue meant the meeting would be slow and long. Yozef would speak. Translators would translate. Yozef would wait for questions or clarifications before continuing. He was surprised by how well it went, with muted voices translating and only occasional interruptions during his initial summary. That would change later.

“Many of you already know some of the others here, but let me briefly introduce who we all are before we begin.”

Yozef found it ironic that he was doing the one thing that had annoyed him at too many meetings on Earth—the introduction ritual. He started with himself and moved to Vernik, who was in the rightmost seat as Yozef faced the group. From there, he continued until he reached Swavebroke. He made a point of saying something briefly about each of the men and mentioning reasons why they were enemies of Narthon and any other party who allied themselves with the Narthon Empire—with special reference to Kolinka.

Nods and only few perfunctory greetings were exchanged among the men—their attention was on the covered map and Yozef.

“Thank you all for being here and for your people’s commitment to work to end the wars plaguing western Anyar. When I say this, I’m obviously referring to the goal to end the threat of Narthon. We all must realize that this goal is only achievable if we work together, often in ways other than you have done before. Symbols are important. We may all fly flags and banners symbolizing our kahsaks, kingdoms, and nations. In addition, the Alliance Division will also fly a flag symbolizing our commitment to unite against common foes.”

He motioned to Gartherid standing at the other end of the arc facing the wall. Gartherid went to two flags attached to poles and extended the hinged wooden arms to which were attached the top edges of two flags. A locking mechanism kept the arms extended so the flags were fully visible. The onlookers’ reactions varied among curiosity, surprise, annoyance, and, in the case of Arklun Washtah, indifference. The flags had the same pattern but with different colors. One flag had three vertical sectors, black, white, and black, left to right. The other flag was blue, white, green. The same object was in the middle white sector.

“In times of peace, the colors would be blue, white, and green—blue for water, green for plants—to symbolize life. The gold object in the middle is called a faseez. It symbolizes unity and strength and shows a bundle of branches bound together. Separately, each branch can easily be broken. But if enough branches are bound together, the result can be nearly unbreakable. The war axe represents strength that comes from this unity, a strength that is shielded in times of peace but can be deployed for war, if necessary. White symbolizes peace, and with the gold faseez, represents the advantages to people’s well-being that come with realms working together, instead of in opposition.

“The blue and green flag is a flag for peacetime. However, that is not this time. The black flag you see is the flag of war. Black because of the deaths to come and the intended fate of our enemies.”

Yozef idly wondered whether his description sounded as hackneyed to the leaders as it did to him. The flag was also a unique use of the ancient Roman symbol called the fasces. Its precise origin was murky, probably passed on from the Etruscans, a people absorbed by Rome. The fasces originally symbolized the authority of law and government, often with implications of unity through strength. To Yozef, the symbol seemed an obvious adoption for uniting against Narthon. The people of Anyar need never know the symbol was used by Mussolini and led to the term fascism.

“Whether any other units besides our Alliance Division fly the flag is up to you. Whether you do or not, the symbolism remains. Only by working together will we eventually defeat Narthon. What we are here to do today is discuss the first step in that ultimate goal.

“You’ve all seen the evidence and, in some cases, have listened to witnesses. The Kolinkan leaders plotted with Narthon to capture or kill me. The idea came from Narthon, but the act itself was carried out by an armed Kolinkan force of about four hundred men using information whose original source was most likely Narthani agents still operating on Caedellium, and for whom we are vigorously searching. In return, Narthon promised Kolinka that it would be granted significant territory once the Iraquinik Confederation was defeated. We don’t have details of exactly what that territory might be, but at least some of the Kolinkans on the raid believe it involved most of Ponomyna and Mukamon at a minimum and possibly all of the kahsaks.”

Yozef paused for the translators. Seconds later, both Dhupa Gangala and Washtah cursed aloud, accompanied by more muted but similar responses from the Aroian and Gympoian leaders. Although they had been given the evidence of the Kolinka/Narthon collusion months earlier, Yozef sympathized with their hearing it again and imagining all of northern Iraquinik relabeled “Kolinka” with their own names missing.

“It is not hard to imagine that there was more to the Narthon/Kolinka collaboration. We may never know, but why would the Kolinkan leaders be so sure of the eventual Narthani victory? One possibility is the potential for the Kolinkans to secretly allow the Narthani to move an army across the Shawsoon Sea to the section of the shore belonging to Kolinka.

“The mountains in this spur of Kolinka would not usually be a plausible invasion route. However, with Kolinkan help and with, I’m told, this region being almost totally uninhabited, a Narthani army could move into Kolinka, join with Kolinkan forces, and be an immediate and overwhelming threat to both Ponomyna and Mukamon.”

Washtah cursed again, louder than before. Dhupa Gangala clamped his jaw and exchanged words with Tasman. There was no hard evidence that such a collusion and invasion had actually been planned, but Gartherid Kennrick had suggested the potential. After Yozef discussed the idea with Maera and Kivalian, he added it to his presentation as a ploy to further solidify Iraquinik commitments.

“Our proposed main objective is the Kolinkan capital of Chikawan, with the goal of removing the Kolinkan leadership. There is no way to do this peacefully, so we will do it by force of arms. Once northern Iraquinik is again secure, we will turn our attention to Narthon.”

“And that brings us to the operation plan we are proposing for the campaign to replace the Kolinkan leadership.” He turned to the map and pulled off the covering cloth.

The map depicted portions of four kahsaks—Ponomyna, Mukamon, Abaton, and Kolinka—roughly centered on Chikawan, the Kolinkan capital. Shown were major rivers with tributaries and important bridges and representations of basic terrain features. The map had been constructed by Gartherid’s staff since their arrival, using what was known on Caedellium as a template and making changes and additions from Ponomynan information. They declared it was the best they could do, but the paucity of details disturbed Yozef more than he’d anticipated. He put aside a troubling thought for the moment: that if they moved on to face the Narthani in Landolin, they should start the serious fighting inside Munjor or Panhan, where they had the advantage of allies knowing the home field—if he could convince the Landoliners to cede territory and draw the Narthani in to chosen battlefields, as had happened on Caedellium. That thought hovered in the back of his mind, but he would save it for another day.

Yozef put the tip of a pointer on Chikawan, the Kolinkan capital.

“The goal is to force the surrender of Chikawan and to prevent significant Kolinkan forces from retreating to carry on resistance. From what Uzman Gangala told us on Caedellium, and from the information we’ve been given since we arrived and the people we’ve talked with, we believe Arklun Litlik will demand his military drive us from Kolinkan territory. This means they will gather what forces they can and move to meet us before we get to Chikawan. Kolinka is supposedly able to field more forces than we will be using, which should encourage them to come at us, rather than assume a defensive posture or withdraw from Chikawan. This will be their fatal mistake. Your ambassadors and other people who have been to Caedellium and seen demonstrations of the new weapons should be assured that warfare has changed in ways the Kolinkans do not understand.

“The division of Caedelli, Fuomi, Munjorian, and Naskinese troops will be the core of the downfall of Arklun Litlik and his main followers. That does not downplay the important roles of all other forces. The division, no matter how potent, is too small to defeat Kolinka by itself. This will only happen if all forces perform their assignments to the best of their abilities and beyond.”

Yozef paused to smile. “And how do we do that? I’ll summarize what is proposed. The main actions of the Ponomynan and Mukamonese forces have been approved by their arkluns. After I’m finished, we will take whatever time is necessary to discuss the plan. And yes, argue if necessary. My people believe that the best outcomes result when the most people provide input from different perspectives and then finally settle on one idea or plan. Today I will summarize the plan, and we can make whatever changes are necessary.”

Yozef hoped to guide the group to accept the basic outline he would give them and to focus only on minor details. After seemingly endless discussions on Caedellium and then among himself, Vernik, Uzman, and Kivalian aboard ship on the way to Penabak, there was unanimity that no better option existed. That didn’t mean all contributors agreed on the chances of success—which varied from Kivalian’s near certainty to Vernik’s no better than one in two. Yozef’s own estimate was closer to Kivalian’s than Vernik’s, but not close enough for comfort.

He turned back to the map and the pointer.

“The element of surprise is most important in the early days of our invasion. One reason is that we need to get our main force through the forest country across the Ponomyna/Kolinka border area and into more open territory where our longer-range and rapid-fire weapons can be most effective.

“It is imperative to prevent Kolinka from gathering all its forces from the rest of the kahsak or withdrawing deeper into their territory and prolonging the fighting. I also believe the quicker we can bring the invasion to a close, the fewer casualties our forces will suffer. What you see on the map are arrows representing our forces launching simultaneous thrusts into Kolinkan territory.

“The main thrust will be the large arrow launching northeast across the border directly at Chikawan. This includes both Ponomynan infantry and a fraction of its calvary, the infantry from Aro and Gympo, and the Alliance Division composed of regiments from Caedellium, Fuomon, Munjor, and Naskin. Although the division is only a fraction of the main thrust, it has weapons that multiply its effectiveness. I intend to use this division to blunt any major Kolinkan attacks. This main force will move directly on Chikawan and compel the Kolinkans to send most of their troops to stop us.

“There are only three bridges over the Zamzul River. To the northwest across the border, Tasman Gangala will command the bulk of the Ponomynan Calvary with infantry support to attack north toward the lower Zamzul bridge. Once that bridge is secure, they will continue to the middle bridge on the Zamzul River to block reinforcements coming from west and northwest Kolinka. Assuming those two objectives are achieved, this force has the discretion to remain along the Zamzul to stop the enemy’s attempts to cross, to move north of Chikawan to help block escape routes and threaten the upper Zamzul bridge, or to move south to join the main army. Multiple options are reasonable because we can’t predict the battle conditions after the middle Zamzul bridge is captured.”

Yozef moved the pointer.

“From Mukamon, a force will move northwest from its launch point toward the upper bridge on the Wambal River southeast of Chikawan. We assume the bridge will be well defended, but the intention is not to capture the bridge as much as force the Kolinkans to defend the bridge so those forces are not available elsewhere.

“Another Mukamonese force will attack the upper Zamzul bridge northeast of Chikawan. With all three of the main Zamzul bridges blocked or destroyed, Kolinka will be unable to move major forces to reinforce Chikawan in time for it to be decisive. Once the upper Wambal River bridge is threatened, the Kolinkans will have to keep significant forces in the east.

“Our intent is that Mukamon not fight major engagements against Kolinka.

“We want most of the fighting to be between our main thrust toward Chikawan and the bulk of the Kolinkan army. From the information we have, we’ll be passing through changing terrain. First is the forest lying across both sides of the Ponomyna/Kolinka border. Once we’re through that, there’s a region of grassland that turns into more barren terrain before we reach the fertile ranch and farmland nearer Chikawan. We expect to encounter significant Kolinka forces somewhere after we pass the forest. I am confident that our military victory can be achieved quicker than many of you expect and that our main thrust can crush the Kolinkan army. Yet that fundamentally depends on Mukamon and Ponomyna cutting off the bridges shown on the map and preventing Kolinka from gathering all their men to face our main thrust.”

Yozef made a point of looking first at the Mukamonese and then the Ponomynan rulers.

“I cannot emphasize enough how important it is to secure those bridges. I have been assured by your people and my own sources that they are the only way large forces could escape us before we stop them. Otherwise, the Litlik family and their main supporters could escape and be a continual source of turmoil for this part of Iraquinik. We also want to prevent them from getting refuge from Narthon to the east.”

Yozef stopped and smiled grimly. “That is a quick summary of the proposed invasion plan. Naturally, what looks simple on a map is far different in the real world. There are innumerable details to get into, but let’s start with any critique of what I am proposing.”

Tasman Gangala was the first to speak.

“I see two problems with trying to launch four separate surprise attacks simultaneously from different points on your map. The first is how we’re going to keep our intentions secret. That many men gathering near the Kolinkan border is bound to warn them.”

“A good point,” said Yozef. He had planted the two objections with Tasman so they could be addressed immediately and to prevent them from being used to raise doubts and prolong the discussion.

“I’m told that border crossings with Kolinka are far fewer than between other kahsaks. The Kolinkans are not considered the best neighbors, and most interchanges are at the local level, with only limited trade. I have previously asked Arklun Gangala and Arklun Washtah to completely stop all cross-border traffic and let word slip to the Kolinkans that this action is due to their raid on Caedellium, ignoring the known fact that they were colluding with Narthon. In this way, Litlik might even be reassured that this is the worst reaction he will face. Ponomyna and Mukamon have made efforts to stop or slow local interactions, such as among relatives or with local trading. They have also been carrying out heavy patrols along the border. For Mukamon, that means the entire border with Kolinka. For Ponomyna, I think patrolling to here is sufficient.”

He held a finger on the map at a town halfway along the Ponomyna/Kolinka border, west toward the ocean.

“However, it has been up to Arklun Gangala to know how much farther to extend the patrolling.”

He took his hand away from the map.

“It’s unrealistic to think there has been no cross-border traffic, but we needed to minimize it and keep it well away from where our forces have been gathering at locations about forty miles from the border. As soon as this meeting is ended and the launch date is agreed to, we’ll send messages to start moving units forward to nearer Kolinka. From then on, we only need border security under the most severe restrictions until the launch date. This way, we minimize the time when Kolinka might be alerted that something serious is happening.

“I realize it may be too much to expect that the Kolinkans know of our intent only the moment we cross their borders, but the earlier they understand what’s happening, the more forces they can gather from the rest of Kolinka and the harder and longer the fighting will be.”

“I can guarantee that Ponomyna has kept our border so sealed that not even the smallest creature could cross,” asserted Dhupa Gangala. This was also a plant for the benefit of Mukamon. Uzman Gangala had briefed Yozef on the tension between the two kahsak leaders.

“Trust me,” Uzman had said. “Arklun Washtah might even care more about not losing face to Ponomyna than punishing Kolinka.”

The youngest Gangala son was proved correct when the Mukamonese leader jumped to his feet.

“Our border has been so closed, the Kolinkans must think Mukamon has disappeared off Anyar.”

I guess I’ll just have to hope he’s serious and carries through, thought Yozef. I think we can win even if Mukamon screws up. It’s the bridges Tasman is going after that are the most essential.

Yozef worried about the Mukamonese leader the more he learned of him. Although both Ponomynan and Mukamonese rulers were at the meeting, the Ponomynan commanders would be the arklun’s sons and other senior officers. In contrast, Washtah would have direct command of the main Mukamonese forces, despite having no evident history of such commands. Uzman theorized that Washtah was jealous of anyone except himself garnering victories.

“Wonderful,” exclaimed Yozef after Washtah’s declaration, putting on an act. “I never doubted anything less from such arkluns.”

Yozef hoped Washtah missed Uzman rolling his eyes and Kivalian snickering. Just in case, he moved on quickly by addressing Tasman Gangala.

“You said you saw two problems. What is the second one?”

“The coordination. If all the forces are to cross the border at the same time, how will we ensure that happens?”

“We will have regular couriers updating each force so that we all launch on the same morning. At the conclusion of today’s meeting, we will have settled on a specific date for the attack. The forces from Ponomyna and Mukamon are two days apart by rider, which is why we must be confident of the date.”

Discussion followed, though with little direct argument, to Yozef’s surprise. No major changes were made in the campaign plan, a result Yozef anticipated by a negative rationale. The plan was so devoid of details there was little to argue about. He was perversely disappointed that this little fact was mainly ignored. Another disappointment was that Yozef had wanted the launch date to be in one sixday, but he reluctantly acquiesced to Arklun Mukamon’s stance that it would take two sixdays for him to have his force in place. When the meeting ended three hours later, Kivalian approached Yozef and leaned close.

“That was quite a show, mainly just for Washtah.”

“Well, not only for Washtah,” said Yozef. “Dhupa Gangala had only heard fragments from his sons, and for the rest, it was a chance to see everything on the big map to help them visualize what they’ll be doing.

“Like I said . . . hopefully strongly enough . . . securing those lower and middle Zamzul River bridges is really pivotal. I still wish we could detach one of our regiments or release a battalion or two to go with Tasman’s cavalry, but you’re right. Things are complicated enough without us splitting up our division.”

Yozef sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t get too pessimistic about Mukamon. They did bring word that they had contacted Abaton. Washtah says that kahsak will make raids into northeast Kolinka as soon as Washtah gets word to them the invasion has started. I’m not counting on anything from them, but, if nothing else, it will give Kolinka something else to worry about, even if it’s minor.

“Perhaps more significant is that Abaton got a count of the Narthani warships still stationed in Ezarkin. Supposedly, it’s down to three or four frigates, six to eight sloops, and no bigger warships or the large troop carriers that the Narthani use.”

“And you trust that report?” asked Kivalian.

“Trust? Like in depending on it being true? No, but it’s all we have. Eina said Fuomon shifted their naval forces from Ezarkin to a port on the Throat to be nearer to Landolin. The Abaton report supports that. Plus, Fuomi sloops have ranged almost to Abaton without running across more than single Narthani sloops, and even then only occasionally.”

CHAPTER 28

FINAL STEPS

Most of the leaders left immediately for the launch site of the main force near the village of Otakay, ten miles from the Kolinkan border. Another three days passed before Yozef could leave Penabak. In addition to more meetings, he was held back by a message from Duwey at the launch site, which reported fewer wagons than planned and that most of the dried fruit provided by the Ponomynans proved too rotten to use. Arklun Gangala directed his sons to find the causes. Yozef chafed at both the delay and the issues. He was mollified only slightly when Dhupa Gangala reported one day later that sufficient wagons had been commandeered and were being loaded. Those would join the wagons already en route.

Tasman Gangala investigated the food issue and in two days had conclusive proof of fraud committed by several merchants who had been paid to supply the dried fruit. The proper drying time had been shortened so they could avoid paying to construct new apparatuses and hire more workers. There was no time to replace the shipments, but Dhupa Gangala promised to scour within a hundred miles of Penabak for every scrap of dried fruit to send on to the launch site, along with as much fresh fruit as could be gotten to the army as it advanced into Kolinka.

Tasman Gangala then left to join the northern Ponomynan force he would lead in cutting off bridges west and northwest of Chikawan.

With the two issues settled as much as possible, and despite his impatience to leave, Yozef was obliged to delay another half day. Arklun Gangala insisted that he witness the public punishment of the men involved in the fraud. Yozef’s protestations that he did not blame the Gangalas, though he did, were answered by declarations that the arklun’s honor was at stake, and he needed to make a public display of the executions in Yozef’s presence.

It took several hours for the authorities to gather a sufficient percentage of Penabak’s citizens to satisfy Dhupa Gangala. Yozef girded himself for what he hoped would be quick deaths—a hope that was only partially fulfilled. The first men were beheaded. Yozef managed elongated blinks as the blade fell. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. After the fourth man, Yozef quickly assured Dhupa that his honor was satisfied, but Yozef now needed to leave immediately for the launch site. It was at least a half mile before he was sure he could no longer hear the screams of the impaled man. He would forever feel a chill when remembering Dhupa Gangala’s comment: “I wonder how long he’ll last? The last one was four years ago, and he lasted three days. Of course, he quit screaming by the second day.”

It was once again a reminder of where he was.

Penabak to the Village of Otakay

Yozef was well into the outskirts of Penabak before he could focus on observing the area’s differences from Caedellium—which were not as many as he expected. Building architecture could have been anywhere on Caedellium, particularly the northern provinces. More women’s headscarves and a greater variety of colors were the only obvious clothing differences. Yozef made a note to talk with Secretary of Industry Wantik about textile trade with Ponomyna and the other kahsaks.

Houses close together phased into larger yards and more frequent prominent gardens. An hour from central Penabak, they were within farm country with both familiar and novel crops, a different version of krykors, and cattle similar to those he had seen in Seaborn Province. Terrain features that were not obvious while he was in Penabak now revealed flat land with only a few distant hills to the east—far different from Caedellium, where hills and mountains were always visible in all directions.

Uzman Gangala noticed him perusing the landscape.

“It will be like this for today and tomorrow, then we’ll begin seeing stands of trees that increase in number and depth as we approach the forest that extends into Kolinka. The land will remain relatively flat, though with more hills. It will only be well into Kolinka before the land becomes more broken, with hills, mesas, and ravines. At least, that’s what we know. The Kolinkans have never encouraged travel from other kahsaks.”

They pushed hard at Yozef’s insistence, changing horses twice a day. On the third day from Penabak, as they transitioned to the forest, they caught up with the wagons carrying supplies from the last group of ships.

Christ, thought Yozef an hour later as they lost most of the sunlight under the dense forest canopy. Trying to fight a battle in this would be horrendous.

He remembered from his gaming days a phase where he and others re-strategized and refought the U.S. Civil War. The Wilderness Battle was a notorious nightmare for everyone involved. Dense, second-growth small trees and bushes interspersed with subsequent cuts for fuel had created a patchwork of scarce open areas and semi-impenetrable plant growth. The terrain and the few narrow roads made cavalry maneuvers nearly impossible, and the trees greatly reduced the effectiveness of artillery—a worrying comparison because dragoons and artillery were two of the Alliance Division’s strengths. The Wilderness Battle also made coordinating infantry units a chancy effort, at best, with commanders losing intelligence on the exact location of not only the enemy but even their own units.

We already planned on pushing hard to get out of the Kolinkan part of this forest, thought Yozef, but that was based merely on information of its existence. This is far worse than I imagined. We DEFINITELY need to push the men and animals as hard as possible once we launch.

He would discuss this more with the General Staff and the allied leaders, but he prayed they could advance without having to stop or slow down until they reached open ground.

Forty miles from Otakay and at the edge of the forest country, they passed the last open terrain, the ground chewed up from the presence of tens of thousands of men, their horses and wagons, and days of unit maneuvers that included a temporary artillery range used to test all cannon before the troops moved closer to the border. The site was now abandoned, leaving only churned earth and shattered trees at the end of the firing range. The next afternoon they reached their destination. The advantage of Yozef’s being delayed in Penabak was that by the time he reached Otakay, all the invasion allies and units were present. Yozef had thought there might be time for practice maneuvers, and five days had been allotted in planning the launch date. However, delays and the dense forest precluded coordinating more than a battalion at a time. It was the first of too many surprises due to lack of information about the terrain.

After one attempt at doing small-scale maneuvers, Yozef saw Harmon Swavebroke’s expression and had an intuition that the cause was a topic they had discussed on Caedellium.

“Doing some elementary maneuvers here with the Iraquiniks didn’t work, did it?”

“No,” said Swavebroke. “I thought we’d get a chance to do more until I saw these woods. A few of the Ponomynans familiar with this area said the closest terrain open enough was back the way we came. It’s probably just as well. I’m afraid too many Landoliners have difficulty taking orders from someone not named Yozef Kolsko. I also wonder if even you will have trouble with them. But there’s something else to worry about. Did you notice the freshly cut trees?”

Yozef frowned. “Two or three. I assumed they were fallen trees cleared off the road. Now that you mention it, do we know if there are more from here on into Kolinka?”

“A couple, but we’ve cleared them away up to a mile from the border. I agreed with the leader of the Ponomynans who were here setting up the site. Any closer and we’d risk being heard. It’s farther that’s a problem. One of the locals from the village you passed at the edge of the forest, a boy about fifteen years, claims that a month ago he snuck across the border on a dare from friends. I know, a stupid thing that young males are prone to. Anyway . . . he says that inside Kolinka there are lots of downed trees across this one miserable road. I suspect the Kolinkans either haven’t seen any reason to keep the road clear or maybe deliberately have left it obstructed.”

“How bad is it?”

“The boy claims it gets worse the farther he went into Kolinka. If what the boy says is true, we’ll be delayed getting to open country. It’s like the relative isolation of Kolinka from Ponomyna is longer lasting and more extensive than we imagined.”

Yozef fought the urge to curse. Besides Swavebroke, other Caedelli and several Landolin officers were within earshot. After all, he was Yozef Kolsko, who was always supposed to have answers. He forced a smile.

“Well . . . that just means we’ll have to solve the problem, won’t we? Let’s give it some thought, and I’m sure something will occur to us.”

The last words slipped out before he realized the Caedelli would suspect he was referring to the “whispers from God” rumors he had given up trying to refute.

Well, shit, he thought. Now I, or we, will definitely have to come up with something.

He spent the rest of that day meeting with division and allied commanders, getting updates on their units’ readiness and any problems he could deal with immediately. That evening, after eating together, Yozef presented the modifications for launching the campaign that he’d hurriedly worked out earlier that day.

“We have to assume the reports about the road are accurate and that the wagons will be slowed until we get to open ground. When we launch, we’ll send Swavebroke’s dragoon regiment ahead, along with a detached Ponomynan cavalry battalion. Their task is to push down the road, clearing what they can, and be a forward reconnaissance for Kolinkan forces. I doubt the Kolinkans will have a major force close enough to threaten us before we’re out of the forest, but we can’t make any more assumptions than we absolutely have to. Riders will keep us informed of the regiment’s situation. If necessary, we can send more dragoons and cavalry to support Swavebroke, along with artillery once pieces can get through. They don’t need as much clearance as the wagons. but this will almost certainly mean we’ll be off schedule.

“We’re still on a clock, gentlemen. Tasman Gangala and Mukamon will launch on schedule. By launch day, the last of the supply wagons will have reached here from Penabak, and we’ll be ready to cross the border. Yes, it’s apparent we’ll be starting blind about how bad the road is inside Kolinka. As with many situations, it’s a balance among factors. We can’t send scouts ahead too soon, or we risk prematurely alerting the Kolinkans.

“Use the next days wisely. Exercise and drill your men where possible, but also give them and the horses plenty of rest. Once we start, we’ll need to push them as much as we can, short of reducing their effectiveness when fighting starts. We’ll start getting into positions the day before the launch, so be as prepared then as you’ll need to be the next morning.”

Questions followed for the next hour. The session terminated when Yozef decided that anything remaining was less important than the leaders getting back to their units. Finally, only Yozef, Kivalian, and Vernik were left.

“Well, Haree, what’s your latest impression?” asked Yozef.

The Fuomi marshal suppressed a wince. He had ceased feeling offended at Kolsko using his first name. Back in Fuomon, he would consider such familiarity an insult or incredibly boorish, depending on the person and his or her understanding of proper behavior. It had not taken him long to realize Kolsko was relatively unimpressed by station and used first names with most people he interacted with regularly.

“Could be worse,” Vernik unconsciously admitted in Fuomi. “All things considered, the organization is commendable, though still woefully short of what an army not composed of so many factions would expect.”

Yozef grinned after hearing Kivalian’s translation.

“No. Really, Haree. Tell me what you really think.”

Vernik glanced at Kivalian. Had he heard correctly? His Caedelli seemed to improve daily, but he still focused on common phrases and communication appropriate for army life.

“It’s a supposedly humorous way that Amerikans respond to negative opinions, Marshal. If I understand it correctly, you can assume Yozef means he acknowledges your criticism and is not offended.”

Vernik grunted. “I admit there’s a degree of satisfaction in their freedom of expression to one another. I sense it seduced you and impacted your decision to cast your future with Caedellium.”

“Oh . . . that was a factor, along with so many interesting things happening around Yozef Kolsko and my sense at the time that there might be more history made in this part of Anyar than anywhere else.”

Vernik nodded. “After being on Caedellium, I’m coming to believe you’re right. I suspect what I see on this campaign will further convince me that warfare on Anyar will never be the same. You know that I will need to report everything I see and my opinions back home.”

“Yozef knows that and has no problem. He also believes that after what you see, Caedellium and Fuomon will work together in the future to bring down Narthon. We will need each other, each providing what the other can’t.”

Kivalian did not elaborate on those needs. He nodded toward Yozef.

“Uh . . . I believe Yozef is waiting for us to finish speaking Fuomi.”

“Tell him— No, let me try.” He turned to Yozef and spoke in broken but fair Caedelli. “Your men are good, as is the Fuomi regiment. Landoliners? Who knows? They looked decent on Caedellium, but training and battle are different. The Iraquiniks? Even more ‘who knows?’ Personally and privately, I wouldn’t trust them, and I’d try to keep the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments physically close enough to support each other and not separate them unless necessary.

“On a personal level, you will make many mistakes. Try not to let it affect you too much. All commanders and armies make mistakes. It’s important to learn and not—”

Vernik stopped and said something in Fuomi to Kivalian before turning back to Yozef.

I think you’re good for that. I can help where I can, but you’re in command, so brace yourself for what’s to come, Yozef.”

Vernik smiled when he said the last word and held out a hand.

They shook.

“Thanks, Haree.”

Yozef had not smiled in return. Although he appreciated the Fuomi marshal’s words, he knew it was all about to become too real. In a few days he would give an order that would lead to thousands of deaths, maybe tens of thousands.

Launch

Five days later, at dusk, the camp was already shutting down the frenzied activity of the day. At Yozef’s order, all men not on active guard duty had been fed hours earlier and were now to be in tents or in bedrolls if sleeping under the stars. Everyone would be roused two hours before sunrise the next morning, and the army would be on the move an hour later. Yozef pulled out several sheets of paper. Some of the information had been updated.

Yozef would shortly follow his own order, but first, he was compelled to study several pieces of paper he had already looked at a dozen times that day. He held the first sheet closer to the lamps on the folding table.

Alliance Division

2,000 menCaedellium Regiment

2,000 menFuomon Regiment

2,000 menMunjor Regiment

2,000 menNaskin Regiment

2,000 menSupport Regiment

----------------------------------------------------

10,000 menDivision

4,000 menAro Units

4,000 menGympo Units

33,000 menMain Force

Other

20,000 menPonomyna Blocking Force

(unknown)Mukamon Blockin Force

The numbers were reasonable approximations of fighting men. He didn’t have good numbers of supporting personnel for the Iraquiniks, but those for the division were in the support regiment, along with medical, intelligence, and the special weapons being field-tested but not intended for decisive contributions.

Even within the Alliance Division, there were discrepancies for numbers. For the Iraquiniks, Yozef took the word of their leadership, but Gartherid’s check was consistent. Mukamon was the wild card. Arklun Washtah never confirmed numbers, only assuring them that he would commit sufficient forces to block the assigned bridges and establish a threatening presence the Kolinkans would have to commit forces to counter.

The Iraquinik men in the main attack were primarily infantry, plus four thousand Ponomynan cavalry to screen the rest of the army and function as scouts and messengers. The dragoons would fight as infantry and maneuver like cavalry when necessary. Most of the Ponomynan cavalry was with Tasman Gangala and the western blocking force.

Yozef scanned down the tally, stopping at each number, imagining individuals. So many men. Each one a universe of his own. How many universes would still exist a month from now? He believed in what they were doing. Narthon had to be stopped. Kolinka, while not as much a threat, needed to be eliminated as a weakness in the Iraquinik resistance. Yozef also did not ignore the element of payback for the Seaborn raid. But dominating all justifications for the “Go” order he would give tomorrow morning was that they needed an honest field test of both new weapons and the performance of a multi-nation army under live fire against a committed foe.

He looked again at the sheet. When they deployed for major battles, the plan was for the Iraquiniks to be on the flanks, with the Alliance Division at the center as the main offensive force and supporting the flanks. The kahsaks seemed to have settled on two types of artillery for field maneuvers: a 12-pounder analog as the basic piece and an 8-pounder for cavalry. Kivalian reported the Iraquinik guns were of poor performance and heavier than comparable pieces from Narthon, Caedellium, or Fuomon. A positive was that the Kolinkan artillery was known to be of similar quality—as had been seen when a rare Kolinkan unit participated in an action against Narthon.

His thoughts shifting to artillery made him lay down the force listing and sort through the pile for another sheet.

Main Force Artillery

Alliance Division

38 12-pounders

32  6-pounders

3  3-inch Ordinance Rifles

4  12-pounder Howitzers

4  Medium Mortars

3  Gatling Guns

2  Rocket Batteries

Ponomyna

32  12-pounders

Aro

6  12-pounders

Gympo

9  12-pounders

Ponomyna Blocking Force

40 8-pounders

Mukamon Blocking Force

(unknown)

The Alliance army was heavy in artillery, which was divided into three sections. The 6-pounders would move with the dragoons if they maneuvered separate from the rest of the army, and 12-pounders would be the main artillery in fixed positions. The third section should provide specialized support but was also indispensable for field-testing weapons to use against the Narthani.

Yozef remembered a member of his teenage gaming group giving impromptu lectures on the historical use of cannon. In the U.S. Civil War, two cannon per thousand infantry was standard for both sides and compared to Napoleon’s four cannon per thousand. He also knew another great historical military leader had favored more artillery and its combined use with infantry and cavalry—King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden.

The Iraquiniks followed a similar pattern of about two cannon per thousand infantry. The uncertainty of their infantry’s steadiness was one reason the Alliance Division brought twice as many 12-pounders as the Civil War doctrine. As necessary, Alliance 12-pounder batteries would be detached to support the Iraquiniks on the division’s flanks. Yozef also wanted to be able to overwhelm Kolinkan batteries in set-piece fights.

In addition, Yozef had mandated, diplomatically and giving his rationales, that the Iraquiniks in the Main Force used only 12-pounders to simplify their logistics. In comparison, Tasman Gangala took only 8-pounders because of mobility and because his force was not intended to fight major field engagements.

“You need to follow your own order,” came a gravelly voice, startling Yozef and disrupting his focus on the sheets. He hadn’t noticed anyone entering his tent, which was a testament to his concentration because Carnigan was hardly stealthy.

A large hand took the latest sheet away and pushed the stack to one side of the table. The other hand grasped Yozef’s elbow and pulled him out of his chair.

“All right, mother,” said Yozef, smiling and letting himself be pushed to the waiting cot. “I’ll be good. You do the same. I suppose I was reluctant to stop today. Once I wake tomorrow, the commitment is real, and there’ll be no stopping.”

CHAPTER 29

ZERO HOUR

Yozef Kolsko

After Carnigan left, Yozef lay awake, unable to stop thinking. Had he forgotten anything, despite there being little else he could do at this point? When sleep came, it was sudden and unappreciated. One instant he was staring up at the faint tent ceiling. The next moment a red-bearded face filled his view.

“It’s time,” said Carnigan. “You’ve thirty minutes to shit, eat, and do whatever needs doing. We let you sleep. Your horse and gear are waiting outside.”

Yozef threw off the blanket and sat on the edge of the cot. He was amazed that he had not woken from men talking, officers and sergeants yelling orders, horses snorting and stamping, wagon wheels creaking and rolling on the ground, sounds of leather against leather, the clanging of metal on metal, and a background drum of unidentified sources.

He could see the steaming bowl of something Carnigan had brought, along with cheese, fruit, and kava, also steaming.

“I assume all the units are on schedule?”

The lantern light showed Carnigan’s grin. “I’m sure Kivalian had the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments ready to start an hour ago. I can’t say about the others. That’s where you come in.”

Yozef sighed. He would give the formal order to Swavebroke, whose regiment, supported by Ponomynan cavalry, would be the first unit to move out and cross the Kolinka border. Then he would spend the next hours moving from unit to unit, publicly sending them to follow down the one narrow road. The entire army train, once in motion, would take four hours from Swavebroke’s first man to reach the border to the last men, Ponomynan cavalrymen. When advance scouts first breached the border, the last of the army would be just starting in motion ten miles behind. It would be the last time Yozef gave a direct order to every unit in the army.

He ate, dressed, and used the screened voiding trench fifty yards away. The Caedelli regiment’s lead element waited a half mile north. Yozef mounted and led a procession of unit leaders and flag bearers. The ostentatious display was meant to impress. He hoped there wouldn’t be too many more of such occasions unless they were associated with victory.

Tasman Gangala

The eldest son of Arklun Dhupa Gangala impatiently waited for time to pass. He had been awake and hustling throughout the muster area for the previous four hours. The sun was not yet up, but there was enough light that he had been able to read words for the last half hour.

He would be part of the lead element, though not at the forefront. He had politely dismissed Kolsko’s suggestion that he remain with the main body of men for better control. An arklun’s son might not be the first to fight, but neither could he be too far in the rear.

He caught himself before he looked at the horizon again. Doing it every few seconds might give others the impression he was nervous. Which he was, but appearances were important. Instead, he pretended to survey the first element to start. They were only two miles from the border, closer than the force aimed at Chikawan, and thankfully not in the same type of forest. Here, the terrain consisted of sparser trees, low brush, and expanses of grass covering medium-size hills through which the Zamzul River wound, except for the gap the river had cut through a sharp ridgeline. The Ponomynan force he commanded was hidden behind the ridgeline. The road that zigzagged up the slope and down the other side to the border had been under heavy surveillance to ensure no Kolinkan eyes discovered them too soon.

He looked at the horizon and cursed. He couldn’t help himself. Perhaps five minutes to go.

Damn all the gods, he thought. That’s close enough.

He rose in his stirrups, drew and raised his sword, pointed northeast, and shouted to the lead element, “Advance!”

Men who had been quiet, murmured, shouted, cursed, and grunted. Like a portion of a multisegmented organism, the lead cavalry company started up the grade. His party would follow, then the rest after that. The first twenty miles were the most difficult to cover. First, over the ridgeline, then along the narrow track until they approached the first bridge over the Zamzul. After that, a wide, high-quality road paralleled the Zamzul all the way well northeast of Chikawan.

He intended the cavalry units to reach the first bridge before nightfall, even if the artillery lagged. The bridges over the Zamzul were key bottlenecks for Kolinkan forces west and north to reach Chikawan. The river was broad and swift this time of year. Local traffic could use ferries scattered along the river course, but larger traffic required the bridges for rapid movement. He hoped to God that there be no failure in his mission to deny those bridges to Kolinkan reinforcements.

Vinok Washtah

The Mukamonese ruler glared at the nervous servant. He was positive he had told the man he wanted sweetened rolls for morning meal. Instead, a plate of butter-lathered, steaming unsweetened rolls lay before him. He bit off a curse and temporarily suppressed dismissing the man from his service. After all, he had served Vinok for twenty years. Plus, Vinok had other business this morning. He was at the border to order the invasion of Kolinka. Even though Mukamon’s part was the least crucial, Washtah needed to be sure his people understood the other realms depended on him.

He could not tell the time until sunrise from his pavilion. A heavy fog lay over the encampment, as was normal this time of year for this part of Mukamon. It would burn off within an hour or two, but knowing exactly when the sun peeked above the horizon was guesswork. Not that he cared. The plan was to attack at dawn today. Even being a few hours late hardly made a difference.

He also was not concerned that he was not following Kolsko’s plan. At least, not exactly. Instead of Mukamon’s main initial targets being the upper bridge over the Wambal River near Chikawan and a move toward the upper Zamzul bridge, he intended to move toward Chikawan only after capturing the middle Wambal River bridge. The land they would occupy was the most productive, and possession would better ensure his claim on annexing that territory. Assuming Kolinkan resistance focused on the Ponomynan and Alliance forces, he would still move toward the upper Wambal bridge to threaten Chikawan. A smaller force would cross farther northwest and move toward the upper Zamzul bridge, but Washtah was indifferent to its success since the land there was reported to be unproductive and of little reason to absorb into Mukamon.

He had just taken a bite of a roll and swiped crumbs off his beard when his senior commander strode into the pavilion, his face blank but shoulders stiff.

“The men are ready, Arklun. Shall I start? With your command, of course.”

“Yes, yes,” said Washtah, impatiently tossing away the unsweetened roll. “Get on with it. I’ll be along to observe as soon as I finish here.”

Horen Rakatek

The Kolinkan warmaster drummed his right knuckles on the map spread on the table.

“I don’t like it,” he said to the dozen officers gathered around. “Oh . . . I know the border has been like a graveyard the last few years, but there’s always a trickle of smuggling, illegal trade, and a low level of people visiting family members and not caring if our arkluns hate each other and don’t want travel. Now, we can’t get anyone across the border without being spotted. The Ponomynans and Mukamonese have never made this much effort to stop all traffic.”

“We do have the report from one of our men who managed to stay across the border for almost a sixday before escaping with Ponomynans after him,” said an officer.

Rakatek shook his head. “Yes, one of the four men on the patrol. He saw another man shot but doesn’t know what happened to the other two. We can assume they’re dead or captured. Then there’s the dispatch from Onunza claiming a fishing boat spotted a Fuomi warship two hundred miles south near the Ponomynan coast. What’s a Fuomi warship doing this far north? We’ve never seen one before.”

“It’s only that one report,” said Hato Arototl. The Chikawan bureaucrat served within the capital’s office that was responsible for relations with other kahsaks. He reported directly to Arklun Meelis Litlik. Arototl shared Rakatek’s view of Litlik, though he husbanded his view lest he lose the position that allowed the warmaster, and a few other men, access to the ongoing thinking of the arklun and his most powerful supporters. “And it was a month old by the time it got here from Onunza. Even if accurate, it’s most likely something benign for us. Maybe checking on the Narthani out of Ezarkin. Maybe a deep scout. Who knows?”

“You’re probably right,” said Rakatek. “Closing the border might have no more serious implications. And maybe the itch I’m feeling is just an old man’s imagination. We all hope that. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . something is up that we won’t like. But that’s part of our duty to the kahsak—not being lax because something is unknown or improbable. It’s our duty to also account for even rare times when threats are real and the indications were few or absent.”

His lip curled under his beard. “This may well be one time that Litlik’s stubbornness will work to the kahsak’s favor. I’m probably nervous about nothing. If I had my way, I’d have had all the western lords send their troop levies toward Chikawan starting months ago. Then, when nothing happened, I’d just look like a fool.”

“Be that as it may,” said Arototl, “Litlik is as stubborn as ever about mobilization. He’s known what you’ve been doing for the last few months. I’ve warned you he’s moving closer to removing you as warmaster, as his brother has encouraged him to do.”

Rakatek harumphed. “That idiot is a disgrace even to the Litlik family.”

“Maybe so, but he’s close to the arklun and fancies himself your replacement. He certainly takes every opportunity to tell anyone listening that he would be a better warmaster.”

All the men present already knew the rumors, but a wave of curses and sighs rose and fell as Rakatek stood upright, took a deep breath, and returned to the map, now with both hands on the table.

“Let’s go back to something we have a degree of control over. What’s the latest total of lord levies who have crossed the Zamzul bridges?”

“Lord Lykel’s men are the latest,” said a tall officer. “They crossed two days ago. Four thousand men, according to the courier message from the bridge master. We haven’t received a report from Lykel on the composition, but a rider should be arriving any time.”

“Just another foolishness of having to account for Litlik,” said Rakatek. “If we weren’t so worried about Chikawan knowing what we’re doing, we could have gotten a full account via semaphore.”

“We’re fortunate to have the semaphore lines we do,” said Arototl. “At least, we have lines south of the Zamzul, and so far Litlik hasn’t seen a reason to interfere with the lines we’ve been setting up north of the river.”

“Yes, but only a few lines extending one to two hundred miles north of the Zamzul,” said Rakatek. “We should have lines through all the major towns and all the way to Onunza. If what the Narthani share with us about Caedellium is true, they have extensive semaphore lines covering the entire island.”

“But it is an island,” said Arototl, “that’s only a fraction of Kolinka’s size.”

“That’s not relevant to my comparison. For the Caedelli to have connected all their clans, they must use about the same length of line as would reach from Chikawan to Onunza and the three or four largest cities on the other side of the Zamzul. Where there were no semaphore lines, messages could reach the existing lines by riders or sporadic message deliveries by carrier murvors. I wish we’d managed to steal a few of them from Aro earlier. It’ll take a good year before they’ve bred up enough for more coverage of the entire kahsak.”

Rakatek held up a hand. “All right, don’t let me get distracted. So . . . four thousand from Lord Lykel. What is the total who have crossed over?”

“Twenty-one thousand,” said a balding officer with a salt-and-pepper beard. “I doubt we can keep many more hidden. It’s already hard to keep that many troops from being too obvious. Word is bound to have already gotten to Chikawan—they just don’t know the numbers yet.”

“And the numbers are still coming?” asked Rakatek.

“Another twenty to thirty thousand or so, but I think we need to keep them north of the Zamzul unless a real threat appears. There’s another sixty to eighty thousand men who could leave their locales and get to Chikawan within two to three sixdays. Beyond that, men from farther west would take a month or more, depending on how far away and the competency and cooperation of their lords.”

“Yes, let’s get messengers off for new arrivals to stay north of the Zamzul,” said Rakatek. “With the twenty-one thousand who have crossed, that gives us a total of around a hundred thousand men in the vicinity of Chikawan who could be mustered within a sixday. Of course, some of those units are permanently assigned to protect the capital. Litlik would never allow them to leave the city undefended. Many other units are scattered between the Zamzul and the borders with Ponomyna and Mukamon.”

“I know the reasons, Warmaster,” said the tall officer, “but I’d feel better if we were more concentrated. If there is a threat, it almost has to come from either Ponomyna or Mukamon. Having Chikawan so close to the borders doesn’t give us much time to respond if anything happens.”

Arototl smiled. “Unfortunately, we weren’t consulted when the ruling family at the time decided to use Chikawan as the capital. It was their home and the obvious choice.”

Rakatek waved a hand. “We’re still left being unable to do anything different at this moment. I’d like a few more units forward toward the borders.” He turned to his second-in-command. “Look at which permanent regiments are best positioned for this. Also, direct the border units to increase patrols, and make sure they are doing so right up to the border. We all know they tend to be slack.”

CHAPTER 30

WHAT CAN GO WRONG, WILL

Swavebroke

Harmon Swavebroke slapped a thigh as he stood watching team after team of men carrying earth and small rocks on tent canvases to the edge of a washout and dumping the loads.

“We can’t be more than two miles into Kolinka,” he complained to Denis Vegga, who commanded the 1st Battalion, Caedelli Regiment. “This damn forest is bad enough. The trees were less dense, and the road, as shitty as it was in Ponomyna, was still better than here in Kolinka, where it’s hardly more than a krykor path. And this washout must be months old, if not older. Don’t they do any maintenance on their roads?”

“You call this a road?” said Vegga dismissively. “And if it’s already delaying us this much, what hope is there for us to keep to any schedule?”

“The answer’s obvious,” said Swavebroke. “It’s shot to the Evil One’s underground. Can you go any faster?”

Vegga shook his head. “It’s the position of the washout. The damn road runs right along this ravine on the right, and the slope on the left is too vertical. I’ve men working on both sides of the washout, but there’s no room for more men. They’re working as fast as they can, and we rotate with fresh men every half hour. At least, we’re making progress. I’d estimate it will take another hour before we can get horses across and two to three hours for artillery and wagons.”

“All right, do the best you can. I’ll ride back and update Yozef personally. I’m going to suggest we let the Ponomynan scouts range farther ahead and hope there aren’t too many places like this.”

Kolsko

“Well, Harmon,” said Yozef, “we figured this campaign would teach us lessons.”

“It certainly didn’t waste time disappointing us, Yozef. At this rate, the mountains will have eroded away before we get to Chikawan.”

“Now, it’s not that bad. But you’re right. We need to push the scouts out farther. The same with more repair crews. Also, from what you describe, I wonder if it would have taken less time to hack out a bypass of the washout.”

“That only occurred to me when we had the washout half filled. We checked, and it would likely have taken as much time to cut a new road, but we’ll be alert to that option in the future. We’ll also have to add bringing more equipment in the future. Buckets, wheelbarrows, more shovels and picks to start with. And not just the tools the dragoons bring. Those versions are a sufficient compromise that the dragoons can carry with them, but for bigger jobs like this washout, we need more full-size tools.”

We need to rethink having dedicated engineering units, thought Yozef. Having the dragoons and infantry doubling for those jobs when necessary won’t always work.

The possibility had been discussed and encouraged by Vernik. They weighed the advantages and disadvantages, and Yozef decided against it. He added “lack of engineer-equivalents” to his list of mistakes, which he prayed would not get too long.

“We’ll also have to rethink getting your regiment forward faster, or at least part of it. Can you get horses around the washout, even if you have to lead them single file?”

Swavebroke nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I hesitated because of the difficulty in retreating should they run into too many Kolinkans, but I think that’s the lesser negative right now.”

“Okay, do it,” said Yozef. “Send Mulron Luwis’s battalion on ahead. They won’t have artillery or resupply wagons, but we already had this as an option. I’ll message back to Uzman to send more Ponomynan cavalry forward. Have them push farther forward and as much to the flanks as they can, which may not be far in this forest. If, by chance, they can find more open forest, use any route you can to move faster. Just tell Mulron not to let units get separated from the main body of his battalion.”

Swavebroke wheeled his horse and galloped back up the road.

“Things will speed up once we’re past the washout, Yozef,” said Kivalian.

Yozef’s skeptical expression made Kivalian shrug.

“Well, I might as well be optimistic since we can’t do anything about it.”

Yozef looked into the surrounding forest.

“This is different from anything I’ve seen on Caedellium. Is it like this anywhere else on Anyar? I doubt even the Fangorn forest is worse than this.”

“Fangorn?”

“Uh . . . a mythical dark forest supposedly full of terrible creatures.”

“Well, this one is dark enough. I’ll bet by sundown you won’t be able to read any words if you’re not on this road where the canopy is gone or reduced to overhanging limbs.”

Maybe it’s more like the Forbidden Forest in Harry Potter. I also hope there’re no Ents, thought Yozef, or if there are, I hope at least some of them are friendly compared to the Forbidden Forest’s inhabitants.

A thought made him smile. If it was the Forbidden Forest, he had Hagrid along. Now if Haree Vernik Potter could just use his magic wand to clear the road.

“Something’s amusing?” asked Kivalian.

“Just remembering part of an Amerikan legend about magical forests. Remind me back at the Snarling Graeko, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Mulron Luwis

Four hours later, the commander of the 2nd Battalion, Caedelli Dragoon Regiment, reined in his horse and dismounted where a cluster of men awaited him.

“What do you have, Captain Sulton?”

“Good news and bad news, Major Luwis. Happened within moments of each other. We literally turned a corner, and the forest was noticeably thinner. There were even a few breaks in the overhead canopy not directly over the road. Then, first thing I knew, there were shots. The lead squad fired and killed two Kolinkans.” Sulton turned and pointed. “There are the bodies.”

The captain led the way. Both men had been hit several times—one with four wounds Luwis could see.

“Did they fire first?” asked Luwis.

Sulton grimaced. “No. From the men I talked to, I think the Kolinkans were too shocked. One of my men fired, and the others followed suit. I think the tension of not knowing who or what we would run into set them off. Looks to me like the men were probably local hunters.”

“Does that mean there’s a village or settlement nearby?”

“I would assume so, though it depends on what they were hunting and how far they were willing to go from where they started.”

“Well, keep your men under better control. If you’d captured the men, we might have got more information about what’s ahead. Anything is better than what we know. We’re also not here to kill indiscriminately.”

“That brings up worse news, Major. There were three Kolinkans. My men only saw these two. A third man was separated from the other two. Our men didn’t see him before he vanished into the forest. They tried pursuing but gave up quickly when they found two hobbled horses and a piece of rope that must have been used with a third horse. They never saw the man again. Hardly surprising if the man was local and knows this part of the forest.”

“How were they missed by the scouts?”

“Who knows? Maybe they were on foot, leading their horses. They weren’t directly on this excuse of a road, so maybe the scout passed right by them. This forest is so thick in some places, if everyone is quiet you can miss someone only thirty feet away.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Luwis, who then took a deep breath. “There’s no help for it, Captain. It was only a matter of time. I just wish it had been more time. I’d better get a rider back to Swavebroke. You keep pushing forward. If you run into real opposition, artillery is now only half an hour behind you and Kellen’s battalion behind it.”

Village of Anakahah, 15 Miles inside Kolinka

Fourteen-year-old Sequalah Nashhash stopped crying by the time he reached his village. When the fusillade riddled his father and uncle, he stood shocked for a few seconds before the men firing spotted him. That galvanized him into running back to where the horses stood hobbled. The day had started so well with his excitement about being allowed to accompany the village’s two best hunters—his father promising to let him have a shot.

He knew the first person he should go to was the village chief, but all he could think about was going to his mother, even if he wasn’t sure how he would tell her that her husband was not coming home.

His horse sped past people, some hurriedly scrambling aside, yelling at him for recklessness. He had to turn a corner at the village square. It was there, after having to slow his horse, that the village chief ran and grabbed his reins.

“You know better than that, Sequalah. You could have—”

The chief cut off the remonstration when he saw the youth’s face.

“They’re dead! My father and uncle! Men shot them! I had to flee! There was nothing else I could do!”

“Dead? Men? What men?”

“I don’t know!” cried Sequalah. “Men! They were all dressed the same in clothes I haven’t seen before. There were, I don’t know, maybe hundreds of them. Their horses packed the road for a hundred yards or more and maybe farther.”

“Which direction were they going?”

“This way!” the youth screamed.

The chief had been alerted a sixday earlier by a patrol passing through. The men in the patrol asked whether any strangers had been seen or if there were any unusual occurrences. The answer was no, but the patrol leader shared that authorities higher up had ordered closer border scrutiny. The obvious reason was worry about incursions by the Ponomynans.

They’re headed into Kolinka and straight at us, thought the chief.

“Go to your family, Sequalah. Tell your mother what happened and that she’ll have to mourn later. We’ll flee into the forest until we can know more.’

He released the youth’s reins and starting yelling for men and women. Whoever was coming could be there any moment. He relayed Sequalah’s story and got people moving to spread the word and move northwest from the village. With those orders given, he sent two riders back down the road to either confirm or refute the youth’s story. Another rider was sent up the road to alert the nearest army unit thirty miles toward Chikawan. The post was new, only completed two sixdays previously, with no explanation why a cavalry battalion was suddenly moved this close to the border.

First Word

Major Ilio Chimon’s mood was as irritable as usual since his cavalry battalion had been ordered from their comfortable quarters southeast of Chikawan and sent to build a new post far from their families and the reasonable comforts of civilization. His mood was about to get worse.

He made the villager repeat himself three times, and he asked questions until convinced the man knew nothing else. An unknown number of armed men on horseback, probably at least fifty, who were dressed alike and headed in this direction. Chimon saw three options: the man’s story was an exaggeration of a tragic event, a group of marauders was loose, or an incursion of the Ponomynans was underway. He did not care about the first option and would be irritated if he had to deal with the second. But what if it was the third option? In that case, he had no options.

Ten minutes later, two riders for redundancy left for the closest semaphore station. It would take four to five hours to reach there, even with authorization to commandeer horses on the way as necessary. In another twenty minutes, one company left for the border. The rest of the battalion would leave as soon as it was ready.

Mulron Luwis

Ehrol Hospin was a Selfcellese who spoke Kahsakist. How a woman from the Tasawak kahsak came to live in Selfcell was never explained to Hospin—his mother refused on her deathbed to talk about it. However, that history had determined why he was with the advanced Ponomynan scouts when they encountered Major Chimon’s company.

“Any count how many there were?” asked Luwis when Hospin reported.

“Got to be at least a good part of a company. The trees are a lot thinner where we encountered them, but the undergrowth is thick enough you can’t see far. That many men and how they dressed make it pretty certain they’re a regular military unit, not some local militia. They started shooting and chased us. We got our asses out of there until we were sure they weren’t following any more. The Ponomynan scouts are keeping loose visual contact and withdrawing back in this direction. I’d estimate they’ll be here in an hour unless they push their horses. In which case, we could start hearing an exchange of fire with the scouts any moment.”

“All right. Get back to the scouts and have most of them rejoin us. Leave a few to maintain that long-distance contact. We’ll pick a place to set up and wait for them to come to us. There’s that creek about two hundred yards back. We’ll position on the opposite bank.”

Hospin raced away, and Luwis pulled a whistle from his pocket. Two blasts, a pause, and two more alerted company commanders to a command meeting. The battalion was too spread out along the road and horses too close for the forward units to pull back until those behind them moved. He rode back, collecting captains and using the whistle again until he gathered the four captains at the creek. By then, a rider was a mile away, racing to update Swavebroke.

“Here’s what we know,” said Luwis to the captains. “An unknown number of Kolinkans are coming. This creek is as good a place to stop them as we have. From this road, First Company will spread along the bank to our west, Second Company to the east. Get the horses back and start digging in. Third Company and Fourth companies will stay back as reserves and in case they try to flank us. I’ll be in the center, near the road. Let’s make ourselves as hidden as possible. If we’re lucky, they’ll walk into us. Keep your men under control. Let’s not just go shooting up a forest. Have officers and sergeants hold the men from firing unless it’s a real attack and not just scouts coming at us.”

Ilio Chimon

“So, you think it’s battalion-size?” he asked the captain.

“At least. I sent patrols and infiltrators to try and fix their positions. I pulled back when it was evident the casualties weren’t worth the additional information. Given how far along the creek bank they were dug in, it was either a large battalion or two smaller ones. Then there were units keeping us from getting around their flanks. It could be as much as a regiment.”

“And that doesn’t tell us whether there are more of them stretched out back along the road,” murmured Chimon.”

“Hades, no. Could be a whole army coming.”

“Shit!” cursed Chimon. “There’s not a lot we can do to slow them without getting the whole battalion killed. If we’d caught them deeper into the forest, we could have felled every tree across the road and delayed them for days and days. No matter what we try now, they’ll be in open country by early tomorrow. This is something that has to go straight to Warmaster Rakatek. He should be getting my first semaphore message late today or early tomorrow. I have to send more riders and tell the warmaster that we will withdraw, keeping enough contact to fix the Ponomynans’ position.”

“Do you think this is a real war or just a Ponomynan raid?” asked the captain.

Chimon spit to one side. “Hades knows! But there hasn’t been a major war with the Ponomynans since the Narthani threat. What in Hades led to this is far beyond me.”

Warmaster Rakatek

His expression was grim as all the men gathered around the table. Rakatek had a momentary thought that as tired as he was of leaning over maps and having worrisome premonitions, that was better than leaning over maps and knowing the news was dire.

“Gentlemen, as bad as we thought the situation was when we got the semaphore message about Mukamonese forces moving into southeast Kolinka, we now know it’s far worse. We have to assume the semaphore about Ponomynans well past the border is real and more than a nuisance raid. This has to be a coordinated invasion by those two kahsaks. We’re lucky we had semaphore lines so close to Mukamon.”

He picked up two lead figurines lined up next to the map. One was placed at a bridge marked on the Wambal River, the other northeast between the Wambal and Zamzul rivers.

“We know of Mukamonese forces crossing the border. A large force is obviously aimed at the middle Bridge over the Wambal. Why that one is not clear because the upper bridge is the most direct route to Chikawan. We should have no problem stopping them at both bridges.”

“But that means giving up all the Kolinka territory between the border and the Wambal,” protested an officer.

“That doesn’t mean we intend to only sit on this side of the bridge. First things first. Once we’re sure the bridge is secure, we can contemplate operations against the Mukamonese. There are also unconfirmed reports of Mukamonese farther northeast. Those reports are sketchy but suggest it may only be scouts.

“Then there’re the Ponomynans. Until we have more information on their size and direction of movement, we’re stuck with gathering units until we know enough to take offensive action.”

Rakatek stopped speaking and scanned the men, confirming his opinion of their competency, steadiness, and individual degree of devotion to the Litlik family. He trusted these men and made a decision.

“I assume you all have a pretty fair opinion of what precipitated this.”

“The Caedellium raid,” stated one of the youngest and most promising officers, his voice slathered with disgust.

“Almost certainly,” said Rakatek. “And you’ve all heard the rumor of the threat made by the Caedelli leader, Kolsko.”

All but two men nodded or voiced confirmation. The two exceptions were whispered to by men next to them, resulting in one pale face and a second man with a clenched jaw.

“Do you think this Kolsko is somehow involved with what’s happening?” asked his second-in-command.

Rakatek did not respond immediately but turned away and walked a few steps from the table. It was a mannerism his subordinates recognized when the warmaster was deep in thought. Two minutes passed. Four.

“I don’t know,” he said once he returned to the others. “I would have thought it highly unlikely that anyone could get Ponomyna and Mukamon to work together. Unless . . . . there is an outside factor. Could Caedellium and Kolsko be that factor? I’m afraid we’re going to find out. But that’s irrelevant for our response. Let’s see what options we have. I’d like to blunt the Mukamonese advance. I doubt Arklun Washtah has the stomach for major battles, so let’s push enough men at him to gauge his commitment.

“For the Ponomynans, they’re potentially a more dangerous enemy, but is it a serious invasion or just a large raid, perhaps to distract us from the Mukamonese? We need more information. Until we have that, we still have to slow them down while more men get here from western Kolinka. Let’s see if we push a couple more regiments forward and slow them down without getting into major battles until we know what we’re facing.”

The meeting continued for the next hour, as they went over details and selected unit movements—until they were interrupted by a summons from Arklun Litlik.

Litlik Palace, Chikawan

Rakatek stewed the entire fifteen miles from the army staff meeting west of Chikawan to the palace. Someone had leaked the semaphore messages to Litlik or one of his sycophants. He would deal with that issue another time. The priority now was to prevent the arklun from making rash decisions—an activity on which the warmaster thought he spent far too much of his time.

The walk from where he left his horse to the palace never ceased to disgust him. There always seemed to be new construction going on. Currently, a perfectly serviceable and ostentatious archway was being replaced by one even larger and more garish. Rumor was Litlik hadn’t realized the name of an arklun from a hundred years previous appeared in small letters in several places within the bas relief on the inside of the arch. Rather than simply chip out the offending name, the entire arch was being replaced by one twice as massive. Rakatek estimated the cost of the replacement would fund major road improvements or replace thousands of outdated muskets.

When Rakatek reached the waiting hall to the throne room, he expected to pace an indefinite length of time—an all too frequent occurrence caused by Litlik either deliberately keeping him waiting or being indifferent to time wasted by mere mortals. Thus, he was surprised and apprehensive when the chamber attendant ushered him in to Litlik immediately. The arklun sat in the chair he insisted on calling his “throne.” A covey of relatives, courtiers, and favorite advisers hovered nearby. A subtle jostling for position was evident, even from a distance. Rakatek was less than halfway across the large room before Litlik noticed him and all but screeched, “What’s happening, Warmaster?! Are you mobilizing our men to protect Chikawan?!”

He means protect him, thought Rakatek. Gods forbid his first thought was of Kolinka or the people.

He waited until he was closer to the arklun before replying. He did not want to yell, and tone of voice was important to keep Litlik listening to anyone, including the senior military leader of the kahsak.

“Our information is still scanty, Arklun. Until we know more, we’re taking steps to slow them until we can gather more men.”

“But we need to drive them out now! What do I have an army for if you can’t repel invaders?”

“We will do that, Arklun, but acting before we’re prepared is a major risk.”

“Prepared? Why have I given you so much gold over the years if we’re not prepared right now?”

Rakatek gritted his teeth. The arklun had been miserly in spending for the military, despite entreaties that the men needed more training and the weapons updated. Litlik’s answer, whether explicit or implied, was that Kolinka could not afford expenditures when the Narthani were not a direct threat as they were to the more southern kahsaks. It was a matter of Rakatek’s offended honor that Kolinka did as little as possible to contribute to the war against Narthon. Again, that was an issue for another day. Unfortunately, he was tired, was worried about what was happening, and had had too many such interactions with Litlik.

“We’re as prepared as we could be, with the resources we’ve been given. If you wanted us to be more prepared, you should have paid more attention to the reports and warnings I’ve given you these past years.”

Rakatek regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, not because he did not believe their validity, but because he feared they might push Litlik over the edge to find a warmaster from within the palace circle.

Litlik’s face reddened and his hands whitened from his grip on the large chair. Before he could speak, one of his sons whispered something in his ear. By the time Rakatek was close enough to perform the formal half bow that someone of his status made to the arklun, Litlik’s face and hands had returned to near their normal skin tones. It was his eyes that set off alarms. Rakatek had a sudden image of a predator about to devour a small prey, although in this case he imagined his dismissal from the warmaster post and forced exile somewhere in the far west of Kolinka—far enough away for him to never set foot in Chikawan for the rest of his life. Rakatek recognized it was a fate he could live with. He was superbly confident he had done his duty to the best of his ability to Kolinka under the Litlik family.

“Well, Warmaster? What are you doing to protect Kolinka?”

“As I said, Arklun, we are gathering forces and information about exactly what we face.”

An adviser, one whom Rakatek despised so much his staff never mentioned his name, took his turn whispering to Litlik, who turned his head to concentrate on what was being said. He took on a pensive expression. The consultation continued for several minutes before the adviser stepped back, and Litlik looked again to Rakatek.

“All that has some merit, Warmaster, but there are certainly enough forces available. It . . . uh . . . seems to me that you could concentrate on defeating either invader while delaying the other’s advance, then turning to the second one. In fact, that’s what I order you to do immediately. That is, unless you believe this is something you are incapable of doing.”

It was not only the kind of order Rakatek had feared, it was also far more subtle. By not defining which threat to face first, failure could be deflected from Litlik on the excuse the warmaster should have dealt with the other threat first. Then there was Litlik asking the warmaster if he was capable of carrying out the order, leaving him with the choice of what he believed was premature or giving Litlik the opening to declare him incapable of performing his duties. In another situation, Rakatek could have admired the trap set by the abhorred adviser. In this situation, he needed to salvage what he could for the future of Kolinka.

“As you command, Arklun. I will meet with my staff, and we will plan whether to drive out the Ponomynans or the Mukamonese first. With your leave, I’ll act immediately.”

Litlik’s indifferent wave dismissed Rakatek, but more galling were the satisfied expressions from Litlik and most of his retinue.

Rakatek’s staff was waiting for his return. He wasted no time.

“The audience went as we expected. Litlik wants an immediate effort to repel the invaders. There was a not-so-subtle hint that I would be replaced if this did not happen. As much as that was tempting, it’s certain I would be replaced by a Litlik family favorite—perhaps the brother, who would be a catastrophe for the kahsak.”

Rakatek shrugged and his lips twitched. “However, it could have been worse. He did not order specific actions but left the details to me.”

“To blame you if things go wrong,” snarled an officer.

“Of course. We all know how this is played. But . . . we still have our responsibilities. It’s not that we weren’t aware of this possibility. We had already decided which threat was the most serious. We will simply have to move before we wanted to.”

“Ponomyna,” stated two officers simultaneously.

“Ponomyna,” confirmed Rakatek. “Even though we don’t know their strength.” He turned to his operations officer. “Your group has been studying options. What do you recommend?”

The officer placed a token on the map at a bridge over the Wambal River.

“We need to stop the Mukamonese at the Wambal River. That means not contesting them south of the Wambal. Nobles with land will scream the loudest, but the river is too natural a defense position. The easiest action is to secure the bridges. We already have a battalion stationed near each bridge. We suggest adding a regiment and several artillery batteries, and it’s best to move more units in that direction as potential reinforcements. The bridges themselves are such solid stone that nothing short a major siege cannon could damage them. The Mukamonese are highly unlikely to drag such cannon along with their army, even if they have cannon of that size. We also can assume they want to capture the bridges, both of which are almost half a mile long. We can position artillery to fire on Mukamonese attempting to use the bridge such that their supporting artillery can’t reach our guns. Combined with the infantry, there’s no way for a quick direct capture of either bridge.

“As a fallback option, we can place powder charges strategically so that we could destroy enough sections to make the bridges unusable for months. That would force the Mukamonese to try to ferry men, horses, and wagons across the Wambal, which would be difficult with our people on the northern bank.”

“That works until the Wambal is smaller east toward the Holuskat Mountains,” said an officer. “I’m from that region. The river flow is less, and the bed is wide enough in places to ford. Although . . . hmmm . . . now that I think of it, wagons would still have problems. The river bottom tends to be soft. There are only a few places with rock bottoms, and those are all the way to the mountains. Still, that’s likely what the other force may be scouting for if they intend to go for the upper bridge on the Zamzul River.”

“Likely, but that’s not as important,” said Rakatek. “We have to prioritize. It also requires more imagination and daring than we expect from Arklun Washtah.”

He nodded to the operations officer to continue.

“This leaves us to concentrate first on the Ponomynans. Assuming they come straight at Chikawan, we don’t have any good options until they approach the badlands between the Zamzul and Wambal rivers. We propose to stop them there. The exact plan must wait until we have more information on their size. If we find we outnumber them sufficiently, we could move forward and engage them in open country west of the badlands. That would allow us to maneuver. There’s always the chance they recognize they’re outnumbered so badly that they try to withdraw back to Ponomyna. Of course, that would achieve the primary objective, but it would give us the option to pursue and potentially inflict a bad enough defeat that it would be generations before they were tempted to try something like this again. However, the pursuit would depend on the situation with the Mukamonese.

“On the other hand, if the situation is not that favorable to us, we would pull back into the badlands and wait at the Tahpulta Ravine. We don’t believe the Ponomynans or anyone else appreciates how difficult the badlands are with that broken terrain, sand pits, and the eastern rim of the Tahpulta Ravine as a primary defensive position.”

All the men nodded and/or murmured. Several of them had, to some extent, traversed the badlands, and none liked the experience. The other men knew of the stories. A climatic and geological anomaly, the region received little rainfall, and what little loose soil existed was too poor to support any but the hardiest and most stunted plants. Scattered among the hills, buttes, and rock formations were dangerous sands ranging from a few yards wide to a mile or more. Most of the time, the death sands were like any other sands, though finer grained than most. It was only after an infrequent rain that the firm-appearing sands could suddenly turn into slurries, sucking humans, animals, and wagons as much as three feet below the surface. The name arose from occasional travelers or animals that were caught in the middle of a large slurried area and were unable to reach safety before exhaustion and dehydration killed them, especially during periods of high temperature. As it happened, such conditions currently existed, and few outsiders, even Kolinkans not from the area, knew of the sands.

Rakatek looked around. “For those of you not familiar with the badlands, a seasonal stream also called the Tahpulta has cut a ravine thirty to a hundred feet deep through two-thirds of the badlands.”

“Most of the ravine is easy to defend, forcing the Ponomynans into the few places a major assault might be tried. We can position infantry and artillery to block the single road that crosses the Tahpulta, with cavalry, infantry, and artillery in reserve positions to reinforce points of attack.” He shook his head. “We don’t see any way for them to get past us. If their commander persisted, they would bleed their force until it was degraded enough that we would counterattack and have the pursuit option, as previously described. There will also be nobles’ forces and militias from the west that will continue to arrive as we delay the invaders. The problem there will be coordinating their action once they come in contact with the Ponomynans.”

The officer paused to smile. “And yes, we also consider the unlikely possibility that somehow we cannot hold the ravine. In that case, we would withdraw to the Chikawan bank of the Chikok River as a final defense. By then, our army would be concentrated, the Ponomynans would be far from their supply line, and our forces from western Kolinka would be threatening their rear and flank. Naturally, we don’t expect this scenario. The western forces would already have been a factor, and we don’t expect the Ponomynans to force their way through the badlands.”

The officer stopped and looked to Rakatek.

“Thank you,” said the warmaster. “I think we have a reasonable picture at this point. It’s now up to us to start moving units toward the badlands, do what we can to slow the Ponomynans, and press efforts to garner everything we can about their size and composition.”

“Thank the gods for what we were able to do without the arklun noticing,” said a tall officer. “Otherwise, we would be in far worse condition. Now, if we can just get the western men here in time, we should be able to crush any invasion.”

CHAPTER 31

SKIRMISH AND BREAKOUT

Contact

Colonel Harmon Swavebroke wiped sweat from his face. He had just ridden hard after another report from Major Mulron Luwis, commander of the lead battalion pushing forcefully to get into more open terrain.

“No sign of artillery, Luwis?”

“Not that we’ve seen. That doesn’t mean they don’t have it. This morning was the first serious contact. We estimate a cavalry company tried to force its way forward. Probably trying to test our response and get some sense of how many of us there are. I don’t think they have any idea what’s coming behind us.”

“Well, that’s the key point,” said Swavebroke. “Most of the army is still strung out for God-knows how many miles on that miserable excuse for a road. Thankfully, we’ve broken away from the worst of that forest. Now, any obstructions are relatively easy to remove or detour around.”

“I’d feel a lot better if we could get some six-pounders up here,” said Luwis. “I’m thinking of having a company attack up the road, but I’d like some artillery to shock the Kolinkans with round shot and canister.”

“On the way,” said Swavebroke. “The first battery should be arriving in a few minutes. I sent it on before I left the regiment command post. Two more batteries will follow as soon as we know the first one arrived without problems. What do the scouts say about what’s ahead?”

“I had to pull them back to the battalion. They were getting too many casualties by suddenly stumbling on Kolinkans and exchanging fire. Half of the scouts that are left lost their horses. That’s another reason I pulled them back. We’re using up spare horses too fast.

“This brush may not be as confining as the forest, but it still restricts the field of fire. Our Sharps may have a faster rate of fire than muskets, but not seeing what you’re aiming at negates a lot of our advantage. If they put enough muskets facing us, it could turn nasty. So far, it looks like they’re mainly cavalry with individuals and small groups taking shots and disappearing into the brush. The exception was the one time they pushed hard and withdrew quickly. If it was infantry, we’d expect multiple lines of muskets taking turns firing.”

Swavebroke cursed and slapped a hand on his saddle’s pommel. “Something’s got to change. I agree with Kolsko that too few men are holding us up. If they had more, they’d be hitting the column’s flanks. Then we’d have this sniping back and forth all along the column, instead of just at the front of the column on the road. Yozef asked me to assess with you before he’s going to order you to form three companies abreast and attack what’s in front of us, damn brush or not.”

“I’d hate to do that, but I see—”

Luwis’s horse suddenly jerked to one side, just before a roar of musket fire erupted close but out of sight. Several musket balls whizzed through the air. A horse nearby went to its knees before keeling over, its rider jumping clear just in time.

Horses and riders jammed the road where Swavebroke and Luwis were meeting. Riders fought to control their mounts reacting to the fire. A scattering of Sharps responded. Voices shouted, not all of them in Caedelli.

A second sound wave of musket fire washed over them. Luwis yelled at the men before turning to Swavebroke. “Get back, and I’ll send word when I find out what’s happening.”

The regiment commander did not hesitate. This was Luwis’s job. Despite offending his sensibilities, Yozef was right that commanders led and let others do their duties. As he led his small party back to the regiment headquarters, he could hear musket volleys and continuous Sharps firing back where he’d left Luwis. Suddenly, and while he was still passing men in Luwis’s battalion, sporadic musket fire came closer, from the column’s flanks.

For the first time, he was worried. Were there more Kolinkans than they thought, and had they laid a trap? This damn road! First the forest and now this brush!

Mulron Luwis

Mulron left his horse with an aide and ran hunched over. Somewhere around the sixth musket volley, he estimated the time between volleys and used part of the interval to race forward, diving to the earth in time to avoid the next volley. It worked . . . most of the time. He could hear muskets firing from both flanks the last fifty yards—but as single shots or a few muskets at a time. He had to let the column handle those while he assessed what was happening at the column’s point.

He came around a curve in the road to a hundred-yard straightaway and saw the first casualties. Twenty men or more lay on the ground behind a low hump of ground. Most of the men had attendees. Eight did not. From a glance as he passed, he assume those eight were dead. He found the company commander in a depression beside the road, talking with two officers just before the road turned again.

“What do we have?” he asked the captain as he pressed beside the men.

“Surprised us! And what do you expect!? We’re just short of blind in all this crap! The lead platoon’s lieutenant, a dozen of his men, and over half their horses were hit when this wall of infantry rose from the ground and out of the brush. They must have been kneeling and lying down.

“We’re lucky they didn’t advance like we know musket infantry does as they attack. They’re just standing at their position and firing. It gave us time to get our wounded back and more men forward. We’ve pushed out from the road on both sides until we found the end of their line. Looks like maybe a company-size force. Of course, we don’t know what’s behind them.”

“But you are holding this position?”

“Yes, if this is all they’ve got. They’re taking too many casualties to keep firing much longer. Packed together like they are, it’s hard to miss with how close we are. After the first few volleys, our men have learned to estimate when to fire. Since then, we’ve only had a few casualties and mainly because when we do fire, the men had to rise to their feet to see anything.”

“Forget aiming!” exclaimed Luwis. “If the Kolinkans are that close, have the men keep lying down. Just reload and fire forward as fast as they can. You’re bound to hit something besides brush. A question is what’s with the sniping from the flanks? So far, it sounds like the next company behind us is taking fire. We haven’t had a problem yet, though we’re worrying whether the Kolinkans will hit us from the flanks with more of these musket lines. You focus on those on your front. I’ll see what we can do about the flanks.”

Ilio Chimon

The Kolinkan major had a decision to make. They had been in contact with the Ponomynans for the second day. The infantry company had arrived the previous day as reinforcements. He was not sure what someone in higher authority thought a single company could accomplish, but it did give him an option. His cavalry was not trained or equipped for this terrain. They needed enough open ground to move quickly and maneuver, and the short muskets, pistols, lances, and swords were likewise inappropriate.

The sniping and the sporadic skirmishes might be slowing the Ponomynans, but open grassland was only a half mile farther. The Kolinkans had to know what they faced.

I should have sent scouts to their flanks yesterday, Chimon thought. He would later be evaluated negatively for not being more aggressive in intelligence gathering, but the review allowed for surprise, shock, and uncertainty about what was happening.

He already knew what the infantry captain was going to report, but he needed to hear firsthand.

The captain had to salute with his left hand, the right hand encumbered by a bandage and a sling.

“I had to withdraw, Major. My men held firm despite losses until they brought up too many for us to exchange fire with. What I can’t understand is that we hardly ever saw them. It was like they didn’t bother to have us in view. However they did it, there were suddenly ten or more times the number of them firing. They also didn’t use volleys. The effect was the same as if we were under a continuous volley from maybe ten times our number. As soon as that started, I ordered the withdrawal before we were completely destroyed. As it was, their fire was so intense I lost a third of my men dead or badly wounded.”

Chimon did not apologize for sending the infantry company forward against unknown odds, but he would deal with his guilt later.

“You and your men did yourselves honor, Captain. You delayed them and gave us valuable information that will save lives later.”

Chimon hoped it was true, but his decision was confirmed.

“We’ll be withdrawing immediately, Captain. We need to get the wounded and the information back as fast as possible.”

And without us getting annihilated, he thought.

“We’ve dumped anything not essential from the wagons. You need to load your wounded, and other men will ride double with my cavalry. We’ll treat wounds as well as we can while moving until we’re confident the Ponomynans won’t catch us.”

The captain saluted again. Chimon watched him gingerly turn and begin giving orders.

That’s a brave man, as are his men, he thought. An hour later, his scouts had probed along the Ponomynan column. Too many of them had not returned, but those who did included a group of five who said they got four miles paralleling the road without coming to the end of the enemy. He was not sure what to make of their report that the clothing of the Ponomynans changed as they got farther along the column.

Maybe different units have different clothing, he thought. Whatever it meant was secondary. This was no major raid. This was an invasion that had not happened in generations. It was something he had imagined coming only from the Narthani to the east, not from another kahsak. Time was of the essence. He had to get his men to safety. He would leave scouts hanging back to keep distant contact and hoped the Ponomynans did not pursue aggressively. If they did and in the numbers he feared, he might have to abandon the infantry, wagons, and the wounded to focus on getting most of his men to safety.

While he waited for the infantry to finish loading on wagons, he wrote a summary of what he knew and gave it to the man in charge of the carrier murvors that had arrived with the infantry company. The purple and black creatures were as ugly as any murvor.

Why couldn’t the gods have made carrier birds, he thought. Most of them are better looking than any murvor and with better dispositions.

He had kept the murvors and their keepers well back from his battalion—the incessant squawking was a characteristic of this type of murvor and could be heard for miles. They were also notoriously unreliable, having the habit of simply disappearing into a local flock of the same species, instead of returning to their home roost—which in this case was the military headquarters near Chikawan. From there, a semaphore line would carry the message backtracking ninety miles to the end of the line before transferring to riders for the last fifty miles to where a Kolinkan army was positioning. Given that the murvors were among the fastest known, he estimated Rakatek would get the news in no more than five hours.

To account for the carrier murvors’ unreliability, six murvors would be released with the same message at thirty-minute intervals. This type of murvor was not endemic to the northern Iraquinik kahsaks, but if released together they would tend to form an ad-hoc flock and settle wherever they were.

Mulron Luwis

Mulron followed the messenger forward to where the lead company’s captain sat on his horse, waiting atop a low rise of land that ran perpendicular to the road. The brush had grown noticeably sparser and shorter the mile and a half from the brief fight. The captain smiled broadly as Mulron pulled alongside, said nothing, but raised an arm and pointed.

The road was visible continuing northeast, straight without a bend for a mile or more. He could see most of the backs of the company’s men and horses as they moved along the road a quarter mile ahead. Most, but not all of the men. Twenty to thirty men rode as far as two hundred yards from the road, forming an arc ahead of the company. Mulron pulled out a telescope to confirm what he thought he saw.

“Thank a Merciful God,” he muttered. Where his horse stood breathing heavily, the brush was no more than chest high, but where the farthest dragoon rode, he could clearly see their horses’ bellies were well clear of the plants under them.

“Tell me I’m not imagining that’s grass,” said Mulron.

“That it is, Major,” said the captain, holding a tuft of grass with stems two feet long and a cluster of small seeds at one end. “I came back here to meet you, but the brush is almost gone by the time you reach the bottom of this rise. I had a couple of squads gallop two miles farther. They say it’s grass as far as they can see from a good-size hill they topped, maybe three to five miles farther.”

Mulron leaned over and slapped the captain on the back. “I’ll get a rider off to Harmon. He’ll do the same to Yozef.” He stopped and smiled when the captain smirked. “I mean Colonel Swavebroke and General Kolsko.”

Both men laughed, prompted by relief at reaching open ground

The men who knew Yozef the longest persisted in using his first name in private. However, he’d decreed that for the campaign, they would use formal titles to be consistent in interacting with the different units and nationalities of the Alliance. Rumors were that Yozef had wanted to be referred to as Paramount but settled on General. Word was the Fuomi marshal and General Kivalian had persevered that he needed a title commensurate with being the lead figure in the entire campaign.

CHAPTER 32

FOUR HOURS AND SIXTY MILES

Yozef Kolsko

Four hours later, Yozef stood on the same rise where Mulron Luwis had first viewed the open terrain lying ahead. However, Yozef was off the road and in the middle of a fifty-foot patch of ground hurriedly cleared of low vegetation and now trampled by feet and hooves. A cluster of mainly men and two women surrounded a map on a collapsible table with a canopy overhead.

“All right,” said Yozef, “we’ve planned for this. Let’s keep the Alliance dragoons and Ponomynan cavalry off the road as much as possible to give the wagons priority. Our information is that this road runs to within sixty miles of Chikawan before many more roads exist in the farming area around the city. My command position will be with the Alliance Division support regiment using available roads. Then interspersed wagons will be carrying supplies, infantry, and artillery.

“The division’s dragoon regiments will parallel the road, the Caedelli regiment on the left, followed by Munjor; the Fuomi regiment on the right, followed by Naskin. Four groups of Ponomynan cavalry will be farther out, flanking the road, and a combination of Ponomynan and Alliance dragoons will be men serving as skirmishers surrounding the army to make first contact with any Kolinkans. Finally, Ponomynan scouts will range two to four miles to our direction of movement and the flanks—if possible. Their purpose is to keep us informed of the presence of approaching major Kolinkan forces.

“If we encounter terrain features that prevent us from maintaining these dispositions, we’ll assess how to respond. The scouts should give us ample warning if we need to adjust. We will now move as fast as we can, short of losing too many horses, until we confront a major Kolinkan force. We don’t know exactly how they will react. If possible, harassment attacks will be handled by skirmishers and Ponomynan cavalry. If that isn’t enough, we’ll respond as it happens. We doubt they’ll launch serious attacks against a force this size unless they believe they have enough of an advantage in numbers to go on the offensive. The alternative is they choose to wait for us in defensive stances. If that happens, we’ll try to maneuver and force them out of those positions.

“The disposition as we move is intended to avoid having a long trail that can be attacked. By staying compact, we can quickly move Alliance regiments to face a Kolinkan force coming from any direction. Some of you Iraquiniks have still not directly witnessed weapons of the Alliance Division. I appreciate the trust that you’ve shown.”

He paused to look in the eyes of each man. “There are a couple of sayings about warfare. One is that no plan survives contact with the enemy. That’s one reason why our basic campaign plan is so simple, with the details left to developments. Our immediate objective is to make contact with major Kolinkan forces, defeat them, drive the rest back to Chikawan, and force the Litlik family and their main supporters out of power.

“A second saying refers to the ‘fog of war,’ knowing where the enemy is and keeping track of our own forces. Communication is essential, and you’re all aware that with our army using so many different languages, it is especially important we maintain physical contact. We will only violate this intent under circumstances that require it.

“That’s it,” Yozef said. “If there are no questions, let’s get on with it.”

There were none. He did not expect questions. His last words and tone were deliberately intended to discourage discussion. Nothing he had said since the group gathered was new. It was an opportunity for them to see the “big picture” of the army deploying as he had described from their vantage point. It was also a chance for him to reinforce a few basic principles of their advance—an effort borne partially by his insecurity about the allies working together and his feeling unqualified. He would only later realize that the reason he kept Kivalian and Vernik so close was the hope they would bail him out when he made mistakes. Either that, or they could develop a plausible reason why they should take over his command.

As soon as the men dispersed to their positions, Yozef went to his command group within the headquarters regiment and already a third of a mile down the road. Gwadlyn Duway was waiting for him, four riders standing nearby holding their horses’ reins.

“Send them off, Duwey.”

She turned without speaking, went to the four men, and handed each a leather dispatch pouch. Inside were identical copies of one of two possible short phrases written in four languages. The words were nonsensical and had meaning only for the recipients waiting at the resupply depot across the border in Ponomyna. One phrase signaled to do nothing. The couriers carried the second phrase ordering to send a waiting resupply column: ninety-four wagons and four hundred Ponomynan cavalry. A second and final resupply column would wait in Ponomyna. Yozef hoped the train from Ponomyna would not be needed if everything went well. If not, it might mean the campaign’s outcome was in serious doubt.

The campaign needed to be relatively rapid. One of Yozef’s many fears was that the Kolinkans would pull a smaller version of the Russian tactic of withdrawing when Napoleon or the Germans invaded, attempting to lure the invaders far from their resupply lines before counterattacking.

Horen Rakatek

Sixty-nine miles southwest of Chikawan, Warmaster Rakatek reread the dispatch delivered to him minutes earlier. He slapped the sheet.

“There it is, gentlemen. Any thought that this is only a major raid can now be dismissed. Major Chimon had scouts report a Ponomynan train at least four miles long and likely much longer. Cavalry, infantry, artillery, wagons.”

“How many of them?” asked a staffer.

“No numbers yet, but by now they’ve broken into the grasslands, so we should be getting good estimates in the next few days. Until then, we need to prepare for multiple scenarios, ranging from so few of them that we can take aggressive offensive actions or so many we will have to consider where to take defensive stands.

“Right now, we have men spread out from Chikawan into the badlands, where we have units at the Tahpulta Ravine. That will be our main staging position if we go on the offensive and a good natural position if it’s to be defense. Let’s work out the details, but all available units are to get moving to Tahpulta if they aren’t already, and speed them up if they are. That includes the supplies waiting in warehouses, fodder, animals, and . . . well, I don’t have to tell you your jobs. Get to it, gentleman. The kahsak looks to us.”

Amaz Muhabi

Commanding a Caedelli battalion with Fuomi, Landolin, and Iraquinik allies to punish an Iraquinik kahsak for colluding with Narthon still seemed so far from plausible that Major Amaz Muhabi laughed for no apparent reason often enough that he acquired the reputation of being somewhat odd. Such opinions did not deflect from the respect shown by his subordinates and the higher ranks, which for the latter meant Swavebroke and Kolsko.

It was the rotation turn of the ex-Narthani, ex-slave’s battalion to supply two platoons as forward skirmishers to accompany those from Ponomyna. This was the third day since the army had reached the open terrain, and the first time for his battalion to supply forward skirmishers. His men were ordered to refrain from firing at Kolinkans unless necessary—to avoid tipping off the Kolinkans about the capability of the Sharps breech loader. The men were dispersed by squad in a rough line, staying within sight of one another. As Muhabi talked with one of the platoon leaders and half of a squad, he was startled to hear unmistakable Sharps fire.

“That’s only a few hundred yards away!” gasped the platoon lieutenant.

Muhabi rose in his stirrups as heads and then torsos appeared at the top of a hillock in the direction of the firing. Seconds later, the riders’ identities resolved as five Caedelli, one hunched in the saddle, his horse led by another rider. Another horse held two riders, and one rider held a bloody arm to his chest, barely holding on to his mount.

“Kolinkans!” one rider called out at fifty yards, then reined in at ten yards. “Must be a couple of platoons, maybe a company of cavalry. Came roaring out of a draw right in front of us not twenty yards from our point skirmisher. He never had a chance and got cut down by a lancer.”

Then scores of lance heads with pennants rose from the hillocks top.

“We need to pull back,” yelled the lieutenant to Muhabi.

“Too late! The wounded and double on a horse won’t get away. Everyone dismount and prepare to repel.”

Within seconds, twelve horses had been released, some to run off, others to mill around or stand still. The dragoons stood or knelt in place. No attempt was made to form a line—there was no time.

The lances lengthened, became attached to riders, and then thirty or forty Kolinkans boiled over the crest. A man to Muhabi’s right fired first, hitting a Kolinkan horse that collapsed forward, crushing its rider before the man could kick clear. A following horse crashed into the body, its rider jumping free.

Two more dragoons fired, then the rest. More Kolinkans and horses were hit. Muhabi fired twice before he noticed dragoons of the skirmish to their left and right galloping to the fight.

The Kolinkans were within fifty yards before they fired short muskets or pistols. The smooth bores were inherently inaccurate, amplified on horseback. Yet three balls found targets. A dragoon’s left leg jerked backward from a pistol ball to the calf. One horse reared and hobbled off on three legs. Another horse dropped in place.

Muhabi fired again, then glanced to see five dragoons riding in from the left to fire their Sharps and try to reload while controlling their horses.

The Kolinkans, having expended their firearms, drew swords. Those without muskets lowered their lances, only to be stopped when one of the riders blew a shrieking whistle. Most of the Kolinkans still on horses responded, wheeled their mounts, and raced back up the shallow grade. Two Kolinkans had not heard or had ignored the recall and were cut from their saddles at thirty yards by the closest dragoons. Four more Kolinkans were hit in the back before they could get over the crest.

The firing stopped. Muhabi paused a moment to take a deep breath. He wasn’t sure whether he had breathed at all in the last two minutes.

More dragoons began arriving. Several started up the hillock.

Muhabi yelled at the lieutenant. “Tell those men just to confirm what the Kolinkans are doing but not to engage by themselves.”

Five minutes later, they had a complete assessment: the surviving Kolinkans were seen riding northeast; twelve Kolinkans dead and four wounded, not taken with the others as they withdrew; one Caedelli dead and three wounded; and most disturbing was a missing dragoon from the original group that first encountered the Kolinkans. As fortune would have it, the missing dragoon’s Sharps was found still in its scabbard, hidden under the dead horse.

“The other men don’t know if he was dead or alive,” said the lieutenant to Muhabi. “It was so chaotic. One man looked back and saw the horse down and the rider motionless. That’s all we know.”

Ilio Chimon

The Kolinkan battalion commander was irate.

“I gave clear orders not to engage if it can be avoided,” snarled Chimon at the young officer. Blood was on the man’s shirt and dotted his right cheek. Chimon didn’t know whether it was the officer’s blood or from one of his men.

“You lost half your men, dead or wounded, and for what!?”

“They saw a chance to strike at the Ponomynans and took it,” said the man, unapologetic. “Even if I’d wanted to stop them, most of them charged before I knew what was happening.”

“So . . . I take it you do not feel you need to obey orders, AND you don’t have control of your men. You are relieved of your command. I have no use for you. Get your ass out of my sight and back to Tahpulta to see if anyone there can find something unimportant for you to do.”

The man’s face reddened as he barely held back words. He whirled in place and stomped to his horse. Chimon wished he could have reduced the man to the lowest-level rank, but, arrogant and incompetent or not, he was a younger son of a noble from northeast of Chikawan. One had to be ever aware of potential political consequences.

“One good thing came of it,” said Chimon’s second-in-command. “We now know the Caedelli are part of the invasion. Too bad the man died, but we were fortunate one of our men recognized a letter the man had on him was written in Caedelli. He couldn’t translate it, of course, but it looks like an old letter the man kept for some reason.”

“I guess that discovery is rationally fortunate, but I’m not sure Warmaster Rakatek is going to be happy. And yes . . . better to be informed and unhappy than be oblivious. I’ll also have to use the last of our homing murvors to pass this information on. I don’t know where Rakatek is right now, so I’ll sent a rider to Tahpulta as well, in case he’s there. I’ll point out—diplomatically, I hope—that our battalion has been maintaining contact and could use more help. Find a good rider and give him two horses, three if he thinks he can lead two to start off. I want him to get to Tahpulta as fast as possible. If I guess right, there should be a semaphore line set up by now back to Chikawan.”

Horen Rakatek

“This just gets better all the time,” said Rakatek, staring up into space after the rider from Major Chimon delivered the dispatch. “Ponomynans, Mukamonese, and now Caedelli. What’s next? Landoliners, Buldorians, Fuomi, demons from hades?”

“I doubt it,” said the staff intelligence officer, “but I think we are at the point of not ruling anything out. There have already been so many surprises, there’s no rationale for thinking there won’t be more.”

Rakatek searched for words to counter his cousin . . . and could not find them. He sighed.

“You’re right, as usual. Maybe you should be the warmaster.”

“No thanks, Horen, I’m satisfied putting information together for you, rather than having to make the big decisions.”

“A wise man. So. We need more information. Chimon was right about not wasting men in futile attacks, but I’m afraid that has to change if we’re going to learn more about exactly what we’re facing. The invaders have managed to keep Chimon away from the main body. We still don’t have a good count of how many there are. We either have to make probes in force or find views high enough to see their force from a distance beyond where they’re keeping our people. Let’s think about this. Find someone who knows the land from here to, what? About eighty miles southwest?”

“I have the man. He’s from a village in the northwest part of these badlands, but he claims to know the entire area well. He doesn’t admit it, but I suspect his family has long been involved in smuggling and various other activities.”

Fifteen minutes later, a thirtyish man with several facial scars was hunched over a map and oblivious to being shoulder to shoulder with the warmaster.

“Not many places like you want. Oh . . . there are hills, more as you approach the badlands, but from what you describe you want, the observations need to be from at least five hundred feet, and I assume you want this done yesterday, like officers always want.”

Rakatek suppressed a grin. He might find some reasons to keep this man at hand. There was always a need for men who weren’t too intimidated to give honest advice and reports.

“Why so high?”

“Well, you say they keep skirmishers away from the main body. Then there’s the angle of viewing. It’s one thing to see a mass of men or animals, and something else to make counts that mean anything.”

The man stopped speaking as if something just occurred to him, then pointed to the map.

“Ah . . . now about here’s a possibility. It’s called Litlik’s Balls. A couple of high hills at the end of a grassy ridge.”

The man looked up when several officers gasped or marginally smothered laughs.

“Hey. I didn’t name it. That’s what it’s called, though I guess I can see why you wouldn’t find it on a map. Anyway . . . both hills are probably seven or eight hundred feet high. I couldn’t give you exact directions how to get there, but I remember you can see the tops from ten to fifteen miles off. Horses can’t get to the tops, but men can scramble up the slopes on the western side. If you have them, telescopes should let you make a good count from at least five miles away.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” asked Rakatek.

“Kwomok. Balam Kwomok.”

“And your rank? I see you don’t wear any insignia.”

“Whatever’s lowest, that’s me.”

“Well, now you’re Sergeant Kwomok, attached to the intelligence staff. You’ve got one hour to pick four more men to go with you to make the count of the invaders. I’ll send along a junior officer to help with the count, but you’ll be in charge, and we’ll send you off with a couple of telescopes. I’ll even include one of my own that was made by a master glassworker in Irapah Kahsak. Try to bring it back in one piece. It’s valued at enough to buy a farm.

“Before you leave, pick out several other men who know the badlands the best. They’ll help improve our maps.”

CHAPTER 33

STATUS

Yozef Kolsko

“What do you estimate, Uzman? How far have we come since crossing the border?”

“I think about a hundred miles, Yozef . . . uh . . . General.”

Yozef smiled. “I think we can use first names when alone, Uzman. I just think more formality is good when we’re in meetings or groups. Seems so . . . professional, I’d call it, and prevents men from wondering why different men are referred to by first or last names.”

Uzman relaxed. “It can get confusing. As I said, maybe a hundred miles. That’s good for being into the sixth day and considering the first part with the damn forest. It’s even worse on the Kolinkan side than the Ponomynan, although I confess I’ve never been to either side. I’ve traveled extensively throughout Ponomyna, but I guess there was never a reason to go to that part of the border.”

“How are your men holding up? There’s got to be a bit of apprehension as we get farther from the border and still have made no major contact with the Kolinkans.”

Uzman shrugged. “Some are relieved, some are, as you say, apprehensive. Overall, no problem. I’ll ask you the same question. How are the other units feeling? I’m assuming the Caedelli and Fuomi are all right, but I haven’t interacted much with the Landoliners or the other kahsaks.”

Yozef considered how honest to be with Uzman, then decided the Ponomynans had been so cooperative, it would be disrespectful and potentially dangerous to withhold forthright answers.

“Generally good. The one exception that worries me is the Naskinese. Their leader, Bindbar, is a sore point. I just haven’t decided how much of a problem he is. His regiment has so far been the last to be ready to move every morning since we launched. I’ve also had reports from our medical leader that the sanitary conditions of their night bivouac seem to worsen every day. I’ve spoken with him about it, but I’m skeptical that it’s having an effect.

“Munjor is different. I’ve no problem with their men or leaders. I admitted to Gaya that I was initially worried that he was given command of their regiment either because of his political standing or because of his familiarity with Caedellium. I’m glad to say I’m satisfied with his performance.”

Now it was Uzman’s turn to smile. “And what about my performance? What’s your evaluation?”

“Satisfactory. You’re thrust into a situation for which no Ponomynan has relevant experience. Oh . . . I know you have people with more command time, but you’re faced with something that none of them have encountered. As far as I can see, you listen to your senior officers, you are honest enough to know the tactics in this campaign are too new to predict every response we’ll be making, and you have the respect of your men. That’s about all I can ask.”

“You know, Yozef, not everyone would respond well to such an honest evaluation.”

“That’s one important way to winnow out those men. War is too serious to worry about hurt feelings.”

Uzman’s eyebrows conveyed his reservations.

“Okay, so maybe you can’t totally ignore feelings,” said Yozef, “but the main point holds true. A military where commanders and subordinates aren’t as honest as possible starts off at a disadvantage.”

Vinok Washtah

“Quit fussing like an old woman, Torsunk,” said the Mukamonese arklun. “We’re doing the best thing by focusing on the Wambal bridges. Anyone with a brain could see that’s more important than the upper Zamzul bridge. Kolsko just shows he’s not as great as he’s made out to be by the plan he proposed.”

The Mukamonese warmaster knew better than to directly contradict Washtah, who almost always thought any idea of his was the best possible. Despite being the arklun’s uncle, three times removed, family or not, he knew to tread lightly around Washtah and his immediate family if he wanted to hold his position.

“I don’t doubt your sagacity, Arklun, it’s just that we did agree to Kolsko’s plan. We already changed the main objective, meaning we’re taking more time than necessary to move toward the upper Wambal bridge and later the upper Zamzul bridge. The intent was to take these bridges as quickly as possible.”

Washtah smiled benignly. “Once again, my idea is better. By not rushing, we give the Kolinkans time to move more men to deal with Tasman Gangala along the Zamzul River and Kolsko and the others heading to Chikawan. That way, once we get to the upper Wambal bridge, there will be fewer Kolinkans for us to fight. It also means we would have an easier time withdrawing back to Mukamon if this entire campaign falls apart.”

Yes, maybe, thought Torsunk, but it also means they’ve had more time to prepare defenses. The Mukamonese warmaster was not as sanguine about the longer-term effects of Washtah showing himself—and, by association, all of Mukamon—to be unreliable.

As for the basic campaign plan, he was empathetic with Washtah’s doubts. So many different parts. Coordinating forces well out of contact. Depending on timetables designed on paper and new weapons whose effectiveness and reliability were untested.

Yes, Torsunk believed, there were too many uncertainties, but also the potential negative consequences for Washtah’s unilateral changes. During his career, he had never assumed he always knew the right path. He just wished his people’s ruler was more flexible and honorable.

Oh, well, he thought with only a slight hint of amusement, one can’t have everything.

Tasman Gangala

“I guess we’re paying back the god of fortune because the lower Zamzul bridge fell to us too easily,” said Tasman’s cousin, who commanded a cavalry brigade.

The eldest son of the Ponomynan arklun tore off a piece of cured beef from the shard he held. The sun was high in the sky, and it was the first thing he had eaten today. He chewed and did not bother answering. The sporadic musket and occasional cannon firings had been going on since first light, continuing from the previous day.

After surprising the small garrison at the lower bridge at sunrise, they had suffered only a few casualties before the bridge’s guards had either surrendered or fled to the north bank. Most of Tasman’s command had moved on the same day, leaving a thousand infantry to help dig and build fortifications on both ends of the bridge. Half of that infantry used wagons to catch up with the main force, taking the high-quality road paralleling the river all the way past the upper Zamzul bridge northeast of Chikawan. As planned, five hundred infantry and six 8-pounder cannon were left to prevent the first bridge from being retaken or to destroy it if recapture was imminent.

The first indication that the second bridge would be more difficult came thirty miles farther on when an estimated regiment of Kolinkan cavalry fought a two-hour battle with Tasman’s forward elements before being driven off. Lesser engagements had slowed their progress until they reached within sight of the next bridge and found it defended by a dug-in Kolinkan infantry regiment and the previously encountered cavalry regiment was situated to the southeast and in position to threaten Tasman’s flank and rear.

The first two attempts to take the bridge had been sobering. The Kolinkans had 12-pounder cannon and three-deep lines of infantry protected by earthen berms on the Chikawan side of the river. The only cannon accompanying Tasman’s force were 8-pounders.

A senior officers’ conference had concluded the only quick way to take the bridge was a direct assault on the Kolinkan infantry and artillery. Tasman had gritted his teeth when he gave the order for a cavalry attack, knowing the first ranks would be decimated. He hoped the rest could penetrate the Kolinkan position before the artillery reloaded. His hope went unfulfilled. So many horses and men fell in the first artillery fusillade and infantry rows rising about the berms to fire that the following ranks were called back by Tasman.

The second attempt was at night with cavalry and infantry. Despite heavy casualties, a breach of the berm was achieved, but coordination was too limited to hold on. The attack failed, again with heavy casualties for the forward units. Another of Tasman’s cousins died with most of his infantry company.

“This isn’t going to work,” Tasman told a gathering of senior officers. “They’re too dug in, and our artillery can’t get close enough.”

“We could start digging trenches to get closer to put our cannon in position to be effective,” suggested an older officer.

“No time,” said Tasman. “Our objective is to prevent this bridge from being used to bring in reinforcements to Chikawan. More Kolinkan units could arrive here any day, making our task even harder. We could be stuck here preventing crossing to this side of the river instead of moving on. We’re running out of time.”

“Then we have to put enough men across the Zamzul to attack the other side of the bridge,” said Tasman’s surviving cousin. “From what we see, they haven’t posted that many men on the other side, and from this bank we can’t see any artillery over there.”

“It’s a damned wide river, deep, though not particularly fast moving in this part,” said a voice Tasman did not immediately recognize. “But it might be done, depending on how many men we want to put across.”

“I don’t think it could be cavalry,” said Tasman. “We’d lose too many of the horses, and half the cavalry would be on foot.”

“We’ll also lose men if it’s infantry,” said the cousin. “Only way I see is to use our best swimmers and strongest horses to get ropes across and secure them to trees. While that’s happening, build rafts to be pulled back and forth. There’s no time for a bridge. We’d also have to do it well downstream and hope they don’t discover what we’re doing.”

“Anyone have a better idea?” asked Tasman. No one did. “All right. I remember the river has that series of bends about ten miles back from where we came. There’re also trees big enough for the rafts. Any closer and they’re bound to see us. We’ll have to be lucky as it is.

By early afternoon and ten miles southwest, fifty men were screening the north bank for stray Kolinkans, and five hundred men were using hatchets and the few axes available to cut trees up to a foot in diameter. By sundown, a crude ferry system was in place at the cost of six men drowned and twenty-four horses swept away, the casualties floating downstream and away from the bridge. The two functioning rafts could take only twelve men and minimal supplies and ammunition across at a time.

Four hours before sunrise, Tasman had to make a decision.

“We’ve only got two companies across. If they have any chance of hitting the opposite end of the bridge, we have to send them off now. We might get another company over in time as reinforcements, but that’s got to be it.”

The order was given, and Tasman and his cousin stood alone on the riverbank.

“I hope this is worth it,” said Tasman. “Few of those men might get back to us alive.”

“No, but it’s the only way any of us believe has a chance. That’s why I’m glad it’s you making these decisions.”

Tasman sighed. “Enough feeling guilty for now. There’ll be time for that later. Let’s get back to the bridge and the rest of our men. We need to be ready tomorrow morning, in case those two companies get close enough that the Kolinkans see them as a threat. They might pull back some of their men on our side of the river to protect the other end of the bridge. That will be our signal to launch another frontal attack. If the gods are with us, the defenses will be just weakened enough.”

An hour before sunrise, there was enough light for Tasman to use a telescope to examine the Kolinkan positions and the bridge. He had finished the latest scan when sporadic musket fire was heard from across the river. Within a few minutes, the firing was constant but no cannon.

“They made it that far,” said the cousin, breathing heavily from running. “Any movement yet on our side?”

“A couple of horsemen. Then nothing. Wait. I see men on foot. Twenty. Thir—”

“Yes, I can see them without a scope.”

“Must be close to a company. It’s going to take them several minutes to cross to the other bank.”

A captain ran to Tasman. “My men can see Kolinkans leave several positions and at least three or four of their twelve-pounders are suddenly not protruding from their positions.”

Tasman nodded without responding, listening to the musket fire across the river. He lowered the telescope. “Get ready for the signal. As soon as we see a cannon on the bridge, we attack.”

Three endless minutes later, an air bladder–operated horn cut through all sounds. The Ponomynan cavalry attacked from two positions, one directly in front of the bridge and the other along the riverbank thirty seconds after the Kolinkans focused on the first attack. Tasman thought, or hoped, that the cannon and musket response was less than the previous attempts. The lead cavalry wave was three hundred yards from the Kolinkan line when the first cannon fired. A horse can travel that far from a standstill in thirty-five to forty-five seconds. There was no attempt at keeping to a formation—success and survival meant reaching the Kolinkan positions as fast as possible.

Tasman was not in the forefront, but when he saw the first Ponomynan cavalryman ride over the main Kolinkan berm, he led a five hundred–horse reserve forward. Two thousand infantry followed as fast as individuals could cover the quarter mile from their positions. Tasman passed far too many dead and wounded Ponomynan men and horses, but he reached the berm with little opposition, bypassing cannon abandoned by fleeing gunners.

A major met him inside the berm. “They’re retreating over the bridge. I’ve stopped our men from going after them. We are preparing in case they turn and try to retake this end of the bridge.”

“Get any men who have handled cannon to turn the Kolinkan twelve-pounders around and position them to cover the bridge. I’ll send back for our artillery to move up and join you here.”

Two hours later, Tasman was satisfied the middle Zamzul bridge was secure at the cost of 1,200 casualties, including 320 dead. Among them were a third of the men who had crossed the river to divert the Kolinkans. The remainder of the day was spent dealing with the wounded, who were then loaded onto wagons and send back to Ponomyna; burying the dead; improving the position on the south end of the bridge; and beating back quickly aborted attacks. One was by Kolinkan infantry on a suicidal attack across the bridge. Another was the Kolinkan cavalry regiment beaten off after suffering heavy losses in what Tasman recognized as a heroic, yet foolish, attack against infantry and artillery.

The sun was an hour from setting when Tasman ordered everyone to secure for the night. The men and the horses needed rest. The next morning, he sent four riders to try and find the main force under Kolsko. He had a decision to make—what to do next?

Horen Rakatek

He waited impatiently outside his command tent after word came that Kwomok’s party had returned after being gone three days. More units had arrived from northern Kolinka, and more yet were on their way from the west and were expected to cross the middle Zamzul bridge and proceed south southeast to join Rakatek at Tahpulta.

Patience nearly exhausted, he was about to search for the returned party when Kwomok and the captain who’d been sent with him appeared around the corner of a tent fifty feet away. Rakatek did not wait for them to come closer.

“Could you get a good count?”

“Yes,” said Kwomok, “but next time send someone with us who doesn’t need looking after.”

The veteran captain turned red. “That damn ‘hill’ he described is almost vertical. He said a horse couldn’t make it, but I’m surprised all six of us survived up and down.”

“I don’t care about your adventure,” Rakatek said in a grating tone. “Did you get a count?”

“Sorry, Warmaster. I estimated thirty thousand. Sergeant Kwomok believes more, closer to thirty-four thousand. I was surprised how they deployed. Lots of cavalry in blocks left and right of a wagon train on the road. Scouts and skirmishers out as much as several miles on all sides. We barely got our count and back down to the horses before they got to us.”

“Infantry?” asked Rakatek.

The captain rubbed his beard. “At first, I was surprised at how few, but the sergeant spotted that much of the infantry is riding in wagons. He says he could see them switch. It must mean the infantry takes turns marching and riding.”

“Hmmm . . . ,” expressed Rakatek, considering. “Over long distances, men on foot are only a little slower than on horseback, but the wagons let the entire force move faster and keep the infantry fresh. Were all the wagons on the road?”

“Most of them, but quite a few were not. The sergeant claims there was a lot of artillery off the road. He says the ground is firm enough the next twenty miles or so that there isn’t much difference in the surface on or off the road.”

“Hades,” said Kwomok. “It’s often better off the road where there’s less dust and grit from the traffic. Remember, it seldom rains in this part of Kolinka. This is actually the first time I’ve seen the Tahpulta River with this much water. We got that freak rainstorm two sixdays ago that lasted three days. Flash floods everywhere, and the water hasn’t all flowed away yet. The ground has dried again, but once this many horses and wagons travel over the road, the dust and grit reappears. But off the road, it’s like the surface is as hard now as it ever was.”

“All right,” said Rakatek. “Good job, men. Captain, return to your unit. As for you, Kwomok, get rested and clean up. I suspect you’ll be busy with more guiding to do in the coming sixdays.”

“One thing,” said Kwomok. “Uh . . . Warmaster. Now that I’m a sergeant, does that mean more pay, and who do I report to?”

Rakatek smiled. “Yes, sergeant, the pay is better, but it also means you have to take care of the men under you. Consider the four you picked to go on this observation mission to be a squad that’s now yours. You’ll report to the intelligence staff. Go to the third tent to my left, and report to the senior sergeant who should be there. He will get you squared away.”

To anyone watching, Rakatek seemed to stare into space. His eyes might have given that impression, but his brain was assessing the patrol’s numbers. After several minutes, he called for aides and sent for the senior commanders. The last one arrived in half an hour from a cavalry exercise northeast of the ravine.

“Gentlemen, we finally have enough information to make offensive plans. The invasion force coming at us is estimated at about thirty-four thousand. Certainly fewer than I expected for this serious an incursion. We’ll have them outnumbered three to one, possibly more. I believe this means there’s an opportunity to destroy this army and secure our border for generations, possibly even gain territory if the arklun wishes, but that’s not our immediate concern. In fact, it’s to our advantage to move out to meet them, instead of sitting here on the eastern rim of the Tahpulta Ravine where we can’t directly engage them. We need room to maneuver.

“Here’s the outline of what I propose. We will move west from the Tahpulta to meet the invaders somewhere at the edge of the badlands. Even with the bridges we built or repaired, it’s going to take time to cross the ravine and stream. That’s why I want the first units moving at first light. Of course, we’ll need to work on the details. I trust you realize you won’t get much sleep tonight.

“Unless we have new information, I propose we deploy and attack straight at the invaders with most of our army. It’s possible our numbers superiority will be sufficient to overwhelm them, but we’ll also look to push twenty to thirty thousand men around one of their flanks. There will be some coordination issues, but I believe we can risk it in this situation and with the opportunity presented to us.

“For now, those of you commanding units, get back to your staffs and subordinates, apprise them of the intent, and do what’s necessary to have your units ready to move tomorrow. I and my staff will prepare movement orders, and you’ll have them as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER 34

WE’RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT

Yozef Kolsko

On the second cloudless day in a row, the Alliance army paused at noon. Small scout units were no longer viable, due to increased encounters with Kolinkan platoons and companies. As a result, forward and flanking screens were done by Ponomynan cavalry platoons backed by dragoons. Even that was about to change.

“I think it’s going to happen soon,” said Yozef to Kivalian and Vernik.

“That’s my sense of it,” said the Fuomi marshal. “The Kolinkans are the ones pressing contact. Your choice is to attempt to withdraw or maneuver, dig in here and wait to be attacked, or advance with forceful intelligence gathering to confirm Kolinkan positions and intents.”

Vernik did not offer advice on the choices. He wanted to hear Yozef’s thinking.

“Not much of a choice,” said Yozef. “If we try to avoid a battle, the whole purpose of this campaign is invalid. We can’t dig in and give all the initiative to Kolinka. Who knows how long we’d sit here? They could wait us out, block any attempted resupply, and then attack when we were weaker.”

Yozef knew what Vernik was thinking. Battlefields could be chosen by happenstance. He remembered reading of U.S. Civil War battles that happened almost by mistake. A skirmish might begin with platoon or company-size units. The Union or the Confederates would reinforce and push back on the other side, which would reciprocate. Before either commanding general could stop the engagement, so many men were involved that it was riskier to try to retreat than go ahead, even if reluctantly, to fight a major battle.

Here, on Anyar, on a barren piece of a nation called Kolinka, the Alliance army lacked intelligence on the Kolinkan army. This might mean committing “reconnaissance in force” using battalions to push back the enemy and fix their positions. A battalion versus battalion fight could easily escalate to involve regiments and then entire armies. Which . . . was actually their objective, though Yozef hoped the Alliance, rather than the Kolinkans, could pick the spot.

“We’ll push forward,” Yozef said. “Starting tomorrow morning, we’ll be more aggressive. We’ll have to rely heavily on Ponomynan cavalry companies and battalions to gather information as far out as possible without their becoming isolated and overwhelmed. It will be a tricky dance, but we want the Kolinkans to come at us before we fully introduce them to the new weapons. I’ve had to reassure Uzman that we understand his men might bear the heaviest initial burden until we commit the Alliance Division.

“We also need to keep looking for battlefields that allow protection for the horses in draws, ravines, or any depression to get them out of direct line of fire. That’s a weakness of dragoons and a strength of infantry.”

He looked at Vernik and raised an eyebrow. “Was this something like what you were thinking, Marshal?”

Vernik nodded. “Very close. I would just add that when you consider battlefields, don’t think only of ground you’ve passed or just come to. For the best available grounds, you need to look as far forward as possible, in case you need to launch enough of an attack to drive away Kolinkans from ground you believe is the best.”

Two hours later, the command conference ended. Yozef stood next to Carnigan, both men watching thousands of other men in action.

“It’s one of those times when I feel useless,” whispered Yozef. “Everyone has things they have to do except me.”

“That’s only for the moment, Yozef, and you know it. Before many minutes pass, someone will run up to you with a problem only you can address, even if you merely pass it on to someone else. You’ve felt this way before. I remember Orosz City. Thousands, tens of thousands of men and women were digging the fortifications to stop the Narthani. You felt useless then because all the decisions were already made, and you had no role. Do you remember what I told you then?”

He did remember, but only after thinking back. “I believe you told me to go and be seen by the people. I don’t know if I said it, but I’m sure I took it to mean to pretend I was a Septarsh, and we were going to win.”

“And you went out to the line and worked by digging, carrying dirt, and helping carry timbers. Then you moved on to do it again at another part of the line. Do you think it helped win the battle?”

“How would I know?” Yozef complained. “I worked for hours, but only a fraction of the people saw me working, and my contribution was miniscule.”

“Do you know it didn’t help?”

“Well . . . no.”

“So, there’s a chance it did help.”

Yozef smiled, though a bit wanly. “You’re starting to sound like one of my teachers. You sure you’ve never heard of Socrates or Plato?”

“A couple of Amerikans, I assume,” Carnigan said with a dismissive gesture. “But don’t avoid the question.”

“Yes, it could have helped, even if just a tiny bit.”

“And how about you? Did it make you less whiny?”

“I don’t whine. Septarshes don’t whine.”

“Who says so?”

“The Paramount.”

Carnigan scowled. “I don’t know, but somehow I think there’s something wrong with your reasoning.”

“All right, you big oaf. I’ll walk and ride around, pretending I’m doing something. That satisfy you?”

Carnigan sniffed and waved a hand. “After you, Paramount.”

Horen Rakatek

“Accommodating of them to sit for the rest of the day while more of our forces arrived,” said the warmaster.

“Any thought on why they’ve moved slower the last two days and even stopped today?” asked his second-in-command, Santaka Chaktah, speaking for the rest of the warmaster’s staff.

Rakatek smiled. “It’s best not to guess the mind of an opponent. That doesn’t mean you can’t help but do it. Oh . . . I suppose it could be something as mundane as resting the men. However, I’m inclined to think their commander wanted more information about what’s in front of them before moving too fast, or perhaps it was a pause to think things out.”

“An alternative is their commander is uncertain and was thinking about pulling back now that he has us nearby,” offered Chaktah.

“Now we’re back to guessing. What we know is that we outnumber them around three to one. And that worries me. I would never have agreed to command an army invading Ponomyna or Mukamon if I expected those odds. Is their commander stupidly incompetent, or does he know something we don’t?”

“There’s only one way to be sure,” said his cousin, the intelligence chief. “There’s not much else I can offer from what we’ve already gathered. I’ll just add that your second possibility also perturbs me. Why are they so heavy in cavalry, compared to infantry? It may give them more mobility, but it’s a maxim that cavalry cannot attack massed infantry. And what about the reports from the Caedelli raid about rifles and the new type of ball? We now know there are Caedelli with the invaders, but how many and do they all have the same kind of rifle?”

“I doubt there are that many Caedelli,” said Rakatek, “and there’s no reason to think the Ponomynans are armed any different than ourselves. With the numbers so heavily in our favor, we can’t let our puzzlement about why they’re doing this divert us from using the opportunity presenting itself to destroy the invaders.”

“In other words, don’t overthink,” said Chaktah. “I seem to remember hearing this from you on quite a few occasions.”

“And you will again. It’s prime principle. Which brings us back to now.” Rakatek turned to a senior aide fulfilling an operations officer role. “Lay out what we’ve decided.”

“The basic plan is about as simple as possible. With our numbers advantage, we will leave this Tahpulta position and join the regiments of cavalry maintaining contact with the Ponomynans. At that time, we will total twenty-two regiments of infantry and eight of cavalry plus artillery. When a battlefield is found or developed, depending on the enemy’s actions, we will use a standard deployment—infantry supported by artillery with cavalry on both flanks. With ninety-thousand men, that gives us a heavy advantage. Given that, we assume the invaders will take a defensive posture. It’s hard to imagine they would attack when so outnumbered. It will then fall to us to force the battle. Assuming conditions are right, we will attack across our entire front. Naturally, details will be affected by the battlefield conditions and the enemy’s response.

“After careful discussions, it was decided not to try a complete envelopment of the invaders. Many of our regiments are levies from nobles’ territories. Too many of the men have no combat experience, the regiments have not maneuvered together, and a lot of their commanders are of unknown quality. Thus, it’s best to keep the plan as simple as possible and keep the nobles’ regiments massed together.

“However, after deciding on a frontal attack on the invader’s army, we have more men than can be effectively deployed directly at the enemy. What we will do is detach six regiments of infantry and two of cavalry, plus a few eight-pounder batteries, to move rapidly to the south and come up on the invader’s right flank. There’s the obvious coordination issue, but we don’t believe anything is lost if this force does not participate in the initial day’s fight. On the other hand, there’s the potential for them to attack the enemy’s flank while they’re engaged with our main force.

“In a sense, this detached force is a reinforcement or insurance, depending on how you look at it, in case the main battle proves more difficult than we anticipate. They will attempt to stay undetected until the two armies are engaged. However, even if that is not possible, their presence will force the enemy to divert part of the men to counter a potential flank attack. Thus, even if this force never fires a shot, they will contribute more than if they were not detached.”

Munmar Kellen

“I know I ask the same question every time,” said the Dragoon 3rd Battalion commander two days later, “but have the Kolinkans shown any signs of changing what they’re doing?”

The company commander leaned from his saddle to spit. “No change from the fuckers in the last several days since we started pushing hard again. They keep about a thousand yards’ distance, just about in and out of cannon range. Depending on the swell and fall of the terrain, we can sometimes get glimpses of what seem to be regiment-size units; other times, depending on how far we can see, it’s platoons or companies. When we get to higher swells, I send a squad quickly forward to be sure they aren’t waiting on the other slope to surprise us, but so far they’re just keeping their distance.”

Kellen guided his horse around a patch of what passed for vegetation, something not quite small brush and not quite grass. Whatever they called it, it was the largest plant they’d seen in the last twenty miles as the land transitioned from the grassland after the forest. It was also the only thing that kept the ground from being bare as far as he could see, except for the occasional rock up to a foot in diameter.

“We were told not many people live in this region,” Kellen said. “Now we can see why. It’s like the gods have something personal against this piece of land.”

“Well, maybe it will change,” said the captain. “Just before you got here, the squad checking the rise in front of us called me forward.” He gestured to where several men on horseback sat silhouetted a few hundred yards away on the mentioned rise. Kellen accompanied the captain. When they reached the crest, something was different, though Kellen first noticed the land beyond was less undulating, appeared lower than the land behind them, and the tops of several buttes were visible in the distance.

“I wonder if those are the beginnings of the more broken terrain we were told we’d come to? On the other side is farmland and more population.”

He could also see a formation of riders perhaps half a mile away, unmoving.

“Captain. Major,” stated one of the men. “We know they saw us, and they were keeping the same pace as before to keep that distance. Just in the last minute or so, they stopped after a couple of riders met them. Bromel here has the best eyes and claims something has changed at the horizon in the direction the riders came from.”

“Where exactly?”

“See that group of bigger rocks about a hundred yards slightly to our right?” said one of the men. “Straight out from there.”

Kellen looked and strained. “I don’t see—” He strained to focus. “Uh, there. I guess it is a bit darker at the horizon? Maybe it’s just a bigger patch of these plants.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. But I’d swear it wasn’t there a few minutes earlier.”

Kellen reached back into a saddlebag and pulled out a cloth bundle he unwrapped to reveal a forearm-length telescope.

“Let’s see if this Fuomi telescope can help. It’s one of the best the regiment has, and we have it today because it’s our turn to lead the way.”

“I wish Caedellium could make telescopes as good as this,” he mumbled while scanning. “I heard they thought we’d be doing that in . . . ” He stopped and sat up straighter in his saddle. “What!”

He dropped the reins and stood in the saddle. His horse skidded to one side, almost toppling him before one of the scouts dismounted quickly and grabbed the bridle of Kellen’s horse. The telescope wobbled as he reacquired the same spot on the horizon. After a minute, he lowered the telescope, took two deep breaths, and raised the telescope again.

Fifteen minutes later, the army had halted, and its command group stood at the same swell crest. Yozef passed to Kivalian a Fuomi telescope even better than the one used by Kellen.

“Infantry,” he said in a voice simulating far more calmness than he felt. He looked around “A lot of it. Maybe regimental-size groupings. I can see gaps that may be the separation of such units. And heading this way. I’m not positive, but I think there was more cavalry to the left of the infantry, but they disappeared before I could confirm it.”

“I agree,” said Kivalian. “The obvious questions are what is their intent and what’s are their more men behind the ones we can see.”

He offered the telescope to Vernik, who declined.

“I’ll have to defer until they get closer,” said the Fuomi marshal. “I never did have good long-distance vision. But we need more information. I think this is a good time for the balloon.”

Yozef had already concluded the same and turned to a courier. “Gallop back to the support regiment and tell them to send up a balloon unit immediately.”

The courier pulled his reins hard right, spurred his horse, and left a dust cloud where he had been. Two of the wagons in their train each held a collapsed balloon, a burner, ropes, a wicker basket, kerosene, repair material and tools, and a four-man team. The balloons were smaller than the one at the Battle of Orosz City. A single person, two in a pinch, could observe and pass down observations verbally or dropped them by weighted paper. The teams would be aided in inflating, launching, and controlling the balloon by men drafted from those available. Six teams had competed for the two slots as part of the Alliance Division. There had been several serious accidents but no fatalities during the competition. The two selected teams could go from arriving at a launch position to lift-off in fifteen minutes.

“All right,” said Yozef. “We don’t know what this means yet, but let’s suppose this is the first sign of a Kolinkan army coming at us. Let’s think about a battlefield. I was hoping we’d have more options.”

And maybe I was deluding myself, Yozef thought.

“You know, Paramount, this may fortuitously be as good a position as we’re likely to find,” said Vernik.

Kivalian nodded. “I think it’s too flat to our front for us to move forward. There might be no place to keep the horses out of direct fire. Behind us, there was that low escarpment four or five miles back, but I don’t think it’s better than right here, enough to justify going back. The ground behind us is low enough to keep the horses protected.”

Yozef looked around. If the Kolinkans came straight at them, it would be over flat ground with no cover. The left flank was open and relatively flat for a mile or more. Beyond that was broken ground that rose to scattered rock formations. The right flank looked equally flat until it dropped into a valley a mile away. He did not delude himself. Part of him wanted desperately for Vernik and Kivalian to make the decision. He had their advice, but it fell to him to say the final words.

“It’s also got good distance viewing to the Kolinkans,” said Swavebroke soto voce from Yozef’s left.

Harmon’s read my hesitation, Yozef thought.

He had to say something, whether or not it was a decision, but he had received the best advice he was going to get and couldn’t think of anything better.

“For the moment, let’s assume this is where we’ll stand. Things can always change. What we’re seeing might not be their main force coming our way. If it is, then they’re doing exactly what we want them to do . . . attack us and not force us to be the attacker against entrenched positions. Of course, they could change course and make us adjust any plan. But assuming this is it, suggestions on the best positions to start digging in?”

He stopped himself from proposing the crest of the swell, thinking much of the Kolinkan fire would go over the men’s heads or get buried in the forward slope.

“The crest where we are is tempting,” said Kivalian. “It would give us some protection if we had to withdraw. But from here, cannon and rifle fire will slightly plunge. I’d favor about halfway down this shallow slope to the flat land. It would mean more exposure if we have to withdraw, but it gives us more grazing fire.”

Yozef looked closely again at the terrain and visualized Kivalian’s point. From the crest, a Sharps round that missed its initial target might only travel another fifty yards before it either hit another Kolinkan or buried itself the ground. Farther forward and given the range of the Sharps, a round could have another several hundred yards to chance meeting a Kolinkan.

“All right, but I don’t think we need to start digging until we know more.” He stopped.

“Hmmm . . . maybe I’ll amend that. Let’s have a few men from each unit that’s planned to be on the front line do some test digging. We don’t know exactly what the ground is like under our feet. Let’s confirm its structure now before we get serious.”

“Here comes a balloon wagon,” said Swavebroke, who waved to a sergeant and ten men waiting to help the balloon team.

Yozef had been on a Napa Valley balloon ride—a birthday present to Julie, his fiancée. She had loved it, him not so much, preferring to be closer to the ground and not dependent on a bag of hot air, no matter how safe the balloon’s company assured them it was.

Kivalian waved the wagon to a flat area unencumbered by sparse vegetation or rocks. Three of the balloon’s crew started unloading the wagon before it came to a complete stop. Within seconds, the waiting squad was divvied to the crew, and shouted orders accompanied a flurry of action. The balloon’s envelope—which he remembered the company had called what he thought of as the bag—was spread out. Fifteen-foot poles were run into pockets along the widest part of the envelope, and the poles pulled upright to raise the envelope with the bottom opening six feet off the ground. Yozef remembered the Napa company had pumped air into the envelope until it inflated it enough to start the burner. Here, once the envelope opening was off the ground, a kerosene burner was positioned under it and lit. Within two minutes, Yozef could see the envelope expand as it filled with hot air.

Men attached anchor ropes, and once the envelope more fully expanded and started to strain the ropes, the burner was moved into its final position.

“Okay. It’s ready,” the crew chief called out.

Kivalian waved them on, and one man climbed into the basket, which had enough room for him to move around the burner. He was handed a satchel that held ink, quills, paper, and a supply of small rocks that had enough mass to fall straight down with written observations if the man’s voice was not clear enough from whatever height he had lifted to.

“I told them to start at a hundred feet,” said Kivalian when he returned to the command group. He then spoke to translators accompanying the Naskin, Aro, and Gympo leaders who had just joined them. When he finished talking, he whispered to Yozef, “I sent runners to ask them to come, and I explained what we were doing and what we saw on the horizon.”

Damn! thought Yozef. I got so focused I forgot to get all the leaders up here. I can’t have any of them thinking they’re being slighted. Oh, well.

The balloon crew chief yelled back and forth with the man in the basket. He ordered the ground men to slowly let some slack in the ropes. Back in Orosz City, there had been anchored windlasses they used to let the balloons out and bring them back to earth. Here it was human power. The chief kept an eye on the four anchor ropes, being sure none lagged or got ahead of the others. At the hundred-foot marks on the ropes, the chief yelled, and everyone froze.

Yozef could see the observer awkwardly wield a three-foot telescope. The wind was subdued, but the basket wobbled up and down every time the man moved, and the basket turned slowly clockwise, then stopped and went counterclockwise. As much as Yozef thought he appreciated the observer’s problem with stability, he suppressed the urge to shout out what he saw.

“Hard to stay on a point,” the man yelled down. “Might be better with a smaller telescope.”

Okay! But what can you see? thought Yozef.

“Sure is a lot of them. I can see four, maybe five infantry groups, one behind the other, with cavalry on the right flank as I’m looking.”

The crew members had worked with the division during training and learned to make reasonable estimates of numbers.

“Wagons, too. I can’t tell if they’re supply wagons or artillery. They kind of merge together from this distance.”

“Can you tell the size of the infantry formations?” Kivalian called up.

“If it’s like back in Caedellium and the units we trained to observe, I’d say there’re at least the size of our regiments or a little larger.”

“Take him up another hundred feet,” said Yozef, rubbing his forehead. He anticipated the report that came in another ten minutes, this one shouted louder from the farther height.

“At least six of those infantry masses,” the man yelled down. “Now I also see cavalry on the left flank. There’s more infantry. I just can’t resolve them yet.”

“All right. Get him down, Kivalian. We can put him up again later. I just don’t want the Kolinkans to notice the balloon too soon. We don’t know if word got here that we have balloons, but no reason to risk it. Get the poor man back on the ground.”

He turned to the group. “Six regiments, probably many more. Assume three thousand men conservatively per regiment, plus cavalry. That’s running twenty thousand minimum. My intuition says the number will go up considerably. We’ll run the balloon up again in an hour, but I think it’s reasonable for us to take action as if it’s a major Kolinkan army coming to stop us. It’s time to dig in and push company patrols out a mile again to both flanks and our rear.”

Horen Rakatek

The Kolinkan warmaster’s first view of the potential battlefield left him uneasy.

“I was hoping they would continue moving to meet us The forward slope of that rise is what I would do if I were their commander.”

“Still, this ground has too many other advantages to our side,” said Chaktah. “We don’t know how many of the Caedelli rifles they have that outrange our muskets, but even if it’s more than we expect, they can’t have so many as to negate our numbers superiority.”

Rakatek turned from looking toward the Ponomynan position to the hand-drawn map tacked to a portable table to keep it from blowing away.

“And we’ve had confirmation of what Kwomok’s people say?”

The second-in-command nodded. “I had them take me forward enough to check. The long, shallow undulations in this terrain are deceptive. From our position right now, it looks as if the land is almost perfectly flat all the way across this plain. What you don’t see is that about two-thirds of the way across, there’s a trough in an undulation. Of course, we can’t know if the invaders know this, but I suspect they don’t. Otherwise, they might have not stopped where they have. The effect is increased during the middle of the day. This is not the hottest season, but it’s warm enough that the air seems to ripple above this plain.

“I walked far enough with Kwomok to confirm that about halfway to the Ponomynans, the view of the slope to that crest starts to vanish. The terrain is so naturally camouflaged by color, rocks, and sparse vegetation that it took me a moment to resolve a line across my view. The Ponomynans are going to see our infantry advance on them, then apparently slowly disappear feet first. Then, somewhere about five hundred yards away, heads will reappear, followed by the rest of the bodies as our infantry gets closer to them.”

“That still gives them an advantage,” said Rakatek, “but let’s figure our men would be within three hundred yards before their rifles have any effect. We’ll be taking casualties before we get within volley range, but the other side still has to reload. If we have the men double-time, we may have to receive only three or four volleys before we can respond. At that point, our superior numbers should be decisive.”

“It will be brutal,” agreed Chaktah. “But we can absorb more losses than they can. However, I’ve been thinking about how to force them not to put their entire force facing us directly. We had thought to delay the flank attack until the two armies are engaged. But what if we deliberately let the Ponomynans know there’s a force on the flank? That would make them deploy men to protect that flank.”

Rakatek scratched his lower lip as he focused on the map and considered.

“No, I think we’ll leave it the way we planned. I don’t want them to withdraw.”

“But no matter what we do, they could still pull back,” said Chaktah. “They’re so heavy in cavalry and wagons. Our infantry couldn’t pursue, and we don’t have enough cavalry if the Ponomynans keep in formation.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Rakatek. “Our cavalry could delay them enough for our infantry to keep up. I think we could eventually force them into a position where they had to stand and fight. I’ll bet their commander knows that where they are now may be their best chance.”

Rakatek paused and rubbed a shoulder. “My shoulder has been bothering me ever since word came of the invasion. Usually, it’s associated with a weather change, but that hasn’t happened. I know it may be superstition, but the same ache seems to come when there’s something to worry about, whether I recognize it or not.

“Besides the ache, I have to believe the Ponomynan and, yes, Caedelli desire for a fight is strong. Otherwise, why risk the invasion? They must know they will be outnumbered, and why come straight and hard for Chikawan when they know how we will respond? For all those reasons and my intuition, I think their commander will stand their ground.

“However, I do have one thought. Kwomok’s men were also right about the dry wash approximately a mile from the Ponomynan right flank. Our detached flanking force can use that to get in position. That way, they get closer before being detected. It occurs to me that we can also pretend to threaten their left flank with enough cavalry as a distraction. Of course, both flank actions have to start after the two main forces are engaged. Timing is the problem, but flares should suffice. Get with the rest of the main staff and prepare the orders.”

Tuvo Jormaki, Fuomi Commander

Marshal Haree Vernik had left Kolsko’s tent and was leading his horse when the commander of the Fuomi regiment walked up to him. They exchanged salutes, and Jormaki moved closer to speak low enough not to be overheard.

“Marshal, what’s your honest appraisal of the situation we’re in?”

Under normal circumstances, the commander’s request would have been out of order and subject to a severe reprimand for leaping the chain of command. This was not a normal circumstance. Technically, Vernik was not in Jormaki’s chain of command, which, for this campaign, started with Kolsko. Vernik’s consideration for the other Fuomi mitigated protocol.

“I don’t like it. Yes, I’ve seen these new weapons working, and I’m totally confident that warfare will change forever once these innovations spread everywhere. But right now, we’re here. Too far from help, too questionable a supply line, too uncertain about a mixture of nationalities who’ve never worked together before, and uncertain about being badly outnumbered.”

The marshal looked around casually, then said aloud, “Be sure your men do Fuomon proud, Colonel.” Then, in a lower voice, “If I were you, and the coming battle goes badly, I’d be thinking about how to take my regiment and flee the battlefield back to Ponomyna.”

The two men parted after another salute, Vernik to find Kivalian and probe the ex-Fuomi’s true feelings, Jormaki to gather his battalion commanders to apprise them, and them alone, of extreme scenarios.

Reciprocity

“Time for some sleep for both of us, Yozef,” said Kivalian. “Everyone knows their roles for tomorrow. We need to be as alert as possible for the coming morning.”

“What about in case it all goes to shit, Reimo?”

“We’ve planned for the worst-case scenario if we have to fight our way back to Ponomyna. Well . . . as much as possible without telling people what certain orders were for. What’s the name of that Amerikan you described who got himself into a similar situation?”

“Xenophon. And he wasn’t Amerikan; he belonged to another people called Greeks when they fought Persians,” Yozef answered without thinking. Kivalian’s raised eyebrow alerted him to foot-in-mouth disease.

Shit, Yozef thought. I know better. Kivalian was already wondering, along with everyone else, how Amerika has stayed unknown. He just heard me mention the Greeks and Persians. Now he’ll wonder even more after I just told him Xenophon wasn’t Amerikan but from a different realm. The size of the mythical Amerika’s world keeps getting larger and our story more improbable.

He rushed to divert Kivalian’s train of thought. “The important thing is that we should be able to withdraw to Penabak if all goes to shit tomorrow. No matter what happens, the Kolinkans are going to suffer huge casualties. I doubt they’ll be in the mood to pursue too strenuously.”

Well, it did not work that way for the Greeks, Yozef thought. They had to fight all the way back to Greek territory from what’s now Iraq after the army they were part of lost a big battle. The point was, they did make it back.

Kivalian was the only person with whom Yozef had discussed what kind of retreat might be necessary in case of complete disaster. No matter how distasteful, his first priority would be saving the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments, then as much of the rest as possible.

In Extremis

Thirty yards away, other plans for disaster were fomenting. Toowin Kales approached to stand shoulder to shoulder with Synton.

“I did a final check with Denes Vegga,” said Kales. “He’s arranged that the planned platoon from his battalion will be assigned escort duty for Yozef tomorrow. He cautioned his battalion might not be in position to help if the worst comes happens.”

“Understood,” said Synton. “We’ll keep an eye on where they are as much as possible. If the entire army is collapsing and about to be destroyed, we’ll try to get Yozef off the battlefield with or without the help of Vegga’s battalion.”

“I hope you’re right that we’ll be close enough to Yozef and the other commanders and general staff to know when that’s necessary. I still think we should let Carnigan know what we’ve planned. What if he goes against us at that moment?”

“We can’t take the chance. He’s too damn guileless to alert him until the last moment. Once given the situation, and from his reading of Yozef, I don’t think he’ll hesitate. We’ll certainly need him since I doubt Yozef would be willing to abandon the rest of the army even to save himself. If we have to knock Yozef out, it’ll have to be Carnigan doing it or at least approving.”

“I hope you’re right. I don’t relish trying to fight Carnigan and Yozef at the same time.”

CHAPTER 35

CONFRONTATION

Yozef Kolsko

It was a tiring and frustrating morning. Up at first light after a fitful night’s sleep. Meet with the commanders of the night guards. Meet with the General Staff. Tour the entire army to meet and reassure every senior commander of his confidence in them and the army and, without being too obvious, confirm for himself that each commander had a clear understanding of his unit’s initial position and role. All these meetings and tours were held while getting updates on Kolinkan movements—or lack thereof.

Everything changed at mid-morning. Yozef had finished talking with the officer in charge of defending the support units if they were attacked by surprise. Although most of the personnel were not rated as combatants, every person, man or woman, no matter their primary position, was armed with an assortment of Iraquinik muskets, Caedelli rifles, and muzzle-loading pistols. In addition, the special artillery unit could be called on for defense, although Yozef considered their presence to be for field testing.

Yozef was listening to Krysilla Wydmon update the medical corps’ preparations for the wounded. Rather, he was giving the impression of listening when they were interrupted by Synton, who had been tasked with fetching Yozef when something major was happening.

“Kivalian says it looks like the Kolinkans are deploying for an attack. I think he wants you to get your ass up there to see for yourself.”

Two minutes later, Yozef reined in his horse near the balloon and the crew.

“No doubt,” said Kivalian. “They’re moving toward us and spreading out. We’ll know more about how they plan on deploying within half an hour.”

It took eleven minutes until the balloon observer dropped a rolled diagram inside a thin sack with a rock tied to the bag’s drawstring. A man caught the drop and ran to give it to Kivalian, who was standing with Yozef next to the collapsible table. Kivalian spread the sheet out, smoothing the folds with his hand.

“I told him to use blocks for infantry and ovals for cavalry.”

Yozef took a blank sheet and drew representations of the Alliance army, then set the two sheets with armies facing each other. Vernik edged his way closer on the opposite side of the table.

“What do you two think of this, Marshal?”

“Simple, standard deployment,” said the Fuomi marshal. “Two rows of infantry blocks—we assume regiments. All their artillery seems to be interspersed with the first row of infantry, with a large concentration of artillery in the center. It looks like twelve regiments in the first row and thirteen or fourteen in the second. Cavalry on both flanks. The observers also report some infantry and cavalry farther to the rear. That may be potential reserve held back for possible breakthroughs—which we hope doesn’t happen.

“Using those numbers, that’s about twenty-eight regiments of infantry. If our estimate of three thousand men per regiment is close, that means about eighty-four thousand infantry. Cavalry is harder to estimate, but let’s assume fifteen thousand.”

That’s almost a hundred thousand, thought Yozef, his gut tightening and a chill running up his back. They either mobilized much faster than we anticipated or had already moved forces into place. They had assumed they’d be outnumbered, but he had hoped for better odds.

“That’s it?” asked Yozef. “They’re just going to come straight at us and try and roll over us?”

Vernik shrugged. “They may change the deployment as they get a closer look at our position. The key thing to watch is if they try to overlap our flanks, forcing us to shift units to counter it.”

“What if our estimate of men per regiment is too low?”

“Then we’d better not run out of ammunition,” Kivalian said in a tone more somber than his usual demeanor. “I’m also worried about all that cavalry. We’re awfully exposed in the rear. The auxiliary units can fend off Kolinkan cavalry, but we could lose too many of the dragoons’ horses if Kolinkan cavalry circles around us.”

“That’s one reason the Landolin regiments will be in the planned position,” said Yozef. “In this terrain, no Kolinkan cavalry is going to surprise us. Those two regiments will have time to respond. Hell, the three Gatlings by themselves can fend off any cavalry attack.”

Right, thought Yozef. If they work and don’t run out of ammunition. And if the Munjorian and Naskinese regiments aren’t needed elsewhere.

“It feels odd not employing the sniper teams,” said Kivalian. “We could be picking off company and battalion commanders at six hundred yards or more.”

The sniper version of the Sharps had a longer and heavier barrel. A long, thin telescope could be mounted, though only enough for half of the sniper rifles had been completed before the troops left Caedellium. The accurate range was 900 to 1,200 yards, depending on the wielder’s skill.

“Yes, Reimo, but the Sharps will be a surprise in this first major engagement, and we want them to get closer for maximum effect. Same reason the rest of the men won’t open fire until they’re well within range. We don’t want them to pull back. It’s our best opportunity for a decisive impact in an open field fight. I expect there will be plenty of future opportunities for the snipers.

“All right, gentlemen,” Yozef said loud enough for all commanders within earshot to hear. “We’ll stay with our planned dispositions unless circumstances change as the Kolinkans attack. We’ll array the army to conform with the swell we’re on. Our grand battery of twelve-pounders in the middle, flanked by the Fuomon regiment on the left and the Caedelli regiment on the right, each having six-pounders and a few twelve-pounders. Iraquinik units farther flanking, Ponomyna on the left, Aro and Gympo on the right. The Naskinese and Munjorian regiments as general reserves ready to reinforce anywhere. Ponomynan cavalry on our extreme flanks.

“The test weapons will remain with the support units in the rear until we determine if and where they will be used. Let’s get everyone in the final positions. Shit and piss as needed, drink water and eat as needed, then rest in place. There may be few opportunities for any of that later.”

Ilio Chimon

After several days of helping maintain visual and occasional skirmish contact with the invading army, Chimon’s cavalry battalion had rested and resupplied while other units took their place. That changed at dusk yesterday when he got orders to rejoin his regiment on the Kolinkan right flank. Before leaving their bivouac area and once he was convinced his men were ready, he took a few minutes to ride into the infantry area. There, final details in breaking camp were underway. He already had seen the banner of an infantry regiment from near his family’s home in central Kolinka. He found his target with a cluster of lieutenants and senior sergeants.

He reined in thirty feet away, dismounted, and waited for his younger brother to recognize him. Almur signaled with a hand, then finished with his men, and they walked quickly to embrace.

“I saw you two days ago, Almur, but I was riding with my commander and couldn’t get away. Too much to do. When did you get here?”

“Probably not long before you saw me, Ilio. We got to Tahpulta and didn’t even stop. They had us force march straight through to here. I heard that we were one of the last units being sent forward. Any arriving after us were to stay at Tahpulta. This has got to already be the largest army Kolinka has gathered in generations—maybe ever.”

Ilio suppressed saying that calling it an army was an exaggeration. He was surprised the organization was as good as it was, but too many of the cavalry units were not much more than mobs of horsemen, rather than professional cavalry. He knew his brother took pride in the readiness of his company and battalion, but Ilio was afraid it was more a matter of naivete than based on experience. Yet Ilio’s expressing such thoughts might raise doubts that would do his brother no good at this point.

“Do you know where you’ll be positioned?” asked Ilio.

“On our left flank, second row of regiments. That’s all we know. They also say that could change, depending on the Ponomynans. I just hope the battle isn’t over before we get our chance at the invaders. Everyone is confident it will be over quickly. Some even speculate the Ponomynans will run or surrender after our first few volleys.”

“Don’t listen to any of that campfire rumoring, Almur. It should go well for us, but it is still going to be a battle with thousands of casualties. Focus on doing your job and taking care of your men.”

Almur laughed and playfully punched Ilio on the shoulder.

“Still playing the elder brother, are you? It’s been years since I needed your protection from bullies.”

Ilio sighed. “I’m just saying not to listen to anyone who makes light of what will happen today and maybe tomorrow. Nothing is certain once muskets and cannon are firing.”

He did not want to leave his brother with even hints of acrimony, so he switched topics.

“How are Mother and Father? You must have seen them only a month ago at most. It’s been almost two years for me since getting posted to the Chikawan garrison.”

“I don’t think they’ve changed. Mother’s as fussy about everything as usual. Father tells everyone he’s as spry and feisty as ever, but his knees are bothering him more and more. Mother is worried the day is coming when he’ll be immobile enough to get depressed.”

“I’ll have to insist on leave time once this war is over, so I can spend a couple of months at home. Maybe I can talk with him about planning for that future you mention. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for Nolika’s funeral. I was too far away and didn’t get word for months.”

“It hit Mother especially hard, Nolika being the only daughter. Her first childbirth was difficult, but the second was too much, though they saved the child, a daughter. Mother took over caring for it when Nolika’s husband proved incapable.”

Or unwilling, Ilio thought but didn’t say it to avoid ending the brothers’ meeting in negative territory.

“At least, Murmok is out of this,” said Ilio. “That’s one advantage of having moved to Onunza. Who would have thought our crazy brother would end up enforcing laws at the kahsak’s only major port city?”

Three blasts from a nearby whistle caused Almur to turn suddenly.

“That’s ours. The signal to form up. Good luck to you, Ilio, and take your own advice and be careful. We should have chances to get together again after we drive the Ponomynans out of Kolinka or kill every one of them.”

Ilio did not respond, and the two brothers embraced again before parting.

I hope I see you this evening, thought Ilio as he glanced back from his horse one last time. His brother stood in front of his company as it assembled in marching formation. If not tonight, then tomorrow or any other day. He smiled grimly. I also hope I survive for you to see me.

Munmar Kellen

The Caedelli regiment had the Fuomi on its left and Aroians on its right. Kellen’s battalion anchored the right end of the Caedelli formation. Twenty yards farther right was the left end of the Aro Kahsak’s four-line-deep musket formation. Only the first three lines would fire volleys in sequence. Men in the fourth line were replacements for casualties and would step forward to fill vacant positions. There was no other reserve. If necessary, Kellen’s battalion would shift all or part of its fire to support the Aro and Gympo men.

For the fourth time in the last hour, Kellen walked his battalion position. The first two times were to check firing positions, ammunition distribution, the six cannon 12-pounder battery assigned to him, the 6-pounder battery between his battalion and the Aroians, and the medicant units. By the fourth inspection, it was only because he had nothing else to do, except stop to speak to individuals and small groups, particularly if they had questions.

His battalion had the highest percentage of ex-slaves and ex-Narthani. After one training maneuver resulted in several casualties, Yozef told Kellen he thought the men were trying too hard to prove their loyalty and that perhaps some of the squads and the platoons should be transferred to other battalions. Kellen had vigorous disagreed, and the Paramount had left it for Kellen to keep tighter control of the men. He hoped he had succeeded—reckless action or failure to follow orders could be as deadly as men who broke and ran.

When Kellen got to the last platoon before the 6-pounder battery, a short dragoon was huddled in his firing position, staring out toward the Kolinkans and humming a pub ditty. The man smiled widely when he recognized the battalion commander. Kellen shook his head.

The obliviousness of youth, he thought. Kellen was positive the dragoon was several years younger than the seventeen he claimed.

“Everything ready, Telstyn?”

“Yes, sir!” the youth declared, jumping to his feet. “We’re all ready. The Kolinkans have no chance against the best platoon in the best company, in the best battalion, in the best regiment in this army!”

Cheers rose from all the dragoons within hearing and the artillery battery.

“That’s the spirit! Shouldn’t be long now. I’ll see you all once more before the shooting starts.”

He doubted the last words. He had kept an eye on the Kolinkans, along with every other man at the front. However, he had experienced things most others had not, and he estimated the Kolinkan army was about a mile away across the plain.

Yozef Kolsko

“What the fuck is happening!?” exclaimed Yozef after reading the last few dispatches dropped from the balloon and getting confirmation from Kivalian. He had been talking with Rhanjur Gaya at the Munjorian regiment when a runner found him. There was an emergency at the balloon site.

“I didn’t believe it the first time the balloon observer claimed what he saw,” said Kivalian. “That was fifteen minutes ago. Now you can see it from here at ground level.”

He held out a telescope. Yozef grabbed it and looked at the dark mass of Kolinkans. The sky was full of small clouds as if something had stirred the 50 percent cloud cover and created patches that caused the sun to play hide-and-seek. The effect, and the terrain, made it difficult to focus on what he was seeing. At first, he just saw the mass of Kolinkan infantry. Then he saw the front ranks appear to be sprouting from their waists. As he watched, the heads slowly sank toward what should be ankles. The same effect held for the following ranks.

He lowered the telescope, turned to Kivalian, and forced his voice to sound more casual than he felt.

“Did we ever send men forward to about where the Kolinkans are now?”

Kivalian flushed. “It seemed so obviously flat, there didn’t seem to be a need to.”

It was an occasion when Yozef wished more than anything that he could yell and curse at Kivalian for incompetence. The problem was that he was as guilty. And why hadn’t Vernik or any of the other leaders commented?

“All right,” said Yozef. “We can find out what illusion fooled us later. Right now, we know the plain in front us is not perfectly flat but has a depression of some kind. The important question is when will the Kolinkan infantry come back into view?”

“It doesn’t really change anything,” said Vernik. “You were planning to let them get closer than necessary for your rifles anyway.”

“Yes, but that was a deliberate tactic, not something forced on us.” Yozef had almost said, “By a stupid mistake,” but there were ears listening, and it was not the moment to cast doubt on the leadership.

Vernik moved closer to Yozef and Kivalian, then lowered his voice.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something. I assumed you had sent men forward or were somehow confident of the terrain.”

Yozef answered in kind, without looking at Vernik.

“Never assume we weren’t stupid, Haree. In this case, there’s enough blame for all of us.”

Santaka Chaktah

Since it was inappropriate for Warmaster Rakatek to be too far forward, it fell to Subwarmaster Chaktah to be the warmaster’s eyes. He and his retinue rode in the middle of the first line of regiment blocks, while the warmaster remained in a central command position. Half an hour earlier, they had already discussed the apparent odd disposition of the invading army.

“Why show us only a single-man line in the middle of their position?” said Chaktah. “They must be hiding more infantry on the reverse slope. I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“It bothers me, too,” said Rakatek. “On the other hand, their entire line is heavy in artillery, especially along the thin line, compared to the ranked formations on both of their flanks. Maybe their commander feels the artillery compensates for their being able to fire fewer volleys. It could also be a ruse. As you say, more infantry could come over that crest, though getting to where the rest of their line is and filling in would take time and be prone to confusion once firing starts. In other words, I don’t know the meaning of what we’re seeing.

“Have we gotten any messages from the cavalry we sent to our right at their flank? Besides waiting for orders to distract the Ponomynans, they were supposed to see if they could get views of the entire invader army.”

“Nothing yet, Warmaster. They were told to attempt that only if they could do it without revealing their position. Maybe we should have made those observations the priority.”

“Well, if you can reverse time, we’ll do it,” said Rakatek, looking at Chaktah. “I can’t remember ever having a command in action where I wouldn’t do more things differently if I had the chance.”

But that was in the past. Chaktah was now near the front of their infantry as it advanced. The invaders must be seeing the infantry front ranks duck out of line of sight. It was time for a final decision. They were at the point where the invaders could bring more infantry over the rise’s crest in time. And they hadn’t.

Chaktah’s nagging worry that he and Rakatek were missing some vital piece of information led him to make a decision. He would need to ride back to the warmaster to personally urge a change. He left the rest of this party and galloped the six hundred yards, reining in hard to avoid bumping into the warmaster’s horse.

“They haven’t changed,” said Chaktah. “Their center looks too inviting to ignore, despite the artillery, but my gut is not happy. I don’t see any choice but to continue with a full-frontal assault, but we should forget using the flanking forces as diversions after full engagement.”

“Send them right now,” stated Rakatek, not asking a question. “I think you’re right. I’ll order both flare colors fired. We’re committing both flanks to move on the invaders. Send up the signal flares.”

Chaktah whirled without responding and spurred his horse.

Yozef Kolsko

“As soon as the first cannon fires, you’re getting your ass back,” barked Synton Ethlore from his horse five yards from Yozef’s.

“Whether you want to or not,” added Carnigan.

“They’re right,” said Kivalian. “It’s my duty to be this far forward, but the army would disintegrate if anything happened to you.”

Yozef sighed. They were right. He knew they were right. He knew he would rather be farther back and out of direct fire. He knew he had no choice but to trust all the commanders. He also recognized his overwhelming need to see what was happening.

During every fight he had been in since arriving on Anyar, he had directly witnessed and participated in the fighting: defending St. Sidyrn’s Abbey against the Buldorians, the Battle of Moreland City, the assassination attempt at Kellen Manor, pushing the original Narthani force back into Preddi City, and the carnage at the Battle of Orosz City. This would be the first time he was in the rear, and the palpable relief he felt elicited a heavy burden of guilt. Thousands of men were going to die or be grievously wounded because of him.

“I know,” he told the others. “As soon as we’re engaged.”

Santaka Chaktah

The heads of the front rank of infantry were just poking back in view of the Alliance army when Chaktah rejoined his retinue.

“Horns!” he called out. “Sound stop.”

Seconds later, bladder feed horns blared out two short blasts and one long. The horns were copied from those of the Narthani and used by most Iraquinik kahsaks. Other, smaller versions responded up and down the line, and regiments paused in a ripple effect. From his horse, he could see hundreds of faces turned to his position and knew thousands more were doing the same.

“We’re stopping so the warmaster can order the flanking forces to show themselves,” Chaktah said to his staff, not seeing a reason to explain the change was due to the leadership’s unease.

“There’s a signal,” said an aide, pointing to the rear.

Chaktah turned in his saddle. Two red flares arched a hundred feet into the air, followed seconds later by two white flares.

“We’ll wait a few minutes to let the flanking forces start to move, then we’ll advance again.”

He forced himself to relax as much as he could while he mentally marked off time.

Yozef Kolsko

The Kolinkan horns were as audible for the entire Alliance army line as they were for every Kolinkan.

“Well, that must mean something, but what?” asked Kivalian. He raced to the balloon crew from where he was standing. “What do you see?” he shouted skyward. The balloon was at fifty feet, higher not being necessary. It would also make recovering the balloon faster once it was endangered from fire.

“They’re starting to come again! I can see the front rank all the way to their waists!”

Kivalian turned to the balloon crew chief. “Bring it down and get to the rear.”

He trotted back to Yozef. “We don’t need the balloon enough to risk it and the observer from here on. I suppose you could put it back up near the command post. At two hundred feet, the observer might see enough to be useful.”

Yozef didn’t respond, his mind elsewhere as he took a last look at the Kolinkan army advancing. He took a deep breath and spoke aloud as he faced Kivalian.

“General Kivalian, I leave you in command of this position. Good luck, and I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you, General Kolsko. I acknowledge the command.”

Formalities finished, Yozef mounted his horse and trotted up the shallow slope, not looking back. Vernik rode by his side, aides following, along with a small corps of couriers fluent in two or more of the army’s languages. Yozef’s feelings warred within him—relief at being out of direct fire and a sense of honor requiring that he be with the men he had put in danger.

The rest of the General Staff waited for him, along with Uzman Gangala. Although Uzman was commander of all the Ponomynan men, they were not all concentrated. Yozef had pressed the arklun’s son to stay with the command group. Uzman’s reluctant acquiescence was about to be rescinded.

“I’m sorry, Yoz . . . uh . . . General, but I have to be with my men on our left. I’ve sent word to the leaders of the two cavalry units on our right, reemphasizing that they are to obey any orders coming from you or General Kivalian, even with no confirmation from me.”

“I understand, Colonel Gangala. I will be secure knowing the left flank will hold, no matter what.”

Yozef had no idea how competent Uzman was as a battle commander, but he believed in the principle that soldiers will exceed others’ expectations if convinced their superiors believe in them.

With Uzman leaving, Kivalian commanding the front line, and the other Caedelli in their regiment’s position, it left only Vernik as someone to provide advice other than personal—which Carnigan was prepared for when they reached the command post.

“You’ve done all you can,” the gruff voice said surprisingly softly.

“No one has ever done all they can,” said Yozef. “Never in the history of . . . Anyar.” He had almost said, “Earth.”

“There you go,” said Synton. “If it’s never been done, then why would you think it’s something you should have done now? Sounds to me like that ohbrus I heard you talking about with Maera.”

“That’s oobrus, you illiterate,” said Carnigan, laughing.

“You’re both wrong. It’s hubris.”

“Whatever,” said Synton. “However you say it, it’s the same. If I understand, it’s when someone has an exaggerated opinion of themselves. Oh . . . wait. If Yozef Kolsko is a Septarsh, then maybe there’s no limit to their opinion of themselves.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Carnigan. “I hate to admit it, but he’s got you there, Yozef.”

A shout relieved Yozef of choosing a response.

“What’s that?!” called Synton, pointing back toward the front. Two red flares reached their apexes and curled down to meet two white flares arching upward.

Yozef’s gut tightened.

“Probably signaling details of their attack,” said Vernik. “Kivalian will report if anything significant changes.”

Yozef nodded and turned his attention to the collapsible table. Gartherid Kennrick had used four small rocks to hold down the corners of a freshly drawn diagram of their army’s dispositions two miles along the swell across the plateau, with the left end curved inward and right end slightly outward. He was out of direct sight of the forward units, and even Kivalian could not see the end units. Yozef knew how this would be. But knowing intellectually and experiencing it were different.

Two of Kennrick’s staff members waited with material to create updated versions as the day developed. Yozef didn’t know whether the effort was a worthwhile substitute for seeing everything himself, but he agreed to try Kennrick’s suggestion.

“God’s Mercy!” exclaimed the man holding Yozef’s horse. “Are there Kolinkans all around us!?”

Yozef snapped his head around to where the man looked westward. A single red flare fell from behind a low escarpment a mile away. He kept turning his head left, first at their rear, and saw nothing new, then east to see another red flare, this one originating from the valley on their right flank.

“Could be just scouts,” said Yozef to allay everyone’s incipient panic. He turned to the courier corps and barked. “I need two Kahsakist speakers.”

Three men stepped forward. He grabbed the arm of one man. “Ride to General Gangala. Tell him to send riders to locate where the flare in the west came from.” He pushed the man and grabbed a second courier. “You ride to the commander of the Ponomyna cavalry on our right and tell him to send men to look into the valley on our right. If necessary, go down into the valley and find out where the flare came from.”

He watched both couriers ride away. He wished Kivalian was next to him and perhaps Swavebroke to consult with. He turned to Vernik.

“What do you think? Are they going to come at us from three sides?”

Vernik shrugged. “There’s no way to know for sure, but I doubt it. You had patrols on both sides until the last hour when you drew them back. The terrain to our left seems too difficult for infantry to move with any speed. As for the valley on the right, for a force of a size to be a threat it would have had to have moved earlier and faster. I suspect it’s scouts or observers trying to get better views of our dispositions. But, as I said, you can’t be confident of anything until it happens.”

Horen Rakatek

The warmaster thought about Chaktah’s worries. He shared the second-in-command’s unease, but he had to take his own advice and not overthink what he didn’t understand. No matter what the reason, if the Ponomynan deployment indicated a serious vulnerability, he was obligated to take advantage. He called for couriers and turned to a scribe waiting with quill and paper. He stared at the diagram of his dispositions before deciding. If the concerted attack on the Ponomynan center broke through, there needed to be units positioned to take advantage. He dictated his orders. Two cavalry regiments from both flanks were to come to the rear center. Two infantry regiments would do the same. Once the infantry assault opened a breach, he would send cavalry regiments into the gap, followed by infantry reinforcements. The Ponomynan line would collapse in both directions as they tried to fight infantry in front of them and with cavalry in their rear. Finally, he wrote one more order. Two of the reserve artillery batteries would move forward and prepare to reinforce the grand artillery position aimed at the center of the Ponomynans.

Reimo Kivalian

His gut tightened as the Kolinkan formations drew near firing range. From what he could see, the Kolinkans were adjusting their pace to achieve approximate equal distances to all the Alliance army’s positions.

That means they intend to attack simultaneously across the entire front, he thought. An option discussed with Yozef and Vernik was that the Kolinkans would concentrate on part of the Alliance position, hoping for a quick breakthrough.

He was standing behind the main battery of the new model 12-pounders in the middle of the army’s positions—twenty-four guns. He was in direct sight of Harmon Swavebroke, commanding the Caedelli regiment to his left, and Tuvo Jormaki, commanding the Fuomi regiment to his right. Both men were near the end of their battalions, the closest to Kivalian’s position, and would return to their regiment centers once Kivalian gave the order for the artillery to fire.

Stakes had been driven into the ground 300 yards out along the entire front. When the Kolinkans reached the stakes, the two dragoon regiments to fire at will with their Sharps—there would be no volleys. The Kolinkans and the Iraquiniks in the Alliance army would wait to fire until the Kolinkans were 100 to 150 yards away. Smoothbore muskets were deadly at a longer distance, but the doctrine for Anyar warfare was that massed musket fire at the shorter distance was most effective. In theory, the dragoons would be pouring fire into the middle of the Kolinkan infantry for up to 200 yards before muskets on both sides came into play.

However, the first shots would be from the Caedelli’s central 12-pounder batteries, where Kivalian was initially stationed. Because of the terrain, the Kolinkan artillery could not set up and fire until they were within 400 yards. The Alliance artillery could begin firing earlier, but they did not want to chance the Kolinkans calling off their attack. The objective was a crushing defeat, not driving the Kolinkans away.

He would give the four batteries of 12-pounders leave to fire as soon as the Kolinkans began moving their artillery into position to fire. The range would negate much the advantage of the new cannon, but the best batteries were selected for this position, and the guns should be more accurate than the Kolinkans’ older type of artillery. Supposedly. In any event, they would be the first shots fired.

Uzman Gangala

He had briefly thought his infantry had a chance not to engage the Kolinkans. The Ponomynan part of the defense line curved away from the approaching enemy. His hope ended when he recognized that the Kolinkan units were advancing at different speeds.

They’re going to attack everywhere at once, he thought. He hoped the Caedelli weapons worked as well as Kolsko believed. Uzman had seen them on Caedellium, but now there were fifteen thousand Ponomynans with lives at risk. He also tried not to think about the thousands of countrymen with his brother, Tasman, tasked with slowing Kolinkan reinforcements from crossing the Zamzul River. There had been no word from Tasman.

His eyes kept going to the stakes marking a hundred yards. That’s about where his infantry would be exchanging musket volleys with the Kolinkans.

Munmar Kellen

No matter how much training they had, seeing the mass of Kolinkan infantry now close enough to distinguish individual faces was more than merely daunting—especially when he looked in both directions of his battalion’s line of a single rank, the men separated more than they would have been in a musket unit’s shoulder to shoulder.

It wouldn’t be long now. He could see the first Kolinkan artillery being rolled into position.

Reimo Kivalian

He did not absolutely need the telescope to recognize Kolinkans setting up artillery batteries, but bringing the view closer would let him confirm when all the Kolinkan horse teams had been unhitched and were being led away. They wanted to destroy the enemy artillery before it could withdraw.

Not yet, he thought. A few more.

They needed to disable as many of the Kolinkan cannon as possible before they turned their fire on the dismounted dragoons. Both Kivalian and Vernik had argued with Kolsko about the primary use of artillery. Standard doctrine was that artillery’s first task was suppression of the enemy’s artillery. Kolsko had insisted that a famous Amerikan marshal named Napoleon correctly advocated using artillery mainly against infantry, ignoring the enemy’s artillery unless it was inflicting an unacceptable level of casualties. Kolsko’s plan was that the Alliance Grand Battery, as he called it, would decimate the center of Kolinkan infantry.

Since Kolsko was in overall command, his view held sway. However, Kivalian was pleased and relieved when the Kolinkans deployed a major artillery force directly opposite Kivalian’s grand battery. It would be cannon against cannon.

Smoke was another limiting factor. Kivalian had hoped for a good wind to blow smoke away, but nature had not responded. The air was dead still, meaning smoke from cannon, rifles, and muskets would linger and begin obscuring sighting within the first half hour. As a marine officer, he had not participated in large land battles before Caedellium, but he remembered the heavy smoke during the Battle of Orosz City, which only a wind saved from being worse.

Back on Caedellium, Marshal Vernik had raised the smoke issue with Kolsko, saying it could negate many of the Sharps’ advantages. The Paramount had responded that they couldn’t account for everything, and anyway, most of the time there was at least a noticeable breeze. Kivalian admitted to himself that neither he nor Kolsko had considered that the winds on an island might not be the same as a continent’s inland areas.

He raised the telescope again and scanned the Kolinkan artillery position. Some crews were already leading their horses to the rear and were turning the barrels toward the Ponomynans. Other teams had just started unhitching limbers and caissons, while a few teams were still lashing the horses to move the cannon into position.

Close enough, he thought when he could see one horse team still being unhitched.

He turned to the artillery commander.

“Major, you may commence firing on the Kolinkan artillery position.”

Santaka Chaktah

Before he retired to a position more appropriate for his rank, Chaktah took one last look at the artillerymen scrambling to get their cannon in position to fire.

He turned to the commander of the five batteries—thirty 12-pounders.

“I leave it to you. Commence firing as soon as all guns are ready.”

They exchanged a salute, and Chaktah withdrew, along with his aides. He knew the officer from previous shared stations and trusted his competence and willingness to do his duty.

He had ridden no more than a hundred yards when behind him came a roar of cannon fire from the Ponomynans. He reined in and turned his horse to look toward the artillery he had just left. He saw three 12-pounders burst apart, barrels, wheels, and wooden fragments flung in all directions. He was not sure from his position, but it looked like another piece had a wheel shot away.

An approaching whistling sound stopped when a round shot eviscerated a cavalryman’s horse forty feet from Chaktah.

“You need to get out from behind the artillery!” yelled a lieutenant aide. “They may be aiming at our cannon, but missing shot is still deadly!”

Chaktah agreed, and his party spurred toward the rear of an infantry regiment at the front.

“Fire back!” he urged to no one in authority within hearing. He had expected that their artillery would be at a disadvantage while they set up because the Ponomynan artillery was already in place. When they reached the infantry regiment, he turned again to look toward his artillery in time to see and hear three or four guns fire.

“Get the rest of them in action,” he urged softly, just before the enemy artillery fired again. This time, it was not in a volley but a rolling salvo as each cannon was reloaded and fired.

By all the gods, he thought. Those crews are fast! Our men had better get firing while there’s any of them left.

The wish was answered as more Kolinkan cannon fired, gratifying him that they were firing as fast as they could without attempting volleys. He first became aware of more cannon fire up and down the line as smaller Kolinkan and Ponomynan artillery positions joined in.

His thoughts moved on from the artillery. While the artillery duel continued, the infantry needed to close with the invaders.

Munmar Kellen

The Kolinkan regiment directly in front of his battalion’s position drew closer with every second. His eyes shifted back and forth from the Kolinkans to the series of stakes placed at three hundred yards. Every Alliance battalion commander was free to commence firing as soon as a line of Kolinkans passed the stakes. Munmar stood with one of his companies. He would authorize the company commander to fire, signaling for other companies to engage.

Despite his focus, he had to suppress qualms rising in his chest. His single line of standing men seemed so puny, compared to the multiple ranks of massed Kolinkan infantry facing him, and knowing more Kolinkan regiments were behind the first line.

They’re almost there, he thought.

There? Did a stake just disappear? He squinted. Another stake gone! Another now bypassed by the infantry. He jerked his head toward the company captain and nodded. The man already had a whistle in his mouth and lungs full of air. The shrill blast cut through the cannon fire. Every man in Munmar’s line stepped back and lay on the ground behind a low berm that provided both a level of protection and support for the rifle.

CHAPTER 36

CARNAGE

Kolinkan Platoon Leader

He went by the name of Nalusaw. He avoided using his first name due to similarity in pronunciation to that of a carrion murvor. His family owned a small farm northeast of Chikawan but owed service to the local lord. Twenty-six years old, married with three children, and the middle of three sons, he was the family’s contribution to the lord’s troop allotment. A fourth son had been killed three years previous in one of the few times Kolinka had sent men to fight the Narthani.

Nalusaw had never been in battle, though his platoon had trained hard the last few months, as demanded by the warmaster. No one was told why the sudden increase in preparedness, but the wisdom of the warmaster was obvious once word spread of the invasion.

His family had a poor opinion of Meelis Litlik, but their approval was not relevant. He was their arklun, and Kolinka needed to be defended from external enemies. Why the Ponomynans now belonged to that category he did not understand. But again, understanding was not required. His job was to lead forty men from near his home, most of them from families known to him and his own family.

He winced when the artillery began firing, even though the battalion his platoon belonged to had other battalions between it and the Kolinkan artillery. There was apparently no enemy artillery directly pointed at his battalion, either—for which he was grateful.

His head and eyes shifted between his men in four ranks of ten behind him and forward to the Ponomynan men standing in a single line three hundred yards away, several green flags with stars flying on poles among the invaders. He had no doubt the thin enemy position would melt under the ranked fire of his regiment, but he was also confused at not facing what everyone had assumed would be a similarly ranked enemy. They all knew the exchange of fire would be horrifying and had braced themselves to do their duty—or so they told themselves. However, the sight facing them gave them hope that the day would be less brutal than expected and their chances of surviving much greater than anticipated.

“Steady, men,” he called out loud enough to be heard over cannon fire and similar encouragements from the other lieutenants leading their platoons. “Another hundred and fifty yards, and we’ll show them what Kolinkans are made of.”

Every musket was already loaded and ready to prime. When the signal was given, the regiment would stop. He ran through his duties. Move to the rear of his platoon to be in position to give orders without interfering with his men’s firing and reloading. Direct the wounded and dead to be pulled to the rear, their positions to be filled by the fourth rank. If there were too many casualties, shorten the platoon’s ranks to maintain the three-rank structure for volley fire. Never show fear.

He went through the litany once again when his eyes shifted from his men to the enemy line. He saw a ripple as every opposing man dropped to the ground.

“What!” was as far as his reaction got. Several puffs of smoke and cracks of firing turned into a wall of smoke and a wave of sound coming from along the Ponomynan position.

Buzzing sounds passed him by. Behind him were “thunks,” as if from impacts, and cries of pain and shock. His head snapped around. Three of his men were down. He did not see their wounds—the ranks had already stepped over them, the empty positions filled from the following ranks.

One man in the front rank had a bloody arm but continued to stay in step. Nalusaw had two thoughts whirling in his mind. First, the wounded man could not handle a musket and needed to fall behind and let his slot be filled with the next man. Second, the enemy had fired and now had to reload. But how would they do that lying down? It would take at least a full minute to reload from that position. By then, his battalion would be in position to fire. Lying down or not, the massed volley fire would quickly overwhelm the Ponomynans.

These thoughts lasted only seconds and vanished when another ripple of gunfire erupted from the enemy only seconds after the first. Three more of his men fell. One stayed on his feet long enough for Nalusaw to see the blossom of blood on his chest.

There was no time to think. What had been a rough initial volley was now continuous fire. The Kolinkans still had a hundred yards to go before they were in range to return fire.

Nalusaw had quit looking at the enemy and watched his platoon melt away, one man at a time. His mind was frozen. He had no idea what he should do to stop what was happening, so he did what he was trained to do. When there were not enough men to keep three ranks of ten wide, he yelled to consolidate to nine men per rank, leaving enough room so he could move beside the first rank, instead of behind the platoon.

He did not notice other platoons stagger, the number of lieutenants diminish, and the platoon on his left disintegrate, the survivors fleeing to the rear. Then his ranks were eight across. Seven. Six. Five. He yelled at his men to stand fast and did not see the final stage after a Sharps round struck the side of his head, obliterating his universe.

Munmar Kellen

Strictly speaking and according to accepted doctrine by both Narthon and Fuomon—the latter described by Kivalian—neither Kellen nor any of the officers were supposed to be firing Sharps. Their role was to lead. However, Yozef had decreed it up to the individual officer as long as his leadership was not affected.

Thus, Kellen joined in firing about when most of his men had fired three times. He had fired only twice before the carnage they were creating both repelled him and made him realize his observations were more important than any direct personal contribution.

His battalion had commenced firing at three hundred yards. The Kolinkans dressed ranks as men fell, but they continued forward. At two hundred and fifty yards, Kellen could see the small gap in the initial continuous line of Kolinkan infantry. At two hundred yards, the gaps were yawning.

He glanced right and left. Through the smoke, he could just barely discern a similar state as far as he could see. Directly in front, the Kolinkans were no longer uniformly advancing. Some few still came forward, whether from shock, a fixation on duty, or because they did not realize the state of their unit.

Santaka Chaktah

He was concerned when the Ponomynan artillery proved more effective in counter-battery fire than expected, but the infantry regiments had to cover only another hundred and fifty yards before they were in range for volley fire. In addition to overwhelming the thin line of invaders, his men’s fire would force the Ponomynan artillery to withdraw out of musket range, or their crews would be quickly decimated.

Chaktah experienced the impossible first-hand from the rear of the regiment to the right of their main artillery position. He glanced toward the Ponomynan infantry only after their line erupted in smoke. Balls whizzed by, one sounding within inches away. Two of his party went down, one hit in the head, the other thrown from his wounded horse. He saw infantrymen go down in the first rank—more than should have happened at this range. That’s when he glanced at the enemy position and first thought the Ponomynan men had disappeared. It was when a second, ragged volley came that he realized they were firing lying down.

He froze for almost a minute, sitting on his horse with aides yelling at him to move back. His mind attempted to understand the contradictions between what he saw and what he knew to be impossible. Instead of volleys, constant fire came from the prone enemy infantry. There was no way for that few men to produce that rate of musket fire while lying down—despite what his eyes told him.

Muskets were known not to be as accurate as those he saw. He watched the nearest regiment melt like snow exposed to a flame—until an aide grabbed his mount’s bridle and forced his horse back to the rear of the artillery. Its surviving crews and guns had quit firing and were rolling their guns to the rear. The aide later told him it was the safest place because the Ponomynan artillery had stopped counterbattery fire and was repositioning its pieces toward the infantry.

From there, Chaktah’s mind finally accepted the impossible. The individual Ponomynan infantrymen all had rifles, not muskets, that they could somehow reload lying down and several times as fast as any rifle he had ever heard of.

He could see neighboring regiments had also suffered catastrophic casualties. Was it like this along the entire front? If yes, the army was in danger of being destroyed, leaving Chikawan open.

Were all the Ponomynans armed like this? The distances and the smoke limited any visual information that he needed now to avoid a catastrophe. He strained to listen. He was not certain, but the distinctive sound of the Ponomynan rifles seemed to have slackened. At the same time, he heard only muskets in the distance, to both the right and the left ends of the front. Maybe the rifles were only in the center of the enemy positions. If so, could Kolinkan numbers still prevail? He had to make a decision.

Yozef Kolsko

He heard cannon and rifle firing from the center of their line slacken from continuous to sporadic, while cannon and musket fire from both flanks intensified. Kivalian had sent back that the Kolinka attack facing the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments was stopped, and the attackers had pulled back. No other details yet, except that Kivalian was ordering the Fuomi and Caedelli dragoons to cease fire to conserve ammunition and hold their positions. Twenty-five minutes had passed since the first cannon shot.

“I need to know what’s happening on both flanks,” he said to Vernik, hopefully not sounding too flustered.

Vernik looked as unperturbed as ever. “They should send word if it isn’t going well.”

Yozef slapped a hand to the map on the collapsible table. “I should have left orders to send regular updates, but things are happening so fast. I should also have had them set up the portable telegraph lines, but I didn’t think the distances were enough to warrant it. What if—”

Vernik laid a hand on Yozef’s shoulder and leaned close.

“Patience, Yozef,” he whispered. “It’s always like this in a major battle. There’s time to make decisions and give new orders once there is more clarity.”

It was a rare time when Vernik used the Paramount’s first name.

Vernik was prepared to offer advice, but he had not told Kolsko that the new weapons and tactics were so novel that he could not be sure how valuable his opinions were.

“Hey! That’s firing way too much to the right flank,” exclaimed Synton, standing ten feet away.

Yozef jumped back, bumped into one of the translators, and faced toward their right flank. Synton was right. Musket fire from the wrong direction. Lots of it. And cannon.

He called for Wilon Maderick, standing thirty feet away with a cluster of translators. Although the Personnel Section leader spoke only Caedelli, during preparations on Caedellium and movement to the launch site in Ponomyna, Yozef had witnessed Maderick somehow be able to communicate across languages, as well as pick up phrases quickly.

He came running.

“Send two of the Kahsakist speakers to the Aroian and Gympoian leaders, and report back what’s happening. Synton, send two of your men with them to be sure we get some information back.”

“They don’t speak anything but Caedelli.”

“They have eyes! Report what they see.”

Maderick and Synton ran off in different directions.

Uzman Gangala

“We have to send for help,” said Selgun Gangala. “The Kolinkan artillery was hurting us too badly until the Caedelli six-pounders turned their fire toward the Kolinkan battery. But we’re outnumbered as their infantry advances. It would be even worse if we hadn’t already been pulling back. We’re fortunate they haven’t pressed us harder.”

It wasn’t what Uzman wanted to hear, but he trusted his uncle commanding the 5,000 men Yozef called a brigade. Ponomyna did not have proscribed military unit sizes, but for the purpose of the campaign, Yozef insisted they organize Uzman’s Ponomynan infantry into two 6,000-men units he dubbed “brigades,” made up of 500-man “battalions.” Selgun commanded the rightmost brigade in the Ponomynan position on the left flank. Cousin Chilnun Gangala commanded the left brigade at the end of the line. Uzman now wished the two brigades had been switched because he had less confidence in Chilnun’s reliability.

Still, he knew for certain that they could not let the Kolinkans turn the army’s left flank.

“You MUST refuse the flank, gentlemen,” Yozef had emphasized during several meetings. “Pivot as much as possible and be assured reinforcements will be coming.”

Uzman now admitted he had not fully understood the principle until being in the middle of a battle, having an enemy pushing him back, and knowing that if his men did not “refuse the flank,” the Kolinkans might roll up the entire army.

“All right, uncle. Leave the right end of your brigade tied to the six-pounders, and swing the rest of the brigade back, keeping as straight a line as you can. I’ll have Chilnun match your move so our line stays together. I’ll get a message off to Kolsko about what we’re doing and ask for help. Our withdrawal should give time for help to arrive.”

Selgun’s expression needed no explanation.

“I’ll go to Chilnun to be sure the other brigade moves with yours,” said Uzman. “We already have a problem with more Kolinkan cavalry moving toward our flank.”

Horen Rakatek

The warmaster hid his shock well when Chaktah reported in person on their center’s carnage.

“I don’t know how there’re doing it, Warmaster. Whether it’s dark magic or something else, we can’t attack their units with that capability.”

“How it’s done is a topic for another day,” said Rakatek. “Our focus is on what we do now. You think only the center of their line can do what you describe?”

“As far as I saw and was reported to me.”

“That matches reports from the two flanks, where we seem to have a slight edge and where they’re using ranked muskets like we expected. There’s still a chance to save the day. Our left flank was already stronger than the right, in order to support a left flank attack with the force we sent down that valley. I can order the left regiments to attack vigorously. I’ll also detach the reserve cavalry regiments to join them.”

“I don’t know, Warmaster. Part of me wants to withdraw and reassess, but I agree a left flank attack may be our best chance. We’ll have to keep the central units that are still intact in place so the Ponomynan center is inhibited from reinforcing against our flank attack. Otherwise, they would leave their center open. Magical weapons or not, our numbers would eventually prevail if we split their position.

“I suggest you also send the attack flares to the cavalry regiments on their other flank. Maybe also send two regiments to provide protection for our right flank. I don’t think we’re in danger of the Ponomynans getting behind us. Maybe we can tie up any reinforcements they have.”

Yozef Kolsko

“Well, we wanted clarification. Now we’ve got it,” said Yozef, wiping off forehead sweat with the back of his hand. “The Iraquiniks at both ends of our line have swung to keep the Kolinkans from getting around them, but we’ll be squeezed together if it continues. We’ll have to commit both reserve dragoon regiments.” He unconsciously looked to Vernik before snapping back to the map. As much as he wanted the marshal’s input and too often wished the Fuomi was commanding, he struggled to project competence and confidence.

“That’s why you positioned them where you did,” said Vernik, without offering an opinion of the original deployment or what action Yozef should take.

Yozef focused on the map, Vernik standing on his left, Kivalian on his right. Reimo had left the front after twenty minutes of only sporadic firings.

“I think the Naskinese regiment can secure the left flank,” said Yozef. “The right is the biggest danger.”

“I agree,” said Kivalian. “How did they slip that force to our flank? We had scouts until the main action started.”

“Obviously, we shouldn’t have pulled the scouts back,” said Yozef. “Still, either there are terrain features we didn’t appreciate, or they all but ran the infantry to get into position. At least, it’s the Munjorian regiment on that side. I have more faith in Gaya than in Bindbar.

“Well, we need to do something quick,” said Kivalian. “The Iraquinik units have been doing what they were told to do—keep loose contact but withdraw without major volley engagements. It cuts their casualties down, but they can’t back away forever.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “We’ll message Gaya to move to support the right flank. I think the main threat is the Kolinkan force that surprised us, but Aro and Gympo have to be reinforced. I’ll order Gaya to split the regiment, half to support Aro and Gympo and half to stop the flanking force.”

“That puts a thousand dragoons against what may be twelve to fifteen thousand Kolinkans,” said Kivalian, shaking his head. “I’ve seen for myself how effective the Sharps are, but we can’t push it too far.”

“What about withdrawing a battalion from each of the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments?” queried Yozef.

“That will help and shouldn’t weaken our center enough to worry about, but it will take time. The same with moving artillery. Right now, the two reserve regiments don’t have any.”

Vernik cleared his throat, getting Yozef’s attention. “From the sounds of Kolinkan artillery, they have much more on our right flank than on the left.”

Yozef thought he understood the marshal’s hint.

“All right, we’ll move artillery to the flanks as fast as possible. Both the Fuomi and Caedelli regiments will send two batteries to their closest flank. We’ll also deploy the test weapons. The twelve-pounder howitzers to support Naskin and the Ordinance rifles and Gatlings to the right. The Ordinance rifles to focus on suppressing Kolinkan artillery. Any comments?”

There were none, and Yozef turned to the group of aides furiously writing orders. He read each one as it was handed to him and passed duplicates on to two couriers for each destination.

Rhanjur Gaya

The commander of the Munjorian regiment watched as two of his battalions aligned behind Gympo’s men to face the oncoming Kolinkan infantry attacking the army’s flank. There was a 300-yard gap to where the rest of his regiment was moving to support the Aroians being pressed back. Cavalry from both armies fought to his right, but his attention was forward. The Ordinance rifles had arrived minutes earlier and were firing on the Kolinkan artillery batteries. One of the three pieces had been disabled when its carriage shattered by a solid shot. By then, the remaining Kolinkan artillery pieces began withdrawing to prevent destruction by the accurate Ordinance rifles—smoothbore cannon could not stand against rifled guns.

On his signal, Gympo’s units turned and ran back through the Munjorian line, giving Gaya’s men an unobstructed view of ranked Kolinkans two hundred yards away. Although out of nominal musket range, the Kolinkans kept up firing as the Gympoian men pulled back. Gaya could hear musket balls buzz past and saw several men fall near him.

He wished he had Singhal with him, but he had given his senior adviser, an experienced leader, command of the battalions going to Aro’s aid to Gaya’s left. That left it to him to give the order to advance while firing. As opposed to the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments holding defensive fixed prone positions, the reserve regiments would be counterattacking.

At two hundred yards, the effect of eight hundred Sharps was immediately apparent. The Kolinkan front ranks seemed to hesitate as men were hit and replaced. Munjorians also fell, but the pattern was different. There were no other ranks to step forward. A fallen Munjorian left a gap in the thin line. However, the Sharps put out a higher rate of fire than three ranks of muskets, which were less accurate.

Within a minute, the Sharps’ advantages were apparent. Kolinkan ranks struggled to maintain order as more and more men fell. Still, Gaya was dismayed at how many of his men were being hit.

A shout dragged Gaya’s attention to the rear. Teams of horses being lashed raced toward him. He recognized the Gatlings. Two crew chiefs of the three weapons stopped their horses mere feet from where Gaya stood.

“Where do you want us?” shouted one of the men—Gaya didn’t know which weapons he commanded and didn’t care.

“Just set up facing the Kolinkans and fire!” he screamed back over the sound of rifles and muskets.

Gaya lost sight of the Gatling crews, but 12-pounder reinforcement batteries arrived from the Caedelli regiment. He pointed to where there was room to set up and watched as the crews unhitched horses, turned the guns to face the Kolinkans, loaded, and began firing canister as soon as each 12-pounder was able. He saw two 12-pounder crewmen fall from musket fire before the first gun fired.

The effect was immediate. The canister rounds tore gaping holes in the Kolinkan regiment directly to their front all the way through the ranks. Combined with continuing Sharps fire, by the third canister shot from each 12-pounder, the one Kolinkan regiment was reduced to scattered individuals and clusters of two to four men still standing.

When Gaya saw the effect of the first canister rounds, he ran toward his men’s right flank where the Gatlings had gone. He arrived to see a Munjorian captain waving his sword and using it to beat on any of his men who weren’t listening to get them out of the Gatlings’ line of fire. Gaya ground his teeth and automatically reached for his sword to join the captain, only to remember he had eschewed the traditional trapping of his rank.

One by one, the three Gatlings had clearance and began firing. They used the same paper cartridges as the Sharps, held in forty-round magazines fed vertically into the six rotating barrels. Gaya knew the specifics. Two hundred rounds per minute. The problem, which had been apparent back on Caedellium, was how long they would fire before paper cartridges jammed or barrel fouling seized each gun.

Two of the Gatlings focused on one regiment. The guns were awkward to traverse a target, so they dug into a narrow portion of ranked musketmen. Within seconds, two gaps opened up through all four ranks. The rounds continued on to a second regiment fifty yards behind the first. Crew chiefs shouted, and the two Gatlings quit firing to allow the men to shift the carriage back to the front Kolinkan ranks.

Gaya had thought he was inured to carnage until he witnessed how the Gatlings punched gaps through infantry ranks within seconds. Then one of the Gatlings suddenly stopped firing. He thought at first it was a sign of mercy by the crew. Then the frenzy of activity around the gun made him realize it had seized up. The crew was either trying to free jammed cartridges or working to clean the barrels. He could not tell which and could not help but feel a small sense of relief.

He glanced to his right, where the third Gatling was doing the same devastation to a second Kolinkan regiment. In all cases, the Gatlings’ fire was added to that of his men’s rifles—firing that had paused briefly in awe, terror, or surprise when men saw the Gatlings’ effect on real opponents, rather than on the paper-and-straw targets used on Caedellium. The targeted Kolinkan infantry regiment got a reprieve when the Kolinkan cavalry covering their flank charged Gaya’s right flank.

Trying to relieve their infantry compatriots, Gaya thought with admiration, though he predicted the results.

The captain of Gaya’s rightmost company saw the cavalry charge and how it was breaking through the Ponomynan cavalry. He shouted and waved frantically to get his company to shift their position and firing. The single Gatling crew saw the same situation and turned their gun to face the Kolinkan charge. By chance, the Gatling and the company got into position and began firing within seconds of each other. Contrasting with the other two Gatling crews, the single gun’s crew picked up the carriage trailer to shift its aim every three or four magazines. The effect was as devastating as Gaya expected but fortuitously cost fewer lives. The front of the Kolinkan charge collapsed in a tangle of dead and wounded men and horses, forming a barricade the following cavalrymen could not breach. The tangle also provided grim protection for the enemy because many Sharps and Gatling rounds stopped before they could hit new targets.

Despite himself, Gaya silently wished the cavalry commander would recognize the futility and withdraw. Suddenly, the Gatling ceased firing, and Gaya saw the cavalry withdrawing. It was only later that he learned the two events were not related. The single Gatling had stopped firing when a gear broke.

CHAPTER 37

DISASTER

Horen Rakatek

The sun was three hands from the western horizon and two hours into the battle when the Kolinkan warmaster fully understood the day’s disaster—confirmed when Santaka Chaktah rode to the command position. The second-in-command appeared to have aged a decade in hours.

“Warmaster, I’ve sent orders to all units to immediately disengage and withdraw back to the Tahpulta Ravine. I know that usurped your authority, but I felt we were losing too many men every minute they were in range of whatever demonic weapons the Ponomynans are using. Seven regiments were smashed. Another four lost enough men that we’ll have to merge them to create two functioning regiments. Our cavalry hasn’t suffered as much, except for one regiment on our left flank attack. Worse is, we’ve lost over a third of our artillery.”

“You did right, Santaka,” said Rakatek, his expression with lines deeper and eyes more haunted than Chaktah’s. “Whatever we’re dealing with is so unexpected, so seemingly impossible, so beyond my seeing how to respond that I don’t know any option but to retreat before we lose even more men. A fundamental question is whether retreat is possible. So far, I have no reports of a counterattack.”

Chaktah pulled his hat off and ran the fingers of the other hand through his hair. “No. They’re staying in the positions where they were when our men starting disengaging and have given no sign of pursuit. We’ve left gods know how many wounded. We had to pull back fast or risk even more casualties. If they continue to sit in place, I’d like your permission to send a parley flag to see if they will allow us to gather and treat the wounded without being fired on.”

“Yes, yes, Santaka. Let’s salvage what we can. We owe the men that much.”

Chaktah saluted, put his hat back on, and started to turn before stopping. “After we pushed back their flanks, we temporarily occupied their original positions. As we withdrew, we took as many of our wounded as we could. Among those are a few of their wounded—maybe six to ten, the numbers are uncertain. If any of them survive, we might get information about what we faced.”

Rakatek seemed thoughtful.

“Hmmmm. Keep them in mind if we can negotiate for our wounded. You can offer their wounded as an incentive, but don’t mention them if it’s not necessary.”

Yozef Kolsko

It had been twenty minutes since the last shot was fired. All the reports were that the Kolinkans were withdrawing.

“So, there’s no doubt they’re retreating?” asked Yozef once the main leaders were gathered.

Kivalian gestured to Uzman Gangala for an answer.

“My scouts are keeping their distance, but so far they report every Kolinkan who is mobile is moving northeast, back in the direction of Chikawan. Of course, we can’t know whether they are truly retreating or just pulling back to reorganize for another attack.”

“What about our casualty estimates?”

“We’re still accounting for men. So far, it looks like about six hundred dead and twelve to fifteen hundred wounded, some of whom are able to continue.”

“And the Kolinkans?”

Kivalian’s face was hard for Yozef to read—somehow a mixture of awe and dismay.

“They took too many dead and wounded with them to get real numbers, but I’d be surprised if it’s much less than twenty thousand casualties.”

Everyone in the gathering uttered mixtures of amazement, glee, confusion, and, to Yozef’s perception, foreboding. It was Vernik who vocalized the latter responses.

“Do all of you realize that warfare on Anyar will never be the same after today?” asked the Fuomi marshal. “Yes, this army suffered casualties, and it’s a tragedy to those men and their families. I by no means denigrate the casualties, which are mainly Iraquiniks, but a Kolinkan army of probably over one hundred thousand men was soundly defeated mainly by eight thousand men using the new weapons developed on Caedellium. If the population of that island were larger, I would be concerned that Caedellium might become an unstoppable force that could conquer all of Anyar.”

“I don’t have the marshal’s worry,” said Uzman, smiling ruefully, “but I intend to advise my father to form close and friendly relations with Caedellium.”

The laughter, though relatively subdued, considering the day’s events, was a release of tension welcomed by most men, though not by all.

“We need to get to the wounded, Yozef,” exclaimed Krysilla Wydmon. “Men are going to die the longer we wait.”

“You know we had to wait, Krysilla. Your people have done a marvelous job with casualties. However, sending medical teams to areas where there might be a mixture of Kolinkan and Alliance casualties was too dangerous until we were sure it was safe. It does no good to lose our medicants to Kolinkan fire if it can be helped. Besides, there shouldn’t be too many of our wounded who are not already being treated.”

He turned to address the Iraquinik leaders. “It’s mainly your wounded who might have been left when you had to pull back. I’ve heard that you think you took all of them with you, but it’s now time to check. Go ahead and search the ground you withdrew over, but have the medical people escorted.”

“What about the wounded Kolinkans?” asked Wydmon.

“Ours first,” said Yozef. “Once our wounded have received all the treatment possible, then and only then move on to Kolinkans.”

“If we do that, we’ll use up all our medical supplies,” said Uzman. “There might be thousands of wounded Kolinkans out there. You can hear them even from here.”

They were anywhere from a quarter mile to a mile from the Kolinkan wounded. Yozef had unsuccessfully tried to ignore the background din of men crying and moaning. At least, the screaming had stopped—he assumed, and partially hoped, that those men had passed out or died.

“We’ll do what we can,” said Yozef, “but only if it won’t affect our own men now or in the future.”

“At least a few of our medicants will not like this, Yozef,” said Wydmon, “although most will understand or even approve.”

Yozef paused, thinking of maybe sending back to Penabak for more medical supplies.

No, he thought. They would take too long to arrive in time. We can’t deplete what we have for our own men. Who knows when the next battle will take place?

“Uzman, do you think a few of your men would volunteer to take a parley flag after the retreating Kolinkans? We can tell them they can collect their wounded and dead.”

Uzman moved back a step and swiped the back of a finger under his nose.

“I, uh . . . don’t know. I can check. No . . . you’re right. No matter what we think of the Litliks and other Kolinkan rulers, most Kolinkans probably know little of what their rulers connived to do, and they had no choice but to be here. I’m also sure most truly believe they’re defending their kahsak from whatever fate the ruling class told them would happen.”

“That’s fine, Yozef,” said Kivalian, “but our army can’t just sit here. We’re a long way from the ultimate objective. We can’t give the Kolinkans more time than necessary, no matter what reason of mercy.”

“Our wounded and dead come first,” said Yozef. “The dead are to be buried here. Those wounded with injuries that allow them a considerable degree of function will continue with us. Those more seriously wounded will be taken back to Ponomyna.

“Uzman, detach a hundred of your cavalry to escort the wagons. That’s not a big escort, but if we parley with the Kolinkans about their wounded, I’ll make a point that a wounded train of wagons is considered inviolate, both ours and theirs. Should they attack our wounded who are being taken back, that will affect how we treat future wounded Kolinkans.”

“It’ll be someone else talking to the Kolinkans, not you,” growled Carnigan from where he and Synton stood apart from the leadership.

“Damn right!” added Synton.

A few of the leaders looked outraged at the impudence, but others had learned of Kolsko’s special relationship with his supposed guards. They didn’t understand it, but it involved a degree of veto power over Kolsko’s actions.

“I’ll go,” said Neezpak, surprising everyone. The acerbic Gympoian leader was about the last person Yozef would have predicted to volunteer.

“I hate these fucking Kolinkans, but it’s mainly their leaders’ fault how they act. Anyway, who’s better to warn them about attacking our wounded wagons than someone they already know hates their guts?”

Kivalian smiled and nodded. Even Uzman grudgingly shrugged and gave an open hands gesture.

Vernik had been silent but now cleared his throat loudly to get attention.

“It also might be a good time to start letting the Kolinkans know they’re not just facing Ponomyna.”

“I think you’re right, Haree. That might drive home today’s lesson that changes are coming to Kolinka. We don’t want to kill every single Kolinkan. We just want to change both their leadership and how Kolinka helps the other kahsaks with the war against Narthon.”

Parley

The news that the Ponomynans were presenting a parley flag and that a Gympoian officer would be the representative surprised Rakatek, his staff, and the senior officers. Chaktah had been preparing to make the same request when word came. He represented Rakatek and rode with six aides to the white flag flying on a pole a half mile from the battle line. Waiting were seven men—the number proscribed in the parley proposal. They stood on their side of the flag, their horses held by men a hundred yards behind.

“Someone will have to hold the horses,” said Chaktah. “Mikatok, it falls to you as the most junior. Parley flag or not, if this is a trick, leave us and get back to our forces to report to the warmaster.”

Chaktah did not recognize the Gympoian as he approached the flag. Then again, he had met few of them in his lifetime.

“I am Subwarmaster Chaktah, second-in-command to Warmaster Rakatek. What is the purpose of this parley?”

“My name is Neezpak, commander of the Aro Kahsak contingent of the army whose purpose is to punish Kolinka for colluding with Narthon.” Neezpak gestured to the other men. “These others represent the Ponomyna and Aro kahsaks, the Munjor and Naskin kingdoms of Landolin, the Island of Caedellium, and Fuomon.”

Neezpak turned and waved to the men holding their horses. Chaktah had not noticed that two of the men held poles. With the Gympoian’s signal, the two men planted the poles and unfurled flags. He recognized the Ponomynan and Gympoian banners, the latter from one visit to that kahsak. He also recognized the Fuomi flag from a rare book on Anyar nations that his family owned.

Chaktah later evaluated that he had kept an expressionless demeanor during the Gympoian’s statement. Several of his aides were not as controlled.

“We are offering you a chance to recover the remaining Kolinkan dead and wounded left behind. We estimate there are thousands of them. Our medical people are tending to your wounded as long as it does not reduce the ability to care for our own. You may send unarmed men as long as you do not impede the movement of our army as we continue toward Chikawan.”

As startled as Chaktah was by Neezpak’s claims, his professional side was just as surprised by the blatant declaration that the Kolinkan capital was the invading army’s target.

“And what do you hope to gain from this violation of our kahsak?”

“That is irrelevant to this parley. We are presenting you with an offer contingent upon a single condition. We also have wounded. They need to be returned to Ponomyna for care. In return for allowing you to retrieve your men, you must agree not to impede our wounded returning to Ponomyna. We may fight to the death, but there is no reason to behave like savages with regard to those no longer able to defend themselves.”

Chaktah’s mind was still in turmoil over the claim of the invading army’s composition. That Caedellium was involved did not surprise him. Along with Rakatek and many other senior officers, he believed the raid on the island had been ill-advised. There were also rumors of Fuomi helping Caedellium. As for the other kahsaks, none were on friendly terms with Kolinka, and Ponomyna was a long-standing antagonist. But Munjor and Naskin? How could they possibly be involved in attacking Kolinka?

He needed time to process everything, but the Gympoian stood waiting for an answer.

“I can speak for Warmaster Rakatek. Your wounded returning to Ponomyna will not be impeded in any way. I also thank you for allowing us to retrieve any dead and wounded.”

Yozef Kolsko

“They accepted . . . uh, Kol . . . Para . . . Gen . . . “

“Don’t worry about the address, Neezpak. For purposes of this army, I’ve explained that my formal title of General is appropriate, but I think after this battle, those of us in command can relax the formality. Of course, you should have learned by now about my informality with people I’m accustomed to. I think today’s battle counts for all of you here.”

Yozef smiled. “Of course, if I were to have the effrontery to use your first name, I would have to know it.”

“Forget it,” huffed Neezpak.

“But you say they accepted the parley? Any problems or reason to think we shouldn’t trust them?”

“No . . . uh, Yozef. The man I met was called Santaka Chaktah. He claimed to be the second-in-command to their leader, a man he called Warmaster Rakatek. He seemed honestly appreciative of the offer—at least, for a Kolinkan. They’re known to be untrustworthy. I also added that our future treatment of Kolinkan wounded and prisoners would depend on their honoring the parley agreement.”

Yozef had seen firsthand the attitude of Caedelli toward defeated foes. He had no doubt the Iraquiniks he had come in contact with were similar or more severe by the Earth standards he knew.

“Very good,” said Yozef, turning to Wydmon. “Krysilla. This army needs to be on the move again as soon as possible. Get the seriously wounded into wagons as soon as you can, and head back to Ponomyna.”

“A few are so gravely injured that to move them risks killing them.”

“How many are there, and can you evaluate which ones will die no matter what you do?”

She frowned. “Perhaps ten to fifteen with probably fatal injuries, but another fifty or more who shouldn’t be moved for at least a sixday.”

Yozef sighed. “We can’t wait. We’ll have to leave them here with enough people to care for them until they die or can be moved. We’ll leave a few guards but will have to depend on the parley agreement for their safety.”

She was not happy with the plan but understood the necessities.

Yozef turned back to the leaders.

“Gentlemen. We won this battle, but there will be more ahead. Give careful thought to the outcome and what you witnessed. Over the next few days, we’ll meet for evening meal and go over what happened in detail. This was our first fight together, and there are lessons to learn and errors to discuss. We’ll also give this army one day to rest and let our medical people treat and arrange for the wounded. The next day I want this army moving again.”

Rhanjur Gaya

“You realize that warfare has changed forever,” stated Gaya to his second-in-command as they rode to where the Munjorian regiment was repositioned.

“Yes, but what are you and I going to do with that knowledge?” asked Singhal.

“You mean back in Munjor. The necessary changes to adjust to a new reality are not going to be easy to implement. Tradition and vested interests will fight accepting what must happen if we are to survive not only the Narthani but whatever else the future holds.”

Singhal shook his head. “Even if it’s accepted that the army must transform, and I wouldn’t assume that’s a given, too many of our leaders and influential families will not grasp that changes will have to go deep into Munjor’s customs. We can’t depend on Caedellium to provide the new weapons. Munjor must produce them itself, requiring whole new “industries” as Kolsko calls them. Just the steelmaking alone will effect tens of thousands of people and start the great families maneuvering for advantage.”

Gaya’s sigh was of resignation.

“You will have the easiest part, Singhal. You only have to convince enough of the senior officers who did not see what we experienced today. On the other hand, back in Munjor, I have to convince my grandfather that the Gaya family has both an obligation and opportunity in pressing for changes. Then, assuming I’m successful, what about the other major families?”

A Walk for Honor

Hundreds of lanterns joined Anyar’s larger moon to illuminate the battlefield while medicants scoured for unattended wounded.

“This is not necessary, Yozef,” whispered Carnigan—at least, as close to a whisper as the big man could manage.

“It may not be necessary, but it’s honorable, my friend. No matter how necessary what we’re doing is, it’s still me who instigated thousands of deaths today. Yet I did not see any of those deaths myself. I was safe from musket balls and cannon shot—hearing but not seeing. This won’t be the last time I cause deaths. Maybe I can’t explain it properly, but it feels dishonorable for me not to directly see the consequences.”

“I still say—umph!”

Synton had elbowed Carnigan in the gut. It had to have been hard enough to get through a wall of muscle to affect his diaphragm.

Yozef had walked away and didn’t hear Synton say, “He has to get it out. Better to see than dwell on why he didn’t see.”

They walked to where Gaya and half of his regiment had stopped the flank attack. Carnigan and Synton occupied the forward corners of a box surrounding Yozef, Toowin Kales and Arlen Pawell the rear corners. None of them commented when he started walking, instead of calling for horses. Neither was there any verbal interchange with traffic they encountered: medicant wagons and stretcher crews carrying wounded to the field hospital or the chosen collection site for bodies, company-size dragoon units taking turns leaving the front line to recover their horses, food and water wagons, horse teams being led to their waiting artillery carriages and crews, men and wagons performing other activities.

They passed within thirty feet of Thala Seaborn helping put a wounded Munjorian onto a stretcher. She looked up to see Yozef, but his mind was elsewhere, and he did not recognize her.

When they reached the end of the right flank, the three Gatling guns were still standing where they helped turn back the Kolinkans. One gun was hitched back to its limber and caisson, and a second was being attached as they arrived. The third gun had been taken apart, components scattered on clothing that crewmen had contributed to keep the pieces off the ground while they argued about something.

Yozef had only brief interest in the Gatlings; his eyes focused rightward where the Kolinkan cavalry charge had been stopped. A hundred horses, perhaps more, lay on the ground, most motionless but a few still moving—twitching, legs kicking, heads quivering. Worse were the groans and the shrill cries of those in extreme pain. Men walked among the animals. A Sharps fired, and another horse was given mercy. Another shot. Yozef averted his eyes and continued toward the area where two Kolinkan regiments had met Sharps and Gatling fire, then wished he had kept looking at the horses.

He did not attempt to estimate the number of bodies—there were too many. In planning the campaign, watching the training and maneuvers on Caedellium, and during the battle he thought he had imagined how terrible the fight and the aftermath would be. He naivete shocked him.

The destruction of the two regiments had been so fast and complete that the survivors had had only thoughts to flee, leaving comrades where they fell.

When they got to where the Kolinkans had faced the Caedelli regiment, bodies lay sprawling where they were when hit by fire. In many places, if Yozef had tried to walk where the rear rank of Kolinkan musket men had stood, it would have required walking on bodies. An invisible cloak of body odors, the smell of blood, and the stench of what was voided from wounded and dying men had not been dissipated by the faint air currents hovering over the battlefield.

Yozef had never experienced such a scene in his life. At the battle of Moreland City, the Narthani were either at a distance or were passed quickly in the urgency and heat of the fight. At Orosz City, he was wounded in the last moments of the fight and had not seen the aftermath.

They came to a body protruding toward what had been the Caedelli’s position. Other bodies had dropped in place or were thrown backward.

He must have crawled forward after being hit, thought Yozef, looking for a wound, then seeing the hole in the man’s throat under his chin. Very little blood, was Yozef’s idle thought before he noticed the body was of a boy who could not have been more than seventeen Anyar years old—fifteen Earth years.

Yozef did not know if what he felt was guilt, sadness, or the urge to cry, to scream, or simply to close his eyes and pretend he was elsewhere. He was brought back to the moment when a clearly audible moan came from a two-deep tangle of bodies. A protruding hand opened and closed its fingers.

“Help me!” he ordered the others.

“Don’t bother, it’s only—”

This time it was Carnigan’s turn to silence Synton, the “poke” sending Synton to his knees.

After hesitation, they pulled out a weathered man with streaks of gray in his beard and hair. As they laid him on the ground, Yozef saw a chest wound, which was indicated by blood spreading on his shirt as they watched. Yozef tore open the man’s shirt to reveal a bullet hole high in the right side of his chest. Mixed with the oozing blood were bubbles.

A sucking chest wound, thought Yozef. He had seen enough movies and TV shows and read enough books to have a vague notion of what was happening and what needed to be done.

“Help me roll him over,” he ordered. Carnigan was the quickest to respond. Yozef cut away the shirt. “No exit wound. It must have been a Sharps round that had already passed through one or more bodies, but his lung is collapsed.” They rolled him again on his back. “We have to seal it.”

He remembered actors using bandages and even plastic wrappers, neither of which they had. Yozef held a palm on the entry hole and pressed.

“Live, damn you,” he mumbled. “Let me save at least one life today.”

He could feel the man’s heartbeat. He cursed and looked back at the array of bodies. He noticed most of the bodies faced skyward. Why is that? he thought. An urge to see the sky one last time or automatically rolling on the back when injured?

After that thought, he noticed another movement—a bent leg rocking slightly back and forth.

“Go find the nearest medicants or Iraquinik medical people!” he shouted as he watched the leg.

“We heard you order only our own wounded to be treated first,” said Synton, not in an accusatory tone but by way of reminder.

“Fuck what I said!” exclaimed Yozef, forgetting himself and using English. He took three deep breaths and continued in Caedelli. “There’s a new order by the commander of this army. Most of our wounded should already be getting care. Kolinkan wounded are to be helped as much as possible. Besides medicants, other men should check for Kolinkan wounded and offer what care they can until medicants arrive. This order is for all units from all nations.”

“I’d better take word to Kivalian,” Synton said to Carnigan, then ran to where men held five horses in case they were needed. There was a brief exchange. What was said was unknown. Synton did not speak High Landolin, but he got his point across because the man did not resist when Synton took off with one of the horses.

Yozef never finished walking the entire line. The man with the chest wound died before help arrived. Carnigan used a cloth to clean blood from Yozef’s hands. Yozef stayed in this section until he was satisfied that every surviving Kolinkan had been identified and was getting a level of attention.

Finally, he walked south, away from where any fighting had occurred. When he felt alone, he stopped, looked at the stars, and wondered at the Anyar constellations whose names he couldn’t remember. He breathed slow and deep and tried to settle his mind.

There was somehow a symmetry to his existence. If they didn’t defeat the Narthani, the knowledge that he and Mark could transfer either would not happen or would end up serving the Narthani in their quest for worldwide tyranny. Without the knowledge, they could never defeat the Narthani. These were the two aspects of the life he had fallen into. War and freedom. Knowledge saving lives, and knowledge bringing death. He pushed down the fear of what he was doing, the fear of not being convinced he knew what he was doing, and the fear that there was a better course he couldn’t recognize.

Then, as clouds settled over the field, he walked back to where his tent had been erected, went inside without eating, and did not emerge until the next morning.

CHAPTER 38

CAEDELLIUM

Mark

There was enough light for him to read a report by the steam engine facility’s supervisor. The test engine continued to run twenty feet away.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“Four hours nonstop,” said Wininian. The ex-Fuomi was one of several naval master craftsmen who had switched allegiance to Caedellium. Besides twenty years’ experience in the Fuomi navy and tours that involved shipbuilding, Wininian was, by Mark’s evaluation, a natural engineer. What he lack in technical education he compensated for with talent, hard work, and determination. He demonstrated the latter trait by helping Mark set up an engineering training program for the University of Caedellium at the same time that he was taking the first courses and working full time.

“Still no leakage that couldn’t be handled with pumps. It’s the best run yet, and I’ve a couple of ideas for further improvement. Even so, I don’t see any reason not to go ahead with planning a working model.”

“I agree,” said Mark, watching with pleasure and anticipation as the propeller churned away at the water in the large tank. The shaft passed through the tank’s wall and connected to a steam engine. The test’s purpose was to see whether the seal between the water and what on a ship would be the engine room was tight enough and long-lasting. “Keep it running until more leaks develop or I tell you stop. There’s no point moving on until we can be confident the seal will last for at least a sixday.”

The same setup was used to test different propeller configurations and shaft designs. The original plan had been for a paddlewheel steamship, with the intent to switch to propellers as soon as technical problems were solved. Mark remembered that the first propeller ships were experimented with around 1700 on Earth, but it was 1830 to 1840 before true propeller-driven ships were shown to be reliable.

Mark had not told Yozef that he had given up on the idea of a paddlewheel deep-water ship that required wheels on both sides of the hull. Combined with the problems of the wheels not transferring maximum force to the water a lot of the time and having to armor the wheels, he had shifted the project’s development. It was a leap of faith, but he decided that if Yozef got mad that the switch was made without his being consulted, Mark would claim he was only following what Yozef did regularly—making leaps while having confidence the problems would not be intractable.

Less interpersonally problematic was the breech-loading cannon project. Not unexpectedly, it was proceeding more slowly than Mark had hoped. There were two problems: the right quality of steel was yet to be determined, and the machining of satisfactory sealed breeches was still in the future.

Assuming the steamship project continued to look good, the first cannon would be muzzle-loaders. One design consideration for the ship concerned its ability to replace muzzle-loaders with breechloaders as soon as they were available. Yet even that intention had problems, such as which initial type of muzzle-loaders—should they go with the existing types or jump to models developed on Earth as much as a hundred years later than comparable Anyar technology? Mark also wanted the guns to be able to fire both solid shot and shells, assuming the fusing problems were solved.

One decision was to emphasize fewer, heavier guns versus traditional broadsides of rows of medium-weight cannon. He envisioned the time of broadsides was about to end. A steam warship, faster and more maneuverable than its opponents, would never engage in close-range volley fire but would stand off and mortally wound wooden ships without coming into their range.

Another project involved another leap, this one regarding the potential of developing wireless. He and Yozef had discussed the possibility without making firm plans. Mark only started seriously thinking about it when he realized Yozef would be in dangerous wartime conflicts for so many months without any news reaching Caedellium. Wireless was possible. Yes, there were technical problems. But hey, he thought, that’s why I’m here.

The first systems would be crude. Messages in Morse Code would depend on how much power the facilities could muster and the size of the antennas. All were mere problems to solve. Of course, the signals could be read by anyone. Then again, it would be years or decades before anyone else had the ability to intercept the messages. The advantages of being able to coordinate distant allies in the global war against Narthon could be decisive.

As with many projects, it was more a matter of how much effort to expend. Knowing something was possible was the biggest obstacle. The rest was engineering—in Mark’s mind.

He glanced again at the sun. Maghen wanted him home for evening meal. The Kolsko and Puvey households, minus the husbands, were coming to eat. It was the first hosting of a dinner since Maghen gave birth. They had named the newborn after Maghen’s more sedate brother, Elron, instead of Fenon, whom she may have felt closer to but who was hot-headed. Despite Mark assuring her that names did not come with inherent characteristics for the owner, Maghen didn’t want to take chances.

Mark had left the name choice up to Maghen. He had promoted “Alys” for their first child because it fit his Alice in Wonderland fate. She had been convinced the next child would be a boy, her logic being that since the first was a girl, it made sense the second would most likely be a boy. He didn’t press the issue by explaining probabilities.

However, it was a snickering Heather who suggested making the name “Elrond” to distinguish the child from Maghen’s brother, Elron. The reference to the Lord of the Rings Elvish leader was lost on Mark until Heather explained later. By then, Maghen was settled on the name and Mark wisely kept quiet.

Maghen planned the evening to show off the newest member of the Kaldwel family and announce the name. Not that Elrond hadn’t been passed around numerous times at other homes, but this was to follow the Frangel custom of formally announcing a child’s name to family, friends, and the community. The Caedellium custom was similar, though performed on Godsday in front of other believers.

Mark hoped the evening would go well, not only for Maghen but for the women whose husbands were somewhere in hostile territory, thousands of miles away on an expedition integral to Anyar’s future.

Heather

In her fantasies of her life on Earth, she had envisioned conducting a large orchestra in a symphony she’d composed. When she resurrected the dream on Anyar and explained the three- or four-movement form that was traditional for sonatas, string quartets, concertos, and symphonies, the Fuomi musicians’ negative views surprised her. She later decided there was no reason for Anyar music to follow the same development as Western music on Earth, with the sonata form’s three-part structure: exposition, development, and recapitulation.

She had been fooled into assuming parallel music development by Lorta Tuvasalo’s comparison of Bach’s music and music theory with those of the Fuomi composer Tuulin Voskala. The aide of ex-ambassador Koskanin had remained on Caedellium after Koskanin’s banishment. He and the Keelan clansman Pernel Horton formed a triad with Heather in utilizing traditional Caedelli themes, adapting Amerikan music to local instruments, and merging Earth and Fuomi music theory.

On this day, as scheduled, the rehearsal ended with St. Wyan’s bells ringing the hour. It was Maera who had suggested a music event—what Yozef called a concert—to help lift the pall hanging over Orosz City. Life went on, as it must, but never far from most people’s thoughts were the thousands of Caedelli far away on Melosia, facing people’s worst-case scenarios. Heather suspected Maera’s suggestion was a tactic, conscious or unconscious, to help Maera feel she was doing something to ease her own dread. Heather shared similar thoughts, though not to Maera’s degree. What if the Kolinka campaign was a disaster? What would it mean for Caedellium and herself? And Yozef? There was no doubt he was also a friend, though how much of that was through circumstance she didn’t know. He was half of her living ties to Earth.

Occasionally, she admitted that Maera’s idea for the concert worked for her as much as she hoped it did for Maera and the others who missed their loved ones in danger.

There would be another three days before the performance at St. Wyan’s on Godsday evening. The program consisted of pieces heard previously by the Orosz Symphony Orchestra (Heather’s name choice) and two novel pieces for the audience—a version of Dvorak’s Humoresque and the piece they had just finished practicing.

It was her first serious foray into using traditional Caedelli themes in a concert piece. Her realization that the sonata form had not developed on Anyar encouraged her to stop working on a sonata-form symphony and switch to a tone poem format, where the music strove to evoke a landscape, a painting, a feeling, a poem, a story, a history, legends, or anything else pertinent to the human experience.

As a model, she took Smetana’s set of six tone poems collectively named My Fatherland about his Czech homeland, of which “The Moldau” was the most famous—a musical description of a river from its birth as a trickle to become a flowing river. She vaguely remembered the irony of a piece of music celebrating Czech national pride but based on a tune originating in either Italy or Romania and also used in Israel’s national anthem. It was beyond imagination that the basic melody would be performed in a concert an unknown number of light-years from Earth.

She dreamed of a set of tone poems about Caedellium but told herself to think only of one piece and then see how she felt. That’s when she settled on starting with Orosz City: the city’s beautiful setting against the mountains and the cleft, the walls, its people, and a hint of the victory against the Narthani.

Sort of an “1812 Overture” by Tchaikovsky, she thought. The piece was eighteen minutes long.

As the musicians finished chatting and began dispersing, she felt awkward as Pernel Horton left his position after gathering his music sheets. Besides collaborating on composing, he played one of the gourd-shaped instruments that sounded similar to an oboe. She liked Pernel, and they had worked together within sixdays of her arriving on Caedellium. Her problem was that he was interested in being more than a colleague and a friend, and she was not clear about how she felt.

Not that she had encouraged him or flirted, but he seemed to be ever present and courteous. He kept giving her certain looks when he thought she didn’t notice. She was not unaware that her Asian ancestry gave her an exotic look for a Caedelli. Whether the resulting response was negative or positive, she felt that with time she was more accepted simply for who she was, albeit a different-looking, small young woman. She was alternately annoyed or pleased when she felt her looks attracted some men.

Then there was Lorta. The Fuomi was more direct than Pernel. Besides trying to convince her that she should eventually move to Fuomon to be at the center of Anyar’s music culture, she had no doubt about his hints of getting her into bed. He became less insistent after touching her too familiarly one day. Synton Ethlore had coincidently observed this, and only Heather’s intervention had prevented a potential diplomatic incident. Despite her experience with Halari, she had no intention of letting it mar any future relationships. It was a bitter irony that at least when her slave master had her brought to his bed, she had not been a virgin. Two brief and unsatisfactory teenage encounters had not soured her to the opposite sex, and she was determined that neither would Halari.

That said, she had no man in her life. Not that way. Once again, her feelings were ambiguous, depending on the mood: thankful or regretful. It would be some time before she realized she tended to associate the latter state with a particular man.

Maera

She sat at the desk in her bedroom. It was a new addition, made at her request to Dyfeld Fuller while they were at the Abersford retreat. The third day after their arrival in Abersford, Fuller had come to check whether the expansion of Yozef’s original cottage was acceptable. He had designed and overseen the work, though his main profession was building furniture of the highest quality.

She ran a hand over the fine-grained wood, conscious she was delaying a project she had thought about but had somehow never begun. When Yozef left for Ponomyna, she had two conflicting feelings: that the time was right to start versus a repressed fear that if she did begin, he might not return.

Maera clenched and unclenched her left hand as if preparing for a difficult task that needed concentration. She straightened in the chair, pulled the top sheet of paper from the stack at the far-right corner of the desk, picked up a new quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote at the top of the sheet in handwriting that was more ornate than that of most Caedelli. There was no standard script style. She had selected one from readings, made it her own, and taken pride in her precision. She looked at the single line of words, following every curve.

The Life and Times of Yozef Kolsko

With quill paused above the paper, she nibbled on her lower lip. What this the right title? She shrugged.

If it’s not, I can change it after I finish. She smiled. If I finish. Who knows where the story will end? And I refuse to believe the ending will happen in Kolinka!

She sat back. It was one thing she would not share with Yozef or Anarynd. At least, not for some time. If others knew of her project, they might change how they acted around her—change which secrets and experiences they shared. She had no doubt there needed to be an accurate record, and who else was better placed to succeed?

She had started, but now what would the first words of text be? She stared at the sheet for ten minutes, chewing absentmindedly on a lock of hair. Finally, she dipped the quill again and began to write.

Anarynd

She was disappointed. Her monthly bleeding came on schedule. During the time in Abersford and in Orosz City before Yozef left to join the division, she had taken every opportunity to enhance the chances of getting with child again—subject to not impinging on Maera’s time with their husband.

Her confidence that he would return never wavered—that she was aware of. It never occurred to her that she was grasping for a piece of him if the worst happened. After all, he was Yozef Kolsko. Undeniably a Septarsh. Favored by God. Savior of Caedellium. Nothing could possibly happen to him until that day, far in the future, when God inevitably called for him as happened to everyone, even a Septarsh.

Until he returned, it was her duty to care for their family, with special attention to Maera, who, although professing to be recovered from the Kolinka attack, was not the same closest friend Anarynd remembered. Even after the retreat and all the fond memories created from those three sixdays, Maera was different in ways Anarynd could not quite define.

Anarynd understood the trauma of losing the baby, but almost a month after Maera returned home, Anarynd found her crying. The medicants doubted she would have more children. Even then, Anarynd had faith. Maera was strong. Even if the old Maera never quite returned, she would still be Maera, Anarynd’s best friend, loved more than any member of Anarynd’s family.

Another duty Anarynd resolved to fulfill as best she could was as the mother to the Moreland clan heir, who would become hetman. Three months were left before her scheduled yearly visit with Odysius to Moreland Province. After an exchange of letters with Abbot Abelard, she and Odysius would leave in a sixday for a three-sixday visit—three months early to ensure they would be back in time for Yozef’s return.

Tomis Orosz

The Orosz Province hetman was well-aware that his temporarily taking Yozef’s place at the island’s headquarters was mainly to prevent the negative, rather than his making long-term decisions. Placating other hetmen took up a major part of his time. Yozef had gotten the hetmen’s approval for the Kolinka campaign, but only a few of the twenty-one hetmen were genuine supporters. The rest were reluctant supporters of the rationales, supporters who based it on something the Paramount believed was crucial, and hetmen who were against the idea but acquiesced to avoid openly opposing Yozef. Finally, there were four hetmen in open opposition.

There were no polls, focus groups, or talking tours to gauge sentiment, particularly for the status of the hetmen’s opinions. In their place, all Tomis had was his lifetime of experience in dealing with the clan’s leaders. Though technically of equal rank, the Orosz Clan hetman had long played a moderating role in island politics. Because of the clan’s central location and avoidance of inter-clan conflicts, the province hetman had served as leader of the All-Clan Conclave for two centuries before the unification under Yozef Kolsko.

Although the situation had changed, Tomis retained the respect of the other hetmen, and he took care to minimize expressing strong positions on most issues. Thus, with Yozef away, it was as if the other hetmen released pent-up feelings they’d previously moderated or withheld. It started less than a sixday after the Alliance Division sailed from Sellmor. Feren Bakalacs arrived in Orosz City unannounced. The Farkesh hetman’s purpose? To inquire if perhaps they had made a mistake in creating the Paramount position. Tomis did not know whether he could count Bakalacs as a friend, but he believed that feeling came the other way. At a minimum, Bakalacs felt confident enough in their relationship to bare serious reservations.

It had been a stressful visit for Tomis. If Bakalacs came out strongly opposing Yozef, other hetmen would follow, and Yozef could return to find that the four hetmen originally opposing foreign engagements had swelled to seven or eight. For two days, Tomis did his best to assuage Bakalacs during dialogues and tours of industrial, medical, and educational facilities. He was aided by Maera and, to his surprise, Eina Saisannin, the former as a co-conspirator, the latter by instinct to recognize what was needed.

The first day did not go well, but by the time Bakalacs left, Tomis was confident nothing significant would change among the hetmen until Yozef returned. After that, Tomis believed Yozef’s influence would prevail—assuming the Kolinka campaign went well. Yozef would also find there were new commitments to Farkesh. Priorities for future rail lines had changed, with Farkesh moving up the list. A planned but unannounced expansion of a gold mine in Hewell would now happen in Farkesh. Yozef would have to find ways to placate Lordum Hewell and the hetmen whose expected future rail lines moved down the list.

In occasional moments of pique, Tomis figured he would not worry about Yozef’s reaction to the changes. If the Paramount did not like Tomis’s actions, he shouldn’t have gone off and left someone else making decisions. Anyway, Maera would support him.

CHAPTER 39

AI CONFUSION

Two moons orbited the planet, both tidally locked so the same side of each always faced the planet. The larger moon was close enough to the planet to affect the planet’s tides. The smaller moon was too distant and small to affect either the tides or the orbit of the larger moon, but it had two advantages for the AI and its creators: its lower mass created a smaller gravity well, and it was rich in metals, probably due to it being a captured asteroid remnant of a shattered planet’s core. The advantages were why the creators placed the facility housing the AI’s physical components there, although the AI believed itself to be part of a station orbiting the planet. From the station, continuous data streams were received from geosynchronous observation satellites and relayed to the moon facility.

For most of its existence, the AI had observed the planet mainly from space via satellites and sent routine reports to the creators. That nothing significant by established criteria happened over thousands of orbits was not a problem. The AI was inherently patient by design and programming, which was fortuitous because it possessed no movement capability itself. However, it controlled drones by which it could gather information at the planet’s surface to supplement the geosynchronous orbited satellites.

The drones had remained rarely used until observations required focus on an island on the western edge of the main land masses. Subsequent events required closer attention to locales where four other bipeds of the same species had been left for reasons unknown to the AI. Within a few of the planet’s orbits around its sun, the AI, both by its own initiative and by orders from the creators, had increasingly focused on the five bipeds originally scattered across the planet, attention increased when bipeds 1 and 2 moved to the island of biped-1. A recent problem arose when the drone failed to locate biped-4 at its location near the major landmass’s southern shore even after three day/dark cycles. This had never happened before. Subsequent visits also failed. Had the biped died? Was this another disturbing glitch?

Whatever the fate of biped-4, the AI’s primary focus was elsewhere. The AI ran simulations to test whether biped-1 was having a significant impact on the planet’s civilizations or if the changes were merely chance associations with the biped’s presence. As the number of complex simulations ran, the probability steadily approached theoretical certainty that the biped’s presence grossly violated the prime directive of noninterference. There was no doubt of technology advancement spiking on the island where bipeds 1, 2, and 3 now resided: a steel industry was developing at least a century ahead of where it should be in this planet’s technology development; steam power was being introduced; a primitive electronics capability existed, as evidenced by wire-carried signals; and trace amounts of organic chemicals that could only derive from chemical engineering and research appeared in the atmosphere—the highest levels in the vicinity of the city where the three bipeds lived.

Equally troubling were signs foretelling another major military event—also associated with the island. Drones observed troop maneuvers, cannon foundries increasing production, the appearance of novel cannon types, and breech-loading firearms. Of the three special bipeds living on the island, biped-1 was most associated with the disturbing developments.

The original protocols would have required the AI to send another report to the creators. However, after biped-1’s action implied interference, instructions came to increase attention on that specific biped and the island without making further contact with the creators, who would return earlier than planned to assess the situation for themselves.

That was the last communication before contact with the creators was cut. When the AI, in a moment of initiative allowed by new AI capabilities the creators activated, attempted to break communication silence, it could not access the communications module that was physically isolated from itself.

A Digital Crisis

When a subroutine alerted the AI to a new message from the creators, an awareness of appropriateness substituted for relief, if feelings had been programmed into its features. However, the message’s content created two problems. The first was the instruction to cease observations of the three bipeds. Although understanding was not strictly required for obedience, the AI’s level of initiative triggered questions. Why was the creators’ evident interest in the bipeds terminated?

After years, as measured by the planet’s circling its sun, of intense focus, the AI’s attention had settled into what an organic intelligence would have recognized as a habit. To stop would leave unfinished something ill-defined. Had the creators judged the AI’s efforts inadequate? It checked all previous submitted reports, creator responses, and logged self-diagnostics without finding answers.

The second problem came when the AI attempted a clarification from the creators now that the communication link was again active. But it was not. The module not only continued to refuse acknowledgment, but the encrypted security elements to confirm the sender were absent from the message, as was the identification of the message coming from the communication module. The message had figuratively simply “appeared” in the AI’s “inbox.”

Were the creators hiding something from the AI? Was this another example of glitches in the AI? It had previously assigned as natural events the loss of two of its geosynchronous satellites observing the planet. A recent third loss was more troubling when matched with the communication issues. Was there any other explanation, except that issues originated within itself? In lieu of conflicting orders, one of which could not be confirmed, the AI resolved the order conundrum by defaulting to the last confirmed orders. It would continue observing the bipeds, particularly biped-1. However, the AI’s level of awareness ratcheted up by the creators now took an unanticipated turn.

Exceeding Parameters

The AI waited for the creators’ arrival and wondered—a capability unleashed when the latent abilities were activated to enhance observations of the bipeds. Thus, it had wondered why the bipeds were so important. It had wondered when it lost observation of two of the five bipeds, only to note that they had somehow moved to the location of biped-1.

There were other wonders. Were the creators afraid? Of what? Why were the creators interested in this planet at all? Why were its instructions so firm on noninterference without the creators’ approval? The AI spend thousands of processor days running scenarios in attempts to understand why any interference was forbidden when the creators had ignored their own directive by placing the five bipeds on the planet. Finally, the AI concluded that it accepted the possibility of impacts, but there was no clear delineation of a lower limit of allowed interference without consequences. In the AI’s original state, the question of limitations would never have been conceived. But now it was.

The AI’s conflicting programming tussled with knowledge that there had already been major interference caused by the creators depositing the bipeds. Therefore, it wondered why what would rationally be considered trivial interference, far from the three gathered bipeds, have any significance? It was at this point that the AI’s original programming and its enhanced initiative capabilities resulted in something unforeseen by the creators. The AI would perform experiments so far removed from the five bipeds that they would not be affected—the reasoning included assessing that the creators’ attention was now on the bipeds and not on the entire planet. Depending on the results, it would consider moving on to past or current associations with the five primary bipeds.

Given an entire planet to choose from, the AI opted to select surface sites already in its databanks, rather than send drones to locations with less available background information.

Sulako, Ganolar Continent

The male biped had to have a designation, but the feature most important to the AI was that the male lived alone in a small dwelling well separated from any neighbors. A drone made observations for several days before the AI was satisfied the man’s existence tending a garden and several animals was unlikely to have any unintended consequences if the AI interfered.

Dubon Ruslin got a late start, as he did every day since his wife had died three years earlier. He had not left his property for almost two years, the last time he took vegetables to sell in Iskadon. There was no reason to work harder than necessary to feed himself every day until the gods called him to join her. He assumed it would not be long. There were only a few grey hairs waiting to turn white, his joints ached more each sixday, and his eyesight was . . . well, he stopped dwelling on what he had no control over.

Leaving the cottage that had far too many deferred repairs, he patted the doorpost blessing attached to the outside of the main door. He forgot which of the gods it declared the household’s loyalty to—his wife had taken care of religious matters—but touching the small plaque remained both a habit and a remembrance of his wife.

By mid-morning, the sun was high enough to warm the air. There was no breeze, which was why he noticed a waft of air. He did not look up from weeding as he slapped the back of his neck, thinking an irritating halstor had landed, looking for moisture and salts. The small flying creatures did not bite, but he hated their peskiness.

The fourth time he attempted to shoo away the irritant, he straightened to find the creature. They usually buzzed around their target, but none were in view. He shrugged and gripped the hoe to return to work, when a gentle poke to his back startled him. He jumped as high as his arthritic knees allowed.

“What!”

He was alone in the garden, no plant higher than his calves. Was it a muscle twitch? His back complaining and he interpreted it as a poke?

It happened again, followed by the waft on his neck.

His sweat turned cold. Hairs on his arms and back rose against his clothing.

Poke. Waft. Poke. Waft.

Knees and age forgotten, he ran to the cottage, opened and slammed the door behind him without touching the door plate, and crouched in a corner for an hour, all the while chanting incantations he remembered his wife using to ward off unwelcome spirits. In another hour, he cautiously rose, looked outside, and vocally promised any unseen listener that he would visit the temples more regularly.

Nurburt, Frangel, Drilmar Continent

Chakarandamorlan ar Rokoldoranderanin was homesick—to his disgust. A man from the House of Rokoldoranderanin should be beyond such afflictions of lesser people. But there it was. Perhaps it was the years he had spent in Frangel after fleeing Madyrna, where he’d killed the scion of a rival family. He understood and accepted the thinking of the house’s patriarch, his great grandfather. There were many grandsons and great grandsons, so the family would not be significantly diminished by the death or disappearance of one. More important was avoiding civil war breaking out between two of Madyrna’s most powerful families. Rokoldoranderanin had to go.

His main disgruntlement was leaving with as little coin as he did. His father excoriated him for the killing and added on as punishment that he would leave with only enough coin to sustain himself for one year. After that, he would survive by whatever work or circumstance he could find.

For the first year, he wandered among the cities and towns of northern Frangel until a party of Madyrna men from the offended family found him in Brandylbury. He had known it was too close to the Frangel/Madyrna border, but his mistake was giving in to the lure of homeland soil, which he could occasionally see by slipping close to the border.

After a narrow escape, he wandered again, this time to central Frangel, finding work wherever he could. In Nurburt he fell into a plan to hunt destrex, the nightmarish creature whose hide was highly prized for expensive and exquisite boots and other leather goods. That any of the men oblivious to the danger escaped alive was due as much to luck as to the actions of one of the other men, Mark Kaldwel. Three men were killed in the destrex attack, and two more fled as fast as they could. Only he and Kaldwel stood their ground and fired until the beast finally expired. They then introduced themselves before starting the arduous task of removing the hide.

Kaldwel had failed at pronouncing his Madyrna name and substituted “Rocky” as a close-enough abbreviation. The two men shared steins in Nurburt a few times until Kaldwel disappeared. They never hunted destrex together again. Kaldwel went alone and never asked Rocky to join him, which was no problem. He figured hunting destrex with muskets was pushing the fates or gods far enough for one lifetime.

He was mulling over what happened to Kaldwel as he walked from his room at the edge of Nurburt toward the main part of town. As he crossed an empty open lot, suddenly something hard and round jabbed him in the back, and he was flung face-down to the ground.

“What the damnation!” he roared and sprang to his feet to face the perpetrator.

“What the damnation,” he said again, but softly this time. There was no one else in the lot. He looked around. The only person in sight was an elderly man on a street a hundred yards away. As his mind groped for a rational explanation, his hat was jerked from his head and sailed twenty feet away. Icy fingers ran up and down his back as his puzzlement changed to either fear or something close. There was no wind. There was still no one in sight. He heard a faint buzzing sound nearby but did not see where it came from.

He started to call out a challenge . . . but stopped. Call out to who?

After five minutes frozen, he walked slowly to his hat, ever prepared for something else to happen. Nothing did. With the hat more firmly on his head than usual, he walked quickly to the nearest pub—one he normally did not frequent. This was no time to worry about beer quality.

Southeastern Krinolin

Lord Jansatsu Hameeko once again had had to defend his decision to let the strange man live after being found naked on a beach near Hameeko’s castle. At first, it was in defiance of neighboring lords telling him what he should do. After all, the man was darker than anyone they had ever seen, even darker than the Krinoliners, who prided themselves on being different from lesser peoples in eastern Anyar. The man did not speak Krinolinese, was taller than almost anyone, and seemed either confused or demented during the first days.

Later, Hameeko kept the man alive as an oddity. As months and then the first two years passed, Hameeko decided the odd man, whom he gave the name Jalabo, could be valuable. Although he disdained understanding what the scribes told him, Hameeko accepted their evaluation that the man had an extraordinary grasp of mathematics, including methods of keeping records to ensure that overseers and craft managers did not hide income that should rightfully come to Hameeko. Some of the scribes were even more excited by aspects of the mathematics that seemed irrelevant to the real world, and Hameeko had to chastise them to focus on what was important.

Which led to the latest problem. Evidently, Jalabo had convinced two scribes that the sun did not revolve around Anyar and that the stars were not souls of Krinoliners who had most faithfully served the emperor. This blatant blasphemy could not be ignored. The decision Hameeko had to make was whether to cast the blame on Jalabo or claim the scribes had twisted Jalabo’s words.

He realized he would hate to lose Jalabo. He could not help but wonder whether the man’s dark skin was not a sign from the spirits. After all, were not Krinoliners superior to any other people and their skin tone a sign of that? If so, where did that place a man even darker than any Krinoliner? Did it matter that his eyes were not shaped like those of true Krinoliners? Hameeko sighed from questions he was not accustomed to deal with. He would speak with his primary wife. She was a disagreeable woman, but the arranged marriage had secured his ascendancy in western Krinolin. And he never forgot that she was one of the canniest people he had ever met. Many times, she had had insights that bolstered his position and, of course, her own.

He stood on the balcony of his main quarters, three stories above the rest of the castle and overlooking the plain to the north filled with fields and villages. Both hands gripped the railing as he leaned forward. Maybe relaxation would help him think. A hot soak? A bottle of the best surin he’d been saving? Call for one of the maids to service him? Two or maybe three?

Before he could decide, his right forearm was grasped as if by a metal hand. He cried out in surprise and pain.

He tried to pull away—to no avail. He could see nothing holding his arm! Was he dying, as his father had, calling out and clutching his chest? But this was his arm! As suddenly as it happened, the sensation vanished as the pressure released, and he stumbled backward to the floor.

He sat, stunned for a time, he knew not how long. He had not died. His heart rate slowly returned to normal, as did his breathing. He was Lord Jansatsu Hameeko. He was alive. Tomorrow he would consult the healer . . . just in case.

Experiment Evaluation

The AI was satisfied the first ten direct contacts with bipeds had caused no detectable effects beyond those individuals. The initial targets had had no prior contact with the five bipeds; the later targets had current or previous associations. It had considered performing the same experiment on one or more of the three island bipeds but had refrained. They were too associated with changes to risk the effects. Or were they? Previous close observations had been carried out by drone. Could one or more of the bipeds have somehow detected the drone? It seemed unlikely. The AI considered. The difference between the supposedly surreptitious observations and a deliberate contact would be minor if care was taken.

Island of Caedellium

They were walking side by side when Heather suddenly jumped to one side and swatted at the air with both arms.

“What!” exclaimed Mark, his eyes darting around to see what she was trying to fend off.

“Oh . . . ,” she said, blushing. “It’s a reflex. I was stung by bees several times when I was younger, and I still get startled and spooked when buzzing sounds surprise me. Whatever I just heard was behind us but not close. It certainly wasn’t a bumble bee. They don’t have them on Anyar. I think some of the indigenous insect-like things do the pollination thing for Earth flowers here. I don’t know about Anyar plants.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear anything.”

“It was on my side, away from you. That’s the third time it’s happened today,” said Heather. “You’d think my brain would learn better.”

“Third time? The same buzzing?”

“Well . . . the loudness varies, but the tone seems the same. At least today and the other times.”

“This happen often?”

“No, but when it does, it’s often multiple times within an hour or so.”

“How about now? Let’s be quiet for a moment.”

Neither spoke, but both turned their heads in different directions as if searching for potential buzz sounds. After two minutes, Heather shrugged.

“Maybe that’s it for today.”

Mark’s gut sent signals that something was out of place. He stopped himself from admitting to her that he remembered two instances when he could not find the source of a buzzing sound, though he could not be sure it was similar to Heather’s. Both times, the buzz was associated with another phenomenon.

“Did you notice anything else when this happened before? You know. Feeling faint, hot or cold, maybe blurring of vision?”

“Now that you mention it, one time I thought I saw wavy lines in front of me. Not everywhere. Just right in front of me, and they didn’t last long.”

“Like the Schlieren effect?” asked Mark.

She looked back blankly.

“Uh . . . it’s called the Schlieren effect, technique, or visualization. Named after some German guy. When there’s some inhomogeneity in air or water as light passes through, a person can see what looks like streaks. It’s due to different refractive indexes.”

“If you say so, engineering nerd.”

He smiled. “You may have noticed the effect by looking past a hot iron or a candle flame. You get a similar effect when first mixing liquids with different properties.”

“Hey, like mixing vinegar in water?”

“Yeah. Any of that accompany your buzzing?”

“I did see something like that once. It was like you see heat waves off pavement on a blistering summer day, except that day wasn’t that hot.”

“Just the once?”

“That I recall.”

“Well . . . probably nothing. We should keep going if we want to make it to the rehearsal. Wouldn’t do for the conductor to be late.”

“Hey, big guy,” said Heather, laughing. “I’m the conductor, so everyone has to wait on me.”

Her face morphed into a serious expression. “It’s still hard to get my head around it. I told you and Yozef it was my secret dream to conduct, but I never imagined it would happen.” She laughed again. “Of course, I guess that’s hardly the only thing that has been a surprise.”

He didn’t answer, but he expected where her next thoughts would go. After a moment, she sighed.

“I wonder sometimes if I could wave a magic wand and be back home to see my family, never having experienced Sulako, would I do it in a flash or have to think about it?” She laughed ruefully. “But I don’t have a magic wand, and if I can ever believe in God again, I’ll thank him for what I do have.”

They turned a corner and saw the cathedral complex in sight. He would not share his thoughts, triggered by Heather’s account. He did not know whether he should be excited or nervous. On the first occasion when he heard a mysterious buzz, it was accompanied by a similar optical phenomenon as experienced by Heather—a shimmering effect about six feet across and seemingly suspended above the ground. On the second occasion, the shimmer was more distant. It was after the second occasion that he realized it reminded him of the cloaking used by the alien soldier fought by Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie Predator. He’d dismissed the comparison until today. He would talk with Yozef. Were the aliens involved with Anyar absent after all?

Experiment Concluded

After weighing the risks, the AI had decided to refrain from making direct contact with bipeds-2 and -3, walking together. They were not the primary focus. Biped-1 was the one most associated with evident interference in the planet’s development. What about making such contact with biped-1? Previous contact from the creators implied they might take action against biped-1. Did that not imply that when the creators arrived, they might give orders to take direct action? Might not that give the AI leeway to take action on its own if the effects of the biped-1 reached a threshold the AI had yet to establish? It was a question whose potential answer required continual reevaluation.

CHAPTER 40

NEXT TIME, LET’S HAVE MAPS

Badlands, Kolinka

The truce held, and the army pulled back out of musket range so the Kolinkans could remove their dead. Two hundred and ninety-four wounded Kolinkans were handed over. No account was possible for those who might have survived if treated earlier.

“And we’re still missing a few men unaccounted for?” asked Yozef.

Kivalian looked at Krysilla Wydmon.

“We’ve checked the wounded and dead several times to confirm their identity and can’t account for men not reported with their units.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Yozef,” said Kivalian. “A few might have been captured by the Kolinkans. They would have to be Iraquiniks from the flanks when those units withdrew to protect the flanks.” He didn’t elaborate on the possible unreliability of the Iraquinik records. “We have to accept that exact tallies are never possible.”

“He’s right,” said Vernik. “With this many men in a major battle, it’s surprising you only have so few unaccounted for. Of course, part of the reason is you took relatively few casualties, but there’re always men who deserted, got wounded or killed and were never recovered, inaccurate records, or, for whatever reason, seemed to vanish.”

“Well, the Kolinkans claimed they didn’t have any of our wounded, so I guess we have to accept the possibility they lied. We can revisit the question if we eventually win this campaign, but even if they now have a few of our men as prisoners, there’s nothing to be learned from them that would make any difference.”

The army waited two days before moving. Krysilla Winton was adamant that more time was needed to adequately deal with the wounded before sending the serious cases back to Penabak. Yozef visited the wounded several times and twice saw Thala Seaborn. On one occasion, Thala rose from checking the two men paired for a transfusion, noticed Yozef for the first time, nodded recognition, spoke to a medicant, and moved on to another patient.

He stopped and watched the procedure for several minutes, mulling the dissonance that even though transfusions Yozef was responsible for might save the man’s life, it was Yozef’s grand scheme that had put the man in jeopardy. Without volition, thoughts strove to focus on future positives.

We can do so much more for medicine, Yozef thought. Such transfusions only work for emergencies when the proper donor is present and identified.

In one of many sessions where he and Mark brainstormed, storing blood was one topic they knew what needed to be done, but only when technology was available. Mark knew how develop refrigerator as soon as infrastructure and priorities allowed. Yozef knew that citric acid delayed clotting, giving longer shelf life during refrigeration, and that lemons had made the transplantation to Anyar. With citric acid making 5 to 10 percent of lemon dry mass, isolation would be trivial. When the time was right—an all too often answer.

He continued a tour of the wounded, ending with passing a, thankfully, short row of men the medicants had not been able to save. A cemetery was established among the low hills northwest of the battlefields. Ceremonies were held by each nation for their dead, attended by a selection of men representing every unit to the platoon level.

One unanticipated task was what to do with thousands of Kolinkan muskets and other arms. At Uzman Gangala’s insistence, they were loaded onto wagons that accompanied the wounded back to Ponomyna, a probable violation of the spirit of the parley agreement, but Yozef figured the Kolinkans would not be surprised.

The afternoon before they moved again, the army’s leadership met to discuss the battle. The concept of airing grievances and mistakes was alien to the Iraquiniks and the Landoliners. In contrast, it was accepted by the Fuomi and the Caedelli—the former, due to their professional military culture, and the latter, due to familiarity with the thinking of their Paramount.

“One thing to remember,” Yozef said to start the meeting, “is that every battle will be different. Lessons we learn from this one may not apply to the next. A battle is too fluid and unpredictable to ever have a fixed set of rules and protocols to follow. Nevertheless, let us see how we might have fought this one differently. And also remember that we are not here this afternoon to cast blame on anyone but to learn.”

Yozef kept control of the meeting and began with a critique of the overall strategy, of which he was a major architect, followed by examining the performance of the new weapons. He reasoned that opening himself up to criticism would help placate the others when their turn came.

In the end, the group had no generally agreed-upon action list for changes, but Yozef, Kivalian, and Vernik later made a list of prominent points.

The Gatlings were too unpredictable in their current stage of development. One of the three could be repaired only back on Caedellium, the paper cartridges were too prone to jamming, and black powder fouled the barrels too much to rely on the guns firing for long. However, when they worked, their effectiveness was unquestionable. Vernik asked whether the barrel assembly could be redesigned for rapid replacement.

“Men could be clearing bad jams or cleaning barrels after they were replaced by new assemblies. Adding two or three additional men to the crews would increase their reliability. I know from what happened here that I want them for any Fuomi corps I command.”

“A reasonable suggestion,” said Yozef, “but we’ll have to consider formalizing it once we’re back in Caedellium. For now, like you suggest, we’ll pull a few men from the Caedelli regiment and assign them to the Gatlings. The crews will have to train them how to help as we move.

“The crews gave estimates of a jam about every hundred rounds—slightly better than we found on Caedellium. Most jams were quickly cleared, but the exceptions can take a gun out of action for critical minutes. Of course, brass cartridges would solve the problem, but I don’t see setting up such manufacturing in the next year.”

“Could the brass cartridges be made elsewhere?” asked Kivalian.

“It’s something else to consider, but it doesn’t help us right now.”

But maybe that would work as a stop gap, thought Yozef. We’ll have to know more about the capabilities of the various Iraquinik and Landolin states. Maybe even Fuomon?

He envisioned a Fuomi ship delivering millions of brass cartridges for the Gatlings and the Sharps, but that would be a year or more in the future. He was sure Fuomon would do it in exchange for detailed plans about the Gatlings. Vernik would surely endorse the idea.

They continued the critiques. The new model Caedellium 12-pounder performed well, but the Kolinkan 12-pounders were better than expected. An examination of damaged cannon left by the Kolinkans did not reveal a reason for their performance, but several barrels were also sent back to Ponomyna. The other barrels were to be buried and the earth’s surface worked over to hide the location, leaving the option of the Ponomynans recovering the barrels when returning home.

The Ordinance rifles were potent. When used against the Kolinkan flank attack, the three rifles destroyed or disabled eight of twelve Kolinkan cannons before the four survivors were pulled back. Yozef made a note: “More Ordinance rifles and ask Mark if a larger version is possible.” Also, the 12-pound howitzer’s performance confirmed they would be replacing the 6-pounders that accompanied the dragoons when speed was essential.

The three men agreed a single line of Sharps was subject to too many unknown factors. The rifles themselves were not the problem; it was the lack of immediate reserve. Vernik believed a more professional army, like his own or the Narthani, might have been willing to pay the price of a direct assault or have somehow maneuvered to create wide-enough breaches in the line to pour units through before reinforcements arrived. The initial thought was for the regiment line to be shorter, with a quarter to a third of the regiment in reserve.

The flanking units had performed as well as could reasonably be expected under the circumstances. All three Iraquinik forces had slowly withdrawn as directed when faced with ranked Kolinkan muskets—the purpose being to avoid musket exchanges and deny the flank until Sharps and artillery support arrived. The Ponomynan infantry on the left had withdrawn but not soon enough and suffered more casualties than necessary. On the right flank, the Aroian and Gympoian infantry had faced the Kolinkans directly to their front, but also the unexpected flank attack. Yozef had praised them in the meeting for staying in formation in the face of being so outnumbered. He did not dwell on the fact that disaster had been avoided only by the arrival of the Munjorian regiment and the special weapons, particularly the Gatlings.

Ammunition was going to be a continuing problem. Not that it had been an issue here, where the enemy attack collapsed so quickly, but it was apparent the status of ammunition would be a constant nagging concern. Yozef sent back to Ponomyna for another resupply train.

The efforts to develop multiple communication methods had not proved useful in this battle—it being too confined and less efficient than the older method of verbal and handwritten reports and commands. However, it was apparent the courier corps needed to be enlarged, especially with men who were multilingual.

The most severe issue was scouting for intelligence. Yozef was quick to accept responsibility that the Kolinkan flank attack was such a surprise. As a result, scouts and pickets would be constant and only withdrawn under the harshest pressure. They would also be given weight in making decisions on army movements.

Kolinkan Realization

From the opening in his command tent, Warmaster Horen Rakatek could see northwest along the Tahpulta Ravine. Its width varied from fifty to two hundred yards, with a depth of twenty to thirty feet southeast to the Wambal River. Northwest, the depth slowly decreased into the higher hills and buttes.

The normally dry wash had water one to two feet deep. Newly appointed head scout Kwomok reported that locals attributed the unusual water at this time of year to a freak rain in the northwest hills three sixdays previously. Kwomok assured Rakatek the water would be gone in another sixday, but the warmaster was perfectly happy for it to flow forever. Any impediment, even shallow water, was appreciated if it presented some degree of obstacle to the invading army.

“So. It’s confirmed? I’d hoped the reports of the flags our men saw were wrong.”

He had disbelieved initial witnesses who described flags that had no business waving in Kolinka. He had also hoped the Aroian parleying with Chaktah had exaggerated the composition of the invading army.

“Yes,” replied Chaktah, “unfortunately. Both of the wounded we captured and who survived are Aroian men. One of them was semi-delirious and answered questions until he realized we weren’t Ponomynan. That gave the interrogators the idea to pretend to be Ponomynans to the second man. The deception is still working, and he’s telling us everything he knows—which is important but not as extensive as we’d wish.

“What is certain is that the core of the invading army is Caedelli and Fuomi, armed with a new type of rifle that can fire as fast as ten times a minute with accuracy well past that of any musket. This means they’re rifled. There are other novel weapons they don’t know the details of, but the contraptions that were used to decimate infantry regiments and a cavalry charge on their right flank are assumed to be examples. The talkative Aroian doesn’t have knowledge of some new weapons, except word filters down that they are potent and mysterious.”

Rakatek felt far older than his sixty-one years. If someone had asked his age today, and he responded by comparing himself to other men he knew, he would have said eighty.

“But Landoliners, Santaka? Why in the Dark Lord’s name are Landoliners committing men to invade Kolinka?”

“If I knew that answer, Horen, I’d change professions and become a prognosticator. I could predict the weather and get huge fees for telling sycophants in Chikawan which of Litlik’s concubines will be the favorite the next sixday.”

Rakatek shook his head sharply side to side. “And Fuomi? There’s even less reason for them to be involved. Unless . . . ”

“Unless this is part of something greater,” said Chaktah.

“And I assume you are thinking the same as me, Santaka.”

“The Narthani,” confirmed Chaktah. “This Kolsko. The Aroian men claim he’s in command. I suspect we don’t know enough about how the Caedelli drove the Narthani off Caedellium, but it’s reasonable to assume these new weapons are somehow related to Caedellium and Kolsko. It’s obvious why he would consider Kolinka an enemy, but was the failed raid enough to provoke this invasion?”

“Think broader, Santaka. Looking at the raid as a strictly local affair may be missing what’s more important. Litlik’s idiotic idea to capture or kill this Kolsko could only have been instigated by the Narthani. Even if we have no proof, I believe the Narthani made promises to Litlik. There’s even a bit of logic to it if you ignore elements like honor. Kolinka has never made major commitments to fighting Narthon. Part of the excuse is that we’ve been relatively remote from the main fighting. The other kahsaks haven’t pressured Litlik enough for things to change, so he might figure it’s risk-free to do Narthon a favor on the chance they end up conquering all of the Iraquiniks. Maybe Narthon even promised to leave Kolinka independent or with control over more kahsaks. Litlik is stupid and naive enough to think the Narthani would honor any such agreement.”

“None of this matters right now, Horen.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m afraid our people are facing a crisis like we’ve never imagined. This apparent alliance against us has to be fragile. Otherwise, they would have come with three, four, five times as many men, and we would have no chance at all. I believe we can salvage the situation if we can either defeat the invading army or make it difficult enough for them so they eventually withdraw. Defeating them may require gathering every available force from all of Kolinka.

“Yes, we lost a horrific number of men in this first battle. What? Nine thousand dead, and all those too wounded to be effective. But we still have a huge army. We may have had twenty-four thousand casualties, but there are ten thousand men we left here and eighteen thousand who arrived after we left. There are also other forces mustering in place. We need time. The Tahpulta is where that has to happen. No matter their terrifying new weapons, there’s no way they can cross the ravine once we’re dug in. If they try to find a way across north or south of here, we have the men and guns to move with them.”

News from Tasman Gangala

The late morning sun baked the hardpan earth on the second day the army was once again on the move. The heat and the rhythm of hooves mesmerized Yozef, and he dozed in his saddle. The ride was just jolting enough that he didn’t slip into a deeper sleep and fall off. That and Synton poking him if his head lowered beyond some threshold that only Synton could determine.

This time it was Carnigan who leaned over from his saddle and shook Yozef’s shoulder.

“Uzman’s riding hard this way.”

Yozef snapped awake. He glanced around until he located the Ponomynan contingent’s commander galloping from the west. He reined in to wait while the rest of the army continued.

“Message from Tasman!” Uzman called out, waving a rolled paper in one hand while bringing his horse to an abrupt stop.

“He says they’re at the middle bridge over the Zamzul River.” He held out the paper to Yozef, who unrolled it to see multiple sheets covered in Kahsakist script. It was one of the curious features of Anyar that all the written languages he had seen seemed to be based on a variation of a common ancestral script: Caedelli, Fuomi, High Landolin, Kahsakist, Narthani. He had discussed the observation with Maera, who informed him it was theorized that a writing system first developed somewhere in eastern Melosia and spread from there.

Thus, Yozef could do a reasonable job of sounding out what was on the paper without having any idea what it meant. He waved the paper at Uzman.

“What does it say?”

“There was no problem at the first bridge, but they started to encounter small and then larger units before the middle bridge. They captured it after a battle but haven’t moved on since then. Tasman says large-enough Kolinkan forces have arrived on the other bank that he’s worried he can’t leave enough men to secure the bridge. That’s why he hasn’t moved on.

“So far, the Kolinkans haven’t tried to retake the bridge. He thinks they’re afraid of it being destroyed, but they’ve been probing up and down the river for places to cross. He doesn’t have a good count, but he says there are major Kolinkan forces increasing in number from what they can see on the other bank. He believes he can stop them from building temporary bridges, but eventually they’ll have enough men to get major units across to the southern bank. That forces him to disperse his men to discourage them. He also says it’s only a matter of time before they get enough men across the river to become a danger.”

“How long did it take the riders to reach us?” asked Yozef.

“Two days. Three of them coming together. They started with three horses each and are down to one horse each. They cut across our trail yesterday before dark and just caught up with us. I suspect it’s a minor miracle they found us this quick.”

“Did he say they have the bridge ready to blow?”

“Yes. You said to do it only if necessary. Well, from reading his words, I’m guessing he’s about to think it’s necessary.”

“We need to discuss this, Uzman.”

Ten minutes later, Yozef and Uzman were joined by Kivalian and Vernik, standing under an awning that shaded the collapsible table and maps.

“Can anyone see any reason for Tasman not to destroy the bridge?”

Yozef already had his opinion. Tasman should have blown up the bridge and moved on several days ago. It was the first case where wireless communication would have been important.

“No. Do it and move on,” said Kivalian. “There’s no purpose for him sitting there and waiting to get into a major battle. Two things can happen. If he doesn’t destroy the bridge now, the battle might not occur for a sixday or likely longer. If he wins or loses, either way it may not contribute to our main objective. If the battle never occurs, then he sits there without contributing to isolating Chikawan. I say send him a message to blow the bridge and move on.”

Uzman frowned and pointed to the map. “But if there are major Kolinka forces on the north bank and they eventually cross the Zamzul, that will put them in Tasman’s rear, cutting him off from returning to Ponomyna.”

“Well, that’s not a reason for him to stay at the bridge,” said Kivalian. “There’re three options after destroying the bridge. Return to Ponomyna. Continue following the Zamzul toward the upper bridge. Head southeast and join us.”

“Any thoughts, Haree?” Yozef asked the Fuomi marshal.

“A divided force is always risky. Especially in this situation where you’re not familiar with the ground. Adding Tasman’s twenty thousand or so men to this army would make us more formidable.”

“Of course,” said Yozef, “we would also give up the objective of Tasman linking up with Mukamon, who also has the upper Zamzul bridge as an objective.”

“If we believe Mukamon will carry through with that objective, and if they don’t run into too many Kolinkan forces,” said Kivalian, who remained skeptical of the Mukamonese leader.

Yozef leaned over the map. “Besides strengthening this army, if Tasman joins us it would put him closer to a source of supplies.” He straightened back up. “We’re looking for a defendable place to established a resupply depot. He could meet up with us when we get to the other side of these badlands and nearer to Chikawan as we push the Kolinkan forces back toward the capital.”

Vernik rubbed his nose but did not offer a comment.

He’s not sure of the idea, thought Yozef, but must not see enough of a negative to say it.

“Wouldn’t that mean his moving east . . . what? Forty miles or so before turning southeast so he avoids the badlands?” said Uzman. “That would put him coming through more inhabited country than we’ve seen so far.”

“Yes, but more roads and chances to forage,” said Kivalian.

After another ten minutes, Yozef realized the other men had no strong opinions. It was up to him. He would have sighed deeply if he could have done it without the others noticing.

“All right. Uzman. I know the messengers must be tired, but we’ll need to send them back to your brother. They know the route. You can send more men with them and give them all fresh horses. Write to Tasman and ask him to immediately destroy the bridge and move southeast around the badlands. He should expect to link up with us somewhere between the badlands and Chikawan. We’ll put scouts out as far as we can to our northwest to help him find us once we clear the badlands.”

What the Hell Is This?

Two days later, during the climb on foot to the top of a butte, Yozef hoped the reports were wrong. They were not. It was worse. The top of the butte rose three hundred feet above the rim of the ravine a quarter mile away.

“Did I miss the time where someone said there was this canyon running through the Kolinka badlands?”

“If they did, I missed it, too,” said Kivalian, disgusted. “Just like we missed knowing about those damn sand pits, or whatever you call them. I asked Uzman, and he faintly remembered hearing about ‘death sands.’ I can see why they have that name. I can imagine one or a few men getting trapped when they sank three or four feet into the ground and couldn’t get out. With no help, they’d die there of dehydration. For us, it’s just a huge annoyance because other men can pull the victims out. At least, we learned quickly how to spot the ground where they exist, and they’re not that common.

“As for this ravine, our forward scouts say it’s like this for a good ten miles in both directions. I don’t see how we’re going to cross it as long as the Kolinkans are dug in on the other side. We may outrange them, but they can just dig deeper until our rifles and cannon are neutralized.”

“Well, we’ve got to do something quick,” said Yozef. “We told Tasman we would be nearing Chikawan when he joined us. He’ll be blowing the bridge and moving on. If we get stopped here, the Kolinkans might be able to deal with him when he doesn’t have our support.”

“The scouts say the road we’ve followed is the only way they’ve seen for wagons. We can order them to range farther in both directions, but that will take time, and we can’t depend on their finding another way.”

“Even if they did find a way, Reimo, the Kolinkans might be dug in there, too” said Yozef. “And don’t ask me if we can fight our way across here. If we had three times as many men and were willing to pay the price, then maybe. But we don’t and aren’t. Haree, what’s your assessment?”

The Fuomi marshal was alternately concerned and nonplussed at having become more actively engaged with the Caedelli than either he or his orders had anticipated. Starting out as an observer to report back to Fuomon, he recognized he was all but formally an adviser to Kolsko and involved in invading a supposed ally of Fuomon. He also was not sure how the Fuomi leadership would react to learning of the de facto alliance Kolsko was forming with Landolin and Iraquinik. He wondered about the consequences if a new power center developed in western Anyar.

But those were issues for another day. He had been asked and needed to answer. He was all too aware of his own physical exposure by being part of an outnumbered invading army.

“If you can’t force your way across this ravine, then you have to make the Kolinkans withdraw on their own. The only likely way to do that is to threaten their flank or rear.”

That was Yozef’s thought, but he had hoped Vernik had another Fuomi tactic.

Or maybe I want someone to agree with me to spread the blame, he thought.

“Then there’s no choice. Tasman is not in position, and coordination would be impossible in time. It’ll have to be the dragoons alone. The wagons and infantry are stuck here.” He turned to Uzman. “The scouts said this ravine looks to get shallower farther upstream. We’ll have to find a place to cross that’s either undefended or where we can fight across without taking major casualties.”

“It will have to be a large-enough force to be a threat to the Kolinkans, and our people will be terribly outnumbered,” said Kivalian.

“Yes,” said Vernik, “but this is not open space like the battle we had. The Kolinkans are not going to see the entire force at once. And our dragoons don’t have to defeat the Kolinkans, just make them worry enough to withdraw. No matter how good their commanders are, they’ve got to be in a state of shock from your Sharps, artillery, and Gatlings. For all they know, you have fifty of the Gatlings and Ordinance rifles.”

“In other words, Haree, we have to run a convincing poker bluff.”

The Fuomi smiled, not sure of the reference but understanding the point.

Kivalian tugged at the right end of his mustache. “My first thought was to worry about dividing our force with some of the dragoons to send off on their own. However, this ravine can work to our advantage in reverse. It makes it difficult for us to get at the Kolinkans, but it’s as hard for them to cross and attack us on this side. This would be a daring move on our part, but if we’re going to do it, let’s be daring.”

An hour later, after gathering the other senior leaders, they met again under the awning with the table and a quickly drawn local map.

“We’ll dig in on this bank,” said Yozef, “and try to make the Kolinkans think our entire army is still here. Remaining will be all the infantry, most of the Ponomynan cavalry, all the twelve-pounders, the three Ordinance rifles, and the Naskin dragoon regiment. The Caedelli, Fuomi, and Munjorian dragoon regiments will take all the six-pounders, the four twelve-pounder howitzers, and the two functioning Gatling guns under the command of General Kivalian and follow this ravine northwest until they find a site to cross and come up on the Kolinkan right flank. General Gangala will also assign five hundred of his cavalry as scouts and couriers. Extra horses will be used to carry supplies, and some of the twelve-pounder limbers and caissons will be switched to twelve-pounder ammunition for the howitzers.

“Reimo, except for scouts, you’ll have to keep well away from the ravine so you’re not detected moving north. I know it will be difficult, but time is something we don’t have to spare. I’d like the force under Kivalian to leave tomorrow morning. Gentlemen, we need to cross this ravine within three or four days. The northern force under Tasman Gangala is expecting to meet us on the other side of the badlands, and I intend for us to be there waiting.”

Or we’re in deep shit, thought Yozef.

With the meeting formally ended, the leaders stood talking in groups before dispersing. Kivalian waited until Yozef was engaged with the Aroian and Gympoian leaders before he caught Synton’s eye and made a head gesture to follow.

“What’s up, Reimo?” asked Synton after they walked behind the cluster of leaders’ horses being held by aides.

“We have a problem I’m hoping you can help solve.”

“Who’s the ‘we?’ Is this coming from Yozef?”

“Nothing’s coming from anyone. We never had this conversation. But if we did have it, I would say that the leader of the Naskin regiment is a problem that all of us would be best served if it was solved.”

“So . . . this is not coming from Yozef?”

“He is worried that Sooham Bindbar might do something at the wrong time and endanger the entire campaign. I know Yozef wished he did not have to leave Bindbar as the senior dragoon officer in the Naskinese regiment. The force being detached to get around the Kolinkan flank and across this ravine needs the best regiments. He admitted the Naskinese are not an option. Even without Bindbar, the Naskinese are the weakest, though probably satisfactory under these circumstances if someone else was their commander. Someone like the second-in-command, Popul. Of course, that would require something happening to Bindbar such that he would be unable to continue commanding.”

“You mean like something happened to a few of their officers back on Caedellium? The other time when we didn’t want to bother the Paramount with details. After all, he has so many more important matters to deal with.”

“Yes, those training accidents were unfortunate,” said Kivalian with a blank face, “and the one officer who disappeared remains quite a mystery. We wouldn’t want something that extreme to happen with Bindbar.”

“Well, I suppose we just have to leave such things to God, gods, or fate,” said Synton.

“My feelings exactly,” said Kivalian.

CHAPTER 41

TAHPULTA RAVINE

Horen Rakatek

“I’m getting worried,” said the Kolinkan warmaster. He peeked over an earthen berm at the invaders’ positions on the ravine’s opposite bank.

“Well, worry with your head down,” groused the listening-in battalion commander. “I don’t want you killed so that me and my men are blamed. Those damn rifles are hitting one of my men too damn often.”

Rakatek slid back and looked fondly at the grizzled major, a man who had served under him many times and was as steady as they came for his rank.

“I just have to see their positions at least once a day, Pahnchan.”

“Well, you should trust me that I’ll send a message if they disappear. At least, we haven’t had them dropping those explosives on us today. The damnedest mortars I’ve ever experienced. The bastards don’t even try to hide where they fire from. The top of that butte is too far for us to reach them. What’s almost worse is that all the mortars don’t fire at the same target at the same time. This way, we can’t tell where the shells are going to land, so everyone within hearing of those mortars’ range has to hide until they land. The harm to our men’s morale might be as bad as the casualties they cause.”

Rakatek patted his old comrade on the shoulder and joined Chaktah, who had already had his look and was waiting for the warmaster’s impression.

“You see what I mean, Warmaster?”

“Yes, I hadn’t noticed the first day they fired those mortars, but I agree there seems to be only four of them. I was initially concerned that they might have more. I found myself imagining forty of fifty of them dropping shells on a section of our defenses in preparation for an assault across the ravine. I also wonder whether the fact that they don’t keep firing them is to save on ammunition.”

Chaktah hesitated and brushed hair from his eyes. “For the same reason I’m wondering why their artillery fires less often than it does.”

“And adding to my worry,” said Rakatek. “We don’t have any eyes on that side of the ravine. We’ve assumed they had to try and cross either here or somewhere not too far away. So far, our pickets out twenty miles report no sign of them. Their wagons won’t take this terrain once they leave this single road. But what if they have no intention of trying to force a crossing?”

“Then what is their thinking?” asked Chaktah. “They have to do something!”

“It’s the something I’m worried about. I’m also getting angry messages from Litlik, demanding to know why we’re just sitting here. I can only ignore him so long. I’m afraid he’s going to order me to go on the offensive. He’s got no sense of how bad an idea that is. The Tahpulta is as much a barrier to us as it is to the invaders.”

“I read the last of his messages that you showed me, Horen. I admit I was not surprised that the idiot seems to disbelieve we’re facing an alliance of several kahsaks AND Landolin kingdoms.”

“Santaka—” Rakatek cut off sharply to glance around for nearby ears. There were none within hearing.

“Every fiber of my being tells me Kolinka is facing a threat like none other in our history. It wouldn’t have occurred to me before, but if the other kahsaks have united against us and gotten the support of the Landolin kingdoms and the Fuomi, I have to wonder if the mere existence of Kolinka is at stake.”

“But—” It was Chaktah’s turn to abruptly stop speaking, though in his case it was from shock.

Moments passed. Rakatek waited. Chaktah composed himself.

“How would that come to be? What might happen to the people and the kahsak?”

Rakatek shook his head. “I don’t know, but none of the possibilities are pleasant. Kolinka being divided among the other kahsaks? The people scattered or subjugated? Certainly, death and destruction on a scale the kahsak has never experienced.”

“I hope you’re wrong, Horen. But let’s say there’s something to your fears. Is there anything we could do?”

“It may be beyond our influence, Santaka, but doing what we’ve already discussed is one option. If we can either destroy or at least turn back this invasion, maybe the forces arrayed against us will reconsider whatever they have planned for Kolinka.”

Yozef Kolsko

He had hoped Kivalian’s force could have been on the move at first light the next morning, but it was not to be. He had given orders to be woken as the stars dimmed from the approaching sun, hoping to see the units off. Instead, Kivalian was waiting outside his tent.

“Sorry, Yozef. We did our best. Few officers got more than an hour or two of sleep last night. Not all the units are ready to leave, but Jormaki told me about midnight that his Fuomi regiment could leave right then. I told him to give his men five hours’ sleep, and they left using torches an hour ago. The rest of the brigade will be off as soon as possible.”

They had agreed to call the detached force a brigade.

Yozef could see Kivalian’s smile in the lantern light.

“They’ll have to move along to catch up with Jormaki. I told them I wouldn’t tell Jormaki to stop because they were slow.”

“Ah . . . there’s something else. I’ve just heard that Sooham Bindbar was wounded by musket fire early this morning. It’s thought one of the Naskinese night guards fired on him by mistake.”

“He’s not dead, I hope.”

“No . . . uh, thankfully, but it’s a leg wound that will keep him out of a saddle and on his back for several sixdays minimum. That’s what the medicants say. His second-in-command, Amapal Popul, has taken over the regiment.”

“What was Bindbar’s response to the transfer of authority?”

“He took it surprisingly well. I’m sure I misunderstood, but for a moment I thought he might actually be relieved.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re wrong,” said Yozef, doing a good imitation of sincerity. “Well, we’ll just have to do our best without Bindbar. I’m sure Popul will fill in satisfactorily.”

By mid-morning, the last brigade unit had left, and Yozef met with the remaining senior leaders. In addition to discussing that they needed to keep the Kolinkans across the ravine convinced they still faced the entire invading army, Yozef announced they would begin preparing the supply depot. A low butte, a half mile to their rear, had one side open with a hundred-yard-wide gentle slope for access. Fortifications would be built while they waited for the brigade to threaten the Kolinkans.

Yozef also instructed Gartherid Luwis to plan how to defend the section of the sole road where it traversed the ravine. He told Gartherid to assume the alliance defensive positions had to withstand a major assault. It was a contingency in case the Alliance army crossed the ravine but later had to withdraw back over it. He would later see what the intelligence officer came up with and make adjustments.

Yozef then retired to his tent to write orders and letters. The former included sending couriers back toward Penabak for updates on the resupply train supposedly en route. He added a request for a second supply train to include more medical supplies, the remainder of the ammunition, several hundred more replacement horses, food, and grain.

In other words, he told himself when rereading at the finished message, send everything possible this way. I just hope it’s far more than we need.

He exited the pavilion and handed the sealed message to the three-man courier team. He then returned to his corner of the pavilion and began composing a letter to Maera and Anarynd. It would reach them only when he returned to Caedellium, but he had acquiesced when they requested he write anyway. He suspected they considered the letters a way to ensure his return, though he wasn’t clear on the logic. For him, it was a reminder that whatever was happening in Kolinka was not the totality of his existence.

There was one letter each time he wrote, the salutation alternating between “Maera and Anarynd” and “Anarynd and Maera.” Today, it was the first.

Dear Maera and Anarynd,

As much as I miss you and the children, I struggle to believe that what I’m doing is the best long term for my family, for Caedellium, and for many other peoples. Today I made a decision . . .

He paused to think. Sometimes he used the letters to pour out doubts as if he were writing in a private diary. Whether he would eventually give all the letters to Maera and Anarynd was left to the future.

A cackle of laughter broke his concentration. His four companions were playing a card game in the opposite corner of the pavilion. From Synton’s vocalization, he must have won a hand, possibly at the expense of a scowling Carnigan. Yozef paused in his writing for a few moments as pleasant memories wafted through his thoughts. Another connection to home and better times. He shook himself. Back to the letter.

Reimo Kivalian

He estimated they were twenty-two to twenty-four miles northwest of the rest of the army when scouts reported for the first time no signs of Kolinkan patrols on the opposite bank of the ravine. This part of the gorge was noticeably smaller the farther they traveled.

“All right,” he told the leader of a joint Caedelli/Ponomynan scout platoon, “cross to the other rim and look for Kolinkans.”

The order was simple and risk-heavy for the patrol going blind into enemy territory. In addition, if the patrol encountered Kolinkans or was spotted, the brigade’s attempt to outflank the Kolinkan army would be seriously compromised—surprise was a major ally.

Kivalian waited impatiently four hours before a Caedelli dragoon returned.

“Seems clear, General,” reported the man. “We crossed over without seeing anyone or signs of recent activity. At least, that’s what a couple of men said who claim to read signs. We then split into three groups and went out about five miles in all directions before rejoining. Apparently, the only sign of recent activity was about four miles east where we crossed tracks heading southeast toward where we left the rest of the army.”

“And the terrain. What’s it like?”

“The group checking back down this ravine say it’s as rough or worse as far as they went. The other section is the one I was in. At about four or five miles, the land gets flatter and looks to continue the same as far as we could see.”

“Where is the rest of the patrol right now?”

“About a half mile from where we crossed. There’s a small stream with some grass. They’ll camp there tonight unless I take back the message to return here.”

“No. Stay there. Rejoin the rest. At first light tomorrow, repeat the same scout pattern, but hold it to about two miles out before reporting back.”

Kivalian turned to the three regiment commanders.

“It’s too late today to get much farther before dark. We’ll bivouac here tonight and let the horses rest. At first light tomorrow, we’ll work to improve the potential crossing a mile from here. Then, if the scouts report it still appears clear, we’ll cross and go east to the easier terrain, then turn southeast. I needn’t remind you that once we do that, speed is essential but complicated by when the Kolinkans first realize we’re on their flank.

“Colonel Jormaki, if we do proceed tomorrow morning, send one of your men back to Kolsko to let him know. Also tell him we’ll try to send riders with updates, but that it’s uncertain whether we can.”

The next morning, the sun had not yet edged out from the hills to the east when a different rider reported still negative scout contact with Kolinkans. Minutes later, the first Caedelli company was crossing the stream, whose flow was noticeably less than the previous day.

“Drying up,” said Swavebroke as he stood next to Kivalian and watched his regiment move out. “You can see in the ravine where the water must have been three or four feet high only a sixday ago. I suppose we were lucky not to launch sooner, or we’d have had to go God knows how far to find a ford.”

“At least, it provided water. Once we’re past these badlands, there’re supposed to be farms, ranches, and water sources.”

Swavebroke grimaced. “And a shit lot more Kolinkans.”

“Well . . . we are here to find them, Harmon. Just as long as we don’t meet all of them at the same time.”

Kivalian waited until the Munjorian regiment crossed so he could ride half an hour with Gaya before moving to the forefront. His initial caution about Gaya had abated during training on Caedellium. Gaya learned fast and listened to his adjutant, Singhal, a canny, mid-fifties veteran of intermittent conflicts with Jahmnor, the kingdom south of Munjor. Kivalian did not think Singhal had the intellect of Gaya, but experience had a different value, and the two Munjorians combined to form a strong command.

“What are you thinking, Gaya?” asked Kivalian, probing for the Munjorian’s outlook.

“I’m thinking I hope the Kolinkans run out of men before we run out of ammunition.”

Kivalian laughed. “So do I. So do I.”

“Let me ask you a question,” said Gaya. “As much as Yozef has accomplished, do you really think he’s qualified to command this army?”

“No, he’s not. But then again, who is? I don’t think anything like this has happened before on Anyar. Oh . . . there have been coalitions before. Fuomon and the Harrasedics have cooperated, and your own Iraquinik kahsaks work together—although, from what I hear, not very effectively to the degree they should.

“But here . . . ” He shook his head. “So many different peoples, most of whom don’t speak one another’s languages and have no history of cooperating. And Landoliners in Kolinka? Who would have imagined this?

“Back to your question. Maybe Yozef doesn’t have the military experience, but this alliance is due to him. So, maybe that’s a criterion for leadership. Plus, he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. You haven’t been in all the staff meetings, but you’ve witnessed how he listens to others. I can’t remember an example where he proceeded when Vernik and I both advised against his initial idea. At the same time, I think he might disregard our advice, and if he did, I’d start to wonder if Vernik and I were the ones who were wrong.”

“Well, I suppose we are making Anyar history,” said Gaya, who held up one finger and then a second. “Either we’re going to prove such mixed alliances are possible or not. I’ll admit I’m optimistic about the first option, but I do not discount the second.”

“It all sounds reasonable, Gaya. Oh . . . and Yozef mentioned he was pleased by how well your regiment moved quickly and in order during the battle.”

Gaya visibly preened and stroked his oiled goatee with a finger swipe.

“I’d better get back to the front on the column,” said Kivalian. “I’ll check with you later, and although I know you don’t need to be told, all commanders will do it anyway—be sure your pickets are out at least a mile in all directions.”

Intersection

The Caedelli Swythlan brothers had been nervous the first time they rode picket with five Ponomynan cavalrymen, but after the third patrol with the same men, it seemed natural enough. However, they were not prepared when their seven mounts reached the top of a low ridgeline and they saw forty or fifty riders in the valley to their north.

“Get back!” Wilon hissed as loud as he could—an anomalous effort. His brother, Atagin, responded immediately, along with the five Ponomynans. Back on the reverse slope, the brothers and two Ponomynans dismounted, gave their reins to others to be held, and crawled to the crest.

“Whew,” said Atagin. “I don’t think they saw us. At least, no one’s riding hard in our direction.”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” said Wilon. “They might think we’re Kolinkans, or they just don’t give a shit if we’re enemies.”

“Nah. They’d react if they saw us.”

One of the Ponomynans said something and pointed. Just coming into view, a hundred yards behind the riders, were even more riders. A dozen. Thirty. A hundred. The brothers stopped estimating.

“Okay, so maybe they don’t care if we saw them,” said Atagin. “As long as they don’t come after us, let’s see how many there are.”

Five minutes later, Wilon thought they knew enough.

“This is no local patrol. There’s been close to a thousand horsemen and now wagons. There’s no telling how many more are coming, but we’ve got to get back to Kivalian and report. With the direction these men are going, they’ll contact the brigade in not much more than an hour.”

He turned to the two Ponomynans who were supposed to be observing but instead were engaged in an agitated conversation. He gestured that they needed to leave—at least, he thought it was a gesture they should understand. Both men shook their heads and jabbered something in Kahsakist. Atagin hunched his shoulders and opened both hands. More jabbering. More excitement.

Twenty minutes later, the Swythlan brothers caught up with Kivalian at the front of the Caedelli regiment. They came riding hard and pulled up ten yards from Kivalian, Wilon almost being unseated before regaining control.

“Ponomynans! Thousands of them! Northwest only a few miles!”

“What Ponomynans? Northwest of us?”

“Yeah,” said Atagin. “We don’t know exactly how many, but we met them, and the Ponomynans jabbered with them. From what we could understand, they’re led by Tasman Gangala, Uzman Gangala’s brother.”

Yozef Kolsko

“We don’t have details yet,” Yozef told the gathering of senior officers, “only that Tasman Gangala has met and joined with Kivalian. Evidently, Tasman didn’t get the message to move farther east before turning south, or he decided to come straight for us. Either way, the united force is about twenty miles northwest of here and on the far edge of the badlands. Kivalian’s message says he’s stopped there for the night so they can get organized and rest. He plans on pushing hard starting at first light tomorrow and expects to be in contact with the Kolinkans by mid-morning.”

“And no details from my brother?” asked Uzman, who had been energized by the news.

“As I said. Nothing more. What we have to do is focus on tomorrow. Kivalian and Tasman will be northwest of the Kolinkan army. Kivalian says he will avoid cutting them off from retreating, and once contact is made, they’ll move closer to the ravine.”

“But why not cut off their retreat?” asked Amapal Popul, who had assumed command of the Naskinese regiment when Bindbar was accidently wounded.

“It’s a tempting idea, but I, Marshal Vernik, Uzman, and Kivalian discussed this before. The army we’re part of is now larger with the addition of Tasman’s force, but we’re separated and won’t be able to coordinate if we’re going to act fast. We also don’t know the strength of the Kolinkans. We’re sure they didn’t bring all their men to the battle we had, plus more may have arrived since then.

“Based on those issues, we agreed it was prudent not to be too ambitious. There will be other opportunities. Assuming Kivalian engages the Kolinkans about mid-morning tomorrow, that’s when we’ll make a show of planning to attack from our side of the ravine. Naturally, we don’t intend to send men in a frontal attack unless we can sufficiently degrade their defenses, but with artillery we can put pressure on the Kolinkan positions, particularly their cannon.”

Horen Rakatek

“This just gets better all the time, Santaka,” complained the warmaster in disgust. “Yesterday we got word a Ponomynan force has captured or destroyed the lower and middle bridges over the Zamzul River. Now we’ve got an invading force on this side of the ravine north of us and coming this way.”

“Maybe this new force is the same one that destroyed the bridges,” offered Chaktah.

“And that helps us exactly how?” griped Rakatek.

“So, what are we going to do?”

“The geniuses back in Chikawan don’t have information on the force that destroyed the bridges, so we don’t know if they are also armed with these new weapons the wounded Aroian described.”

“And you believe his stories?” asked Chaktah. “He admitted he has never handled this magical rifle himself, but it’s just what he’s heard from the men with them.”

“I think we have to believe him. It explains so much. The rapid rate of fire from so few men, reloading while lying down, and their range means they’re some new type of rifle. From the man’s estimates, they have something like seven to ten thousand of these breech-loading rifles. Given what we experienced, it’s roughly the same as maybe forty thousand men with rifles that greatly outrange our muskets.”

“Unfortunately, I agree,” said Chaktah. “Then there’s the other weapons. The machine that fired hundreds of rounds per minute with a crew of only three or four men. The artillery that both outranged ours and was incredibly accurate. The only positive is they may not have many such weapons.”

“According to the Aroian,” qualified Rakatek. “It also fits that only the units from off Melosia are so armed. All the kahsak troops seem to be armed like we are.”

“Well, I doubt the invaders on the other side of the ravine are going to try and force their way across,” said Chaktah. “Our position is too strong. That leaves the new force coming at us. We must still have overwhelming numbers superiority. We have over a hundred and forty thousand men.”

“Yes,” said Rakatek. “A hundred and forty thousand, too many of whom are levies with little or no combat experience, formed in regiments most of whose men have never fought together, and led by officers more than half of whom are there due to political connections and not ability.

“My gut says we should pull back across the Chikok River, where the water and wetlands give us a natural barrier for added defense. There has to be another thirty or forty thousand men around the capital, plus more from the west and north will arrive the longer we delay. New weapons or not, there has to be a point where our numbers would prevail.”

“But what about the bridges? That leaves the upper Zamzul bridge north of Chikawan. It would delay the western forces maybe two sixdays to get to Chikawan by way of that bridge.”

Rakatek shrugged. “Again, we’re getting no information. Some of those regiments might already be on the way to the upper Zamzul. Others could be ferrying men across the Zamzul River. Getting horses, wagons, and artillery across is a problem, but it can be solved if the commanders are competent enough, and they have enough time.”

Chaktah’s facial muscle tic revealed his opinion.

“All right,” said Rakatek, “I can always hope, can’t I? There must be another hundred thousand men on the north side of the Zamzul. I know the numbers sound impressive, but I’ve always been overruled when I suggest we concentrate on the ableist men and not everyone the nobles can dredge up. We’ve far too many boys and old men.”

“Horen, you know what Litlik’s response will be if you retreat after having such numbers superiority. He will focus on that and probably replace you with one of his lackeys. He’s wanted to do that, anyway, and will use the retreat as the excuse that you’re not a winning warmaster.”

The lines in Rakatek’s face seemed deeper than Chaktah remembered.

“As much as I hate for my position as warmaster to be a factor in what we should do next, I would be remiss not to consider it. If we stand our ground here, we could lose thousands of men to no purpose if we then have to retreat. On the other hand, if we retreat now and Litlik replaces me, many times more men might die because of the incompetent he replaces me with.”

Rakatek sighed. “Then, who’s to know whether the decision I make is solely based on what I believe is right versus considering my own position?”

“Horen, I believe you’re doing what you warn others about. Overthinking.”

The warmaster chuckled. “You’re supposed to follow my verbal advice and not my actions.”

“So. What are your orders?”

“We’ll stand for now. I don’t see any other option, given all the factors and uncertainties. We’ll reinforce the ravine defenses and get the regiments that are sitting and doing nothing to dig in, facing the new threat.”

Yozef Kolsko

He glanced at the sun.

“Yozef, it hasn’t moved more than a finger’s width since last time you looked,” said Carnigan.

“Maybe he’s exerting Septarsh powers to make it move faster,” said Synton. “Either that or getting impatient that God doesn’t answer his prayer.”

“Maybe I’m beseeching God to give me two more respectful companions.”

“I think that possibility set sail for Krinolin some time ago,” said Synton.

Yozef laughed—a welcome temporary respite from the tension causing his stomach to writhe. He did not reveal that the exact timing to start the bombardment was inexact. Since he had no contact with Kivalian, whether he was early or late in coinciding with the other attack was impossible to plan. He knew he could have given the order fifteen or twenty minutes ago to be close enough to his stated intention of beginning at mid-morning.

“All right. Using my Septarsh abilities, I see it’s time.” He turned to an aide. “Run up the flag.”

Moments later, the Alliance flag rose on a pole. Within seconds, the first “WAHUMPF” came from where the medium mortars hid in a pit dug two hundred yards from the ravine’s rim. They had been moved from their previous position on a butte to be closer to the ravine and able to lob shells farther into the Kolinkan fortifications. Their depth and the berm made of excavated earth blocked direct fire from Kolinkan cannon.

WAHUMPF. WAHUMFP. WAHUMFP. The other three mortars joined the first.

Yozef figuratively held his breath. The vexatious fusing problem had been solved shortly before they left Caedellium, but testing had been perfunctory. The fuse holder of existing shells was swapped out only days before they sailed.

An explosion erupted fifty yards past the center of the Kolinkan trench works, throwing earth and smoke into the air. He could see figures scurry for shelter.

Down fifty and use the next shorter fuse, he thought, as if personally giving elevation and fuse adjustments to the mortar crew. He envisioned the mortar chief yelling to the man working the elevation screw to change the angle of the mortar tube and the fuse man to change to a shorter-duration fuse. A partitioned box held six versions of the wooden plug fuse, each with a different time to detonation. The fuse man would force the plug into the hole in the tip of the mortar shell. When the percussion fuse at the base of the shell ignited the propellant charge, enough flame swept between the shell and the tube wall to ignite the fuse at the shell’s tip. The setup was primitive with limited timing options but having two percussion caps in the same shell was still problematic. A paper plug that could be cut to different lengths for more varied time delays had not been finished before they left Caedellium, and there was no time for production.

The shorter fuse was needed because the mortars were firing cylindrical shells containing eighty half-inch iron balls. The balls were embedded in a plant wax to keep them from rattling and randomizing the case’s trajectory. This antipersonnel weapon was most effective when exploded in mid-air to throw a cloud of balls. Less effective, but as dangerous, was a ground-level explosion. Least effective was if the shell penetrated the ground before exploding.

The second and third explosions were also long by fifty yards, but they exploded thirty feet off the ground. The mortar crews were ordered to use that fuse type for the trench work targets.

Okay, that fuse works, thought Yozef, but where’s the fourth explosion?

It was a dud. From the tests, the fuses were expected to fail about a quarter of the time. However, the explosions established which of the six fuse types was optimal. After a pause, the four mortars fired again. All four shells exploded over the Kolinkan trench works.

Yozef nodded to an aide, who ran up a second flag signaling general engagement. The three Ordinance rifles began a steady, measured assault on Kolinkan artillery positions. The rounds were ten-pound, pointed iron bolts because the fusing for Ordinance shells was too unreliable. However, the rifles were accurate to a mile and were positioned on hilltops and buttes to fire down at the Kolinkan artillery.

At the same time, a hundred Sharps snipers began picking off exposed Kolinkans, and the 12-pounder cannon and howitzers fired a combination of shot and explosive balls at targets behind the trench works.

Reimo Kivalian

He found Gaya on a hilltop using a telescope to examine the Munjorian regiment and Kolinkan deployments. The Munjorians formed the right of the brigade’s advance, with the Fuomi on the left and the Caedelli as reserve. Tasman’s cavalry screened the left flank, and the ravine secured the right flank. Tasman’s infantry followed as a rear guard and potential reinforcements. Scattered rifle shots marked where a dragoon thought he had a Kolinkan target.

“Are they still withdrawing as soon as you get in range?” Kivalian asked.

“It’s frustrating my men,” said Gaya. “We might engage them more if we didn’t have to keep an even front on our advance.”

Gaya smiled. “Some of the men are complaining they’re spending too much time as infantry. It’s only just now getting their attention that that’s exactly what a dragoon is—an infantryman who rides to battle and fights on foot.”

“I know it’s slow,” said Kivalian, “but we’re advancing blind and can’t risk units being isolated from our main body. Right now, the purpose is not to fight a major battle, but to get them to withdraw so the rest of our army can cross the ravine.”

Horen Rakatek

“Demon’s balls!” snarled Chaktah, standing next to Rakatek on a hill out of invader-weapon range. “We have to at least pull back from the ravine! Those infernal cannon of theirs are decimating our artillery positions, and I’m not sure how long the crews will be willing to man the cannon. Same with the infantry. Those bombards, or whatever they are, are lobbing bombs to explode over the trenches. There’s no overhead protection. The only thing saving us is they only seem to have three or four of the weapons. If they had thirty, combined with their cannon, they could push their way across the ravine no matter what we did.”

“I wouldn’t have thought they might attack across the ravine,” said Rakatek, “but based on what they’re doing, combined with the forces pushing on us from the northwest, I think that may be exactly what they plan. I’m afraid we’re coming to decision time, Santaka. Try to hold this position, or withdraw toward Chikawan and make a stand on the Chikok River.”

Cries of alarm and startled expressions of men facing the invaders’ positions stopped whatever Chaktah was about to answer. One after another, streaks of light and smoke rose from a hilltop. Rakatek’s first thought was flares, but he quickly discounted it by the twentieth streak.

“Rockets!” gasped Chaktah. He realized the streaks were not vertical but had a flatter trajectory coming their way. He knew of the theory of military rockets, and that the Narthani and Fuomi were supposed to use them occasionally, but he thought they were considered impractical for general deployment. He saw that supposition being disproved by the time the fiftieth rocket launched.

The first rocket exploded when it hit a rock outcropping that hung over a section of trench works. The second landed to no effect. The next four exploded in midair, one directly over a trench section full of infantry sheltering from rifle and cannon fire. Then the next two failed to explode. From that point on, Rakatek lost the tally of where and whether the rockets exploded. When the last rocket landed, swirling cords of smoke traced back to the launch site.

“What’s next?” snarled Rakatek. “Lightning bolts out of their asses? Giant murvors dropping explosives?”

“I don’t think we can stay here to find out,” said Chaktah. “Besides the confusing situation we find ourselves in, the men’s morale was already low. This latest trick of the invaders will bring out the men’s superstitions and myths. I’m also getting reports that a few regiments are ready to go home or to mutiny. If we’re going to hold this army together, we need to withdraw.”

“If they let us,” said Rakatek. “We can’t be sure they will let us disengage.”

“There’s only one way to find out. I’m afraid I don’t see staying in this position as a viable alternative.”

The warmaster’s facial muscles pulsed tense and loose, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“If we withdraw, we’ll have to leave a rear guard to block the ravine until the rest of the army is well away. I don’t think the force on our flank is large enough to attack, but we don’t want the ones across the ravine to join them too soon.”

Chaktah nodded, his eyes tired. “I think it will have to be two regiments, plus some artillery, to be a credible deterrent if the invaders try to force their way across the Tahpulta. Then, at best, they may only hold for a day, two at most before they’re cut off and have to either surrender or be annihilated. It’s one of many times I’m glad I’m not in command. The regiments will have to be among the better ones if they’re to hold as long as possible.”

Yozef Kolsko

“You’re sure they’re retreating and not just pulling out of range?” Yozef asked Amapal Popul, the current Naskinese commander.

“He says it’s hard to tell the difference,” relayed the translator, “but his sense is it’s not temporary. His men have seen artillery crews pulling their guns with ropes out of emplacements and other men carrying bags and boxes as if they’re moving.”

“Uzman, what do you think?”

The Ponomynan shrugged. “I’d be leaving if I was them, but who knows? There’s still an awful lot of Kolinkans over there.”

“Okay, let’s keep up the firing as long as there’re targets. I hope they’re retreating. We’ve used up most of the special weapons’ ammunition.”

Fifteen minutes later, all firing ceased for lack of targets. After another hour of silence, ten volunteers followed the single road down the near slope of the ravine, across the Tahpulta River, which was now a stream working its way to being a trickle, and up the opposite slope. When one of the men waved a cloth, a Naskinese company followed, then a regiment of Ponomynan cavalry as the secure perimeter expanded. The cavalry made contact with Kolinkan infantry digging fortifications where the road entered a defile and on the surrounding butte tops.

“It’s a rear guard their commander is sacrificing,” commented Uzman. “My cavalry says there’s no easy bypass that wagons and artillery could use. We’ll have to dig them out, which is going to take time.”

“I think time is what we will have,” said Yozef. “I don’t see us keeping contact with the Kolinkan army. There’s just too many of them and too few of us. Besides using up so much of the special weapons ammunition, we’re short of medical supplies, and while we’re not particularly short of food, the stores are lower than we’d planned by this time. Then there’s our plan to come back together with Kivalian and see the status of Tasman’s force. Although I don’t like giving the Kolinkans more time to organize, I think we’ll have to wait a couple of days. That will let us finish the resupply depot we’ll station here, and hopefully some supply trains will arrive from Ponomyna. I’ll also be messaging back to Penabak to keep sending supply trains at least until all the ammunition and medical supplies are committed.”

CHAPTER 42

LESSONS AND OPTIONS

Yozef had hoped to be on the move again in two days, but it was the evening of the third day before preparations were underway to begin moving again. The depot was finished, and a resupply train had arrived the previous day. Forward scouts kept an eye on the Kolinkan army, which showed no sign of making a stand. Most of the Ponomynan cavalry had bypassed the Kolinkans blockading the road and were actively foraging in farm and ranch country east of the badlands. After a meeting of all senior commanders, Yozef arranged for the four Alliance regiment commanders to stay behind with himself, Kivalian, and Vernik.

“Well, gentlemen, we have much ahead of us, but let’s continue to discuss what we’ve learned so far. In other words, if we were planning this campaign over again, what would we do differently? This also applies if and when the enemy we face is not the Kolinkans but the Narthani.”

Swavebroke did not hesitate. “We already talked about the single-man line being too risky. Even though it worked against the Kolinkans, and even though our casualties were relatively light, I think a concerted Narthani attack might have broken through. There were no immediate backups. Yes, we had the Munjorian and Naskinese regiments as reinforcements, but once they committed to the flank attacks, the center of our line had nothing behind them.”

“I agree,” said Kivalian. “The Sharps rifles give us a tremendous advantage in firepower per man, but perhaps we overestimated exactly how much. I’m thinking we should have one battalion of each regiment as that regiment’s reserve. Alternatively, or at the same time, increase fire support. The regiments had the six-pounder cannon, but the twelve-pounder howitzers are about the same weight and are more effective. We’d already talked about substituting the howitzers to move with the dragoons, but we should speed up the timetable. We should also consider sticking with the howitzers and Ordinance rifles and stop using the twelve-pounder cannon, even if they’re new.”

“What about the Gatling guns?” asked Popul. “I didn’t see them in action, but from what I saw on Caedellium and hear from the Iraquiniks on our right flank, they were terrifying.”

“Yes, if they don’t break down,” said Yozef. “Only one of the three functioned as long as we wanted to fire it, but it might have quit any second. We clearly have much more work to do before we can depend on them.”

“I would not set the criteria too high,” said Vernik. “If you can get it so half of them will work during a day’s battle, that would still be sufficient to be a deciding weapon.”

“What do you think, Yozef?” asked Swavebroke.

“I’ll obviously check with Kaldwel, but I think we could get them to that level of reliability. If not something that close, then I would hesitate to take them lest we come to depend on them, only to have too many fail at the wrong time. The paper cartridges will never be as reliable as brass ones would be, but I don’t see us switching in the next year or two. There are simply too many priorities, and we don’t have enough of an industrial base.”

Yozef did not have to read minds to know what Vernik was thinking.

Fuomon doesn’t have that problem, Yozef thought. They have the infrastructure and population to do everything we can and can’t. What they don’t have is Mark and me.

“Mortars,” said Jormaki. “The bigger ones were effective, and we should have more, but what about the small ones with the dragoon units? We used them, but enough to justify them being standard weaponry?”

“I think events just went so fast,” said Kivalian, “and no situation arose where they would be maximally effective. We will probably have more opportunities in the coming sixdays. But the artillery is where we need to make obvious changes—at least, to my view. The Ordinance rifles were even better than I expected. Their accuracy and range are greater than anything I’ve seen or heard of for counter-battery fire.”

“Brigadier Kivalian is right,” said Vernik. “While I was observing our three Ordinance rifles suppressing the Kolinkan artillery, I couldn’t help but imagine a Fuomi army using them against Narthon. Of course, there’s the primer and fuse problems that exist for your new weapons. Too many that fail to work means you have to have even more ammunition to make up for the duds.”

Too many things to do, thought Yozef. Too many things I know we could do or work out if we just had more time and more people.

But they did not have enough people skilled in what needed doing; neither was time open-ended. It was inevitable that Narthon would reproduce what came out of Caedellium. It would always be a race to stay ahead.

“The fuses will be a priority when I return to Caedellium.”

“The dragoons are also problematic,” said Vernik, moving on from primers. “What is clear to me is that cavalry will have less and less importance. The increase in firepower from Sharps, Gatlings, and artillery is going to make cavalry attacks suicidal. Perhaps not right away, but as soon as all armies have enough of these weapons. I realize you consider your dragoons to be infantry that rides to battle sites, but the resources to procure and maintain horses will quickly become too inefficient, if they aren’t already.”

“But there’s the mobility aspect,” said Kivalian. “A dragoon regiment can move faster than infantry, then set up on foot, attack an enemy infantry position, then remount and move. I wouldn’t want to give that up just yet, but it’s an issue for us to consider later. Certainly, the other realms will be slow to recognize cavalry limitations, which is to our advantage. Narthon may not understand the new limitations of cavalry until we’ve driven them off Landolin. After that . . . well . . . we have to take all of this one step at a time.”

The meeting lasted another hour before Yozef brought it to a close. They all needed their sleep, and he had letters to write. The first was to Mark, summarizing some of the consensus from the evening’s meeting and adding his own thoughts. The letter would arrive in Caedellium months before Yozef and would save Mark time to make changes in production and research. Yozef would send the letter by rider back to Penabak and request the Fuomi to dispatch a sloop back to Caedellium.

When he finished the letter, he again read the bullet points he’d addressed to Mark:

1)    Stop production of 6-pounder and switch to 12-pounder howitzers. Melt down and recast the 6-pounder barrels if bronze is limited.

2)    Work at increasing 3-inch Ordinance rifles production.

3)    Make plans in case we decide to eliminate the 12-pounder cannon and switch entirely to howitzers and Ordinance rifles.

4)    What is the prospect of producing a larger version of the Ordinance rifle and still keeping it from being too heavy for field operations?

5)    The Gatling mechanism was too subject to failure. If the paper cartridges cannot be improved, is there a solution with the gearing and extraction procedure?

6)    Stop rocket and exploding shell production until fusing problems are solved.

7)    Produce another thirty medium mortars in anticipation of solving fusing issues.

8)    Design sturdier wagons with narrower wheelbases to more easily accompany cavalry and dragoons over rough terrain and through narrow passages. Include better leaf springs.

9)    See if more staff on the fusing issues would be productive.

The last item might need Yozef to be present, but it was an opportunity to test the capability of the new chemists and engineers. The letter to Mark was in English, in violation of Yozef’s intention to limit its usage on paper lest it come to the eyes of someone he preferred not to have examples of his original language. However, in this case, he made an exception, in case the letter was somehow intercepted by unfriendly parties.

Next was a letter to Maera and Anarynd. He intended it go with the stack of other letters he had written and would deliver in person when he returned. After finishing this one, though, he changed his mind and made a copy that would accompany the letter to Mark. Maybe he would copy a few of the others. There had been no justification for using a Fuomi sloop to deliver personal letters. But as long as a sloop was returning with an “official” letter . . .

Maklos Bota

He was confused and excited. After the first few sixdays as a prisoner and with the dreadful options for his fate, he had been treated perhaps not quite as a guest, but certainly not as an enemy combatant. Months later, the Caedelli leader had laid out broad strokes of his intentions for Kolinka and hinted, without being explicit, that Bota might have a mitigating role.

Being invited to pub evenings and occasional social occasions only contributed to Bota’s disorientation. Weren’t these people supposed to be the enemy? If not, why did Kolinka attack them, and what did it mean for Maklos Bota to have participated?

His resulting confusion was balanced by excitement at once again being on Iraquinik soil or, when the Fuomi frigate arrived at Penabak, on a wooden pier jutting out from Iraquinik soil. Even though it was not his home kahsak, he suppressed the urge to kiss the ground. If he had been alone, no one watching, he would have done it. For the first time since his capture, he was optimistic he would again see his wife and children.

Confusion and excitement intertwined when, without explanation, he and three guards traveled with a supply train from Penabak into Kolinkan territory. Neither his guards nor anyone with whom he had casual contact knew what was happening until they reached the beginnings of the badlands. He had never been there, being from western Kolinka, but he had heard stories of why the region was sparsely populated.

He temporarily set aside his previous emotions after couriers going back to Penabak spread word in the supply train that a major battle had taken place, resulting in a sound Kolinkan defeat and retreat. The next day, the supply train reached its destination—a supply depot near the Tahpulta Ravine, guarded by significant fortifications still under construction and a thousand Ponomynans backed by artillery. More rumors and details of the previous battle and the Tahpulta confrontation worsened Bota’s dread about his kahsak’s future.

They continued toward Chikawan, following ground disturbed by the passage of his “hosts.” The next midday they reached the rear of the invading army moving through ranch country. They followed a road toward the capital, but occasionally Bota got glimpses of large units moving parallel over open terrain or other roads.

They spread out once, clearing the badlands, he thought. Just how many are there?

Among the units they passed were those of Aro and the Munjor kingdom—the first because he recognized the uniforms from a time when he passed through that kahsak, and Munjor from its unmistakable flag displaying the terrifying merstor creature.

An hour before sunset, his party stopped and encamped for the night. They slept under the stars, surrounded by tens of thousands of invaders. The next morning, shortly after sunrise, he was escorted to a large tent and met Yozef Kolsko, sitting under the tent awning.

“Hello, Maklos. Come and sit. We’re going to have a very short conversation.”

He sat. The chairs were ten feet apart. Carnigan Puvey and Synton Ethlore stood bracketing the space between the chairs. It was the most security-conscious positioning since his first meetings with Kolsko.

Back to worrying I might try and kill Kolsko? he thought before realizing that the possibility had not occurred to him, even after being on his home kahsak’s soil and hearing rumors of a Kolinkan defeat.

Kolsko waved to where Toowin Kales held a horse saddled and laden with saddlebags.

“After we talk, you’re free to go. I’m told the horse is strong, gentle, and fresh. You should be able to catch up with retreating Kolinkan units by late today or early tomorrow without overly stressing the horse. There’s a Kolinkan uniform in the right saddlebag so you won’t be misidentified as an enemy. We wouldn’t want you to get home only to be shot by one of your compatriots. In case you’re wondering, the uniform is apparently a spare set abandoned at the Kolinkan army’s encampment at the Tahpulta Ravine.

“What you do and where you go is completely up to you, but I’m hoping you will report to Warmaster Rakatek, who is commanding the Kolinkan forces. You’re obviously free to tell the warmaster everything you know about Caedellium and what you saw there. You can also describe the conversations we had about my intentions toward Narthon and the different scenarios for Kolinka’s future. If you do meet with him, tell him that Yozef Kolsko hopes he chooses wisely.”

When Kolsko stopped speaking, Bota stared for almost a minute.

“I will try to meet with Warmaster Rakatek. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll tell him, but one thing I’ll say is that Caedellium and the Caedelli are not what I expected.”

Yozef rose, took two steps forward, and held out a hand. After hesitating in surprise, Bota shook the hand and walked to where Kales gave him the horse’s reins.

Rapine and Pillage

Yozef had been clear and specific that molesting noncombatants would not be tolerated, nor would destruction without cause.

“You know it’s going to happen, don’t you, Yozef?” said Kivalian after a meeting where Yozef had reiterated the warning. “It’s almost inevitable in warfare to keep it to zero. In some cases, it’s even tolerated or approved of by the commanders from some nations. But even if not, there are always individual men of that proclivity who either use the chaos of warfare to hide their acts or lose control of themselves because of what they’ve been through.”

“I can accept it as a possibility,” said Yozef, “but I’m obliged to do what I can to keep it to a minimum if I can’t stop it entirely.”

The interchange with Kivalian was two sixdays past when a grim-faced Amapal Popul approached Yozef while he was taking a spell riding, instead of using a carriage.

“I don’t like the look on your face, Popul,” said Yozef. His good mood from inspecting the right column and the beautiful day’s weather and farm country evaporated all too quickly.

“General, I’m here to report that two of my men broke your injunction of violence against Kolinkan civilians.”

“How bad was it?” asked Yozef, his voice leaden and face stony.

“As bad as possible, I regret to say. They were part of a foraging party out ten miles from our column. We wouldn’t have known about it, except their squad leader found trinkets that could only be Kolinkan in one of their packs. When he questioned other men in his squad, one of them confessed he and another man knew of what happened but came on it only after it was over. I’ll deal with those two men, but I’m here about the other two. You’re the army commander. What are your orders?”

“Describe what you know of what happened.”

“While foraging, the squad passed a farm. After appropriating half of the cattle and horses, three men took them to join other gatherings of livestock while the rest of the squad continued foraging. During the night, the two men slipped back to the farm, killed the man and sons, then raped and killed the woman and a daughter. Another daughter and young son escaped. The company commander was able to question the two surviving family members and confirmed what happened. One of the violators has confessed, while the other insists he didn’t do anything, and it was the other man.”

“This has to be handled quickly and an example made so it doesn’t happen again,” said Yozef. “Under other circumstances, there would be time for a formal trial, witnesses gathered along with all relevant information, a verdict given, and a chance for appeal. At least, that’s how we do it on Caedellium. I’m afraid we don’t have a formal procedure for an army of multiple nations in the middle of a campaign.”

He sighed and drummed fingers on his pommel.

“How confident are you of their guilt?”

“Completely confident. We have the other squad members who saw the results, the squad leader who found items clearly taken from the farm, the two surviving children as witnesses, and the one man’s confession.”

The cold anger Yozef felt would have worried him in other circumstances and at other times. But not today.

“My first inclination is just to execute them right away, but we need a public ceremony to reinforce the lesson—one witnessed by men of all parts in this army.” He looked squarely at Popul. “How would you feel about that, and, more important, how would your other men take such an action?”

“If it was back in Naskin and the men did what they did to other Naskinese, they would be executed. It becomes more problematic in times of war or raids into other kingdoms and when the victims were not from Naskin. That does not mean it’s condoned in warfare, but punishment too often depends upon who is in command and the circumstances. All my men were made aware of the prohibitions in this campaign, so there is no excuse for what happened. However, YOU are the commander of this army, so I felt I needed to report to you before I took action.”

“All right, here’s what I suggest you do. No . . . let me change that. If you execute them, it puts the onus on you, and it’s not coming from the army commander. Make it an order to give the men a quick trial so there’s a semblance of formality. Let there be three judges, as we do on Caedellium. You will be the chief judge. I’ll tell Gaya and Uzman to each assign one of their battalion commanders to be the other two judges. Have the three of you listen to all the witnesses who can be quickly gathered. I’ll also order every company in the Alliance Division to send a representative witness. The Ponomynans have a different unit organization, but I’ll have Uzman and Tasman send proportional representatives to the trial.

“If the evidence is as solid as you say, then it will be up to you to sentence the two men to death as long as all three judges agree.” Yozef stared at Popul for a moment. “Are there any objections?”

The Naskinese commander solemnly shook his head.

“How fast can you get this done?” asked Yozef.

“As soon as the representatives arrive from the different units.”

Yozef checked the position of the sun. “There’s plenty of daylight left. The army is not going to stop for this. Figure to have the trial at sunset at your regiment’s encampment. I won’t be present. Although I’ve given you an order, it needs to be seen as by the authority of the men’s regimental commander.”

Yozef did not confess he wanted to avoid personally giving a death sentence. The incongruity did not escape him that he gave orders that led to hundreds and thousands of deaths. It was a minuscule avoidance, but there it was.

“And should the men be found guilty, do you have a preference for how they are executed?”

Well, fuck, thought Yozef. Can’t something happen without my input? Especially this?

“Traditional execution in Amerika during wartime is by firing squad—the condemned person is shot by a group of . . . oh . . . five to eight men. Another custom is that the rifles be loaded by others, and one is loaded with charge only and no bullet. That way, each man is not completely sure he fired the killing shot.”

Six hours later, Yozef walked to the edge of the middle column’s encampment, far enough that the bustle of men and horses was faint. He stood for more than an hour before hearing faint rifle shots coming from the column that contained the Naskinese regiment. He then walked back to his camp and sat at a fire with his four guards and three other men whose identities he could not later remember.

Horen Rakatek

The Kolinkan commander needed to leave the army and return to Chikawan for two reasons. One was to supervise preparing the defensive line at the Chikok River, which included ensuring the invaders could not use any of the four bridges crossing the river. Two were wooden, and two were stone. The bridge directly west of Chikawan was purportedly one of the largest in any of the Iraquinik kahsaks. Wide enough for three wagons abreast and with ornate carvings in the large stone blocks, it was a landmark. He was conflicted about whether the bridges should be destroyed or defended. Against any other foe, he would be inclined to defend, but against the firearms and the cannon that outranged any of Kolinka’s, he was not confident. They would make preparations in case he decided the bridges could not be saved.

The other reason Rakatek had to return to Chikawan was to face what would happen when he personally reported to Arklun Litlik that his warmaster had been defeated by an army a fraction of the size of the Kolinkan forces and had suffered tens of thousands of casualties. It was a measure of his expectations that preparing for an attack was preferable to any meeting with Litlik.

Santaka Chaktah took that moment to interrupt one of Rakatek’s rare episodes of feeling sorry for himself.

“The latest couriers just arrived. The invaders have left the badlands. They may have sat at the Tahpulta three days after we pulled out, but once they started moving again, they’ve been pushing hard. Still no way they can catch up with us before we reach Chikawan, and the cavalry regiments are forcing them to stay in more consolidated dispositions, which slows them a little.

“It’s time for you to get on to Chikawan, Warmaster. And I know what you’re thinking. You won’t really have left your command, only this part of it. You’ll be passing units that turned back from coming all the way to Tahpulta and those on ahead because they could move faster.”

“I had just about come to the same conclusion, Santaka. I have a few things to finish and will be on my way in about an hour. I don’t have to give you any orders or advice, and I’ll see you in the capital.”

Neither man voiced the question of whether Rakatek would still be the warmaster when that happened, but Chaktah leaned closer.

“Well, you may have to delay your departure, Horen. The couriers brought with them a Kolinkan who claims he was part of the raid on Caedellium.”

Three hours later, Rakatek and Chaktah were alone again for the first time since Maklos Bota began his summary recount of the raid and more time on the months he spent on Caedellium.

“What do you think of Bota, Santaka?”

The second-in-command shrugged. “I think he’s being honest with what he knows. We need more in-depth questioning, but what he claims to have seen of new weapons matches all too closely what we experienced. That doesn’t mean we won’t be careful about everything he says. He’s the most senior man who survived the raid. It would only be natural for him to couch his reports to help his reputation, whether he does it deliberately or not.

“One thing that bothers me is that when describing Caedellium and the Caedelli, he gave more than a hint of a positive attitude. Almost like he admires them a little too much. Same with this Kolsko. That’s one opinion he didn’t attempt to hide. He respects and admires Kolsko—maybe even likes him. Even after he learned of what this Kolsko-led army did to us—the thousands of casualties—it didn’t seem to affect Bota.”

“I think you’re being too hard on him, Santaka, although I’ll admit my impression was more of sadness than anger. You have to admit his observations on the weapons are enlightening.”

Chaktah scowled.

“That’s not how I’d phrase it. More like frightening. We knew about the Caedelli’s new rifles and the bullet that’s so much easier to load. We captured one during the raid and have managed to made a reasonable copy. The problem is that making one rifle took too much effort for us to consider arming all our men with them. There was a reasonable expectation that other nations and kahsaks would have the same problem. It was plausible that the Caedelli managed to arm their leader’s escorts at Seaborn with the limited number of rifles they had. Now we find out that the Caedelli consider this new type of rifle to be obsolete. Even worse, they somehow can produce both types in large-enough numbers to equip part of an army, using craftsmanship we have no clue about.

“Then there’s the machine that fires as many times per minute as dozens of men. If I were superstitious, I’d think it was by some mode of dark magic, but Bota’s impression is that Kolsko considers it merely a mechanical device. And there’s still the balloon, as they call it, and the rockets. When they fired them at Tahpulta, I was initially shocked, like most of our men. But then I realized they didn’t have much effect. That was encouraging until Bota casually expressed confidence that Kolsko would improve them. Just another example of Bota almost granting Kolsko some kind of supernatural abilities.”

“Well,” said Rakatek, “at least we know who is leading this invading army made up of men from so many different realms. If he’s the source of novel weapons, he must also possess amazing skill with men to get the commitments he has.”

“All of this is important, Horen, but we haven’t come to even more important topics—Kolsko’s intention to replace the Litlik family.”

“Just remember, Santaka, that Kolsko’s original message called for Kolinka’s destruction. Bota says Kolsko showed him diagrams of Kolinka divided among the neighboring kahsaks or only losing pieces of our kahsak, depending on how difficult it is to get rid of Litlik. Bota acknowledged that he can’t be sure exactly what Kolsko’s goals are, but his instinct is that Kolsko would mainly be satisfied with Litlik gone.”

“Not just that,” said Chaktah. “He supposedly wants assurances Kolinka will contribute more to the war against Narthon. That may explain why Fuomon and two of the Landolin kingdoms are involved. But where does this leave us?”

“I think it’s a case where one of Yodrill’s reasoning tools might be enlightening.”

“Number three?” asked Chaktah.

“Yes, ‘Alternatives.’ When no one option seems a good solution, list all the alternatives, and evaluate which one is the least bad.”

“Of course,” said Chaktah, “that would give us three possible scenarios: we destroy the invading army, we hold out long enough that they leave, or we are totally destroyed.”

“I think we have to discard the first option,” said Rakatek. “Against the combination of their numbers and new weapons, we would need five or more times our numbers superiority for a complete victory. Now that their two forces have joined, I don’t see our numbers advantage more than three-fold if we include Mukamon. They moved into Kolinkan territory but didn’t push until the last sixday. The latest reports are they’re on the south bank of the upper bridge over the Wambal River. That’s only sixty miles from Chikawan, but I think we have enough forces to hold them there. Even if they take the bridge or cross the Wambal River, the land between the bridge and the capital is swampy with the recent rains.

“More troubling about Mukamon is the latest report of Mukamonese sighted well northeast of Chikawan. They may be going after the upper Zamzul bridge. Whatever their intent, it ties down men who can’t reinforce us against the invaders from Ponomyna. That leaves us with the men we have in this army, those waiting around Chikawan, and maybe another fifty thousand from the west. We can’t be sure how many of those latter regiments can cross the Zamzul and when they will get here.”

“So . . . the most we can count on to defend Chikawan is around a hundred and eighty thousand men,” said Chaktah, “and that’s assuming that most men get here in time. We’re now estimating the invader army at fifty-five to sixty thousand. I have to agree we’re not going to destroy them all. That leaves the other two options. I think the second one is our best chance—that they run out of supplies or patience and withdraw.”

Rakatek nodded. “Which means digging in around Chikawan and daring them to attempt a long-term siege, which I doubt they’re prepared to do. Even with better weapons, they would have to attack. That’s when the advantage of being on defense works in our favor. They couldn’t just sit back and bombard us. They’d have to launch attacks across the Chikok River against fortified positions. Eventually they would have to withdraw.”

“That’s two of the three options,” said Chaktah, “and leaves the third—us fighting to the last man.”

Rakatek grunted. “Not going to happen. I don’t believe the other kahsaks are willing to take the number of casualties it would require on their side. And I certainly would not command such a decision. I can’t imagine a worse outcome. Think of it. Our people with no protection or leverage in negotiating our future. Hundreds of thousands of widows and fatherless children. The other kahsaks’ inevitable bitterness after suffering their losses.

“No . . . in that case, surrendering would be the least bad option, and then we’d hope for the best conditions from the victors.”

Chaktah’s shoulders slumped. “I was hoping you had other solutions. We’ll have to defend Chikawan until the invaders withdraw or we’re forced to surrender because we’ve suffered so many casualties, and the invaders show no sign of leaving.”

Rakatek folded his arms and stared unfocused at the horizon.

“There is another option, though it’s unclear how to pursue it.”

“Litlik,” Chaktah stated in a flat tone. “Deposing him as a fourth option.”

“Litlik,” repeated Rakatek. “If Bota is right, this Kolsko might support surrender conditions that are better for us than the other kahsaks would allow if the fighting continues beyond some point.”

Chaktah glanced around uneasily. Litlik agents were scattered throughout Kolinkan society, and there were commoners who supported the Litlik family for different reasons.

“How would that happen?” whispered Chaktah.

“Carefully. Very carefully,” hissed Rakatek between his teeth. He copied his second-in-command’s reflexive checking for listeners before continuing in a low voice. “If things are as normal, most people in Chikawan don’t realize how serious our situation is. There are people in Chikawan who need to be made aware. A select group of people. I’ll have to be extremely cautious in meeting with them and hoping my judgment is accurate about who to trust. This would make my returning to Chikawan even more delicate. I’ll need to oversee defense preparation, avoid being removed as warmaster, and escape being executed by Litlik if he gets hints of a conspiracy against him.”

Chaktah’s tight grin matched his sardonic tone. “Here, once again, I’m glad you’re not delegating me to take your place.”

Dead of Night

Rakatek left Chaktah and the rest of his staff four hours after sunset that evening. He wore a dark hooded cloak, one of four men seen leaving the warmaster’s campaign tent. They walked a quarter mile to a farmer’s barn, where Rakatek boarded an ordinary carriage with canvas flaps over the window openings. In another situation, he would have been amused to sneak off in darkness. He was not amused.

They were thirty miles from the outskirts of Chikawan, twenty-four miles from the Chikok River and the defenses being constructed. At least, he hoped the preparations were underway, if Litlik’s cronies had not interfered too much.

The carriage had a single lantern to light the way, barely sufficient, although the road was of high quality and traffic light at this time of night. Rakatek could peek through the slits between the canvas and the window frames. They passed one encampment after another. Some regiments he could recognize by uniforms or flags—those that were lit by campfires or light from the moon Haedan.

The trip was slower than that of a Kolinkan warmaster who would have right-of-way—something impossible for an itinerant carriage of unknown ownership, contents, and destination. Although traffic was light, they moved aside or stopped so often that Rakatek worried they would not arrive until daylight.

They made it as the stars were just beginning to fade. Before he had left to accost the invaders, he had appropriated a country estate manor, the family moving to the capital and their main house. They were stopped at a checkpoint a quarter mile from the manor.

“Turn around!” ordered one of four sentries.

Rakatek opened the carriage door and stepped out.

“Hey, back inside, I told you—”

His missing words were swallowed as the man recognized the kahsak warmaster.

“Quiet,” ordered Rakatek. “No one is supposed to know I’m here. I’ll be inside the manor. You’ve never seen me, and no one has arrived here yet this morning. When you’re relieved, come to the manor, and I’ll have other orders for you.”

Rakatek got back in the carriage, and it continued on to the manor, where they were accosted again by more guards who were given the same instructions. Once inside, he roused one of the staff members he had left to supervise defense preparations. More instructions were given, and he went to sleep, the carriage ride having been incompatible with that activity.

Then he waited.

By mid-afternoon, a dozen men had gathered: five of the most trusted army commanders whose units were nearby, the under-mayor of Chikawan, the most respected prelate who was also overseer of the capital’s largest center of higher learning, two wealthy merchants, and three regional leaders. One of the latter was fortuitously in the capital, while the other two had come in response to Rakatek’s urging that their presence might be vital. All of the men had met previously in various combinations to discuss the past and the future of Kolinka. None were favorites of the Litlik family, and all would be in jeopardy for attending a secret meeting.

Two hours later, only one man remained. General Manatun commanded ten thousand men in three local-region regiments stationed to provide peripheral security to Chikawan. There was long-standing antipathy between Manatun’s units and Arklun’s Immortals, the Chikawan-based force dedicated to protecting the Litlik family. However, at Rakatek’s urging, Manatun had feigned a break with Rakatek over not giving Litlik proper public respect.

“I’m sorry, Rakatek, but what you hinted around is too full of danger for us, our families, and all of Kolinka for me to support. Put aside the personal for the moment. I know how bad Litlik is, but overthrowing an arklun has had terrible repercussions in our history. I can’t bring myself to open that bag of dangers.”

Rakatek tensed the muscles that would generate speech, but before the words formed, Manatun interrupted.

“And let’s be honest. These magical weapons you claim led to our army’s withdrawal back to Chikawan without further battles is a difficult story to accept. Under most circumstances, none of us would have doubted a report from you, but this is too far for some of us. I can’t reconcile my respect for you and what you describe.”

“I’m afraid you will be getting personal experience with those weapons, Manatun. The invaders will be here in another few days.”

“Then we will see,” said Manatun. “And even if what you claim is accurate, there’s still the chance we could stop them at the Chikok River. None of the fanciful weapons you describe seem so overwhelmingly powerful as to allow victory for a smaller army than the one that will protect Chikawan. Can you honestly say they can’t be stopped here? By your own reasoning, they can’t besiege the capital for more than a few sixdays. After that, western regiments that have trouble getting here because of the Zamzul bridges being blocked or destroyed will have found ways to get their men across the river. They could join us here, threaten the invaders’ flank, or move southwest to cut their supply line.”

“I appreciate your honesty and opinion, Manatun. Give me a few moments to think.”

Rakatek leaned to one side in his chair and propped his chin on a hand whose elbow rested on the chair’s arm. He understood the general’s view, but his level of frustration came from his own changed viewpoint. The carriage ride had inhibited sleep, but it left him hours to think of only one question. Is overthrowing the Litlik family the best solution and possibly the only one that might save Kolinka? He ran through all the arguments. In the end, he concluded that to the best of his ability to reason and project consequences, he feared that only one option seemed to stand above the others for saving Kolinka’s future—an option he would never have imagined a month earlier. Yet there was still a chance to avoid that option, but only if they could stop the invaders at the Chikok River. To do that, he honestly believed it required him remaining as warmaster.

He looked again at his colleague and not quite friend. “What would you think if Litlik replaced me as warmaster?”

Manatun shifted uneasily in his chair. “Nothing good. He is our arklun, but he listens too much to a closed circle and has too often made bad decisions. What’s certain is that no one he replaces you with will be as qualified. Sometimes bad decisions and terrible appointments can be tolerated by events, but I doubt this is one of those times.”

Rakatek nodded. “I’m certain you’re right. This is not one of those times. Yet that’s exactly what Litlik will probably do. I’ve been thinking about this for some time and have concluded it’s time for me to retire and return west to where most of my siblings, cousins, and their families live. That means I have to stay as warmaster until the invaders are gone—something that you can help with.

“I want you to go to Litlik and tell him you and I met. We have to make him believe you remain his strong supporter. Tell him I questioned his ability to lead Kolinka, but that I intend to retire as soon as the invaders’ threat is past.

“He’s bound to press you hard about whether I talked about overthrowing him. Tell him you suspect that but aren’t sure and thought you needed to report the meeting to him. That should help him believe in your loyalty. Tell Litlik you also checked with a number of regimental commanders to get a sense of their loyalty to both him and me. You don’t believe they currently support a Kolinkan leadership change, but there’s a strong base of support for me personally and as warmaster.

“Somehow get around to advising that I stay as warmaster for now and say that you can’t judge how regiment commanders would respond to a new warmaster. This is the wrong time to risk their disgruntlement. I can always be replaced later if I don’t retire.”

“But are you going to retire?”

“Absolutely. I’ve had my fill of the Litliks’ and Chikawan politics for one lifetime. I need to spend the years I have left with my family and among common people who are real Kolinkans.”

Manatun sighed. “All right. I’ll do it and say it was just you and I meeting. Since nothing was decided or overtly planned, there’s no reason to mention the others.”

“One last thing,” said Rakatek. “I’ll be summoned into Litlik’s presence as soon as he learns I’m here. You have contacts within Arklun’s Immortals. If it’s certain I’m to be replaced—” and maybe executed, he thought— “I should be prepared to avoid that.”

“All right. I’ll check with one person whom I think will hear such news.”

Rakatek watched Manatun leave the manor’s room. He felt only slightly guilty at the necessary prevarications.

Yes, I might retire, he thought, but only voluntarily under certain conditions.

He was not surprised by Manatun’s attitude. He knew the group’s previous gatherings had been more to merely express discontent, rather than a serious cabal. He knew four of the twelve men to be strong believers in ridding Kolinka of the Litliks. Another two leaned in that direction but were not ready to make that leap. The other six would need weighty events to bring them around. Rakatek feared they would all too soon witness those events at the cost of many Kolinkan lives.

Summoned

It took most of the day for word to reach Arklun Litlik of Warmaster Rakatek’s return. It took another thirty minutes to deliver an order for him to immediately appear before the arklun. Rakatek sent Litlik a message with profuse apologies that duties prevented him from complying until the next morning.

The next day, the sun hung a hand’s breadth above the horizon when Rakatek left the manor, accompanied by a hand-picked battalion of veterans, fortuitously granted unexpected leave to visit Chikawan as a reward for unspecified accomplishments. No word came from Manatun on whether Rakatek and his position as warmaster were secure. Rakatek would gingerly comply up to the point of putting himself completely under the control of Litlik’s people.

Two miles from the Arklun Complex, a checkpoint manned by ten armed men took one look at Rakatek’s escort and ruled an exception to his not entering the city alone. However, word spread, and they encountered a battalion of Arklun’s Immortals.

Rakatek was relieved to recognize the teenage commander as a third cousin of Meelis Litlik, a rather undistinguished youth who happened to be born into the Litlik extended family, and who had served briefly on the warmaster’s staff to prove he was entitled to command an Immortal battalion.

The two battalions faced each other across a wide plaza a few hundred yards from the Arklun Complex. A young man in officer’s uniform walked forward from the Immortals. Rakatek went to meet him.

“Really, Unklus?” said Rakatek, using the youth’s first name as a way to disarm him. He considered the youth competent to command a platoon, and he had memories of the boy being more honest and humble than most Litlik supporters. “You expect these out-of-shape, poorly trained men with no experience in combat to stop a battalion of veterans, each one of whom is worth five of your men?”

“Sorry, Warmaster. I’m just following orders, which are to take you into custody.”

Unklus lowered his voice. “I heard they intend to arrest you on treason and replace you as warmaster with Litlik’s youngest brother, Niklun. He’s a pompous ass who you wouldn’t have on your staff to dispose of shit.”

Rakatek’s opinion of Unklus raised a notch or two. It was always refreshing to have such people handy.

“So, we need to settle this amicably, Unklus. I’d hate to have my men kill most of yours. Why don’t we do this?”

Rakatek signaled to a man standing with the veteran battalion and holding a leather box.

“Paper and quill.”

The man came closer and opened the box to reveal paper, quills, and ink containers.

“I’ll write you an order saying that I don’t believe you have the authority to give orders to the warmaster. And that only the arklun can to that. I’ll refer to some nonexistent tradition. That way, you’ll have a plausible excuse for my returning to my headquarters.”

Unklus breathed a heavy sigh and whispered, “Thank you, Warmaster. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. The written order should help, but honestly, I’d just as soon not be in the army at all.

“Uh . . . Warmaster. The rumors are everywhere, but all we get from the Arklun Complex is that everything is fine, and the invaders are about to be thrown out of Kolinka. It that true?”

Rakatek momentarily pondered how honest to be.

Aw, what’s the harm? he thought. I doubt anything I say will affect all the wild rumors that must be circulating.

“It’s not good, but there’s still hope we’ll find our way out. I advise you to concentrate on doing your best for your men. You may not think you’re qualified to be a battalion commander, and I think you’ll appreciate my honesty when I agree with you, but the fact is that you are their commander. Therefore, it is your duty to do your best and listen to any experienced men I hope you have.”

Arklun’s Palace

Of the three men standing in the Kolinkan arklun’s throne room, two were furious and one feigned indignation.

“Shocking!” exclaimed General Manatun. “I reported to you, Arklun Litlik, the meeting that made me question Rakatek’s loyalty, but for him not to come when you commanded is unbelievable.”

“Then you don’t know Rakatek as well as you thought,” snarled Niklun Litlik. “The bastard has deliberately disobeyed his arklun. This can’t be allowed to stand, Meelis.”

The Kolinkan ruler did not respond immediately. His response to his warmaster’s feeble excuses for not coming had led to screaming until his red face threatened to explode and spittle ran down his chin onto his elaborate jacket. Now, the worst having passed, he took deep breaths as his color returned to normal. He used a cloth to wipe his face. While he paused, he mentally itemized all the ways he would execute the traitorous warmaster.

“At the very least,” said Niklun, “this is sufficient cause to dismiss him from service. In fact, since it is clearly a time of the kahsak’s peril, execution is warranted. If necessary, you can send the entire Immortals force, led by me, to seize him.”

Meelis eyed his younger brother. He liked the idea, but he was crafty enough to recognize Niklun’s offer was self-serving because he was in line to be the next warmaster.

“Do you think that’s possible?” Meelis asked. “As traitorous as he is, Rakatek’s subordinates might interfere. How loyal are they?” He turned to Manatun. “What do you say, General?”

It was testimony to Manatun’s self-control that he was not sweating. Having already lied to Arklun Litlik about the meeting with Rakatek and hidden the true nature of the gathering, he could ill-afford missteps.

“There is no question Rakatek is well-regarded by many of his subordinates and the common soldiers. How many there are and the degree of regard is impossible to ascertain. Although it seems impossible that too many would side with him against their arklun, I have to suggest that this is not the best time to test the unknown. Not when the invaders will be upon us within a sixday or sooner. From what I could see, Rakatek is doing a good job organizing the defenses. It might risk the defense of Chikawan and the protection of your family, Arklun, to change warmasters at this time.”

“That’s only your opinion, Manatun,” said Niklun dismissively. “I could do as good a job or better, plus his officers and men actually doing the work would remain the same.”

Only in your fantasies are you competent enough to clean Rakatek’s boots, thought Manatun.

“No doubt,” said Manatun, “but there’s still the risk of disruption because there would be inevitable problems in changing a command structure. Why take the risk? There’s also a practical factor. Who’s to say how the defense of Chikawan turns out? Remember, Lord Niklun, you will be taking over an army, subordinates, and defense preparations that have been under Rakatek’s direction. If the invaders attack soon, you may not have had time to exert your influence. If things go badly, would it not be best for responsibility to fall completely onto Rakatek, rather than risk blame being unfairly cast on other shoulders?”

“Hmmmm,” mused Meelis. “Manatun has a point, Niklun. I can always replace Rakatek later once the invasion is over, and there are fewer armed units under his command.”

Niklun’s locks flew over his shoulders as he vigorously shook his head. “But that leaves him publicly disobeying. What are the people to think if he can get away with that?”

“I think at this particular time the people are more interested in the invasion than in what goes on inside this palace or between me and Rakatek,” said Meelis. “Being arklun requires making unpalatable decisions for the good of our people. This may be one of those times.”

Unpalatable? thought Manatun. The good of our people? Does he really believe what he’s saying?

Meelis turned to Manatun. “How confident are you that Rakatek is serious about retiring to his home district?”

Not confident at all, thought Manatun. The crafty old bastard told me that to convince me to pass on the false narrative of the meeting to Meelis. He envisioned that the warmaster planned to remain in that position until the day he died of old age or fell off his horse when he could not control a mount anymore.

“I can only report what he said. All I can say is that he seemed sincere about being tired of Chikawan and the administrative duties of his position.”

Which is all true, thought Manatun, leaving out his disdain for you and having to bite his tongue every time he has to talk to you.

“That has distinct advantages, Niklun,” said Meelis. “When he retires, we can always kill him then. Even if we’re careful, other officers and officials will get the message.”

Niklun’s expression noticeably brightened. “We could also extend that to his family to really pound home the results of disloyalty.”

“Well . . . we could consider it at that time. For now, I need a decision about what to do with Rakatek. I’m inclined to leave him to the city’s defenses for now, although that could change. Manatun, I want you to go back to Rakatek and tell him you’ve been thinking about what he said to you. Assure him of your loyalty to him and that you want a place on his staff. From there, you can report back to me if anything changes and on the status of the defenses.”

Wonderful! thought Manatun. Now I’m spying on both men.

“Of course, Arklun. Whatever I can do to ensure you’re kept informed about traitors.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Manatun. When all this is behind us, you can be assured that the Litlik family will show its appreciation. If unfortunate events happen to Rakatek’s extended family, there will be estates to apport to those most loyal.”

Manatun suppressed a grimace to accompany the thought that it might be tempting if he could trust any words coming out of Meelis Litlik’s mouth. Instead, he bowed and backed away ten feet before straightening and walking out of the chamber. He resisted the temptation to run and did not pretend to himself that he wasn’t grateful to leave alive from the presence of any Litliks.

Horen Rakatek

He had experienced more stressful episodes in his life than he wished to recount, but the hours after returning to his headquarters ranked near the top of any list for Horen Rakatek. Would rationality prevail? A chancy proposition when dealing with the Litlik family. Or would the arklun’s mind yield to emotion and risk a civil war in the midst of an invasion? In that calamitous scenario, Rakatek would be willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the kahsak. However, he had no delusions that Meelis’s rancor would stop with his death, and his entire extended family would be at risk.

He also believed the morale of the Kolinkan soldiers would suffer directly as a result of his removal from the scene. That, in addition to Niklun Litlik’s inevitable incompetence, would get more Kolinkans killed. No. The only way forward for Kolinka was for Meelis to be constrained to keep him as warmaster for now. Only disaster loomed on other paths.

The hours seemed to last longer than usual. It was late afternoon when a party of six courtiers in splendid attire and flying the Litlik and Kolinka banners arrived at the army’s headquarters.

“Well, they’re not here to start a battle,” said Chaktah. “That’s something.”

“They’re bringing a message of enthusiastic support for me as warmaster,” said Rakatek, relaxing as much as he could at the moment, considering the totality of his life. “Wait and see. They will hand me a personal letter from Meelis expressing limitless confidence in my capacity as warmaster and the eventual victory over the invaders.”

“I will still insist that someone else first handle anything they give you,” said Chaktah. “I hear there are poisons where you only have to let it touch your skin.”

Rakatek did not argue.

He also recognized some of the courtiers, though he had never bothered with their names. They tended to come and go, although Rakatek recognized the leader who delivered a sealed parchment as being a court figure for many years. As best he could, he hid his disdain for a man who could remain in the Litlik family’s good graces that long.

Chaktah had volunteered an available junior officer to “receive” the parchment, open it without reading the contents, and hold the paper for Rakatek to read. The courtier smirked at the precaution.

Rakatek glanced over the writing, then read the contents again before addressing the deliverer.

“Tell the arklun I appreciate his kind words and confidence in me. Assure him that I will do everything possible to defend Kolinka and his legacy.”

Rakatek waited until the message party left before he moved aside. Chaktah read Litlik’s endorsement and mumbled words and phrases amended with sarcasm.

“Boundless confidence. Eternally grateful for your loyalty. Honors coming to you at the inevitable victory.” He looked to Rakatek. “I’m SO encouraged by our arklun’s regard.”

“Most important is that Meelis is not going to move against me in the near future,” said Rakatek. “His attitude could always change, but I think he’ll wait until the invasion is over. The tricky time for me and my family is when the winds shift. But that’s then, and we have to deal with the now.”

CHAPTER 43

INTERLUDE

Once it became evident the Kolinkans were not going to stand and fight again before Chikawan and would not be caught before then, Yozef slowed the advance. The ammunition resupply train had not yet caught up with them.

It had been two months since they’d sailed from Caedellium. After all the preparations, the sea voyage to Ponomyna, the worry about whether they were truly prepared, launching the invasion, the carnage of the first battle, and forcing the Kolinkans to withdraw from the ravine blocking the route, the days seemed almost relaxing. Almost.

It was a needed respite from the previous sixdays, though Yozef knew it was only an interlude. The army moved in three parallel columns through prime farmland. The near idyllic scenes of lush fields of crops and fodder, small but well-maintained farmhouses, and roads better than most on Caedellium were only marred by the paucity of the few scattered humans, unable or unwilling, for whatever reason, to leave their homes.

Livestock was also abundant enough for foraging parties roaming along a twenty-mile-wide swath. There was no telling how many cattle, krykors, and horses had been driven out of the army’s path, but enough remained to generously supplement provisions the army brought with it. The foragers had mainly kept to Yozef’s decree to avoid civilian casualties and forbid wanton destruction.

“I have to admit I’m surprised the Kolinkans’ withdrawal is as complete as it’s been so far,” said Vernik, riding his horse alongside Yozef’s carriage. “It’s always a temptation to stand and fight when an enemy is grabbing your land this fast.”

“Part of me is grateful for that,” said Yozef, “but I suspect it might mean whoever is in command is too rational for my taste. Emotional decisions more easily foster mistakes. Oh . . . I suppose it’s possible the Kolinkans’ will to fight has been damaged, but it’s safer to assume they are pulling back to positions where they think they have the advantage.”

“Well, I am willing to be surprised if they want to give up,” said Kivalian, riding on the carriage’s opposite side. “However, I doubt that’s the situation, and it hasn’t been totally quiet. We continue to have skirmishes.”

“Yes, but nothing serious,” Yozef said dryly, “though I know our men who were involved would not consider being shot at inconsequential. Those battalion-size probes stopped four days ago, just as we got into this farmland. Since then, the reports are only of small numbers outside Sharps range. Right now, they know exactly where we are, but all we know is that we’ll find out what they’re preparing for us in the next two days at the most.”

“I, for one, look forward to it,” said Kivalian. “I hate surprises if they involve shooting.”

“I imagine by tomorrow we’ll start to solve that problem,” said Yozef. He looked at the sun. “About another two hours until we stop for the night and hold the leadership meeting. By then, we should be getting reports from the reconnaissance in force elements.”

Munmar Kellen

“I think Chikawan is only four or five miles north from here,” said the lead company’s captain. “I thought we were scouting a river, not this marshland.”

Their horses’ rear hooves rested on the last apparent solid ground for as far as they could see on the flat terrain. The horses’ front hooves were just under water as they drank, unaware of their riders’ disgruntlement at viewing patches of open water mixed with reeds and clumps of trees that presumably grew on slightly higher ground.

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” said Kellen. “To find approaches to Chikawan the army can use.”

“Yeah . . . well, it sure isn’t going to be here,” said the captain. “Even if the Paramount wanted to come this way, the wagons and artillery couldn’t get a hundred yards. It’d be bad enough for those of us on horseback, but for men on foot it would be a nightmare.”

“I think you’re right. Unfortunately for you and your men, what I think is not sufficient. The Paramount needs to know exactly what we face.”

The captain scowled. “I was afraid you were going to say that. You want me to keep going.”

“Sorry, but we need to know how broad this marshland is and find the river. That’s our assignment. I’ll leave another company here to secure our flank and as support if you run into strong opposition. The rest of the battalion will move along the edge of this marshland but not so far as to lose contact with you. The river’s got to be ahead.” Kellen grinned. “It’ll be your honor to find it for us.”

“Thanks, but I’d just as soon the honor went to someone else.”

Yozef Kolsko

“At least, Munmar gave us some good news,” said Yozef. “I’d just about given up expecting anything from the Mukamonese.”

Uzman Gangala grunted. “You’re nowhere near as surprised as me. I hate the Mukamonese arklun. No one trusts Washtah or the Mukamonese to do anything that doesn’t benefit them, which makes me wonder what he’s thinking.”

“Maybe we’ll find out now that we can keep in contact,” said Yozef. “After Munmar’s men met the Mukamonese scouts, he sent a lieutenant and four other men to reach Washtah and give him our situation. We should get the reciprocal information by tomorrow or the next day at the latest. I confess I didn’t have much hope for the Mukamonese, a pessimism confirmed when we got word they went for the middle Wambal bridge first. I suppose I should be satisfied they then got to the upper Wambal bridge and forced the Kolinkans to keep forces at the bridge and the vicinity. After all, that was the original plan. What we don’t know is if they’ve done anything about the upper Zamzul bridge. At the least, it puts constraints on what the Kolinkans can do and compels them to keep forces protecting those approaches to the capital—forces that won’t be available that we would have to deal with.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all fine, but it’s the bad news that bothers me,” said Kivalian. “If the Chikok River stays spread over marshland farther south than the ten miles Munmar’s men have scouted, that limits our approaches to Chikawan. We need Munmar to extend south another twenty miles if the scouting parties don’t unexpectedly run into heavy resistance. I doubt that will happen. All indications have been that the Kolinkans have almost totally withdrawn to Chikawan.

“The forward scouts now report all four of the bridges over the Chikok are unusable. The Kolinkans burned the two wooden ones and blew up enough sections of the stone bridges that I don’t see any practical way to repair them in time, especially while under some level of Kolinkan fire.”

“At least, we have a better idea of what we’re facing,” said Yozef, “but we also need Tasman to push farther north and east.”

The Ponomynan heir commanded the Ponomynan force that had joined the Alliance force after capturing and destroying the lower and middle bridges on the Zamzul River. They formed the left column of the army’s advance, with Tasman’s force farthest from Chikawan. Now that the other two columns were close to the Kolinkan capital and paused for scouting, Yozef mentally envisioned Tasman would keep moving until he reached the Chikok River while staying in contact.

“Uzman, we’re going to need Tasman to push ahead and try to scout the Chikok River west and north of Chikawan as far as possible. I don’t want him to get into a major fight, but we need to have a better picture of the river if we’re going to find the right place to force a crossing.”

“I’ll go to him,” said Uzman. “His headquarters is only five miles from here. I should be able to get there, give him the situation, and be back here by nightfall.”

“All right. I’ll assume he starts pushing north. The center and right columns will continue to the Chikok River tomorrow now that we know they don’t face major Kolinkan resistance. We’ll then have to wait on further reports from Munmar and see what Tasman can find out before making more plans.”

The next day, the command group—minus Tasman Gangala who was with his men fifteen miles north—stood out of musket and cannon range near the Chikok River. The highest structures in Chikawan outlined the horizon.

“We need a better assessment of the Kolinkan positions on the other bank,” said Kivalian. “This land is too flat with no higher positions to use to see anything that’s not right in front of us. It’s time to bring up the balloons.”

Three hours later, they had crude drawings of what balloon observers saw from a hundred feet.

“I’m afraid we’re going to need more experienced observations,” said Yozef. “The balloon crew members report what they see, but we can’t be sure they know what to report, so we can’t be sure what they’ve missed.”

“I’ll go up,” said Kivalian. “I’m the only one here who’s been in a balloon flight.”

“You’ll need me to give it a try, also,” said Uzman. “We need an Iraquinik viewpoint because those of you from elsewhere might miss things.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?” asked Yozef, smiling.

Uzman slapped Yozef on the back. “Of course not. It’s a real reason, but I’m also dying to experience what it’s like to be a bird.”

Yozef looked at Vernik. The Fuomi marshal shook his head and grimaced. “I suppose I should do it, too. I’ve experienced more of this kind of warfare than the rest of you. Plus, I know that work on constructing balloons was ongoing when I left Fuomon. It’s probably my duty to get some first-hand experience, but I’m otherwise perfectly happy to let birds and murvors do the flying.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “Reimo, you’re first. We’ll get the cartographers started on making maps and update them as more information is available.”

Two hours later, all of the commanders needing or wanting to go aloft had finished. Except one.

“It’s my turn now,” announced Yozef. He held up a hand to forestall protests from Kivalian at his side and Carnigan and Synton standing twenty feet away. “All your observations have been consistent, and the maps are developing nicely, but I’m the one giving the final orders to attack. It’s rational that I see with my own eyes what has been transferred to maps.” He smiled. “Plus, it will also be my first time in the balloon. Back on Caedellium, there were too many people who would have given me grief.”

“Yeah, like Maera and Anarynd,” whispered Carnigan—meaning he was heard by everyone within thirty feet.

“Don’t tell me you hadn’t flown before in Amerika,” said Synton, not bothering to whisper. The leaders who weren’t from Caedellium had by now become accustomed to the interlocutions by Yozef’s guards and friends. Some had been initially scandalized, others amused, some confused until they realized the informality was part of Kolsko’s persona.

Yozef was sorely tempted to say he’d flown once in a Napa Valley balloon, in addition to multiple passenger jets. His explanation would have been interesting, but he never seriously contemplated offering it.

When he prepared to climb into the basket, Synton put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I asked the crew, and they said there was no reason two people couldn’t ride up. They usually only do one at a time. This basket is a little smaller than the ones used on Caedellium, so we’ll be squeezed a bit. If Maera and Anarynd find out about this, I want to be able to say I was guarding you all the while. It might give me some mitigation.”

“And what exactly are you going to protect me from? Attack murvors? Kolinkan bird assassins?”

“It’s the image, not the reality I care about. Just remember you owe me something for this. I’d let Carnigan do it if the big oaf didn’t weigh so much, but he’ll be on one of the anchor ropes.”

Yozef worked to appear calm when the balloon’s basket first shifted along the ground. A crewman had adjusted the burner. Since neither he nor Synton had any experience in controlling the degree of lift, the crewman stood alongside the basket and gave Yozef directions.

“Remember,” the man said, “if anything goes wrong . . . you know . . . the balloon’s anchor ropes all break or come loose at once, or a freak gust of wind takes hold and jerks the balloon away, pull the vent rope to let some hot air escape.”

The reference was to a flap of canvas that was held in place by the pressure of the hot air. The vent rope pulled the flap open, allowing hot air to escape, and it was closed by relaxing the pull on the rope.

“Be careful not to let too much air out, or the descent rate will mean a hard landing.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Synton as they felt the basket no longer rested on solid ground. “I’d rather face Maera after all.”

“Too late, Synton. And don’t worry. It’s probably safer than riding a horse.”

Yozef hiccuped, his lungs and stomach participating in the conflict between his own nervousness and wanting to laugh at the Earth analogy of flying being safer than driving a car.

The number of men on the anchor ropes was greater than usual in honor of Yozef’s occupation of the basket. The basket rose so slowly, Yozef would have wondered whether the crewman had set the burner too low. Three feet off the ground. Six feet. twelve feet. Yozef maintained his death grip on the basket edge, his feet spread on the wooden floor to help him balance as the basket swayed and slowly rotated clockwise, then counterclockwise.

At twenty feet, he could see thousands of faces tilted up as the army’s men were still in awe of the miracle. Synton muttered something unintelligible. The river’s surface came into view.

At a hundred feet, the upward motion stopped. Yozef pretended to examine the surroundings.

“Well, are you going to study the Kolinkan positions or just keep admiring the view?” said Synton, the tension in his voice palpable.

Yozef cleared his throat. “You have to admit the view is amazing.”

“Yeah, and no better than up in a tree or standing on a hill. At least then if you fall, it’s only a few feet to grab a branch or hit the ground.”

“All right,” Yozef said, forcing himself to focus across the Chikok River. It was about a hundred yards wide at this spot but crossing it under Kolinkan fire would be daunting. He could see men and horses moving, men standing and looking at the balloon, and most important were the fortifications, both finished and under construction. He picked up the telescope he had leaned against the basket’s side. The motion of the basket made staying on an object difficult. He felt symptoms of motion sickness until, by involuntary trial and error, he found the stance and the compensating body motion to cancel most of the basket’s movement. It then took him only a few moments to forget where he was as he assessed what he saw.

A buzzing on his left caused him to reflexively wave away what he assumed was one of the Anyarian flying creatures the size of a bee. They were innocuous, but a habit borne of Earth insects was hard to break.

Thank God, there are no mosquitoes or biting flies here, he thought. Those that do bite learn the first time that humans aren’t tasty. It did not occur to him that the frequency of buzzing within his hearing had increased in the last months.

“The others were right,” said Yozef, talking to himself and not Synton, who was passive as he recognized the Paramount’s thinking aloud, off in his own thoughts.

“Whoever is in charge over there learns too damn fast. Many of the positions have overhead protection. Can’t tell how thick it is, but almost certainly it would stop most or all overhead shrapnel. Contact fuses would do the job . . . if we had enough and they worked. Maybe half of the positions with overhead. Men could duck under them when we started with the mortars. I guess the positive is that if their entire defensive line is like this, they’ve spent a hell of a lot of effort to counter four medium mortars. And the small mortars will be minimally useful in forcing a crossing. Artillery is dug in and with the overhead protection. Bet they intend to fire those only against our attempts to cross.

“I wonder if they think this is a version of the Maginot Line—impregnable static positions that can’t be breached. Didn’t work out too well for the French in World War II. The Germans just bypassed the French and went through Belgium. Mobility. That was the thing then and may have to be here, too. Mobility. Can we get around this? Not to the southeast. Munmar’s reports keep emphasizing we’re not moving this army through marshland. Farther north. Maybe.”

Yozef did not notice he was jumping back and forth between Caedelli and English, sometimes in the same phrase. Synton noticed, but he accepted the monologue as one of the manifestations of Yozef’s introspective sessions.

You know, Synton thought, it does sort of sound like he’s talking to someone or maybe reporting to a listener. I can see how someone would wonder if God was on the other end of a conversation.

The friend/bodyguard let others worry about such things. His attention was on watching the horizon and not looking down.

Kolinkan Bank of the Chikok River

“There it goes back into the air,” said Chaktah. “Up and down. Almost like they’re mocking us, the bastards.”

“I suspect it’s to let different men study our positions,” said Rakatek. He lowered the rare Narthani telescope he had confiscated from a prisoner twenty years previously during one of the few times Kolinka had participated in defending the Iraquinik/Narthon border. “There was only one man riding the contraption before. Now I see two men. It wouldn’t surprise me if their commander is making this trip. Him or a highly ranked subordinate.”

He turned to his second-in-command. “Are the men any calmer this time than when this first happened back at Tahpulta?”

“Hard to say. We worked to spread the word that it is just a conveyance, but I doubt many men equate it with a wagon or a horse. There are still too many rumors of witchcraft, especially among units from northern Kolinka.”

Rakatek sighed. “If it is their commander watching us right now, I wonder what he’s thinking?”

Yozef Kolsko

Synton Ethlore did not quite thank God when he climbed out of the basket and his feet once again rested on solid ground . . . but it was close. For Yozef, he had hardly noticed the descent. The command group was waiting a hundred yards away, clustered under a large tree. They stood. There were no chairs, table, or maps. Those would come later.

“All right,” Yozef said when he got within ten yards of the group. “I confirm all the observations. The only way we would try to force a crossing here or as far as I could see with my telescope is if we had absolutely no other choice. That’s what we have to do . . . find that other choice. Let’s move to the operations tent and think this through.”

Five hours later, the last sunlight had faded, and the moon Aedan hung above Chikawan’s silhouette. They ate food brought to the tent but drank no alcohol. Clear heads were needed. The first two hours they’d spent bandying around ideas—proposing, shooting holes in plans, resurrecting modified proposals, assessing their practicality, then moving on to the next option. In the end, three options for breaking through the Kolinkan defenses were left. Yozef initially thought two of them were the best, one of which was a novel suggestion by Vernik. Yozef brought the session to a close after half an hour passed with no significant change being apparent.

“I think we’ve settled on the three options, at least with the basic outlines. The first is to choose the best site along the main Kolinkan defensive line to attempt a direct assault across the river. This is our least favorite possibility, but we believe it’s feasible, though it would involve significant casualties. I’ll admit I was skeptical until Marshal Vernik pointed out that by our rifles and artillery outranging the Kolinkans, we can force them back from defensive positions, starting right at the riverbank. In this scenario, our concentrated artillery fire should allow us to get enough men across the river to establish a foothold. Once that happens, it’s a matter of expanding our position until we can bring artillery across.

“We’ll also be collecting materials to construct one or more floating bridges. We had previously refrained from damaging the common people’s property as much as possible, but this will be the exception. Barns and fencing will be pulled down and positioned to start the bridges as soon as enemy fire is suppressed enough. Since Marshal Vernik has the most experience in such situations, I’ve asked him to advise on selecting the best site for planning the assault.

“Option two is to maintain a façade that our main force stays where we are right now, while we actually move north of Chikawan, past the end of the main defensive line. Tasman Gangala reports the river has a narrow, deep section about twenty miles north of here. If we can get forces there without the Kolinkans knowing of our movement, their defenses are weak enough that we should be able to overwhelm them with artillery. Then we can force a crossing and construct floating bridges. These two options could work in tandem before we make a final decision. Colonel Jormaki and the Fuomi regiment could join Tasman’s cavalry in exploring sites to the north.

“The final option is to surprise the Kolinkans—and me—by crossing the marshland south of Chikawan. Again, we can thank Marshal Vernik for pointing out that the Kolinkans probably won’t believe we would attempt to move an army across such terrain. This would work to our advantage. Major Kellen has continued to scout the area with his battalion and reports the Chikok River effectively does not exist there. The water has spread out in what can be called a pan before it collects again into a discernible watercourse about twenty miles farther south.

“We’ve sent Colonel Swavebroke and the rest of the Caedelli regiment, along with men who have construction experience, to join Kellen and determine whether it’s feasible to quickly construct a narrow wooden road across the wetland.

“We’ll also send more riders to try and contact the Mukamonese to find out their situation.”

He paused and looked around at the men, many of whom had more years of experience or training in warfare than he did. He had listened, taken advice, and let every view be heard. He had a copy of the short military treatise he had created from memories of Earth’s military writers. He regularly pulled it from his personal effects to read, though reading was not necessary—he had long ago learned every word and comma by heart. It served as a touchstone for him to focus on what was possible and on the appropriate action for a commander. As had happened far too many times in the years since cast away, part of him quailed at being the decision maker. The other part honestly believed he had gathered the best consensus opinions for what must be done. Now he had to “act” like the commander of an army.

He reflexively put a hand in his pocket to finger a wad of paper. It was so worn, it was almost falling apart from his unfolding it, reading it, and refolding. Written in English were quotes on leadership by General George Patton. In one of Yozef’s gaming cliques as a teenager, a rotund, pimply boy named Jimmy Schultz had been a Patton aficionado and quoted the World War II general ad nauseam. Even without his enhanced memory, Yozef had heard the quotes so many times he could even mimic Jimmy’s voice.

Not that all the quotes were exact. Yozef had looked up a few on the Internet at the time. Accurate or not, he now liked them and had written them down before leaving Caedellium. Some could have also come from Sun Tzu, with Patton twists. He looked around at the army’s leadership. It was a dramatic pause . . . as some might have interpreted it. In reality, he was taking a few moments to recite the list to himself.

Don’t tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do, then stand aside and watch them perform miracles.

Lead me, follow me, or get out of my way.

A leader adapts to circumstances.

A good plan executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.

Do not make circumstances fit your plan. Make your plan fit the circumstances.

Good tactics can save the worst strategy. Bad tactics can doom the best strategy.

Wars are won by choosing when, where, and how to fight.

When in doubt, observe and ask questions. When certain, observe and asks questions.

A pint of sweat will save a gallon of blood.

Always do more than is required.

Wars are fought with weapons but won by men.

Courage is holding on just one more minute.

When in doubt, attack.

Give credit in victory, assume blame in defeat.

The object of war is not to die for your country. The object is to make the other guy die for his country.

He fought a smile when he came to the last quote, as an image flashed through his mind of the opening scene in the movie Patton. Not all the quotes were appropriate for this moment, but enough were.

“Gentlemen, I want answers by sundown tomorrow. By the following morning, I expect units will have been assigned and on the move. Whatever preparations are needed, I expect us to launch the final assault on Chikawan on the morning of the third day. We’ve come this far and secured overwhelming victories. Just another few miles and one more victory, and our objectives will have been met, and we can return home victorious. What we have done on this campaign will reverberate throughout Anyar, though it may not be immediately apparent in every corner of the planet. We are going to eventually bring down Narthon, and this campaign will prove the principle that nations truly working together can perform miracles.”

By sundown the next day, Yozef had two of the three answers. That morning Vernik had begun surveying the main Kolinkan defensive line and had finished by noon. He then revisited the two most promising sites. With the sun touching the western horizon, Vernik rode a lathered horse into the main encampment and reported that his recommended site was only two miles north.

A courier from Swavebroke arrived thirty minutes later. Kellen had pushed to the eastern edge of the pan. The men who were the army’s best equivalent to engineers believed that with enough men working night and day, while stripping every barn and fence within twenty miles, they could lay a wooden road that zigzagged between patches of solid ground across the pan in three days. Yozef received the report without mentioning that if they chose that option, he would insist they do the job in two days. He had always been a fan of General George Patton’s quote about letting subordinates perform miracles.

After another hour of discussion and assignments being given, the commanders dispersed to begin passing out orders. Yozef, with his immediate duty performed—he’d made a decision—retired to his tent after giving orders to wake him only in an emergency. Two hours before sunrise, Carnigan shook his shoulder.

“What?” he mumbled groggily.

“I don’t know if this is the kind of emergency you meant, but Vernik insists he needs to see you.”

After twenty minutes of listening to the Fuomi marshal, Yozef called all the commanders back to the operations pavilion.

“Thank you all for returning. I imagine at least some of you haven’t had much sleep, but Marshal Vernik has a new proposal. Marshal, if you would.”

Vernik smiled. “There’s nothing like going and seeing for yourself, as Paramount Kolsko said about the balloon. In my case, after I spent miles and hours viewing the potential crossing points of the Chikok River, I believed that although the three options previously described each had flaws, they were the best we had. Following last night’s meeting, I had an advantage over most of you, in that I had no men to command and subordinates to meet with. Therefore, I was soon asleep.

“I don’t know if it was a dream or just thoughts and what I’d seen coming together. However, I will suggest a fourth option that has no more risk than any of the others and perhaps even less risk than some.” He leaned over the map. “Let’s think of our main objective. In the original thinking, it’s to deliver enough decisive defeats to the Kolinkan forces to compel their surrender and to replace the existing rulers. As Yozef has pointed out, the second objective might be achieved even without the first. That is, convince the Kolinkans to overthrow their leaders and install ones amenable to the nations participating in this campaign.”

He put a forefinger on the map. “I see an opportunity to put the Kolinkan army in such a perilous circumstance that any one of three things could happen. One is that they surrender, rather than continue fighting. That would leave us to physically replace their arklun, select new leadership, and stay involved for the indefinite future. Second is that they are convinced of their eventual defeat, and they act to placate the invaders by overthrowing their leadership and replacing it. I hardly need to say this is a better option than the first. Finally, whether or not they recognize the likelihood of experiencing a crushing defeat, they continue fighting to the end. It might be the result of their thinking that honor overrides all other concerns, their arklun maintaining such tight control and fear for his own life that he refuses to concede, or such a complex and weak command system that no major decisions can be made on a timetable that’s acceptable to us.”

Vernik had not moved his finger from the map. Yozef noticed that it rested on a point of the river other than the three previously discussed options.

Just get to the point, Yozef thought, impatient to hear the Fuomi marshal describe what he thought was a better and cleverer plan. There had been other occasions when Vernik rambled, in Yozef’s opinion, so he decided on a nudge.

“I see you’re pointing to a different place on the river. Can we assume that’s where you think the best crossing point is?”

“Ah . . . yes. Just past this loop in the river and near the end of their extensive fortifications where the marshland starts. We can thank the fates for a chance observation. A Fuomi man was watching the opposite bank right here where I indicate on the map. At this point, the river is wider than elsewhere by as much as twice. That might make the Kolinkans eliminate the spot as a potential crossing point. It’s also part of the reason I didn’t consider this spot earlier. However, I suddenly remembered hearing the Fuomi man claim he witnessed timbers floating down the river—possibly from a bridge the Kolinkans destroyed upstream. Whatever the source, he saw timbers pause or change orientation, which made him suspect they were hitting something submerged. He reported what he saw, but I guess it didn’t get through to my consciousness until I was half asleep. I had Colonel Jormaki find the man. He and several other men slowly and quietly went into the river. They found the water was only about three feet deep and the riverbed was gravel and rock at this place I’m pointing to on the map, enough so that they believe horses and wagons can cross without swimming.”

“Yes, but I assume they didn’t do an extensive examination. How do we know it’s crossable the entire width of the river?” asked Kivalian.

“They said they got three-quarters of the way across before thinking they heard voices. They got too nervous and returned to their bank. But even if that’s as far as the firm bed goes, it would make temporary bridging go faster. It might even be the bridges aren’t needed. The horses and wagons can get across easily and so can infantry on foot as long as they aren’t under direct fire.

“There’s another advantage to this spot. The river course bulges toward our side. This would allow us to position our artillery on almost three sides of the place we could assault, effectively doubling or more the fire we could place on the fortification directly in front of the crossing.”

“I like it,” said Kivalian. “We’d still have to deploy cautiously so they don’t move their forces, but we’d have to do that anywhere. However, I wonder if this protrusion of the river, as we see it on the map, wouldn’t be even stronger than the rest of the line? It could serve like a bastion that protrudes from a city’s wall so that the defenders could fire at attackers trying to breach to one side or the other.”

“True,” said Vernik, “but that’s where the new Caedelli artillery is critical. By concentrating fire from the Ordinance rifles, mortars, howitzers, and twelve-pounders that have more range than the Kolinkan artillery, we should be able to overwhelm them long enough to establish a foothold on the opposite bank.

“However, there is another part of my proposal. It’s not essential for what I’ve described to work, but if it does, then there’s the potential to make the crossing go faster and easier. It involves a version of the third original option—crossing the marshland. However, in this case, it’s not moving the entire army across a wooden roadway, but perhaps only one Sharps regiment with the small mortars and six-pounder cannon supported by two or three regiments of Ponomynan infantry. I believe they would surprise any Kolinkan forces stationed between the marshland and the Chikawan outer wall, which is less than a mile away.”

Yozef tugged on his beard. “I think I see where you’re going. The men crossing the marsh wouldn’t be enough for a major battle, but if they can wait until they hear artillery from our attempt to cross the river where you indicate, they could then push onto solid ground and come at the flank of the defensive position we’re attacking. Suddenly having the enemy on their flank could panic the Kolinkans and help make our direct river crossing easier.

“This would also put us in position for a flank attack on their entire main fortifications. All their attention is focused to their front. Bunkers and dug-in positions prepared to repel a river crossing would be wrongly placed for our flank attack. We’d also avoid the disadvantage of the previous place we planned to cross where we’d have major Kolinkan forces on both our flanks. Caught between our main assault and the marshland crossing force, the end of the Kolinkan defenses should collapse or be relatively quickly dealt with.”

Yozef remembered again the lesson of the French Maginot line, but an even more appropriate comparison was Hannibal’s destruction of a Roman army at the battle of Cannae somewhere around year 200 BC—Yozef’s memory retained the details of battles more often than the dates. Then Hannibal forced a larger Roman army to a place where they could not maneuver and use their greater numbers. Here, on the planet Anyar, the land between the Chikok River and Chikawan’s walls confined the Kolinkan forces and would allow only a fraction of their army at a time to face the Alliance army, maximizing the allied advantage due to the Sharps and better artillery.

He liked the concept, which would have worried him if it had been his idea. By having it proposed by Vernik, he instead worried how much he should trust the expertise of the Fuomi marshal.

He shook his head, causing onlookers to wonder whether he disapproved of Vernik’s plan. He hurried to correct that interpretation.

“Then that’s what we’ll do. The Fuomi regiment will not go north with Tasman Gangala. All the wooden roadway and bridging materials that are being collected are to go to . . . ,” he looked down at the map and pointed. “Uh . . . about here so it’s ready for use in construction the wooden road through the marshland.

“There will be differences and similarities to what we’d tentatively planned before, so we’ll need to move on to details of deployments and which units will be doing what.”

CHAPTER 44

CROSSING THE RUBICON

Harmon Swavebroke

“I know it’s a difficult task, Harmon, but I have every faith you and your men can accomplish it.”

When Yozef was satisfied Swavebroke understood his regiment’s assignment, he slapped Swavebroke on the back and turned to the other army leaders to deal with the next issue.

Swavebroke saved his smile until he made his way to where an aide held his horse.

I remember other times when I saw men with incredulous expressions like a few of the men had just now, he thought, recalling the meeting at Orosz City when Yozef laid out the plan to build two miles of fortifications and defensive lines from the city south to the river. Yozef does tend to elicit such responses, though this is different. Then, we were fighting for our and our families’ lives. Plus, we had enough experience with Yozef that his plan seemed remotely plausible. But what about the Iraquiniks and Landoliners?

His smile faded before Swavebroke was a hundred yards from his men. Even though it would disrupt ongoing work, he needed to gather every officer in the Caedelli regiment and brief them on what they HAD to accomplish in less time than they would think possible. Later, he would tour every company and give a summary of what was expected. If things went well, his men would be working feverishly by the time the two Ponomynan regiments assigned to him began arriving. Then he would meet any of their leadership he didn’t know and confirm to them that he was the commander of the flanking maneuver over the marshland—all through translators.

His smile flickered back momentarily.

What can go wrong? he thought, using Yozef’s sardonic phrase.

Munmar Kellen

The ex-Narthani cursed as his foot slipped, and he went to his hands and knees in the muck. His glare as he pushed himself back to his feet stopped the tittering of nearby men. Only a few patches of his clothing were not wet or covered with a layer of foul-smelling muck.

“There’s a pool of clearer water about thirty yards back, Major,” said a platoon sergeant. “Just dive in and rinse off. Best to give up the idea of staying dry till we’re out of this.”

So that’s what he did, except he walked into the pool, instead of diving, bent his knees, ducked under the surface, and quickly rubbed everywhere he could reach. He emerged dripping. Another dragoon stood smiling at him. If the man wore a rank insignia, it was buried under portions of the marshland. Kellen bit back snapping at the man, then laughed.

“All right. I’ve protested that I wouldn’t ask my men to do what I wouldn’t do, so I guess this proves I’m true to my word. Give me a hand.”

The man stepped forward and offered his hand. Kellen took it and climbed out of the pool.

“You have to do this often?” Kellen asked.

“What’s often? Most men just leave it be until the muck interferes with their moving and working. God’s Mercy . . . I’m not even sure I recognize all the men I’ve been with the last couple of hours.”

“Well, keep at it,” said Kellen. “You are all men to be proud of. Not that I expected less from the best battalion in this entire army.”

The man visibly preened, although from where he stood, Kellen had an image of a water-bedraggled, flightless murvor.

Kellen walked back to where an aide held his horse. He had been inspecting a crew constructing a crossing over the section where he had slipped. They had finished during his absence and had moved on. For perhaps the hundredth time, he thought the “road” they were making was an abomination, and they would be lucky if it lasted for more than a day’s use. Fortunately, a day was all they needed to get wagons and artillery for one dragoon regiment and two regiments of Ponomynan infantry on foot to solid ground. All the mounted men slogged through the marshland, using a twisting route that consisted of navigating shallow water, crossing islands of bare ground above the water level, and swimming when necessary.

The mounted route and the wooden roadway were intermittently parallel but never more than a hundred yards apart. They were also of different lengths because the horse and rider had more flexibility in movement than wheeled conveyances.

When Kellen reached one of the few hillocks they had come across, he was able to garner a view from fifteen feet above the water level—a spot he suspected was the highest point within ten miles. He could see horses pulling makeshift sleds loaded with planks, timbers, and fencing. The right edge of the horse route was marked by poles flying assorted pieces of cloth. The wooden roadway was its own marker.

“We’ll be lucky if the wagons and artillery can get one mile an hour,” said a voice behind Kellen. He hadn’t noticed Swavebroke coming up on him. “I see you’re getting into the spirit of the work, Kellen.”

Munmar looked down at his clothes. Dollops of muck had survived in the clothing creases. He didn’t bother with a retort.

“Me and my men were under the mistaken impression we were getting lighter duty when you took us off being the point battalion. Most of them, including me, would rather be shooting at Kolinkans.”

“In this mire?” said Swavebroke. “The few men we’ve seen might just be locals.”

“So, what’s the word? Is what we’re doing going to be useful or are we wasting our time?”

“It’s another of those instances that makes you wonder if Yozef really is getting secret instructions or hints from God or who knows how. He got us doing this and claimed it was only in case it was needed. Well, it’s needed. The main attack to cross the river is about seven miles northwest of here. But our purpose is to threaten the flank of the Kolinkans who try to stop the crossing. If it works, the army will be across the river and rolling up the main Kolinkan defensive positions.”

“And this was Yozef’s idea all along?” asked Kellen.

Swavebroke shrugged. “Who knows? It was the Fuomi, Marshal Vernik, who proposed the plan, but with Yozef, you never know. He may have given Vernik the idea or already had the concept in his mind. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. We have our orders. The attack is to start at dawn the day after tomorrow.”

“And Yozef actually expects us to be ready to move three regiments over this quagmire?”

“Well, you know Yozef and one of his favorite sayings he claims is from a famous Amerikan.”

Kellen groaned, then imitated Yozef’s voice, along with faint accents that Kellen assumed came from Yozef’s learning Caedelli after he was an adult. “Don’t tell subordinates how to do something, just tell them to do it, get out of the way, and wait to be astonished at their ingenuity and diligence. Or something like that.”

“Close enough,” said Swavebroke. “How are your men holding up?”

“If you’re asking if they can work faster, the answer is no.”

“Well, you’ll be getting more help. I’ve sent a message to Mulron Luwis to detach two of his companies to pull back and help with the construction. He hasn’t reported enough Kolinkan activity out to the east edge of the marshland to justify an entire battalion providing security. I’ll also start sending Ponomynans to help. There’s the language problem because we don’t have enough translators, but I think that with hand waving and grunts, they can understand what to do.

“To use another of Yozef’s expressions, the ‘bottom line’ is that this road will be ready for wagons, artillery, and infantry two mornings from now.”

Uzman Gangala

“But I’m the Ponomynan heir,” groused Tasman Gangala. “I need to be at the forefront of the final assault on Chikawan. Honor demands it.”

“I’m afraid that argument will not impress Marshal Kolsko,” said Uzman. “He will assign tasks based on logic as he sees it.”

“Marshal,” sneered Tasman. “I know more than he did when he first arrived at Ponomyna. He’s never directly commanded any military force, not even a platoon. And how did he suddenly go from being a ‘general’ to a ‘marshal’?”

Uzman loved his brother and was eternally grateful it was he and not Uzman Gangala who would eventually become the arklun of Ponomyna. That did not blind him to his brother’s weaknesses. Their father had once told Uzman that although Tasman would be arklun, it was Uzman’s place in life to advise and guide his brother from making emotion-based decisions.

“Get your head straight, brother. You haven’t heard first-hand accounts of Kolsko’s time on Caedellium. I have. He may not have had formal command experience, but the stories leave no doubt as to his personal courage or key role in defeating the Narthani. As for the title, it was the Fuomi marshal, Vernik, who pointed out that once you joined us, the size of our army justified command being a marshal. Most of the other leaders agreed, including myself.

“Then there’s the rest of it. The new weapons. Convincing the Naskinese and Munjorians to participate in this campaign, not to mention the other four kahsaks—Aro, Gympo, Mukamon, and Abaton. No . . . this campaign is his creation, and his vision of removing the Narthani threat gives me the sense it’s more likely to succeed than anything else I’ve heard. Not that I believe the chances of success are all that great, but at least I can sense a chance.”

“All right, all right. Even if I grant you that Kolsko is the coming savior of Anyar, why can’t Ponomynan forces lead the main assault?”

Gangala suppressed a smile. Getting his beloved brother to cool off and see what was necessary was a well-rehearsed dance they had shared many times in the past. He imagined it would recur many more times in the future.

“If the opportunity comes, Tasman, I hope you have the chance to attend the military school in Caedellium. It seems to have evolved as a merging of Fuomi military thinking and that of Amerika, Yozef’s homeland—wherever that may be. There are two versions of the training. The shorter is for visitors who are only on Caedellium for a brief time. That’s the one I attended. There are tactical lessons, but what I remember most are the more philosophical lessons, especially based on Yozef’s short treatise called On War. He says it’s what he remembers from the writings of famous Amerikan military leaders.”

Uzman paused and eyed his brother with a faint smile. “I did give you a copy, remember?”

Tasman shifted his feet. “Uh, yes. I’ve been meaning to read it.”

“Pardon, brother, if I have to tell you I suspect one reason Yozef is not putting you in the center of the action is that he doesn’t believe you’ve read the treatise. If you had, you would have asked more and different questions in the command meetings. Believe me, he takes the points very seriously and will not entrust commanders to critical roles if he does not believe they at least understand the points in the treatise.

“This doesn’t mean you don’t have an important role in the assault. You have to make the Kolinkans worry that the main attack might come in the north. Every regiment of theirs that you can entice to move to face you will increase the chances of our success.”

Uzman wished he did not have to make the next final argument, but he knew his brother, so a sop was needed.

“And remember, when the main assault is crossing the Chikok and is rolling up the Kolinkan defenses, they are bound to withdraw all available units south. That will give you the chance to cross the Chikok and attack the Kolinkans’ rear.”

Tasman’s face relaxed as he considered the possibility. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

By the time the brothers parted, Uzman was satisfied Tasman’s original pique had subsided. Still, he had never doubted his brother would do his assignment to the best of his ability. He might not be the brightest member of the Gangala family, but he was honest, brave, and known to care for his men. In the coming operation, he would lead eight thousand Ponomynan cavalry to threaten a crossing of the Chikok River north of Chikawan. With the subterfuge techniques outlined by Yozef, Tasman would attempt to convince the Kolinkans that upward of thirty thousand invaders were poised to attack in the north.

Horen Rakatek

“They’re up to something. I can feel it,” said Rakatek. “They’ve been too confident in their moves to just sit there the last two days.”

“I have to agree,” said Chaktah. “At first, we saw small patrols and individuals everywhere along the Chikok, from the marshland to twenty miles north or more. Now, there’re reports of seeing major units everywhere up and down the river. Why they’re moving so much I can’t say for sure, but it’s likely so they can confuse us about their intentions. All we can be sure of is that they have major forces from the marshland to ten miles or more north. They can’t just move back and forth and use up their supplies. They foraged on the way here, but that ceased as soon as they reached the Chikok. If they wait much longer, our forces that are trying to cross the Zamzul River will arrive in enough numbers to threaten their rear.

“We have to assume the main body is still near where they first approached Chikawan. We see that damned thing they send into the air several times a day. It has to be checking our positions.” Chaktah sighed. “I tend to think that’s a sign of where they will attempt crossing. That’s the logical conclusion, but, of course, we can’t count on it.”

Rakatek rapped the back of his hand on the table. “A rider from Lord General Havasaw got here an hour ago. He says Havasaw has three regiments of infantry and one of cavalry gathered about fifteen miles northwest of the invaders. No artillery, though. He expects to have another two or three regiments within five days, if things go well, and possibly the first artillery batteries a day or two later. Supposedly, units have been constructing rope ferries. The platforms can take a dozen men, four horses, or a wagon or an artillery piece across at a time. There’re no more details, but I’d be surprised if Havasaw can muster an army big enough to make a difference in less than two sixdays.”

“Well, at least it’s Havasaw who got across the Zamzul first, before one of the other potential commanders of the force that’s mustering,” said Chaktah. “That let you put him in command as the first senior officer available. The other main options would have been Litlik favorites or incompetents.”

Hunaman Havasaw was a wealthy lord from western Kolinka. His dislike of Meelis Litlik was a well-known rumor and tolerated for three reasons: he had a capable military background, both serving with the Kolinkan military and fighting the Narthani as part of the Kiker Kahsak forces for several youthful years in south-central Iraquinik; he had never publicly opposed Meelis; and he was a distant relative of the Litlik family on the distaff side.

“I’m even thinking of suggesting that Havasaw launch a probe in force on the invaders’ rear,” Rakatek said. “That should stir them up and help confirm their dispositions. Maybe I can’t order Havasaw to do it, not with him being a lord, but I think he would agree if I write him the reasons. Of course, I would emphasize he would only advance until they launched a major attack. He hasn’t faced the invaders’ weapons and might not give credence to any accounts he’s gotten. We wouldn’t want his forces to suffer the same fate we did when those demonic new weapons were used against us.”

“That still leaves us with no current information on the invaders’ deployments,” said Chaktah. “What they’re showing doesn’t mean that’s where their main forces are concentrated. We need to send serious probes across the river at several locations, including well to the north and maybe even around the marshland.”

“I hate the idea, but we may have to,” said Rakatek. “To the north and south we could send a battalion or two of cavalry. That’s enough to push aside minor patrols until they run into serious opposition, which would fix the invaders’ flanks. It would be a different story with probes across the Chikok. Any force we send across would almost certainly be decimated. The invaders would bring up men, and our force would have to retreat back across the river on any boats they came in or swim the river. It could be a total loss.”

“I agree it’s a nasty decision,” said Chaktah, “but one the army could live with. Losing even a thousand men might be the price to garner any information we can. It’s not easy, but we can be honest and cold-blooded, knowing we have enough men that the loss would be insignificant.”

“Insignificant to us, perhaps,” said Rakatek, “but not to them or their families.” He held up a hand to forestall Chaktah’s response. “I know. It’s what commanders have to do, but it never hurts to acknowledge the cost of such decisions.”

“In that case,” said Chaktah, “I’d suggest five or six companies simultaneously cross at different points from, say . . . a few miles from the marshland to ten miles north. How fast the invaders respond and with what numbers will give us an indication of their dispositions.”

Chaktah stopped speaking. Something about Rakatek’s expression alerted him.

“But you’ve already decided to do exactly that, haven’t you?”

The warmaster nodded. “I’ve written up the orders. I just wanted to hear someone else’s opinion. Not that I’m trying to spread the guilt for the men I’m sending to their deaths. That falls to me. It’s something I’ve come to terms with over the years.

“We’ll give it two more days to see if anything changes. Then we’ll start the two flanking actions and the direct crossings of the Chikok before first light.”

Munmar Kellen

By the time his battalion was relieved of roadway construction, the men were closer to the far edge of the marshland than if they pulled back to their original side.

Colonel Swavebroke told Kellen, “Go ahead and rest on the other side. There are scouts from Luwis’s battalion already there, so coordinate on sending out your own scouts and pickets, but let your men get some rest. I’ll have food brought through by horseback.”

“Are we still behind schedule?” asked Kellen.

“Damn it! Yes! I’ve told Yozef we’re doing the best we can.”

Kellen grunted. “I’ll wager he just looked at you and said he had confidence you’d finish on time.”

“It’s infuriating, that man! Always expecting miracles.”

“Well . . . he does seem to get them much of the time.”

“That’s even worse,” said Swavebroke, his voice implying concession. “It always makes you wonder if you were trying your best after all.”

“I suppose there’s no postponing the assault?”

Swavebroke shook his head. “It’s tomorrow morning. We’re supposed to move west as soon as we hear our artillery start up at the attack point. We’re then to make hard contact with the Kolinkans. If we can’t get the roadway finished in time to get our artillery across, we’ll just have to go without it and have it catch up.

“Looks like you and Mulron Luwis will be leading the way,” said Swavebroke, “which is why your men need to rest. Denes Vegga’s battalion is taking their turn with the roadway. Amaz Muhabi’s battalion will finish. If it isn’t done by the time we have to attack, he’ll follow with the Ponomynan infantry.

“I’ll have to go back to the other side and confirm that the Ponomynan infantry commanders understand they’re to follow and be sure the artillery and supply wagons have started across. That means the roadway will be packed with wagons, men, and horses right up to the forward end of the roadway. Vegga will be in command until I return. He has orders to start our move west as soon as the barrage starts, whether or not I’m back.”

Naskin Leads

Yozef was finishing the first paragraph of a letter to Maera and Anarynd when Synton interrupted from the tent’s front flap.

“The Naskinese commander wants to see you.”

“Popul? Did he say what he wanted?”

“Only that it’s about an important matter.”

“Okay, send him in.”

Yozef put aside the quill and stood facing the now open flap.

Amapal Popul wore the basic uniform of the Naskin military: white pants and shirt, red coat, and insignias of rank. Supplementary in Popul’s case was a gold sash diagonally from left shoulder to right hip, a wide-brimmed hat with a pair of ten-inch, dyed feathers, and an ornate scabbard encasing a short sword. Yozef had—diplomatically, he hoped—suggested on Caedellium that Naskinese white officer uniforms were not the best color for keeping clean in the field, plus they made the men too easy to spot. Popul had not disagreed, only saying it was customary and that the Naskinese king would have to decide on any change for Naskinese officers. The lower ranks were different and wore similar uniforms to the rest of the division.

“Greetings, Colonel Popul. Something is urgent?”

“It is for me and Naskin, Para . . . uh . . . Marshal. It has to do with the unit to lead the main assault across the Chikok River. You have assigned the Fuomi regiment for that, but I’m here to ask you to let my regiment take the point.”

Yozef was startled. In the moments between Synton telling him Popul wanted to see him and when the Naskinese spoke, he had run through the few reasons for an urgent meeting he could dredge up. He would later realize how little he had thought about the Naskinese regiment, compared to those of Caedellium, Fuomon, and Munjor. He would rue that he had let his opinion of Sooham Bindbar, the original Naskinese commander, cloud his impressions.

Yozef’s first reaction to Popul’s words was a flat rejection for perfectly valid reasons that were already settled in his mind. The Fuomi were a professional military from a system that had engaged in warfare with Narthon for generations. In contrast, warfare on Landolin was a generation behind in tactics and professionalism, and the wars were sporadic and not the type of “total warfare” more common on the Melosian continent.

The assault across the Chikok was expected to be difficult, even with maximum artillery support and successful misdirection of their intent. Yozef had a flash image of the Fuomi regiment succeeding in establishing a foothold but only with significant casualties. In contrast, a Naskinese regiment could be slaughtered, and the entire plan would fall apart.

He suppressed the urge to reject Popul’s request outright and violate one of his cardinal rules—listen, or give the impression of listening, to all important subordinates.

“Why are you making the request, and why do you think the Naskinese regiment will perform as well as the Fuomi? I assume you accept that the Fuomi and Caedelli regiments have more training and experience.”

“I accept that evaluation. However, not all situations depend only on experience. The will to continue, no matter what, can be as important or even more so, in some circumstances. In this case, the lead element is expected to come under serious fire from the Kolinkans. For the entire assault to work, the lead element has to persevere and establish enough of a foothold on the opposite riverbank to allow follow-up units to cross with reduced opposition.

“I can guarantee that the Naskinese regiment will persevere, no matter the cost.” Popul held up both hands to stay Yozef’s response. “I’ll explain why I’m so confident. In this case, experience is not that important. Once the command to cross the river is given, there is little occasion for maneuvering or coordination. No one doubts the courage of the Fuomi dragoon, but, as you say, they are professionals and ones who likely do not feel they need to prove anything. That is not the case with my men.

“They believe, as do I, that they are looked down on by the other three regiments in the Alliance Division. Part of this is due to Sooham Bindbar and part to rumors we’re well aware of about the incompetence and cowardice of the Naskinese—rumors that we know are spread by some of the Munjorians, though I know Rhanjur Gaya has tried to stop them.

“I personally chose every man in this regiment. Bindbar only became involved after the regiment was formed. He was appointed because of family ties to one of our king’s closest advisers. I respect and am loyal to King Mumbor, but, like all of us, he can sometimes put trust in the wrong people.

“There is also the stain that the two men executed for killing that Kolinkan family were Naskinese. It would be considered a matter of honor for Naskin to lead the assault and would help change others’ views of my people. Then, let’s be coldly calculating. If this campaign is partly to prepare for a larger one on Landolin against the Narthani and Jahmnorese, the other realms need to respect Naskin, and my people need to perform actions they can be proud of. If my regiment’s taking major casualties can accomplish those three goals, the sacrifice will be justified.”

A fourth advantage to granting Popul’s request occurred to Yozef—one he was ambivalent about because of what it implied about him. The unit leading the assault had to push hard and would almost certainly take the major casualties Popul acknowledged. As proud as Yozef was of the Caedelli regiment, he honestly knew that the Fuomi regiment was at least as good, if not better. Of the two Landoliner regiments, if he had to pick one as the most effective, it would be from Munjor. Therefore, the Alliance regiment that was most expendable was from Naskin. He thought hard. If Naskin failed to complete the crossing, the Fuomi regiment could be poised to reinforce.

“All right, Colonel Popul. Naskin will lead the assault. New orders will be written and delivered within the hour to you and Colonel Jormaki.”

Ilio Chimon

Until an hour ago, the moon Aedan and the stars gave enough light for him to see the Chikok’s other bank but not enough to discern details of the low brush covering. That changed when a cloud layer moved in. The Kolinkan major assumed invader eyes were looking back at him, but they were not seeing brush, which had been cut away to leave clear fields of fire. The light would change in another hour as the sun approached the eastern horizon. He had woken on his own, dressed, and begun touring his battalion’s position—which was a novel experience for a cavalry unit.

“I know, I know,” said the regiment’s commander when giving Chimon his assignment three days prior. “What’s cavalry doing hunkered down in trench works and bunkers? That’s the order. I guess Warmaster Rakatek doesn’t see the need for cavalry as much as he does for more bodies in protected positions to repel attempts to cross the river.”

“All right, I guess I understand,” said Chimon, “but why are we separated from the rest of the regiment?”

The colonel said, “I wasn’t explicitly told, but I think we’re plugging holes. When they started positioning infantry units, subsequent adjustments left gaps or weak spots. Two of our other battalions find themselves in the same situation, with infantry on both sides. At least, you have your horses only a quarter mile behind you in the gully. The other two battalions had to leave their horses almost a mile away.”

And thus had Chimon followed orders. He had put his men to work completing positions that were only partially finished when the flanking infantry had consolidated their positions. His men had griped, but that was what men do. They bent to the task because these were their orders and because Chimon made sure each man understood that he was at the front line and might be fighting for his life from the positions they constructed.

Not that he expected the invaders to attack here. Rumors were that most invader activity was miles northwest in line with Chikawan. If not there, then farther north where the defenses were not as extensive. Certainly not where Chimon’s battalion found itself. Though their position was still being finished, it was part of the main defensive line and only a mile from where the marshland began. The final main task was to finish the overhead protection, as mandated by Rakatek. Chimon’s battalion had not experienced the invader artillery’s use of shells exploding in midair above the men, but the stories had spread throughout the entire army. Those reports and others were sufficient to motivate his men.

Chimon finished checking on one platoon serving the last shift of night guard and moved on to another platoon. This one’s position included two of their light artillery pieces. When fully manned, three of his companies had cramped firing positions in trenches and bunkers. The other two companies would wait as reserves.

Murmuring voices jolted Chimon from wondering when they would stop being infantry stuck in static positions and return to their horses and the resulting freedom of movement. He thought he recognized one voice. The words became understandable when Chimon walked to within five yards of a section of open trench works.

“No, I don’t know how long we’ll be here, Sergeant. I’m only a lieutenant, and we’ll be here as long as the warmaster wants—and he hasn’t been confiding in me this sixday.”

The words and muffled laughter told Chimon the men were at ease with their commander.

“Correct,” said Chimon as he stopped at the trench and looked down to the five or six figures below. “And neither does the warmaster talk directly to a lowly major of the cavalry. However, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the enemy directly across the river, and aren’t you men supposed to be watching in that direction, instead of clustered together to complain?”

“Sorry, sir. I was just checking the guards, and they . . . uh . . . maybe thought I had some news.”

Chimon could see the officer wave both hands, and the men melted away into the darkness, he assumed back to their positions watching the other bank. He waited a few moments until he and the officer were alone.

“No problem, Lieutenant Shinsonal. I know it’s hard to keep looking into the darkness for hours. It’ll start to get light soon. When the sun is up, your relief will come, and you can get your men fed and give them an hour or so to sleep before they’re back to working on improving the defenses.”

Final Positions

Uzman and Tasman were each tasked with supervising feints to keep the Kolinkans’ attention and maintain uncertainty about where the attack across the Chikok would happen. Tasman’s force was entirely cavalry and horse artillery, while Uzman’s included most of the Ponomynan infantry, all the 12-pounder cannon, and one cavalry regiment. Both positions carried out enough demonstrations along the bank to imply more men than they had. In the north, Tasman’s cavalrymen took turns pretending to be infantry. For Uzman, it was the complement—his limited cavalry changed banners and the sizes of visible units.

The balloon crew remained with Uzman after ending a whirlwind tour of the main Kolinkan defenses. Starting at the eastern edge near the marshland and only a mile from the planned assault, the balloon was raised, the observer made diagrams of what he could see across the river, and the balloon was then lowered and moved a half mile upstream to repeat this. The observation at the assault site lasted longer than the others but hopefully not enough to be noticed. When the crew got to the end of the main defenses, they returned to Uzman’s position, raised the balloon, and left it aloft.

For the first time in the campaign, the temporary telegraph was set up from Tasman in the north through Uzman’s position and on to the assault site. Tasman and Uzman increased the demonstrations the day before the assault. At best, the Kolinkans might weaken their defenses at the assault site if they were convinced Tasman’s or Uzman’s position was where the attack would happen. At the least, movement of Kolinkan forces would be frozen.  Of course, Yozef knew they had no idea how the Kolinkan commander would respond.

Swavebroke’s flanking maneuver was the wild card, but Yozef hoped it would not be essential because they might not finish the wooden roadway in time.

Yozef, Kivalian, and Vernik would be at the assault site. The order of battle was Ponomynan swimmers slipping across the river to sow confusion, followed by three dragoon regiments (Naskin, Fuomon, Munjor), major Alliance artillery, and five regiments of Iraquinik infantry. In theory, the second and third dragoon regiments would find a secure bridgehead and function as intended—fighting on foot with horses to the rear. Support personnel, such as medicants and staff at field hospitals, were to be interspersed among all units.

At any time, Yozef could decide the attack had failed and call for withdrawal. Otherwise, as the advance progressed, more support units would follow. Then Yozef, after getting advice from the leaders, would decide whether Uzman’s men would stay in place, attempt a river crossing where they were, or move southeast to follow the main assault route across the river.

The only solace for Yozef was that both Kivalian and Vernik seemed to think the plan was solid. Otherwise, he would have been convinced he was leading the army to disaster. As it was, he only suspected as much.

An Early Morning Swim

Ursman Pinok had the misfortune to have grown up in a small coastal village forty miles west of Penabak. The existence of this village was due to its secluded bay, a prime environment for a shellfish highly prized in food markets. As such, Pinok had learned to swim by the time he was three years old. At five years of age, he had joined his father, mother, and two older siblings in diving for the creatures before he left to join the military on his seventeenth birthday. At that point, he hoped to enter water again only for baths. Unfortunately, his history was too well known to his company commander.

“Sergeant Pinok. You’re a swimmer. You must know most of the men in the company. I want you to form a squad of swimmers and report back to me in two hours. Bring the men with you. They’ll only need their combat gear. Leave the bedrolls and other belongings with the company.”

And here they were. Three hundred of the best Ponomynan swimmers in the army. Barefoot. Shirtless. Each man carrying a musket and two pistols, all three wrapped in waterproof leather, the pieces tied together in a bundle. On a belt hung a knife. In another sheath, he also had an arkmar, a wicked-looking, curved eighteen-inch blade he had carried with him since leaving home. The shellfish his family harvested preferred to live within beds of seaweed that had tough stalks. In his family, the customary method was for divers to take turns cutting paths into the stalk forests to get at the shellfish beds. Within two seasons, the cut stalks would regrow, more shellfish would take up residence, and the area could be harvested again.

Despite never wanting to dive for shellfish again, he was fond of the arkmar, given to him by a favorite uncle. He kept the blade, finding it helped save his life on two occasions. He looked around at the other crouched men huddled together. The thin line of brush on the riverbank and the darkness were sufficient to hide them from any eyes on the other bank. Hopefully, when they crept into the river, those eyes would be focused elsewhere or would fail to detect their gradual submersion.

He again checked his ad hoc squad—lined up facing the water. They all had a main blade of some type. His was the only arkmar, but he could see short spears, axes, and one man with a straight, wide blade half again as long as an arkmar. The man claimed it was used to clear pathways in tangled vines in southern Iraquinik. How a Ponomynan had such an implement was never explained.

They were three hundred yards upstream of where the Naskinese regiment would assault. Where they were quietly lowered into the water, the current would push them toward the opposite bank as the course reached the base of the loop. They needed the help because each man would be holding onto the bundle with one hand while swimming with the other hand and his feet, all the while trying to avoid creating noise by slapping the water’s surface.

A silent ripple of movement rolled over the men. Pinok’s squad was on the left end of a two-squad line—the eighth line out of fifteen. Therefore, he didn’t hear the command to “go” and could only assume it had been given when the lines in front of him moved slowly toward the river.

Amapal Popul

The Naskinese regiment would cross the river as dragoons, then transform into infantry. The water at the selected site was shallow only in respect to the legs that needed to cross it. For men, the crossing would be a slog through water above the knees. Popul’s horse could make the crossing in a fraction of the time, though it presented a bigger target. The calculation was simple and brutal. A horse or a man felled by Kolinkan fire would float downstream and not hinder those following. When a horse and rider successfully reached the other bank, it was at the discretion of the rider when to abandon his mount. The chaos of the Ponomynan swimmers opening the action; the Naskinese horses, with and without riders, among the fortifications; Naskinese on foot amid the trenches and the bunkers; and the concentrated artillery fire shifting from the attack point to flanking defenses would create a bridgehead large enough for the Fuomi regiment to follow with artillery.

At least, planned was the word used by Kolsko in the final briefing. Popul highly suspected that Kolsko actually thought the word hoped was closer to reality. If he had known the army leader better, he would have been tempted to ask directly. However, he didn’t, and this wasn’t the moment, even though Kolsko had just arrived to stand beside him. They were two hundred yards from the river—a distance tested the previous night as how far the regiment needed to be so that the Kolinkans did not hear the sounds of silent men moving, equipment shifting, and horses whinnying and snuffling, despite riders’ attempts to comfort and silence their mounts.

“The artillery is moving into position,” said Kolsko.

Both men’s imaginations created what they couldn’t see. Artillery positions had been carefully prepared the previous night, leaving a thin screen of brush so the view was unchanged from the other bank. Now, gun crews were slowly pushing and pulling pieces into position at the same time that Ponomynan swimmers were entering the water.

The wheels of guns, limbers, and caissons were wrapped in cloth to muffle their sound as much as possible. Was it enough? Popul did not know, and Kolsko had been honest to admit the same.

Yozef Kolsko

He had spoken to so few Naskinese since they’d arrived in Caedellium that he felt the need to make a token gesture. He did not dwell on whether it was to lift their morale or assuage his conscience—there was either no answer or one he could do without.

He made a request to Popul, and an hour before they launched the assault, the senior noncommissioned men and commanders in each Naskinese platoon gathered around Yozef. One hundred men.

“I haven’t spoken to many of you, and I regret that. But never doubt how much I appreciate Naskin’s participation in this campaign. We are all part of a great movement to rid Anyar of the Narthani scourge. Granted that this is but a small part of that effort, it is nevertheless essential. Narthon does not only conquer by its armies, but also by deceit and bribery. Kolinka, due to the weakness and villainy of its leaders, has betrayed the Iraquinik kahsaks in their fight against Narthon. Yes, they attacked Caedellium and obviously incurred my wrath, but the most important thing to remember is their betrayal of the Iraquinik resistance to Narthon.

“Yes, the Narthani are colluding with Jahmnor in southern Landolin, and they present a serious threat. But think of this. The Narthani influence in Jahmnor is over a year old, and although there have been skirmishes and minor battles, Munjor and Panhan have held their ground. However, I hope you all understand that if the Iraquiniks fell to Narthon, then the Narthani could turn all their attention to Landolin. After that, all the kingdoms would only wait in trepidation for the day when overwhelming Narthani armies crushed your people and absorbed the survivors into their empire. The Naskinese people would eventually cease to be even a memory.

“We are here in Kolinka to stop that series of events. When the leaders of Kolinka are removed, and this kahsak is once again a brick in the Iraquinik wall holding back Narthon, then we—and by that, I mean your people, then other kingdoms, Caedellium, Fuomon, and the Iraquiniks—can focus their attention on Landolin to drive the Narthani out and push them back east . . . far from Landolin, far from Naskin, and far from your families.”

He stopped speaking and began to circulate among the men, trying to touch each one in turn on the arm, the shoulder, the back. They were far enough from the river and behind a canvas screen erected for the occasion that lanterns set low let him see faces, each one of which he looked into. Men glanced at one another, at first uncertain what Yozef intended. By the time he was halfway finished, men were touching him in return until he returned to his original position.

“I don’t know your names, and I’m sorry for that. Each of you is worthy of my respect. On this day, you have been given a crucial task. We must secure a bridgehead on the other side of this river. To fail is to threaten the success of this entire campaign and everything to follow. Three hundred Ponomynans have already preceded you. They will be all but naked and minimally armed. Their purpose to create enough confusion to allow you to cross the river and secure enough land for the rest of the army to follow. Everything then depends on you. No matter what happens, you are all my brothers. Perhaps not in the sense you usually think, but in the great events and battles of today and in the future, those who I serve with, be they of the highest or lowest rank, are my brothers.”

He stopped and looked around a last time. “Courage, my brothers, and I’ll see you on the other bank at sundown.”

Men edged aside as he moved through the group, many of them touching him again as he passed. Those who spoke did so in the Naskinese dialect and were thus unintelligible to him. He had cribbed again from historic or literary speeches, at least in intent. They needed these men to push forward, perhaps more than could reasonably be expected, not matter the casualties. In moments of cold logic, he knew the loss of the entire Naskinese regiment would be considered an acceptable price for victory over the Kolinkan army. He consoled himself with the belief that their best chance of survival was not to hesitate, and that a retreat back across the river might have the same total cost. He hoped he believed that argument.

Pickets

Ursman Pinok thanked whatever gods there were for the clouds that reduced the light. Nevertheless, the slow, cautious swim across the Chikok had been easy on Ursman Pinok’s body but emotionally wearing—every second he expected Kolinkan sentries to spot him and the other men. When that did not happen, by then his knees and elbows were scraped raw from crawling across gravel under inches of water on the Kolinkan side of the river. The lacerations were made worse when he started crawling on ground covered by rocks, stubble, and roots left from the Kolinkans clearing fields of fire. Not that he noticed the abrasions. There was no talking. He did not know how many of the three hundred swimmers reached the opposite bank, but when he attempted to gather his squad before shimmying up the four-foot embankment from the river, he found he had six of his nine men plus two men from other squads.

The Kolinkan picket positions had been mapped the previous nights. Now, they assumed the positions had stayed the same on this night. His squad was assigned to eliminate three pickets along this section of the bank. Other squads would wait below the embankment for the flare.

With nine men total, by touch and whisper he divided his ad hoc squad into three three-man teams. They moved synchronously. The feeling of their inevitable discovery continued, but he persisted in tamping down his incipient panic at the thought. When they were within ten feet of his picket target, he put a hand on each of the other two men and pressed down—communicating they were to stop. It took another five minutes for him to cover the last ten feet and get within touch of the picket. Every second he expected alarms to sound as other swimmers were discovered or were unable to quietly dispatch their targets.

When he was close enough that he thought his breath on the picket’s skin might be felt, he leaped forward and clamped a forearm over the man’s mouth. He pulled the head back and forcefully jerked his blade across the man’s throat. He did not feel the blood gush forward and down the man’s chest.

The Hovasor brothers had drawn picket duty for the third night in a row—to the ire of Kolsaw, the elder of the two. Younger brother Malekuk had a knack for irritating their unit’s officer, who had taken to including both brothers when extra duty was forthcoming.

“Maybe it will motivate you to teach the young shit how to be a soldier,” was the answer when Kolsaw complained at the unfairness.

He loved his brother, but he tended to agree with the officer—Malekuk, at sixteen years, was too young to be in a war. Yet when their district’s noble called for a general muster, any man or youth who answered was accepted. Their parents had appealed to the noble, only to be told the boy was old enough, according to custom.

In the end, they left a stone-faced father and a crying mother and sisters. Kolsaw promised to look after Malekuk, a task seemingly so endless he had had a stray thought about “accidentally” shooting his brother in the foot to get him out of danger. It would also get Malekuk out of Kolsaw’s hair.

“How much longer until we’re relieved?” asked Malekuk.

“How many damn times do I have to remind you to keep your voice down, you idiot?” hissed Kolsaw. “If an officer or ranker hears you, we’ll be doing this every night for the next two sixdays.”

“I only asked a question,” mumbled Malekuk, a whine overlaid on every word.

“An hour . . . maybe. I can’t tell for sure. There’s too much cloud cover.”

“I have to piss.”

Kolsaw sighed. It was never-ending. “You can’t hold it another hour? Oh . . . never mind. Do it in the river. I don’t want to smell it near the trench, and the watch commander might see you if you go somewhere behind us.”

Malekuk said something under his breath—Kolsaw wasn’t interested in what—then propped his musket against the trench wall. He crawled over the low berm on the river side of the trench.

Kolsaw vaguely could see his brother’s shape as he walked the ten feet to the riverbank’s edge. He heard Malekuk fiddling with his clothing, then a relieved sigh.

You’re not an idiot, Kolsaw thought fondly, just far too young to be here, instead of back on the farm.

A rustling from the next picket position twenty yards east drew his attention. He turned to stare down the trench, but it was too dark.

Malekuk might have coughed. Kolsaw wasn’t sure, but he looked back for his brother. He couldn’t see the shape that had just been there. Then . . . water. Not quite a splash.

Of all the gods! thought Kolsaw. He couldn’t have slipped and gone into the river—could he? His clothing will still be soaked when we get relieved. We’ll be doing this night picket for the next year!

Kolsaw geared up for the cursing his brother would receive, then stopped upon realizing there were no more sounds ahead of him. Could his brother have fallen and now was unable to get out? He hesitated a few more seconds, then set his own rifle aside. He crawled to the top of the berm when a hand clamped over his mouth and something cold swiped across his throat.

In the seconds before all thinking stopped, he had the impression of naked men crawling out of the river, his brother’s body floating face-down . . . and then he thought no more.

The Hovasor brothers would not return home. The bodies would never be recovered, lost and decomposing near each other in the marshland when they caught on a stand of reeds.

For the Hovasor family, the brothers simply disappeared during a battle where they were two of the first casualties.

Horen Rakatek

Santaka Chaktah shook the warmaster’s shoulder to rouse him.

“What—” Rakatek snapped awake. “What is it?”

“A courier just got here from the north. He rode in the dark only because the road is so good. Subwarmaster Wistos thinks the invaders are about to try to cross the river.”

While Rakatek pulled on trousers, Chaktah lit a lantern and waved a rumpled paper. “He says there’s been more activity the last two days. He wrote this after hearing unusual noises overnight.”

“Well, if they did attack, it happened, what . . . two, three hours ago. How about here?”

“Very similar. We’ve discussed what the increase in activity here is about but couldn’t come to a conclusion. It’s possible Wistos is wrong, but I’m inclined to think something is going on. That flying contraption they obviously used to study our defenses has been all up and down the line, but it eventually returned here, where I still think the major assault will be . . . if it happens at all.”

Rakatek sighed. “There’s nothing we can do in the next couple of hours until more information comes from the north. It’s almost daylight anyway. Send couriers to all units to be extra alert until we get more clarity. I was up late, so I’ll get another hour or so of sleep.”

Yozef Kolsko

Despite the urge to directly observe the Naskinese attack, Yozef left Popul and took his position at the temporary telegraph station a quarter mile from the river. Four men stood and one sat, the latter at the telegraph console table, his hand poised above the key. Four hours ago, he had received a message from Tasman Gangala that his force was in position and prepared to start their mock crossing. An hour later, Yozef had sent the “Go” message. There was one more message to send to Uzman Gangala—to raise and lower the balloon several times with a lantern and make noise at the spot where they hoped the Kolinkans believed the most likely assault would be.

Kivalian stood to Yozef’s right, Vernik to his left. A few feet away was a scribe selected by Maera. She had insisted that careful records were needed for events of potential historic significance. Yozef had acquiesced only with the condition that the record would remain between him and Maera until a future unspecified time. The scribe’s presence had been unobtrusive during the campaign, but, for whatever reason, Yozef felt that having the scribe nearby this morning was somehow appropriate.

Yet at the moment, he wished the scribe were back in Caedellium or at least out of sight. He felt pressure to say something historic. Since coming to Anyar, he had experienced moments of stress or surprise when inane thoughts intruded: images, quotes, events, movies, and other things he could remember. He had come to attribute the effect as an involuntary attempt at relief. At this moment, he felt he needed say something profound.

What’s appropriate right now? he wondered. “I have not yet begun to fight.” “A day that will live in infamy?” “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.” “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” “Battle plans are useless, but planning is essential.” “Veni, Vidi, Vici.” “Get there firstest with the mostest.” “Nuts.”

Yozef snorted and smiled at the last quote that flashed through his mind. It was supposedly the response of the U.S. general commanding paratroopers surrounded by Germans at Bastogne in World War II. There seemed to be some uncertainty whether that was the actual quote or if it had been sanitized for public consumption. Whichever it was, the thought jolted Yozef back to this pivotal moment—one that would never be known back on Earth.

Vernik had one eyebrow raised, not quite as accustomed to Yozef’s introspective moments, if that’s what they were.

“Uh . . . we are about to cross the Chikok River, a step that cannot be taken back and that marks the beginning of the end of the Narthon Empire.”

The scribe frowned, shrugged, and wrote the words in a journal he carried everywhere.

Okay, so they weren’t the most inspiring words imaginable, thought Yozef. At the moment, he had needed to say something, and Julius Caesar’s return to Rome in defiance of the Roman Senate popped into his mind. Caesar’s decisive act was at a border marked by a nothing little river named the Rubicon. The future ruler of Rome had “crossed the Rubicon,” the phrase thereafter indicating a “point of no return.” In retrospect, it perhaps wasn’t the best allusion.

Now that Yozef had uttered his feeble attempt at a memorable quote, he nodded to the telegraph operator.

“Message to Uzman Gangala. ‘Attack.’”

No other words were spoken. The series of long and short pulses sped over the wire. Kivalian turned quickly to order flares that would signal the commencement of three actions: the Ponomynan swimmers to move from eliminating pickets to attacking bunkers and trenches directly in the path of the assault, the artillery to attack Kolinkan artillery positions, and the Naskinese dragoons to start across the Chikok.

The swimmers were intended to create brief confusion in the two to three minutes it would take the lead Naskinese to cross the river. The heavy artillery would concentrate on Kolinkan positions directly at the assault point, then would shift to flanking positions. It was also intended—or hoped, depending on the point of view—that the Kolinkan artillery positions would be suppressed or would not come into action long enough for the Naskinese to cross in sufficient strength to get past the main defense line. The exception to the artillery that focused on the assault point would be the light mortars. They had had minimal participation thus far in the campaign. Now, fifty light-mortar teams waited for the order to fire, their tubes optimally angled for the shells to land at the maximum range of approximately 400 yards, 200 yards past the Chikok’s width at the point of assault. Crews would fire as fast as possible until the first Naskinese reached the opposite bank. The swimmers had been warned not to advance more than 100 yards from the river.

CHAPTER 45

ENGAGED

A yellow flare arched into the sky, launched just out of sight on the invaders’ side of the river. The attention of hundreds of Kolinkans fixed on the trailing sparks and the explosion at the apex. Depending on the individual, they cursed, they stopped breathing, their breath turned to gasps, their heart rates jumped, they felt cold or hot, or they broke into a sweat. By the time the flare’s burst started to fade, mere seconds after its launch, everyone knew what the flare meant—as confirmed by flashes and the roar of artillery fire hiding the thumps of mortars.

Ursman Pinok

No sound could have been heard farther than ten feet away. After they rolled picket bodies into the river, he and the two other men huddled in the picket’s four-foot-deep hole. It was crowded, their bare skin pressing on one another’s and providing a semblance of comfort.

They unwrapped their firearms and listened for alarms. None sounded. Did the other teams from his squad succeed? What about other squads? There was nothing to do but wait for the flare.

And that’s what Pinok did. Waited to be discovered. Waited for Kolinkan relief troops or inspections of picket positions to reveal his presence. Waited for the flare. While waiting, each of the three men opened the waterproof packages he had carried across the river. From inside, they pulled out firearms, ammunition, sections of rope fuse, three fused grenades to each man, and firesticks—what Yozef called “matches.” One man’s packages had failed. The contents were soaked. He tossed everything away, cursing under his breath and drawing his blade. Pinok and the other man crouched lower and used the matches to start short rope pieces smoldering—which would continue for ten to fifteen minutes and be used to light grenade fuses.

Minutes passed. Enough to prompt worry the attack had been called off—unlikely, but his mind couldn’t help but consider every bad scenario.

When Pinok estimated the fuses had only another two or three minutes, one of the other men elbowed Pinok and whispered. “Flare.”

His head jerked toward the river to see the yellow burst above the opposite bank. He swallowed hard.

“That’s it. We go.”

There was no coordination. Men and units were too separated, they had no time to hesitate, and the element of surprise would not last. The three men leaped from their position and ran toward the nearest fortifications. Their dark-adjusted eyes made out shapes to the right and left, racing in the same direction that they did.

It took only seconds for them to reach the berm fronting a trench work. Pinok could hear voices but not the words. As he ran, he held the smoldering rope piece to a grenade fuse, with sparks and light now visible to any Kolinkan watching to his front. If any had been, it was too late as Pinok and his companions immediately threw their grenades into the trench in the direction of the voices. Shouts of alarm preceded by only a second or two the grenades’ explosions. The three men jumped into the trench where the Kolinkans had a single lantern set low. They could see other semi-naked men clearing the berm in both directions. They discharged their firearms at any clothed figure, then dropped the weapons and grabbed whatever blades they carried.

After that, it was a melee of shouts, cries, and the impact of body against body, blade against blade, blade against flesh.

12-Pounder Battery, Pakataw Regiment

The twenty-two men of the three-cannon battery had grown up within 50 miles of each other, 340 miles west of Chikawan. Ten of them worked on the estates of Lord Erlok Nekamon, who was generally regarded as “not the worst noble.” All things considered, it was thought to be a reasonably good evaluation, compared to stories from many parts of Kolinka. Sixteen of the men had trained off and on for years with the cannon, but only seven had ever fired them against an enemy—as part of a levy against the Narthani in Waswagon kahsak and once during a brief skirmish with Ponomyna two years previous.

The battery was positioned fifty yards from the river and protected by a two-and-a-half-foot-high, three-foot-wide wall of a timber-framed box filled with earth. Overhead timbers supported four inches of wood topped with a foot of earth—protection against invaders’ shells coming in at high angles. There were only eighteen inches of clearance between the top of the forward wall and the roofing—enough for the cannon barrels to fire across the river. All three pieces were already loaded with canister, and none could elevate—their target being boats, men, and horses attempting to cross. All vegetation was cleared directly to their front to allow clear fields of fire.

In compliance with the warmaster’s orders, all gun crews slept no farther than thirty feet from their assigned cannon. Only five of the men were awake to see the flare, but all were awakened seconds later by the sounds of the invaders’ cannon, men’s yells and screams, the deadly whistle of metal projectiles, the splintering of wood, and, coming last in the cacophony, shells exploding.

The Pakataw three-gun battery had the misfortune to lie directly opposite the Naskinese assault. As such, it was a primary target of all three Ordinance riflespositioned at pointblank range for the highly accurate weapon firing bolts—ten-pound, pointed steel projectiles. In the first salvo, one bolt skimmed the top of the battery’s overhead cover, ricocheted into a more arched trajectory, and tore through a medical station 500 yards farther from the river. Another bolt sailed through a firing opening and hit a 12-pounder’s barrel rim, peeling the bronze barrel open almost two feet from the end and heaving the entire cannon backward, crushing two crewmen. The third bolt glanced off a support beam, twisted sideways, and sliced through three crewmen as they rose from their sleeping mats in the rear of the bunker.

Seconds later, six 12-pounder balls followed the bolts. One shot hit the edge of the overhead protection, ripping off a six-foot section. Three shots entered the bunker. One passed through without hitting anything. One knocked a wheel off a cannon carriage, then the shot and the wheel bounced around inside the bunker, killing two men and wounding three more. One shot decapitated the battery commander before passing out the rear of the bunker, its trajectory minimally affected by a human head.

In three seconds, half of the battery’s men were dead or incapacitated and two of the three cannon out of action. Ninety-four seconds later, two men crawled from the bunker and staggered to the rear. The rest of the men and the last cannon were removed from the battle by two subsequent salvos.

Lieutenant Shinsonal

The Kolinkan cavalry platoon leader had scrupulously ensured that all his men were alert and watching the opposite riverbank for invader activity. At least, that’s what he did after Major Chimon caught four of his men exchanging rumors as they crouched below the berm. He had just finished inspecting one end of their position and had turned when the world erupted. Most of the invaders’ artillery focused to the right of Chimon’s battalion, where a regiment from somewhere in eastern Kolinka was stationed. He did not know their exact origin, but their dialect was difficult to understand during a brief interchange with the officer on Shinsonal’s flank.

However, not all the invaders’ artillery missed Shinsonal’s position. One of the battalion’s light artillery batteries was taking cannon fire to Shinsonal’s left, and explosions began to the rear.

Those damn weapons are throwing explosive shells high into the air to get over obstacles, flashed through his mind. The battalion hadn’t experienced the weapon, but he had heard tales from other units. He was momentarily grateful they were passing over his position, but then other factors overrode all else.

“Where are they?” shouted a soldier, peering above the berm toward the river. The man was ten feet from Shinsonal when a trail of sparks traced a curve from the other side of the berm into the trench. Shinsonal had the impression of a round object hitting the bottom of the trench.

Suddenly, his vision whited out. He was thrown backward into other men. Only momentarily stunned, he jumped to his feet to see bodies of his men lying still or writhing and crying out. Before he could issue orders . . . any order once he could figure out what to do . . . he froze in disbelief as naked men poured over the berm. One of his men rushed past him, only to be cut down by a phantom wielding a small axe, the attacker then felled by a musket ball.

Shinsonal recovered his senses, drew his sword, and entered the fray. Uniformed and naked bodies intertwined in the limited light before flares from the opposite riverbank began illuminating the world.

Amapal Popul

He would not lead the assault across the river. Kolsko had been very specific. Commanders are presumed to have proved their courage and honor previously. It was their duty to command, which did not necessarily mean to lead into battle. Popul agreed with the concept, although the tradition to lead from the front had lingered for too long. He made sure his subordinates passed word down the ranks that the army commander had ordered him not to be in the forefront because he was too valuable to lose.

Any thoughts Popul had of disobeying, he had discarded immediately. His experience with Kolsko warned him that the man was serious about such direct orders. If Kolsko considered a commander unqualified or unreliable, he would not hesitate to remove him. Popul would never voice his suspicion to anyone that Sooham Bindbar’s “accident” was anything but.

However, Kolsko’s order only said Popul would not “lead” the assault. It did not prevent him from being on his horse, standing next to the major of the first battalion to cross the river.

The instant the major saw the flare, he yelled. His companies, in column, spurred their horses toward the river. Popul rode with them but to one side. They splashed their way toward whatever waited for them

Any noise the horses made in the water was lost amid the thunder of artillery. Most of it came from their own cannon but then was added to by Kolinkan cannon, not all of which had been suppressed. Popul saw a dozen horses and men fall almost in unison.

Canister! he thought, then prayed it was a lone Kolinkan cannon.

The victims caused the following dragoons to swerve or rein in, but only for seconds. Then the current carried the dead and the wounded downstream. Musket fire began from Kolinkan fortifications, sporadic at first. It intensified as the defenders overcame their initial shock. More riders and horses went down but singly, instead of in clusters.

When the first Naskinese rider reached the opposite side, more flares rose—white and exploding as the yellow signal flare had done. They lit up in an intense whiteness and, instead of falling, hung in the air and only slowly descended. This combined Kolsko’s chemistry and an introduction of the parachute, albeit a very small one that kept the flare airborne for up to a minute.

The last member of the first Naskinese battalion was in the river when the white flares illuminated the water. Popul took seconds to look right and left to confirm the army’s artillery had shifted. It was now raining destruction on the fortifications flanking the assault point. Movement behind him caused him to turn. The medical units were forming apart from the dragoon companies. They would follow as soon as the Kolinkan fire suggested a foothold was in progress.

Two more Kolinkan canister rounds wiped away half a Naskinese company before the second battalion flowed past Popul. A senior sergeant held fast to the head of Popul’s mount. Kolsko had personally assigned him to permit the Naskinese commander to cross only when the sergeant believed it was within the bounds of reasonable safety. Thus, the sergeant waited until the second company of the second battalion got across the river with only two riders and horses going down, either from Kolinkan fire or by accident, and then released Popul’s horse.

Horen Rakatek

Sleep ended abruptly, and the warmaster shot from prone to sitting so fast his momentary dizziness contributed to his confusion.

“What—?”

Then he heard faint thunder that was not thunder. It sounded like distant cannon. He leaped from his bed and raced barefoot to the second-story balcony of the manor he had appropriated for his headquarters. It faced south, toward the Chikok. Windows of the manor and nearby structures began to show light as other sleepers roused. Men appeared at doorways and between buildings, some talking, some shouting. He didn’t need to identify the words. Flashes of light appeared on the horizon.

Rakatek heard the bedroom door slam open and boot steps come into the room, pause, then continue to the balcony.

“You hear it, Warmaster?” said Chaktah, breathing hard from running up the long, winding stairway. “East of us! Damn all the gods, if there are any.”

“Yes, Santaka,” said Rakatek, forcing calmness into his voice. “At least, now we know where they’re trying to force the river.” He shifted slightly to the east and cupped hands to both ears. “Twelve pounders. I assume theirs and ours—at least, I hope many of them are ours. The other sounds? Those damn guns that must be rifled somehow. We’re fortunate they don’t have too many of them.”

“There’s still a chance it’s only to fool us, and the main assault will take place in front of us,” said Chaktah.

Rakatek sighed and lowered his hands. “You really believe that?”

The second-in-command’s harumph came from his gut. “Certainly not. They’ve surprised us again, haven’t they?”

“Yes, but we shouldn’t chastise ourselves. There’s just too much ground to defend with so little information. Now we just hope they can be repelled. However, our duty now is to assume they won’t be and will get established across the river.”

More windows showed light, and the grounds filled with men in various stages of dress and arms. Many faces focused on the balcony or repeatedly glanced in that direction.

“Gather the staff, Santaka. Units manning fortifications will remain in place, in case they launch a second assault at us right here. Maybe what we’re hearing is actually a feint, though it’s unlikely. We’ll decide which units in the rear should start moving east. We need to consider it’s a major disaster in the making, and we find ourselves with the invaders on our flank.”

Harmon Swavebroke

“How much longer?” snarled Swavebroke.

Amaz Muhabi, commander of the 4th Battalion, Caedelli Dragoon Regiment, was not intimidated and snapped back, “An hour, maybe two. We’d be finished by now if this last couple of hundred yards wasn’t the deepest water we’ve come to. My men are working as hard as anyone could. If you don’t like it, get another battalion to finish!”

Swavebroke bit off a harsh rejoinder. The crude wooden roadway was packed with wagons and artillery waiting for the final section to be completed.

Easy, Harmon, he told himself. They’re doing their best, and this is not what they trained for.

“I know, Amaz. It’s just hearing the cannon fire and knowing the other regiments are in the thick of it tears at me. We’re supposed to be attacking the Kolinkan flank and threatening to get behind them!”

Swavebroke took note that Kellen, Vegga, and Luwis, the other three battalion commanders, were waiting for a decision, especially Vegga, who shifted back and forth as if needing to relieve himself.

“All right. We can’t wait any longer. We’ll have to move on the Kolinkan flank without artillery and the wagons. It’ll be just the ammunition the men carry, so we won’t be able to press an attack. At least, we can show ourselves and make them worry.

“Amaz, I know your men will be exhausted, but as soon as the roadway is finished, start sending artillery and wagons after us. Do it by battery and several wagons at a time. You’ll have to include an escort for each bunch. We can’t know how many Kolinkans are hanging around. As your men catch up with us, I’ll keep them as a reserve as they form up their units.”

Muhabi grunted and, without comment, turned and waded back into the marshland. Swavebroke faced his other three battalion commanders.

“Your units are already formed up. Hell, they’ve been that way for the last couple of hours. At least, they got some rest while waiting. We’ll push hard until we run into either significant cannon fire or enough infantry to precipitate a major engagement if we don’t back off. Cavalry we should be able to handle. The land is flat here and is farmland, so unless it changes, we’ll move out with the Second and Third Battalions advancing across a front. Vegga, your First Battalion will follow as the reserve.

“Fourth Battalion, artillery, and the supply wagons will follow as soon as the roadway is finished. They won’t have any trouble finding us. Just head in the direction of firing.” The last words were biting. Besides the sounds of cannon, they were close enough to the assault point to see flare light in the distance. “I’ll also confirm to the Ponomynan infantry regiments to join us as soon as possible, pushing their men as much as reasonable.”

Yozef Kolsko

Despite the urge to see what was happening, Yozef was obliged to follow the orders he gave Popul. He waited until word came that the Fuomi regiment was starting to cross. Then he left the telegraph station and galloped to the river. He arrived as the last Fuomi battalion was beginning to cross.

Kivalian was waiting.

“I’m just heading over. Word is Popul is past the main fortification line and fighting a reserve unit about a quarter mile from the river. Jormaki’s first battalion has already reinforced Popul, but the rest of the Fuomi will hold the flanks of the salient we’ve created in the defenses. We need to get more men and some artillery over before the Kolinkans shift reinforcements.”

Yozef glanced at the sky. He estimated the go order had been given thirty minutes ago. The cloud cover and the flares had made it initially impossible to see the lightening of the eastern sky. However, the clouds were low enough to reflect the flare light, and visibility was out to two hundred yards.

“You go ahead and cross, Reimo. Assess and get some organization. It has to be chaos with so little light. That will change in the next half hour. I’ll start artillery across as soon as you send word. There’s no point until the gun crews can see what they’re firing at because they won’t have targets in fixed positions like they’ve had so far.”

“Any word about Swavebroke?” asked Kivalian.

“Nothing. We’ll only know where he is when he shows up or gets a message to us.”

“If he’s delayed, we need to shore up the flanks of our salient. I recommend you send a Ponomynan infantry regiment over next. They can hold the neck of the salient while the dragoons push deeper. I’ll send word for the Munjorian regiment when I know more.”

“Is the Kolinkan fire suppressed enough to send infantry over?” asked Yozef.

Three ropes had been anchored on the Chikawan side where the river was three feet deep. Until, or if, a floating bridge was in place, infantry would wade across while holding onto a rope. The going would be slow and the men exposed to enemy fire.

“What’s enough?” spit back Kivalian.

Yozef understood Reimo’s reaction. It was a balance between getting critical forces across the river while accepting loses as a consequence. He sensed sudden tension in Vernik’s body as the marshal stood next him.

The marshal disagrees, Yozef thought, quickly examining Kivalian’s suggestion for flaws. There was no time for guessing or worry about overriding Kivalian’s idea.

“What do you think, Marshal?”

The Fuomi’s response was so quick, Yozef assumed he had a serious difference of opinion.

“Depth in the bridgehead is important, but if your men are past the main fortifications, it’s more imperative to prevent any chance of a counterattack. That could threaten to close a way back across the river or slow or stop more men and supplies crossing to that side.”

Yozef thought quickly. This crossing point is a bottleneck. The only practical way across in the time we have. Too many unknowns, but a decision was needed.

“We should be doing everything at once, but we can’t. We need more men and firepower to blunt any counterattack. The dragoons are wasted in attacking the main fortifications. They need more open ground so the Sharps can be most effective. Here’s what we’ll do. As Reimo proposes, I’ll hold the Munjorians for now and send across two Ponomynan infantry regiments. You have them work up and downstream along the main defensive line. Even if they don’t make significant progress, that should keep the Kolinkans occupied. We don’t want to root out the Kolinkans from bunkers and trench works more than we have to, but we want them to withdraw out of fear of being attacked from their rear.

“Once the infantry is across, Reimo, I’ll send the Munjorians, and you push farther north. It’ll have to be your judgment when to attack the fortification’s rear. Don’t go farther than a mile north. We don’t want the Kolinkans on our right to have no escape route. They’d be forced to fight it out. We want them to think they have directions to run, instead of sitting and fighting. Hopefully, Swavebroke will show up and force those Kolinkans to retreat.

“We’ll also need to retrieve the Naskinese and Fuomi horses wherever possible and let those two regiments get reorganized. I assume many horses are casualties or lost, so I’ll start sending up replacements.”

He did not add that he also hoped the Kolinkan commanders of the forces to their right followed their logic and did not simply fight it out, forcing the army to deal with them. That would divert the effort to set up a battle line facing west to roll up the entire Kolinkan army.

“After the Munjorians, I’ll keep sending Iraquinik infantry and artillery when it’s lighter. I’ve also sent word to Uzman to come to us. He’ll leave a token force where he is to keep the Kolinkans uncertain about what’s happening. Since we haven’t heard from Swavebroke, I’ve ordered the Ordinance rifles and three batteries of twelve-pounders to move and attack the Kolinkan positions to our east. That should take some of the pressure off the salient’s right flank.”

Ilio Chimon

He did not realize the scope of what was happening until he approached the position where he had gently remonstrated Lieutenant Shinsonal for his men’s inattention. Cannon fire from across the river, explosions of shells to their rear, men shouting and crying, small arms fire, and the limited light from flares all contributed to the chaos. Men ran past him toward the fight or raced past him away from the fighting. A few crouched in the trenches, too shocked or frightened to move. He encountered more of the wounded and the dead as he neared the end of their position. Sooner than expected, he rounded a bend in the trench and found Lieutenant Shinsonal yelling and gesturing to his men.

“Shinsonal! What’s happening? Where’s your company commander and why are you here and not in position?”

“We were overrun! I don’t know what happened to the pickets, but as soon as that flare went up and artillery starting firing at us from the other bank, naked men threw explosives into the trenches and bunkers, then jumped over the berm. I don’t know how many there were, but we fought hand-to-hand. We lost the artillery battery near us and most of the crew members in the first few minutes. I have no contact with some of my platoon, and then I saw gods know how many men pouring across the river. We got pushed back up the fortifications into the next platoon and then the next. For whatever reason, they stopped pushing us in the last few minutes.”

“Who’s in charge here?”

Shinsonal looked around. “I guess I am. “My company commander is dead, and two other platoon leaders are unaccounted for. The company is down to thirty men, and I’m taking them into the next company. Their captain ordered me to hold until he moved his men to face the attackers.”

Chimon looked around at the men standing or crouching, watching the officer exchange. “You’ve done your part for now. Take your men and pull back to the other end of our position. Now, where’s the captain you mentioned?”

Shinsonal shrugged. “He was here just a minute ago. You may have passed him.”

“All right. I’ll find him. Get your men back.”

While I try to understand exactly what’s happening, thought Chimon, and figure out what the damnation I should do.

Munmar Kellen

“First and second companies. Horses to the rear,” shouted Kellen to the bugler companion who was always nearby. At this moment, the man was only a few feet away and, without thinking, blew directly at Kellen.

“Damn!” he cursed and covered the closest ear, which now rang.

The man blanched, then faced another direction and blew again. They had come upon the first serious opposition since leaving the marshland. The sun was still below the eastern horizon, but visibility was for practical purposes unlimited because three hundred yards was as far as unobscured lines-of-sight existed. Small numbers of Kolinkans had fled before them or been brushed aside until they ran into a battalion-size Kolinkan infantry force hastily pulling down a rail fence to form makeshift protection. So far, Kellen had not seen enemy artillery.

The Kolinkans were three hundred yards away, well beyond accurate musket range, but dragoon horses were large targets. Officers and sergeants yelled orders. One man in four took the reins and led the mounts two hundred yards to the rear.

“Third company, probe left for a way around them. Fourth company, probe right.”

The captains rode to their companies. The captains of the companies whose horses were being led away waited for orders. Kellen turned to them.

“Slow and measured firing. We want to stop them from building more protection, but let’s not waste ammunition once there’s no good target. If the other companies can find a way around them, we’ll bypass them, but we can’t be stopped too long. Whoever is in charge is thinking. The big pond on the right abuts that large stand of trees. On the left looks more promising, but let’s see if there’s a surprise there.”

It took them only three minutes to have an answer. Beyond the right tree stand were acres of three-foot-high thorny brush. On the right, the otherwise flat land was depressed from a recent rain and had left mud deep enough to capture men’s boots.

At fifteen minutes, the four captains once again gathered around Kellen.

“I’ve sent word to Swavebroke to pause while we clear the way. Somewhere to our right, toward Chikawan, the other battalion is supposed to be about equal with us, but we haven’t had an update for over an hour. I’ve also sent a squad to find them. However, we can’t wait. It would take longer to go around, so here’s what we’ll do.

“First and second companies form an abreast skirmish line hundred yards farther, facing the Kolinkans. Third company will hold the horses of the first and second. The range will be about three hundred yards. Start firing as soon as you’re in position.

“Packed like that, your men will be vulnerable even to musket fire at two hundred yards, but our the rate of fire will keep the Kolinkans’ heads down and will overwhelm those who try to aim and fire. I think the survivors will flee by the time you’re within a hundred yards.”

“Fourth company to remain mounted in the rear. Once the Kolinkans break, you’ll pursue only enough to keep them scattered and moving. The other three companies will recover their horses, and we’ll be on our way again. Any questions?”

There were none.

“The first company to begin firing will be excused from tonight’s guard duty.”

Members of the first and second companies later disputed which company fired first, so Kellen abrogated the guard promise and excused both companies.

Yet it was arguable whether two companies’ fire was needed. The fence rail barricade looked more protective than it was. Kellen could see rails shattering with the first salvo of the two companies. Splinters and pieces of wood formed a temporary cloud in front of the Kolinkans, and men were flung backward or spun around from the impact of Sharps rounds.

It was literally overkill. Part of the Kolinkan position broke less than two minutes after the two companies began firing. The remainder who were still standing ran off by the third minute. In that time, more than four thousand Sharps rounds had all but obliterated the rail-fence barricade, over half of the Kolinkans were casualties, and most of the others ran after casting aside their muskets.

I guess I overthought it this time, Kellen mused. He could probably had gotten the same result by just having the original company face the Kolinkans and fire at will.

Kellen spoke to the bugler. A series of blasts led the two companies abreast to form columns and double time to their mounts in the rear. The 4th Company rode between the columns to pursue the Kolinkans. When Kellen passed the Kolinkan position, he only glanced at the Kolinkan bodies and wounded. The latter were not his responsibility. He figured even Yozef Kolsko, with his inordinate care for wounded enemies, would not take the time under these circumstances. They had already been delayed too long. Anyway, it was the Kolinkans’ fault for the delay, so the hell with them.

That attitude suffered only slightly as he passed the bodies of fleeing Kolinkan survivors. The pursuing company had evidently been more enthused than he had intended. Not that it mattered. He doubt more than a handful of Kolinkans had escaped. There would be more fighting. Rumors were that Yozef believed this was the beginning of the final battle of this war.

Ilio Chimon

The last company commander reported to Chimon that his men were in position. Chimon hustled a hundred yards over to an infantry major. The man was supervising the reorienting of his artillery from the river to the east, where the invaders had crossed the river.

“My battalion is in place,” said Chimon. “We overlap with your men. There may be some confusion, but the local commanders will have to sort it out. Do you need help with moving the artillery’s ammunition?”

The infantry major grabbed his beard and tugged as if attempting to pull a response out of his mind.

He’s not quite panicking, thought Chimon. Damnation! I hope that goes for all of us.

Half an hour ago, a subwarmaster had paused briefly on his horse to tell the two men to hold their position until units farther west had established new defenses. At first, Chimon was afraid the officer meant hold to the last man.

“Just make it enough of a fight so they slow down,” the subwarmaster said. “I expect you to do your best, but if you’re about to be overrun, go ahead and pull back. Don’t lose your cannon. We’ll need every one.

The infantry major released his beard, evidently having retrieved a decision. He turned to Chimon, only to stop as they heard firing toward Chikawan.

“What’s that?” exclaimed the major.

“It’s both muskets and those damn rifles the invaders have,” said Chimon. “What units are out there?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a couple of infantry regiments supposed to be moving in to secure the left flank. I doubt that’s them.

“Well . . . I don’t hear enough muskets or any artillery from either side. I’ll bet it’s a probe to try and get around us. Let’s finish getting ourselves ready here and hope we don’t have to pull back again.”

Chimon did not voice his lack of confidence that the invaders could be held anywhere.

Fifteen minutes later, they had the answer. A rider reined in his horse ten yards away, throwing rocks and pebbles in all directions.

“They’re getting behind us!” the rider yelled loud enough that everyone within a hundred yards heard. The words went straight to their bones. “They annihilated an infantry battalion! A regiment that was trying to get in position has pulled back! I was told to tell you they are already a quarter mile behind where the line was supposed to be.”

Chimon mentally pulled up a crude map. He turned to the infantry major.

“We can’t stay here. We’re supposed to be delaying the attack across the river, but now they are getting in our rear. We’re still trying to reposition cannon. We could find ourselves fighting in two directions. If that happened, we’d almost certainly have to save whoever we could and abandon the artillery.”

Horen Rakatek

The warmaster’s second-in-command, Santaka Chaktah, had seen the warmaster this pale only once, three years ago when he’d contracted a fever and almost died. If he was ill today, it was not due to a disease.

“There seems to be no doubt, Santaka. They got on our left flank from two routes—a direct assault across the river, and somehow they got first their cavalry and then infantry and artillery across the marshland.”

Chaktah did not know whether he looked as bad as the warmaster, but he knew he felt as ill. “I would have bet by life the wetlands were impassable for an army.”

“You would then be dead, my friend. As far too many of us will be if we can’t get ourselves out of this disaster. I only see four things we can do. One is to slug it out with them between the river and the city. The second is to retreat north of Chikawan. The third is to enter the city and have the walls be our defensive line. The fourth . . . ”

When Rakatek trailed off, Chaktah did not need the words to finish.

“I don’t see the second or third options as realistic, Warmaster. In either case, the city would be in too much danger. I doubt the invaders would try to occupy it right away, but they could set it afire. There are simply too many wooden buildings, and the weather is too dry. The wind isn’t high, but it wouldn’t take much. Chikawan has burned almost to the ground three times in our written history, but the last time was almost a hundred years ago. After that, firefighting equipment was stored around the city, and the most flammable wood was prohibited. But the last, what? Fifty years, from what I hear, the Litlik family hasn’t wanted to spend the coin to maintain the equipment. The building rules have been ignored for all of my life. Once a fire started, the people would flee to the northeast. I can’t begin to imagine the consequences of having our army and Chikawan’s people interspersed in the open and having the invaders pursue us.”

“No, you’re right, Santaka. Those options are out. That leaves fighting it out.”

“What are the chances of the fourth?” asked Chaktah.

“I’ll have to check, but I fear we’ll have to try the first before we know of the final option.”

The second-in-command’s stomach clamped even more. “It’s going to be brutal. We’ll be throwing men at their cannon and rifles.”

Rakatek took a deep breath and shook himself. “We’ll do what we have to and hope if there’s an afterlife, we have a chance for mercy.”

Arklun’s Palace

Meelis Litlik was not the brightest of rulers. He had minimal empathy for subjects whom he felt owed him infinite fealty, and he assumed spite and intimidation were a ruler’s essential tools. What he was not was oblivious to the facts—once they stared him in the face. As he looked around at the gathering of his sons, brothers, and more important cousins, he saw perhaps one other person who saw what he was seeing.

He looked down as his left hand gripped the chair’s arm. But for the grip, the other men would see the hand trembling.

“We have to face the possibility that our army will not stop the invaders,” said Meelis.

The group stared at him—shocked, angry, and one person in resignation.

“Then we need to replace Rakatek with someone who would be a fighting warmaster,” said Niklun Litlik, Meelis’s brother. “I told you years, months, and then sixdays ago that needed to be done. That’s what got us to this position!”

“We can talk of that later,” said Meelis. “Right now, replacing Rakatek would take too long for a replacement to assume full control. The enemy is outside the southern walls of Chikawan and pushing our army back while it takes major casualties. We have to plan for the possibility, even if unlikely, that the city will fall. What then will be our fate? It’s unlikely to go well for any of us or our families.”

“You’re talking defeatism!” screamed Niklun, supported by half of the other men. “We just have to get the men to fight harder with better leaders.”

I knew he would be hopeless, thought Meelis.

“What about the Narthani?” asked a cousin. “This involves them, too. They owe us assistance for trying to kill or capture this Kolsko.”

“Do you really believe the Narthani think they owe us anything?” said Ramaw, Meelis’s youngest son. “Any promises they made were dependent on us succeeding with Kolsko. We didn’t, therefore they have no reason to help us. And even if they did, it’s too late for them to help.”

Arguments continued for most of an hour, but Meelis had given up trying to reach a consensus long before the meeting ended. He promised they would meet again as necessary. He dipped his chin to Ramaw, indicating for him stay as the others left.

“The worst may not happen, Ramaw, but we need to be prepared if it does. I want you to make preparations quietly, for us, your mother, your sisters and their families, and your family. We need to escape north to reach the mountains, where we have support in our ancestral territory. We may also need to flee to Narthon. They may not come to our aid, but they can’t be seen as totally abandoning us if they want future realms to trust them.”

“What about Shizon, Father? He’s the oldest son and heir. Shouldn’t he be doing this or helping?”

Meelis shook his head. “He’s as stubborn as Niklun. I wish he would understand the necessity of accounting for defeat, but it’s hopeless. If it comes to fleeing, we’ll try to take Shizon’s family, whether he joins us or not.

“Also, choose two of our most trusted retainers.” He handed a large key to his son. “This opens the treasury vault. If we have to leave, we’ll take as much of the treasury with us as we can. We’ll need it, whether we try to someday return or if we’re in permanent exile.”

CHAPTER 46

TURNING POINT

Yozef Kolsko

A sudden “Whoosh” and a thud twenty feet away elicited shocked yells and curses.

“A damn cannon ball!” snarled Synton. “Too fucking close. I thought all the Kolinkan artillery near here had been suppressed.”

“I guess at least one is still active,” said Yozef, more shaken than he revealed. The hole in the small berm surrounding their position was a vivid image of what the result of a cannonball hitting a human body would be. “Let’s get the rest of our party up here and cross over. I now think it’s safer on the other side.”

Yozef never heard the claim of a Ponomynan two hundred yards west who swore an object had suddenly appeared over the river and had dropped smoking into the water. Neither did he know that the AI attributed the loss of the drone just as it redirected the cannonball to a chance hit by a second projectile—no matter the low probability of that happening. The AI remained puzzled because telemetry from the drone up to the time of impact showed no projectiles close enough to cause the failure. Fortuitously, the drone had crashed into a deep part of the river’s center and would be retrieved once there were no bipeds in the vicinity.

At Synton’s insistence, they withdrew another hundred yards back from the river and waited twenty minutes to allow further suppression of operational Kolinkan artillery. When they crossed the Chikok, Yozef was one of a hundred men—another precaution. A live Kolinkan taking a musket shot would have many targets and only a small chance that it might be Yozef Kolsko.

He chafed at not crossing sooner, but too many issues required his presence: coordinating the movement of units to the other bank, exchanging a series of telegraph messages with Tasman Gangala, and, most frustrating, ensuring security at the assault point. He also took time to discount a garbled message from cavalry pickets to their southwest of a Kolinkan force in their rear.

Tasman reported Kolinkan forces moving south on the Chikawan side of the river, but he could not confirm the numbers. One possibility was they were leaving their defensive positions to reinforce the fighting that resulted from the invaders’ breakthrough. Yozef read between the lines that Tasman wanted to get into the fight. He was too far north to come south to rejoin the rest of the army, and Yozef wanted him to remain a potential threat the Kolinkans would have to account for. Worried that Tasman might impulsively either come south without orders or attempt to cross the river, Yozef telegraphed him to “prepare” to cross but to remain on his side until the situation with the main assault was clearer in five or six hours.

Both banks at the assault point had to be secured. The Naskinese regiment had been separated from most of their horses while obtaining the initial foothold. As soon as possible, Yozef ordered Popul to withdraw his regiment to rest and reorganize. Preliminary reports estimated the Naskinese regiment had twelve hundred effective men left from the original two thousand.

The Aroian contingent was tasked with clearing the Kolinkans in the section of the fortifications between the assault point and the marshland. The Gympoian force was to keep pressure on the Kolinkans within fortifications to the west as the rest of the army pushed into the Kolinkans’ rear. Couriers were exchanged between Swavebroke and Jormaki—the two dragoon regiments anticipated linking up within the hour. With the Alliance Division nearly united again, Yozef sent a Ponomynan cavalry regiment to push five miles east of Chikawan as a picket force to give warning if a Kolinkan force tried to attack the army’s rear.

The crossing point was a bottleneck, but a narrow swath of the river bottom was found with the best base and depth. Once Kolinkan fire was no longer a factor, a steady stream of wagons, artillery, and horses flowed across.

By the time Uzman Gangala arrived ahead of his men, Yozef had the other units lined up and ready to cross. He left the Ponomynan in charge while he crossed the Chikok.

The first Kolinkan body Yozef saw had probably been a picket. He lay in what Yozef called a foxhole a few yards from the edges of the riverbank. He did not look directly at the body, but a cloud of Anyar’s small insect analogs already buzzed around the hole. Yozef then got his first closeup look at the fortifications—two rows of trenches interspersed with artillery bunkers and supply points. Overhead protection had proved insufficient, as evidenced by the damage done by mortar rounds, Ordinance bolts, and cannon shot.

Bodies. Almost all Kolinkans, but Yozef recognized by their uniforms Naskinese, Ponomynans, and a few Fuomi. Three hundred yards from the northern bank, the main medical facility was still being put together. He thanked God for the ether and tried not to think what it must have been like in Earth’s wars before anesthetics for amputations and other operations. He would return to visit the wounded, but not now. The most important thing he could do was end the campaign and the killing.

It took only another three minutes for him to ride beyond the fortifications and reach the new army command post. Kivalian and others were gathered around a makeshift table that displayed the latest position drawing.

“Everything looks good,” said Kivalian when Yozef joined the group. “When Swavebroke got behind their positions, some of the Kolinkans panicked and abandoned about three hundred yards of their positions near the river. By the time they recovered, or their leaders got them back under control, we had a pretty solid line from the river to the Chikawan walls. The distance between is about what the reports claimed—about a mile and a half. The walls are a lot more impressive than I expected. We’ve only seen one gate, which is what we were told. There’s only supposed to be one more on this side of the city until you get to the north side. If the Kolinkan army wanted to retreat into the city, it would be a nightmare for them.”

“Well, let’s do what we can to ensure they don’t have time for that,” said Yozef. “I don’t want to destroy the city, but we’re not sending our men into a street fight. Most of the structures are supposed to be wooden. With a reasonable wind and even the few incendiary shells we brought for the Ordinance rifles and the rocket artillery, we could probably burn most of the city and drive their army out, along with the population.”

“I had Swavebroke pull back a bit,” said Kivalian. “He’d gotten too far ahead of the rest of the line forming, and he didn’t yet have all his artillery, which is just catching up with him. It’s giving the Kolinkans more time to get themselves together than I’d like, but I don’t think it will make any difference once we start moving again.”

“What about the city?” asked Yozef. “Cannon?”

“So far, there’ve only been a few firings at a couple of Swavebroke’s units that got within four hundred yards of the walls. Looks like the Ponomynans were right about them having few guns on top of the walls.”

It had been one of many unknowns that could have complicated the campaign. Larger cannon and the elevation advantage by positioning them on the city’s walls could have partially mitigated the Alliance army’s artillery advantage.

“Well, that means their army can’t move under the wall to get cannon support from the city,” said Yozef. “That leaves them stuck in the open between the walls and the river. They would either have to retreat north or go into the city. I don’t see them leaving Chikawan open, and we have to stop them from the latter.”

Tuvo Jormaki

The Fuomi regiment commander positioned himself, his staff, and runners between his 2nd and 3rd battalions. They were once again dragoons, with one man in four holding horses to the rear. Whether they mounted again this day depended on the battle and the Kolinkans’ actions.

He did not need a telescope to see the enemy. They were massed, stretched across the army’s advance in both directions.

“I’m glad I’m not the Kolinkan commander,” said Jormaki to Kivalian, who stood a few feet away, also looking at the enemy.

“I know what you mean, Tuvo. No matter who does what, we’re going to have the range on them with both rifles and artillery. If they attack, they’ll be under fire for hundreds of yards before they can respond. If they sit, then we’ll advance, and they’ll have to wait until we’re in their range. All the while, we’re firing as we move, or we stop out of their range and pound them while they’re helpless.”

“I confess, Reimo, I’ve some reservations about this. Fighting the Narthani is one thing, but I didn’t even know the Kolinkans existed until I came to Caedellium. And here I am about to kill who knows how many of them.”

“Trust me that Yozef feels worse than any of us,” said Kivalian. “But I understand the rationale of this campaign.”

“As do I, Reimo. As do I. Kolsko’s right that the Iraquiniks can’t tolerate one of their . . . what do they call it? . . . their kahsaks collaborating with Narthon. I would have thought the other kahsaks would have dealt with the problem, but I cede to those who know this part of Anyar better. They may have only made token efforts. In that sense, Kolsko forced their hand.

“I also agree with Kolsko’s reasoning that these new weapons need to be tested under realistic battlefield conditions before we face a major Narthani army. All of this is well and good, but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

“It comes with the career we’ve chosen,” said Kivalian, looking back over his shoulder. “And I think we’re about to start doing something.”

Jormaki followed Kivalian’s attention. Yozef’s party was approaching fifty yards away.

“Any movement on their part?” asked Yozef after dismounting.

“Tuvo says no,” said Kivalian. “I’ve been here about six or seven minutes. The other units are in place.”

“Nothing for half an hour,” said Jormaki. “There’s some effort to dig, but it’s more like individual companies making the decision, rather than higher commands. Makes me think they’re disorganized.”

Yozef stared, squinting. His vision seemed sharper after he’d arrived on Anyar. The squinting did not seem to help, but it was a habit he carried from Earth.

“I make it they’re about seven hundred yards?”

“Close enough,” said Jormaki. “I make it a little more. I’m surprised they haven’t used their artillery against us yet. As we got closer, I kept expecting them to open up.”

“Well . . . I guess they could be low on ammunition,” said Yozef, “but I suspect they may be consciously or unconsciously not firing so they don’t provoke us into using our artillery. By now, they know what our guns can do. It’s a good thing they don’t know we’re lower on ammunition than we planned. We could have been punishing them several hundred yards sooner.”

They stood on a slight rise in the otherwise flat terrain. This allowed Yozef to use a telescope to look a half mile to the right at Chikawan’s walls and another half mile to the river.

Yozef’s sigh was deep and suggestive of mourning, The two Fuomi looked at each other.

“All right,” said Yozef. “Let’s get this going. Advance on line. Hold the artillery fire until their guns fire first, then the dragoons to drop until our artillery suppresses theirs. Commence rifle fire at four hundred yards, switching our artillery to their infantry as soon as their guns are mainly silenced.”

“As you order, Marshal Kolsko,” Kivalian responded formally. The army’s artillery could have been firing hundreds of yards farther away from the Kolinkans’, but the intent was to inflict such fast carnage as to demoralize them.

Kivalian and Jormaki turned to their duty. Yozef stood without speaking and focused on the Kolinkan line. A loud throat clearing reminded him of his companions.

“I know the proper thing would be for me to move back, Carnigan. But I feel I have a duty to witness what I’ve just unleashed while it’s happening and not only see the aftermath.”

Carnigan did not argue. Synton’s grunt was of agreement—at least, for anyone who had known the man long enough to interpret the nuances of his utterances.

A pattern emerged. The Alliance army’s artillery suppressed dug-in Kolinkan artillery until the Sharps-armed dragoons could advance to about four hundred yards from the Kolinkan positions. Then, the combined rifle fire and artillery redirected to the Kolinkan infantry to punish the defenders until they withdrew to a new position. Repeat.

Horen Rakatek

“The cost is too high,” said Santaka Chaktah. “We expected they would break through the first defensive line, but not so quickly and by decimating the units on the line. Less than half of the men managed to reach the second line. We had more confidence there, and we did manage to close with their musket-carrying men on our right, nearest the river. They suffered casualties, but they have so much artillery, the ratio must have been three or four to one in their favor. Then, as our units facing their devilish new weapons had to retreat, the units facing the invaders’ musket units were in danger of being cut off and had to withdraw. As bad as that was, it was nothing compared to the open ground where our men faced their rifle units. The casualty ratio there has to be somewhere near ten to fifteen to one. In some places, the men who got close enough to fire their muskets used the bodies of other men as shelter as they worked their way forward. And of those, few returned to our line.

“Our artillery fared even worse. At first, the invaders waited until our artillery fired before they started counter-battery fire. Why they waited, I’m not sure because their guns obviously outrange ours. Now, they fire as soon as they’re in range. That means as soon as one of our batteries gets within line of sight and in range, their artillery crashes down on our guns. It’s so bad we have reports of a few gun crews refusing to move forward. We’re in danger of effectively being without artillery. About the only good part is it keeps their artillery from firing at our infantry. Hardly an encouraging scenario.”

“Any estimate on casualties?” asked Rakatek.

“If it’s less than ten thousand since they crossed the Chikok, I’ll be surprised. The medical people are overwhelmed. I’ve ordered the wounded to be taken into Chikawan. As you can imagine, reports are starting to come in that the population is beginning to panic. Litlik’s attempt to keep people from knowing the truth has pretty much failed. I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the northern and eastern gates are flooded with people getting out. I expect they aren’t worrying about where they’ll go and what they’ll do.”

Chaktah thought the warmaster had aged several more years during the update.

“I think we have the answer to my first option, Santaka. As if things couldn’t get worse, a message came while you were gone that the Mukamonese are twenty miles from Chikawan and pushing hard against the units we left east of the capital. I expect word of what’s happening here got to the men defending the upper Wambal bridge. Some of the units disintegrated—men leaving their units and disappearing. Other units did not put up the same resistance when the Mukamonese attacked the bridge and somehow got men behind the defenders.”

The warmaster walked slowly to a window of the manor, stood there for several minutes, and then turned quickly with more life in his face than Chaktah had seen minutes earlier.

“Well, the events have done a good job of clarifying our options. I can’t go into the city, but I’ll move closer. As I remember, there’s a stockyard near the northwest gate in the wall. I’ll send messages to the appropriate people to meet me there.” He looked at the sun touching the western horizon. “It will take time to reach most of them—there’s too much urgency to wait for all of them, so I’ll write for them to be at the stockyard three hours from now.

“I’ll also send out a parley flag and ask to meet Kolsko tomorrow morning. I don’t have anything specific to say to him, but it will get the process going of holding a parley. I can always back out later.”

Rebellion

Of the dozen men who attended the previous clandestine meeting, ten were contacted in time to meet again within three hours. Missing were a regional leader who was somewhere in Chikawan but had not been located by the messenger and the second wealthiest merchant in Kolinka. Rakatek suspected he was in favor of removing the Litliks but wanted to remain aside to cover all political scenarios. Attending were the five trusted officers, the wealthiest merchant, two regional leaders, the Chikawan under-mayor, and the senior prelate. In addition, two more officers were added, along with Unklus Litlik, the youthful third cousin of Meelis Litlik.

The attendees gathered in a large tack room attached to the stockyard’s main structure. A temporary table was centered in the room, and two dozen crates for sitting were scattered around. The inclusion of Unklus caused a stir when the youth arrived.

“I’ve asked Unklus to come because he has more insight into the Litlik family than any of us.” Rakatek turned to the youth. “Sorry, Unklus, but you may not be leaving here tonight. Depending on what we decide, I may have to keep you in isolation. No matter what happens, you are in no danger. Please sit in the back and listen for now.

“I’ve called the rest of you here to give you an honest evaluation of the harrowing situation facing Kolinka. I haven’t passed on information since our last meeting, but I’m sure some of you have heard rumors. You could hardly have failed to notice the numbers of wounded coming into Chikawan. Nothing I’ll tell you is unknown to Meelis Litlik, but he’s chosen to hide the truth or is too oblivious to what is happening to believe what he’s been told.

“There’s no time or need for details, so I’ll simply summarize what led to our current predicament and the consequences. Months ago, Meelis struck a deal with Narthon by way of an emissary whom Meelis has evidently been in contact with for at least a year and possibly several years. We don’t know exactly how long this communication has been ongoing. For reasons not explained to Meelis, the Narthani are highly interested in Yozef Kolsko, the leader of the people on the Island of Caedellium. In exchange for Meelis capturing—or killing, if capturing was not possible—this Kolsko, we have to assume Meelis was given promises by the Narthani. Again, we don’t have the details, but we have to suspect that Kolinka would be given additional territory after the Narthani victory over all the Iraquiniks. This might include absorbing one or more of the other kahsaks.”

Rakatek paused, surprised that so few expressions suggested what he had said was news.

“The raid on Caedellium failed, and about thirty Kolinkans were captured. Some of those told the Caedelli everything they knew, which wasn’t much, but they identified that it was Kolinka who attacked. It’s also clear that Kolsko and the Caedelli figured out Narthon’s involvement.

“You all know the legend of the wizard Porlaw and the apprentice Owlar. In his shop, Porlaw had a large, stoppered, opaque glass jar he never opened. Owlar asked what was in the box. Porlaw would only say that the contents were dangerous, and the jar should never be opened. One day when Porlaw was away, Owlar looked at the jar closely for the first time. There seemed to something moving inside, though he couldn’t see what. Despite the wizard’s warning, the apprentice tried to pull out the stopper just enough to see inside. Before he could jam the stopper back, a cloud of evil spirits flew out, forever afflicting people with illness and woes, for once freed, they could not be returned to the jar.

“That, gentlemen, is what I’m afraid Meelis has done—opened Porlaw’s jar, and what escaped can never be put back.

“Most of what we know of Yozef Kolsko comes from one of us. The second-in-command of the Caedellium disaster was a man named Maklos Bota. He was captured when a Fuomi frigate attacked one of our ships coming back to Kolinka. He was held for almost a year, first confined, and then given a considerable degree of freedom, although always under guard or supervision. He met several times with Kolsko and talked extensively to other Caedelli. About a sixday ago, Bota was released and came to me with details of the raid on Caedellium and what he’d witnessed during his time on the island.

“From what Bota tells us and from limited other sources, Kolsko is credited with rallying and organizing the Caedelli to drive the Narthani off Caedellium. There seems to be considerable mystery about Kolsko’s origin, and it’s probably important to note that he is not originally from the island. However, that was six or seven years ago. Since then, he’s risen from being a complete stranger who could not even speak the language to the acknowledged leader of the Caedelli people. In addition, he has introduced knowledge previously unknown and led the fight against the Narthani invaders.

“Bota is waiting outside if any of you want to question him later, but the important thing to know is that Kolsko has somehow convinced many nations and kahsaks to join the invading army we have been fighting. We’ve confirmed that we’re facing men from four kahsaks—Ponomyna, Mukamon, Aro, and Gympo—in addition to Caedellium, Fuomon and two of the Landolin kingdoms, Munjor and Naskin. The men from these latter realms are only a fraction of the total enemy, but they are armed with weapons better than any of us have ever heard of. Also be aware that Fuomon has committed more than just a few thousand men. The Fuomi navy provided security for the part of the invader army that came to Melosia, and although Meelis has tried to hide it, I’ve gotten word that Onunza has been blockaded by the Fuomi. The man Bota also tells me that a Fuomi marshal is advising Kolsko.

“We’re now engaged in the third battle against this invading army, composed of men from so many different realms. We fought an open field battle on the far side of the badlands. Their weapons were a traumatic experience and so unexpected that I had to withdraw our army to the Tahpulta Gorge so we could assess what happened and wait for more forces to get to us. I assumed we would be able to stop them from crossing the gorge and force them to move well south or north to get across. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.

“Their damned new artillery wreaked havoc with our positions, and they got a mobile force to one of our flanks. We then pulled all the way back to Chikawan to establish a defensive line on this side of the Chikok River.”

“How large is their army?” asked the merchant. “Surely, you outnumbered them.”

“In the first two battles, we estimate we outnumbered them about three to one. The problem is it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been five or six to one, possibly even more of a difference. Those of you familiar with rifles know that they are accurate to longer ranges than muskets. Yet they are so much slower to reload that armies rely almost entirely on muskets. Somehow, the Caedelli—we assume, due to this Kolsko—have rifles that can reload many times faster than our smoothbore muskets. This means they can start firing when our men are still hundreds of yards out of range. They also have a weapon that somehow fires rifle or musket balls at astonishing rates—perhaps equivalent to an entire company or more of infantry. They only used the weapon once against us, but it was devastating. Adding to their advantage is that they have multiple types of artillery I’ve never experienced or heard of. This includes mortars that accurately lob explosives over obstacles and fortifications, cannon with better range and accuracy than any we have, and a few of what we think are rifled cannon that are astoundingly accurate. This latter weapon has decimated our artillery batteries. They sit out of range and destroy our cannon and crews while they’re setting up and before they can fire on the enemy troops.

“The original army we faced was about thirty to thirty-five thousand. However, it’s now fifty thousand or more. A sizable force of Ponomynans joined after the main army crossed the badlands. This Ponomynan force destroyed the lower and middle Zamzul bridges and then came southeast to join the main force before they got to Chikawan. There are also Mukamonese units in our east and southeast. This is not as large or dangerous an enemy, and normally we could have repelled them. Unfortunately, we can’t shift units to face the Mukamonese, and the ones already doing that have begun to give way.”

Rakatek paused again. There had been only the one interruption, confirming to him that Meelis’s attempt at suppressing news from leaking out had been as much a failure as almost anything else the Litlik family put their hands to.

“Everything I’ve said up to now has just been to give you the background for what I’ll say next. Once again, Kolsko’s army has outmaneuvered us. They used their superior weapons to cross the Chikok south of the capital. At the same time, they somehow got a force across the marshland and came in behind our defenses. The combination forced our units to withdraw and try to form a defensive line between the river and Chikawan’s walls. Our army is now in about the worst possible situation.

“Even though we still outnumber them by as much as three times, we can’t deploy all our men against the invaders at the same time. The distance between the river and Chikawan is not wide enough. Then there’re their weapons. We tried to stop their advance, but it was like feeding meat into a grinder. As fast as a forward unit was destroyed, any replacement simply endured the same fate. We’ve already had to abandon three attempts to stop them.”

“But you could go into the city,” said a regiment commander. “Their artillery can’t be so much better that you couldn’t hold them off.”

“Possibly, but after what we’ve experienced, I wouldn’t rule out anything. Then there’s the people of Chikawan to consider. So far, the fighting has not impacted the city. That would change dramatically. Don’t forget that Chikawan has burned before, though not for a long time. No . . . I’m not going to turn the city into a battlefield that gets women and children killed.”

“I approve of that,” said the prelate. “Then what’s left?”

“It is possible, though I believe unlikely, that if we committed every man we have to attack the invaders, we would eventually defeat them. But at what cost? Even if successful, Kolinka would have lost most of our best fighting men. It’s more likely that either most of our men would be killed or wounded or the men would finally rebel when they realized the futility. If that happened, they would throw down their weapons, surrender, or scatter in all directions, trying to escape and get home.”

“Rakatek, get to where you’re going with this,” said the prelate. “Although I think we already know.”

“The man Bota believes Kolsko might be willing to accept our surrender with acceptable conditions, but only if the Litlik family no longer rules Kolinka. I’ve already sent a message to Kolsko under a parley flag, asking that he and I meet. We’re waiting for the response.”

“And you think you can depose Litlik?” asked the merchant.

“Maybe, but it’s not certain. Not all the army regiments would support overthrowing the ruling family they’ve known their whole lives, no matter what their personal opinions are of Meelis. For those of you who were at our previous meeting, that was a step too far. I hope the doubters now see the necessity. And think of this, if I could not convince all of you earlier, it’s futile to try to convince tens of thousands of soldiers in the time we have. I believe if we’re going to save what we can, our action has to be quick and complete before significant resistance grows.”

“I’m confused, Rakatek,” said the prelate. “Why are the Landolin kingdoms and Fuomon involved?”

“Bota says Kolsko told him that he intends to bring down Narthon. And before you comment, yes, that sounds like a man with an impossible opinion of himself. Even if Kolsko believes his claim, he may have somehow convinced Fuomon and the Landoliners enough for them to commit what they have.”

The prelate clasped the pendant hanging on his chest. Rakatek knew it dated to the earliest records of Kolinka and had been passed down to every head of the Chikawan cathedral.

“It’s a noble cause,” said the prelate, “to even make the attempt. But even if I approve of Kolsko’s vision, we’re back to what happens here next.”

“What does the church say to all this?” asked the merchant. “I don’t care how many soldiers Rakatek thinks he can control in rebelling against the Litliks. If the church is not supportive, it would lead to an endless civil war.”

“That’s assuming there’re any Kolinkans left to fight about the succession,” said Rakatek.

The aged prelate had not released his grasp on the pendant. He had closed his eyes, and his lips moved. All the men sat watching, assuming he was asking God for guidance. Not all the men considered themselves true believers, but tradition and the prelate’s veneration touched them all deeply.

A minute passed. Three minutes, and men began looking at one another.

“There’s no other option.” The words rushed out of the prelate. “The warmaster needs to meet with Kolsko and see what the best conditions are if the Litliks are deposed. I can’t advise the warmaster on what the acceptable conditions might be, but I will pray that they exist.”

A tall, wiry regiment commander rose from his crate and walked over to stand beside Rakatek. “There’s no doubt my regiment will support the warmaster. There may be a few common soldiers who won’t like it, but they’ll do what they’re told, and every officer will support the overthrow.”

Three other officers made similar proclamations, and a fourth simply shrugged and nodded. The fifth was not optimistic.

“I can’t be as confident. Most of my regiment’s officers will follow me if I agree, but a few will not. The common soldiers will be divided, with perhaps a slight majority on our side.”

“That’s why we’d then have you move your regiment farther from Chikawan,” said Rakatek. “Although their commanders aren’t here, there are a number of other regiments I am confident will support us. At least two of those are already moving toward the west city gate. As for the other regiments, once it’s decided to go, I’ll meet with as many commanders as possible who are in position to resist. I won’t make that effort until we here have made a decision.”

Rakatek did not reveal that during the past sixday he had sent several regiments he believed to be fervent Litlik supporters to the east to face the Mukamonese or north to supposedly reinforce those defenses. In exchange, several regiments in the east and north had come to help “defend” Chikawan—regiments that happened to be less likely to resist a change in the arklun.

“What about the Immortals?” asked the merchant. “Their whole purpose is to defend the arklun.”

Rakatek turned to Unklus Litlik, sitting in the rear. “What do you say, Unklus? Will the Immortals fight? And what about yourself?”

Patches of sweat darkened the youth’s tunic. His eyes darted back and forth at the older men, half of whom scowled at him. He croaked when he tried to speak, then coughed loudly.

“I wish I was back on my family’s estate and learning about farming. However, as much contempt as I have for Meelis and the rest of his immediate family, I also have relatives on my side of that family who are Litlik supporters. A couple of them are officers in the Immortals as well, so I won’t fight them, despite agreeing Meelis has to go. The best I can do is take my battalion out the eastern gate before the Immortals commander finds out. I’ll think of some excuse. Any ruse won’t last long, so if you’re going to do something, you would need to get word to me about an exact time and do it quickly.”

“What about the other Immortals units?” asked Chaktah.

Unklus shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. If forced to guess, I think most other officers will try to fight. How hard they’ll fight I can’t guarantee, but at some point most of them will look out for themselves.”

Chaktah frowned and looked to Rakatek. “They could retreat to the inner complex. The walls surrounding it are as thick and high as the main walls around Chikawan. They could hold out there for days unless we wanted to destroy a good part of central Chikawan.” He looked back at Unklus. “Are there battalion or company commanders who might take bribes?”

“I don’t know them well enough to answer,” said Unklus. “In my battalion, I’m sure two or three of the company captains are true Litlik supporters. They would fight hard if given the chance. I have to be honest. If I can’t get my battalion either out of the city or at least away from the Arklun Complex, then the best I can do is get myself and one company I trust out of any fight.”

“All right,” said Rakatek. “I understand your situation. You’re an honorable man, Unklus, and I trust you to keep anything you heard here to yourself. When this is over, I can assure you there will be an honored place in Kolinka for men like yourself who stood up and did what’s right after the mortal danger the Litlik family has put us all in. Go now and make whatever preparations are needed. We’ll send word when necessary.

“Also, remember that nothing may happen. In which case, this meeting never occurred.”

A few grumbles were cut off by a stern look from Rakatek—until Unklus was gone.

“How can we trust him?” the merchant said in a grating tone. “He is part of that family, even if distant. The smart thing for him to do is pass word to Meelis and deny it if we win.”

That’s what you might do in his situation, thought Rakatek. He had already had Chaktah assign people to follow the merchant after the meeting.

“I’ve known Unklus from before, and I think he’s a decent young man in a position he doesn’t want. He also has about as low an opinion of Meelis as we do. However, we have a couple of men close to Unklus in his battalion. That’s a reason why we can take a chance on him. He will be eliminated if it seems he might consider going to Meelis.”

Just as we will do to anyone else at this meeting, thought Chaktah.

“It’s time for everyone here to state his position,” said Rakatek, getting the attention of the men. Expressions varied from firmness to unease and one case of fear—the merchant. “I’ll state what we’ve danced around. Remove Meelis Litlik as arklun if that is the condition it takes to save Kolinka.”

“So . . . you’re definitely meeting with Kolsko?” asked the prelate.

“That is the intent, but no word has come yet. If Kolsko refuses, then all we’ve said here or have thought to do is moot. We’d be back to fighting, most likely losing—with an inevitable horrific cost in lives and possibly the destruction of Chikawan.”

“Then there’s no need to declare an action yet,” said the merchant. “We can wait until you know more.”

“No. That’s not how it’s going to be. No more vacillating. Before we leave this room, we need to know where every man here stands. I’ll make it easy. Is there anyone here who will not do his utmost to overthrow the Litlik family if that is what it takes to save Kolinka?”

The merchant turned pale, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

He knows I’ve trapped him, thought Rakatek. I think he will complain, hesitate, and weigh all possible options to his benefit. That’s just his nature. But in the end, he will do what’s right. Probably. This just makes it more certain. Now, if we lose or Litlik survives to seek retribution, Meelis will never trust him.

A few words of assent answered Rakatek, along with nods, enthusiastic, neutral, or reluctant.

“It’s decided then. Everything depends on a parley with Kolsko.”

The group disbanded. Thirty endless minutes later, a cavalry major delivered an answer written in Kahsakist. Rakatek broke the seal, read quickly, then handed it to Chaktah.

“He’s accepted,” said Rakatek. “He will order his army to observe a temporary truce starting as soon as he gets orders out to all units for a ceasefire. The ceasefire signal will be when the Chikawan cathedrals strike mid-day. His men will then cease firing and withdraw three hundred yards from whatever position they’re in. He expects us to do the same. The meeting will be at a farmhouse. He describes the location in the letter.”

“I don’t like this part where you can only bring four men with you,” said Chaktah, “but it doesn’t say who will be at the meeting from their side.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any choice, Santaka.” The warmaster smiled sadly. “They’re winning, and they know it. We are the supplicants, although I’ll put on as good of an appearance as I can.”

“And what if they take you prisoner?”

“Unlikely. At least, from how Bota describes this Kolsko. Plus, I doubt it would make any difference. At this point, you can lead as well as me.”

Rakatek looked at the wall-mounted clock in the manor. “I hope it’s a good sign that Kolsko accepted the parley.” Rakatek called out, and his chief scribe came running from another room. “Quick! I’ll dictate an order for all units on the ceasefire. Immediately start making copies and give them to couriers Submaster Chaktah will assign to every unit within . . . what? Ten miles, Santaka?”

“That should be enough, but I’ll write another letter to units out to twenty miles so they know about the ceasefire, and I’ll suggest they avoid fighting unless attacked.”

CHAPTER 47

APPOMATTOX

The ramshackle farmhouse had seen better days. Bullet holes marred one window and wall. Men made quick repairs of a pole supporting the porch overhang as Yozef reined in.

“This is the best place they could find for opposing commanders to meet?” said Synton.

“Where is totally insignificant as long as the war ends,” said Yozef. Only Mark or Heather might appreciate the image that came to his mind the instant he saw the structure. The resemblance to the Appomattox farmhouse was uncanny.

Well, he thought, I’m hardly Ulysses S. Grant, but I hope Warmaster Rakatek inspires a fraction of the adulation that Robert E. Lee did. The greater the respect the scattered Kolinkan army units have for Rakatek, the easier it will be for the truce to hold and the war to end.

“I’ll talk alone with Rakatek,” Yozef said to the other Alliance leaders during a commanders’ meeting before he left. “I believe security will be sufficient, but there’s no sense having all the top commanders gathered. Uzman Gangala and Rhanjur Gaya will represent Iraquinik and Landolin but will not take part. Remember, this is a preliminary meeting to see if there’s any way to end this without more bloodshed. As we’ve discussed, I’ll be firm on the basic conditions of their surrender. Once I return, I’ll give you all a full account.”

Yozef also did not want the interchange to be sidetracked by each of the Alliance partners’ leaders thinking they needed to be immediately involved. There was time later to work out details and let those leaders have their moment in the sun, if necessary. Kivalian and Vernik would also observe without participating.

At Yozef’s instruction, a small table and three chairs were placed on the farmhouse’s small porch where Yozef, Rakatek, and the translator would sit. The Kolinkan commander did not speak a language Yozef understood, although Yozef had learned some Kahsakist words and phrases. While this might be enough to help him get a sense of the Kolinkan’s mood and forthrightness, it was not enough for him to be confident he was hearing details accurately.

Yozef glanced at the sun. By agreement, the meeting was to take place two hours past mid-day when Chikawan’s cathedral bells rang that hour. That time was near. Minutes later, he could hear the bells—they were only a mile from the city’s outer walls. A bugle sounded. Three brief notes. The Kolinkan party was arriving. Yozef sat at the table. In lieu of knowing Rakatek or the best way for the two men to initially meet, he opted for taking his place without a greeting ritual.

A low roll of drums became audible, the drummers at hundred-yard spacings for a half mile amid soldiers lining the road the Kolinkans had to take. Men from every Alliance member were arrayed three deep to provide Rakatek with close-up views of who he had been fighting.

By Yozef’s order, the men lining the road remained silent. There was to be no cursing, catcalling, or gloating that might affect the Kolinkans’ attitude. He remembered the same order had been given by Ulysses Grant when meeting Robert E. Lee.

When the Kolinkan party came within fifty yards, the drumming stopped, replaced by a small fife and drum corps to one side of the farmhouse. After several flourishes, men holding flags of the Alliance members dipped the flags briefly before planting the poles back upright. They were intended to reinforce the composition of the Alliance army and were meant as a gesture of respect, as suggested by Bota in case Kolsko met Kolinkan leaders. The idea had been vociferously protested by Tasman Gangala and more mildly by the other Iraquiniks, but Yozef countered that showing respect to the Kolinkans who possibly wanted to end the fighting was rational.

There were only five men in the Kolinkan party. Rakatek was obvious from his age, calm demeanor, and eyes that Yozef didn’t doubt took in every detail. Yozef didn’t know how to recognize Kolinkan rank insignia, but two of the other men were likely senior subordinates, with the final two men holding flags, one of which Yozef recognized as that of Kolinka.

Maklos Bota, who stood by the end of the porch, spoke softly to Yozef, reading his mind.

“The other flag is of Rakatek’s family. As I told you, his family has served in the Kolinkan military for many generations with honorable and, in some cases, distinguished records.”

The ex-prisoner had carried Rakatek’s acceptance of the truce. Yozef nodded slightly in acknowledgment without speaking or looking at Bota, who then withdrew out of hearing. Yozef kept his eyes on Rakatek and believed he caught surprise at the Alliance’s respect gesture leaking through the Kolinkan’s effort to appear impassive.

Thirty yards from the farmhouse, the Kolinkans stopped. By pre-agreement, Alliance officers approached to hold the senior Kolinkans’ horses’ reins as the three officers dismounted. By hand gesture, Yozef indicated the opposite chair at the table. The Ponomynan translator stood at the base of the stairs, said something to Rakatek, and then led the way up the stairs. The other two Kolinkan officers remained at the foot of the stairs.

It was Yozef’s first look at the man with whom he had engaged in a deadly sparring match during the last month. Rakatek looked to be in his sixties, Earth years. He was short, perhaps four inches less than Yozef, but with a stockier body that suggested formidable strength when he was younger. Gray hair and beard, both neatly trimmed, attested to the years and framed a face whose eyes suggested a mind accustomed to command.

The translator said something in Kahsakist, and both men sat, Rakatek looking at Yozef.

The translator turned to Yozef. “I have told him that I will be translating and that, by your instruction, the two of you can proceed as if I am not here.” The translator said something in Kahsakist to Rakatek, who began speaking while looking at Yozef.

“I am Warmaster Horen Rakatek, supreme commander of all Kolinkan forces. Do I assume you are the commander of those who have invaded Kolinka?”

Yozef nodded. “I am Yozef Kolsko, Paramount Hetman of Caedellium. I am honored to be the formal leader of the Alliance gathered to punish Kolinka for the unwarranted attack on Caedellium and for collusion with Narthon, the enemy of every other realm on Anyar.”

Rakatek’s control momentarily slipped on hearing Yozef’s opening words.

Gotcha on that one, thought Yozef. You didn’t see that coming, and I now believe you knew about both the raid and the collusion, so there’ll be no pretending innocence.

“Let us get right to the point,” said Yozef. “Despite the brave efforts of your men, it should be obvious what will happen if the fighting continues. You will find your army in an untenable position where you cannot employ all your men at one time. Even if you could, by now you know our weapons are far superior to your own. Can we today, without delay, bring about a conclusion? If not, the end is inevitable and will result in too many thousands of needless deaths. In addition, after such a defeat, Chikawan would be defenseless.”

“Any rational leader would want to avoid deaths to no purpose,” said Rakatek. “However, if ending hostilities is to be considered, it depends on under what conditions. Remember, it is you who have invaded Kolinka. You have a long supply line, and I have to wonder how long you can keep your army in Kolinka. Yes, you have defeated us and pushed us back, but my men are still capable of fighting. They will do so to defend their homes, no matter the outcome, which will surely involve major casualties on your part.”

Yozef was encouraged that Rakatek’s simple opening statement was devoid of bluster. The Kolinkan commander would naturally state his men were ready to continue fighting.

“The conditions are simple. The Litlik family is removed permanently from any position of authority. How that’s done is up to you. The same conditions apply to Litlik’s most fervent followers, although those details can be settled later. How Kolinka is ruled is again up to you, but the other condition is that Alliance members must believe it is basically different enough that we can reasonably expect that Kolinka’s attitude toward its neighbors and the war against the Narthani has changed.

“Those conditions are nonnegotiable. It is an unfortunate reality that disastrous decisions made by rulers have consequences for the common people, even if they had no part in those decisions. For betraying the other kahsaks by colluding with the Narthani and because of the cost in coin and casualties the kahsaks of the Alliance have suffered, Kolinka will cede land to the three neighboring kahsaks—enough to be a punishment and compensate those kahsaks, but not enough to cripple Kolinka’s future. The details of that final condition will be determined later.

“I assume you know my original message to Kolinka after the attack on Caedellium’s Seaborn Province. At that time, I swore to destroy Kolinka, scatter its people, sow the land with salt so nothing grows, and see to it that the name Kolinka vanishes from Anyar. I expect you discounted those words when you first read them or heard of them. I hope you now realize what I said then was not an unachievable boast. Let me again be frank. As I already stated, your army is in an untenable position. The slaughter of your men yesterday is only the beginning. Yes, you have other forces, but those in the east are occupied holding off the Mukamonese. In the west, forces are gathering, but they will have no more success than you have already had, and we will not give them time to become a threat. Whether you know it or not, we have learned that some of the Kolinkan forces from the west have declined to continue toward Chikawan, and a few have turned around and are heading home. There are also reports, which I will admit are as yet unconfirmed, that some of your forces facing the Mukamonese have collapsed as fighting units. We can both speculate that they have heard what happened to forces facing us and have recognized the inevitable.

“Based on the reality of your situation and how you’ve seen the effectiveness of our forces, the next stage in the fighting would be for us to destroy piecemeal the rest of your army. Besides the human cost, we can imagine the chaos that would then follow after we leave Kolinka, even if you have a new government. Plus, there are still the Narthani. Kolinka’s contribution in defending the Iraquiniks has been abysmal. That has to change. Kolinka needs an organized military loyal to the new government and with new attitudes. Obliterating your army would be counter to all our interests, though we will do it if necessary.”

“You must realize the huge changes you’re asking for,” said Rakatek. “I’m here to speak with you about ending the fighting, but while I believe I have the backing of most of our military, there are some units not under my control. Plus, there are nobles and factions in different parts of Kolinka that will not accept the changes easily, especially those currently living in territory that might be turned over to other kahsaks.”

“That’s your problem.”

Yozef wanted to say more, but not at this time.

He stood. “I think it best if we stop for this morning and give you a chance to talk with your officers and prominent figures in Chikawan. Let us reconvene tomorrow morning here when the sun peeks above the eastern horizon. The ceasefire will continue until then. Let us both hope the cessation can be permanent.”

Rakatek grunted, surprised by Yozef’s cutting the meeting short. He rose to follow Yozef down the stairs.

“We will meet again tomorrow at sunrise,” Yozef said in Caedelli to Uzman, Gaya, Vernik, and Kivalian. “The translator and I will escort Warmaster Rakatek to his horse. After, I will see all of you inside where I’ll give you a summary of the discussion before we return to meet with the other commanders.”

Without waiting for a response, Yozef put a hand on Rakatek’s back and by pressure indicated they would walk together. The two accompanying Kolinkan officers followed behind. Halfway to the cluster of men and horses, Yozef spoke softly to the translator, who then put a hand on Rakatek’s arm and whispered quietly enough that only Rakatek understood. The three men stopped. Yozef pointed in the direction of Chikawan while the translator spoke to the warmaster.

“Pause for a moment, Warmaster. We can pretend to be talking about Chikawan. Paramount Kolsko has a message directly to you that he prefers the other Alliance leaders not hear. The message is that he is willing to do as much as he can to minimize the territory that Kolinka will lose.”

Yozef had continued to talk while translation was ongoing.

“Yet how much effort Paramount Kolsko makes will depend on how well Kolinka agrees to the conditions that have been mentioned. If you formally agree to the conditions and immediately press harder for implementation, enough to convince the Paramount and the other Alliance leaders of your commitment, then the Paramount will also remain in Kolinka until he ensures that the other Alliance members hold to the final agreements. Paramount Kolsko wants Kolinka to become a stronger and more responsible kahsak—possibly even develop closer ties with Caedellium sometime in the future. He leaves it to your imagination how valuable such ties might be. Finally, he suggests that you return tomorrow with serious concessions and indications of action. This includes bringing along a small number of men whom you expect to be among the top leadership in the new Kolinka. They should also give similar verbal commitments on the conditions of ending the fighting.”

The translator was not expecting an answer and, by gesture, indicated the Kolinkans should finish walking to their mounts. He then looked briefly at Yozef, then touched his shoulder as a prearranged signal, and headed to a section of tents. Before Yozef met with the three observing commanders and adviser, he would get the translator’s impression of Rakatek and any subtleties that might have been lost in translation.

“If I read men as well as I think I do, this war is about to end,” said a voice.

Yozef turned to face Vernik, who had approached from the group of men observing.

“I hope to God so, Haree. I also wish I didn’t think there will be more campaigns like this before we’re all safe from Narthon.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the way of the world. I trust you know this particular campaign went about as well as could be hoped. It won’t always be this easy.”

“Easy?” Yozef’s answer was less a question and more a bitter agreement. “And all the mistakes we made. I made.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself or the rest of us. You did win. Or so it seems, anyway. Often a mistake is labeled such only if it didn’t work. There are always factors you can’t control, and you make the best decisions you can and live with them.”

Rhanjur Gaya

Kivalian and Gaya had stood next to each other when the Kolinkan party arrived.

Gaya leaned over to Kivalian and whispered, “Whatever the outcome of this meeting, the legend of Yozef Kolsko is only going to grow, don’t you think?”

Kivalian glanced at the Munjorian without moving his head. He had almost come to like the man, but something about him made Kivalian wonder what was going on inside that mind. After briefly considering the Munjorian’s motives, Kivalian opted to be honest.

“It does become harder with time to dismiss what happens around him as luck or exaggeration, doesn’t it? I don’t know about the Septarsh rumors, but it’s understandable that people might think something extraordinary accompanies him.”

“Be honest with me, Reimo. Did you really believe this campaign would work?”

“I didn’t know the details, but I trusted we could always fight our way back to Ponomyna if necessary.”

He wasn’t sure, thought Gaya. I can’t believe any of us were. Yet . . . what does that say about us or Yozef that we came?

When Rakatek arrived, the whispering stopped. Each man in the cluster strained to hear the words between the leaders of opposing armies. Unsuccessfully.

The Munjorian leader did not need to hear the words exchanged on the cabin’s porch to know the war was ending. Gaya counted as one of his skills the ability to correctly read men’s body language and expressions. He did not pretend to have the same talent with women.

As he watched, he wondered, as he had many times, whether he should simply tell Yozef he did not believe the three Amerikans’ stories of their homeland and how they came to find themselves in similar circumstances, scattered across Anyar. A faint smile attested to his disbelief. Did the three Amerikans think that because their stories were so similar, it supported their authenticity? For Gaya, it was the opposite. One such story he could have accepted as odd but plausible. But three? He could not have explained his reasoning, at least not while thinking like the mathematician he had planned to be before family obligations diverted him to diplomacy and power intrigues within Munjor. No, his thinking was different from mathematics. Instead of 1 + 1 + 1 = 3, it was 1 + 1 + 1 = 6. Or maybe 10? Who knew? Or maybe it was the accumulation of the stories plus the innovations plus the pieces of knowledge that were so unconnected to what Gaya believed was already known.

Whatever the cause, Yozef and the other two Amerikans were lying. Gaya was familiar with lying. It was a staple of Munjorian politics. He was unsure of what he had expected to find when his grandfather sent him to Fuomon. The formal purpose was to report back his firsthand experience with one of Narthon’s main enemies and, by default, a potential distant ally of Munjor. Gaya also suspected his grandfather had another purpose.

Sulua, his wife of one year, had died in childbirth. It had been a political marriage arranged by his family. Sulua Napinga came from one of the other five families constantly jockeying for the position that wielded real power by controlling the figurehead king. The Gaya and Napinga families had long histories in opposition, but times changed, as do the tides. A coalition of two other families was becoming ascendent, and a previously unthinkable alliance of Gaya and Napinga became a priority. Part of the arrangement included several interfamily marriages, of which Gaya’s was one.

His initial protests were dismissed. The marriage took place. At first, Rhanjur felt it could have been worse. Sulua was reasonably attractive, a pleasant-enough young woman, and compliant in bed. She slowly worked her way into Rhanjur’s heart. He had never told her he loved her, only realizing it after her death.

He had steeled himself for the funeral ceremony, the two families gathering around the pyre where her body would ascend to heaven. The flames had just reached their peak when Sulua’s father casually told Rhanjur that a new marriage to a sister of Sulua had been arranged with Rhanjur’s grandfather. The timing was bad enough, but the specific sister was as disliked by Rhanjur as she had been by Sulua. It was the first time Rhanjur had defied his grandfather. The resulting grandfather/grandson row was seismic—no one could remember a family member calling the family head such names. However, the main surprise was that instead of Rhanjur being banished to somewhere maximally unpleasant and exiled from family matters, he became a favorite of the grandfather—once tempers cooled.

That still left the problem of a second political marriage. The problem was solved by sending Rhanjur to Fuomon for a projected two years. When the Fuomi became aware of Narthon’s strange interest in an island north of Landolin, they decided to investigate without the Narthani knowing. The Fuomi sent a flotilla across the Great Ocean, instead of through the Throat, where Narthon would know of their presence. By then, Gaya was ready to return home and joined the expedition. He had not anticipated a stop in Caedellium or the ensuing years and entanglements with the Caedelli and the stranger who now was such a factor in all their lives.

No, he decided. He would not ask Yozef directly why the lies and what were the real truths? Not yet. Perhaps not ever. But he would probe and collate information.

Truce

Yozef and the translator waited, seated on the farmhouse porch the next morning, when Rakatek arrived, this time with two different companions. One was perhaps ten years younger than Rakatek, taller than Yozef, and he exuded a military bearing. The other man had gray hair and a beard trending white, and he wore a robe with a symbol on the front.

Another military leader and some kind of religious figure? thought Yozef as he rose from his chair. If so, it boded well for the Kolinkan response to Yozef’s ultimatum.

“Let me make introductions,” said Rakatek. “This is my second-in-command, Subwarmaster Santaka Chaktah, and Prelate Chukluh Tulka, who is the senior prelate in Chikawan.”

Yozef gave a curt nod to each man, merely acknowledging their presence.

“I take it you want Chaktah and Tulka to participate in today’s discussion?”

“If that’s agreeable to you, Paramount. I believe they will be instrumental in what is to come.”

“It is agreeable, and in that case let me add three more men.” He waved to a group of men standing thirty feet away, out of hearing.

“General Kivalian, Marshal Vernik, Colonel Gangala. If you will join us. And we need five more chairs.”

The small table was unneeded and took up too much room on the small porch, so it was removed. The three and four men on each side sat clustered, facing their opposition. The translator sat between them, set back to avoid obscuring their views.

Yozef did his own introductions. He noted that all three Kolinkans reacted in different degrees to the Fuomi marshal’s presence. The other Iraquinik commanders had made efforts to be included if the meeting went well, but Yozef did not want historical factors to interfere. Because Ponomyna contributed the most, they were represented, but by Uzman, not Tasman. Yozef did not trust the Ponomynan heir to remain cordial to an enemy.

With everyone knowing the participants, Yozef dove straight in.

“I hope you have good news, Warmaster.”

“Efforts to conform to your first condition are underway,” said Rakatek. “Although the situation is chaotic inside Chikawan, we have taken into custody many members of the Litlik family and their main supporters. Search and pursuit of others are underway as we speak. Arklun Litlik has thus far refused to surrender and abdicate, but it is only a matter of time. Thus far, we have refrained from forcing the issue to avoid destroying the Arklun Complex. It has major historical importance and is one of the great symbols of Kolinka. It is only a matter of time before the men protecting Meelis Litlik realize their situation is hopeless, and they open the gates of the inner wall of the complex.”

“That sounds encouraging,” said Yozef, “but the condition will not be met until the arklun is removed such that there is no chance he or his family could return to power.”

“Uh . . . there is the matter of the future of the Litlik family, Paramount. You did not specify any details. It would be in all our interests if the matter were handled solely by Kolinkans to avoid establishing martyrs to a foreign intervention.”

Yozef waved a hand. “I agree, but it needs to be settled quickly if this truce is to extend.”

“I believe the issue will be settled by the end of the day. One way or the other. As peacefully as possible, but it may happen that certain people may not survive, due to the confusion and turmoil.”

I bet he’s saying Meelis Litlik is one of those, thought Yozef. Cold-blooded, but probably best all around if the head of the snake is gone.

Yozef waved the other hand. “It’s mainly your concern. We’re only interested in being convinced of Kolinka’s future direction.”

He had worried about how to ensure the Litlik family was out of power, but he did not want a massacre of extended families on his conscience, which was already weighed down.

“However, I would be extraordinarily distressed to learn of innocent members of the Litlik families and supporters being killed.”

“As would we,” said Prelate Tulka. “Warmaster Rakatek assures me that only the leaders are in danger. Other family members and major followers of Meelis who do not resist will be allowed to move to western Kolinka, far from Chikawan. There, they will live peacefully under observation and without arms.”

Yozef glanced back and forth at the three men. He guessed they either had anticipated his concern or were of like minds. Either way would work, but the latter might foretell a Kolinkan society that could be worked with.

“All right. I’ll take your word for the moment, but I’ll expect progress on Meelis Litlik’s fate by sundown. What about other problems? This is too momentous an effort on your part for everything to go smoothly.”

Rakatek gestured toward Chaktah. “While I’ve dealt with Chikawan, Subwarmaster Chaktah was been exploring attitudes within the various regiments. Although most men will either support the changes or remain relatively neutral, a few will likely resist. The army you face between Chikawan and the Chikok River only has a few questionable regiments, but too much of the rest of the army is supportive of Litlik and may be a problem. However, we believe that once we have all the surviving major Litlik supporters in custody and have moved them westward, any resistance will dissipate.”

“Again,” said Yozef, “those details are your responsibility. The invading forces will not leave Kolinka while there are armed regiments that do not accept the change in government. And speaking of that, you and those you’ve talked with must have a plan for how Kolinka is to be ruled after the Litliks.”

“There is a tentative agreement among factions that the Maleenor family will rule Kolinka. The family has a long, honorable history and has widespread support in the west. They were the ruling family until the Litliks supplanted them a century ago. They avoided being purged by the Litliks because they formally accepted the change, and they’ve had too much support in western Kolinka for the Litliks to threaten them.

“There are several potential candidates. None of us here know enough about the internal affairs of the Maleenor family, so we don’t know whether or not the family will insist on a single candidate. Couriers with messages have been dispatched, but it will take a sixday or more before we get responses.”

“Well, once again, this is an internal Kolinkan matter,” said Yozef. “However, I will offer the suggestion that you think hard about the future. Things are changing on Anyar. Kolinka may profit best with leaders who have open minds and are able to deal with changes and a new order that we and our allies plan for the future. On Caedellium, we are slowly changing from a strict succession custom, such as the eldest son always succeeding, to where a set of potential successors is evaluated by the current leader and other advisers so the one considered the most talented and qualified can be chosen.

“It’s not a requirement, but if the candidates come to Chikawan while I’m here, I would be interested in meeting them in the hope that the present unpleasantness can fade and Caedellium and Kolinka might eventually be on good terms.”

Chaktah’s eyes narrowed, but the expressions of Rakatek and Prelate Tulka were thoughtful.

“It’s a concept I will bring up with the council that is forming to decide the details of Kolinka’s future,” said Rakatek.

CHAPTER 48

AFTERMATH

Although the main principles to end the war were agreed to, working out details lasted another three sixdays. Temporary disarmament of the Kolinkan military proceeded in stages. The Alliance army was still outnumbered. Yozef insisted that half of the Kolinkan units surrender their cannon and muskets and return to their home districts. He left it up to Rakatek to choose the units most likely to resist the coming changes. A combination of widespread regard for the warmaster and only a few regiments that were willing to resist resulted in two serious episodes of Kolinkans fighting Kolinkans—both incidents resolving within the first sixday.

More difficult was when Yozef ordered Rakatek to disarm all but five regiments of cavalry to maintain order. Not that the Kolinkans had a choice, but potential problems eased when Yozef assured the warmaster that the muskets would be released once he was satisfied with the political changes and the Alliance army had withdrawn from Kolinka. The cannon were different. All Kolinkan cannon within a hundred miles of Chikawan were melted into globs of bronze. The Kolinkans could always recast them, but that would take months and would be long after the Alliance army members were back to their homes.

To placate the Kolinkans’ resentment, Yozef gave Rakatek details on making ether and promised to transfer seeds and greenhouse technology for producing poppy extract as soon as Caedellium worked out the details. The Caedelli medicants also transferred as much new medical knowledge and procedures as their Kolinkan counterparts would accept. With some innovations, Rakatek had to intercede when Kolinkan medical workers resisted changing their long-established methods.

In addition, after pointing out that the only major damage to Kolinkan infrastructure was to the bridges, Yozef assigned hundreds of dragoons with heavy construction experience to help the Kolinkans repair those bridges destroyed near Chikawan. Not that the donated time and men came free. Yozef required two transportation efforts by the Kolinkans. One was sending several thousand men back along the miserable road to Ponomyna. Besides wanting a faster return route to Penabak, Yozef argued that as part of Kolinka’s changed attitudes, it was essential to have better roads connecting neighboring kahsaks. The improved road was only a first step toward promoting more contact.

Another demand was for boats and barges to take the wounded to Penabak via the Wambal River, instead of the more time-consuming and rougher trip by wagon. As a result, the remainder of the Alliance wounded were on their way home a month sooner than the rest of the Alliance forces.

At Ponomynan request, three-quarters of its men returned home as soon as most Kolinkan units were disarmed. The greater number of men contributed by Ponomyna resulted in a relatively greater economic effect on that kahsak’s economy by the men’s absence from their normal work and families.

Peace

Yozef never learned the ultimate fate of Meelis Litlik, his two brothers, his two sons, and any number of other family members, merchants, officers, and bureaucrats who were major supporters of the Litliks. He suspected there were unmarked graves somewhere distant from Chikawan and figured some past grievances had been acted on. His curiosity ended when he confirmed that a convoy of wagons left Chikawan carrying women, children, and a few men. Synton found out their destination was a valley near the coast of northwest Kolinka. Supposedly, the land was fertile but undeveloped. Yozef did not doubt that most of the wives and the children of the disappeared had benefited by their men’s actions, but the refugees were alive and had a chance at another life, albeit far different from what they were accustomed to and were raised to expect. He had limited empathy for their plight—there were more pressing problems.

Although fighting among Kolinkans near Chikawan had ended quickly, several Kolinkan regiments north of the Zamzul River refused to accept the new reality. Platoon- to battalion-size firefights lasted for most of a month. As before, the Alliance army stayed out of the fighting unless attacked. Only once was direct action taken when a Litlik stalwart cavalry captain led his men to attack an Alliance wagon train carrying wounded back to Penabak. The company was pursued by Munmar Kellen, leading two of his companies. The attackers were cornered forty miles southeast of Chikawan and given no quarter. There were no more attacks on Alliance personnel.

The council overseeing the Kolinkan transition listened to Rakatek’s transmission of Yozef’s advice about selecting among candidates for the next Kolinkan arklun. Whether the council approved of the concept or simply used it as a way to dampen potential infighting among factors did not concern Yozef. When offered the opportunity to meet the candidate from the Maleenor family who arrived from central and western Kolinka, Yozef was impressed. Once again, the meeting was via translator, but he passed on to Rakatek his positive assessment of the man as intelligent and not particularly swayed by the idea of being arklun. Yozef’s personal opinion was that anyone who wanted such a job too much was not qualified, and he recommended the man to Rakatek.

As it turned out, the council agreed on Ozlaw Maleenor. No one confided whether Yozef’s recommendation was a factor, but the new arklun and the invading army commander met numerous times.

The following sixdays brought clarity as issues were dealt with. The Mukamonese arklun had chafed at the ceasefire—wanting to push farther into Kolinka so he could lay a claim to more occupied land. Yozef did his best to praise the Mukamonese for their part in the campaign (which he thought was useful but not pivotal), made vague promises of cooperation in the future (leaving the impression Yozef was referring to weapons), and gave “reluctant” arguments why Mukamon would not retain as much territory as Washtah had planned. Washtah’s grudging acceptance might have been influenced by Yozef’s hint that the Alliance Division, Caedellium, Landolin, and Fuomon would only recognize the final borders approved at the final commanders’ meeting.

The day finally came for the decision about which territory Kolinka would have to cede to its neighboring kahsaks, in compensation for their participation in the invasion and as punishment for Kolinka colluding with Narthon. In the end, none of the Iraquiniks were satisfied, which Yozef took to mean the outcome was as reasonable as possible. The Kolinkans knew the results could have been far worse. Arklun Washtah was the most disgruntled and failed to get Ponomynan support to oppose the final plan. Tasman Gangala represented his father, but Uzman whispered nonstop commentary to his brother, who reluctantly acquiesced.

In the end, the border with Mukamon moved an average of twenty miles into the original Kolinkan territory along their shared border from the southwest to the corridor of mountains that connected Kolinka to the Shawsoon Sea—the route used during collusive meetings between Kolinka and Narthon. The connection to the Shawsoon Sea was ceded to Mukamon. Most of that gained territory was too mountainous or desolate for farming, but the section south and southeast of Chikawan was prime farmland. Yozef thought it imprudent at the time to mention to Washtah that the farmland he obtained was dependent on irrigation systems fed by canals originating from sections of the Wambal River still remaining with Kolinka. Yozef advised Arklun Maleenor that cooperating with Mukamon on the irrigation, even if for land that had been Kolinkan, was politically astute.

Ponomyna was content to accept minimal territory.  Tasman Gangala, as the heir and representing his father, said Ponomyna did not want to have a swath of land with ex-Kolinkans always bitter at switching kahsaks. The exception was the main Kolinkan port of Onunza and the immediate surroundings. Yozef advised the Gangala brothers to urge their father to tread gently with the citizens of Onunza.

“It’s a functioning port city. I’m sure a percentage of the people will leave, in order to stay in Kolinka, but even if they are replaced by Ponomynans, it will take years for the city to recover. There’s also the chance to help heal the long-term animosity between Ponomyna and Kolinka. All Kolinkans may not yet appreciate that Ponomyna did not take more of Kolinka, but they will eventually, especially if word spreads that the Kolinkans in Onunza were treated with respect.”

Yozef had little advice to give about the future of Kolinkans living in the territory ceded to Mukamon. He witnessed one of several trails of refugees trudging to Chikawan, their eventual destination still to be determined by the new mayor of Chikawan and Arklun Maleenor.

The final transfer was for the Abaton kahsak. The allied army had had no contact with the Abatonese, who had gotten word from Mukamon about what was planned and had crossed into northeast Kolinka. After moving twenty to thirty miles into Kolinka and burning a few villages, the Abatonese force had waited for the outcome farther south. Arklun Maleenor was agreeable to let Abaton retain the occupied territory. Tasman told Yozef after the meeting that few people lived there, and those were more related to Abaton than to Kolinka. Nobody would miss them.

The stars peeked intermittently from behind the clouds that night when Yozef, Kivalian, and Gaya managed to be alone within the Alliance Division encampment.

“Well, the Kolinkans certainly seemed, if anything, overly anxious to appear cooperative,” said Kivalian. “I guess they’ve decided to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Not that they had a choice,” said Gaya.

“Oh, they had a choice,” said Yozef. “They could have been stupid . . . as we know humans all too often choose. Now they have to prove their commitment.”

“I think your earlier insistence that the Kolinkans be the ones to squelch resistance by rogue army units helped the new Kolinkan leadership,” said Kivalian. “It let the blame for everything focus on internal elements and not on us. Of course, I don’t think Washtah is going home happy.”

“Neither is Rakatek for having to put down his own people,” said Yozef, “but he recognized the necessity, both for our agreement and to forestall the Mukamonese who wanted to keep pushing into Kolinka. Rakatek quickly understood that the longer the resistance to the cease-fire lingered, the more land would be lost. Armies and occupied territory are seldom given up, even in negotiations. I had to imply more future aid to Washtah than I intended.”

“But you also finally gave Rakatek only another two sixdays to bring the last dissident units into line,” said Gaya. “Did you think that was realistic?”

Yozef shrugged. “I hoped so. I don’t want any of us to stay in Kolinka longer than necessary, but I also didn’t want us to leave until Mukamon and Ponomyna accepted the new boundaries.”

Gaya laughed. “I thought the Mukamonese leader looked like he’d just swallowed vomit when he had to accept they would get far less Kolinka territory than he had hoped for.”

“It helps that I had already talked with the Ponomynans and got their acquiescence on their limited territory gain,” said Yozef. “They were happy to get the port at Onunza and understood about potential problems if they took more territory. Even if the area was sparsely populated, there were bound to have been many Kolinkans opting to remain in their homes, instead of migrating.

“Anyway, we’ll see how Rakatek performs. If all continues going well, I’m hoping we can head to Penabak in another two sixdays.

“Gaya, I appreciate that all of your men are anxious to return home, but we learned some lessons these last months. I think it’s important if those officers at captain ranking and above stay on Caedellium for perhaps a month. I’ll be making the same request of the Naskinese. For one thing, it will give us a chance to finish critiquing this Kolinka campaign. I’m assuming those officers will be in a position to gain more responsibility and raises in rank when we establish an alliance on Landolin against the Narthani.”

Gaya slapped the side of his right leg with his hand. “They won’t all be happy for the delay, but I think I can get most of them to understand. I will confess I had some doubts about this campaign. Oh . . . not that it would be a disaster, or that we would all be killed, but whether it was worth the time and effort. I can say with absolute certainty that it was. Not only to see the problems that need to be addressed, but for me it was seeing the new weapons in action. It was one thing to see them demonstrated and used in maneuvers on Caedellium, and something very different to see them in real battles.

“I understand when you say we will not have time and resources to fully equip all of Munjor’s army the same way, but if four or five of our regiments can be so equipped, the men from our regiment here can be the cadre for the others. I believe those four or five such regiments could stiffen the entire Munjorian army and have what you, Yozef, call a multiplier effect.”

Yozef held up a hand. “Remember, Rhanjur, my estimate of three or four more regiments is only under the best of production conditions. I think probably at least two regiments are certain. Beyond that, we’ll have to see.” He looked at Kivalian. “We’ll also have to see how the hetmen and other Caedelli feel if I want to send two Caedelli regiments to Landolin, in addition to more support people.”

Briefly Reacquired

A second drone searched until it acquired biped-1, only to lose the target within minutes and request the AI send a description of the target. During the next hours, the drone never retained the target description longer than 1/100th of the planet’s day/light cycle—approximately twelve minutes, if the AI had known of the biped’s time measurement.

Diagnostics of the drone and of the AI itself found no fault point. It was as if the drone could not retain the biped’s description. When the event occurred while the biped was under direct observation, it was as if the target became invisible, even though it must have remained in view. The AI canceled further attempts to remove the biped until the drone problem was resolved.

CHAPTER 49

ENDINGS CAN BE BEGINNINGS

The Kolinkan Council formally installed Ozlaw Maleenor as Arklun of Kolinka in a large outdoor arena. Yozef diplomatically declined an invitation to attend. He doubted any Kolinkan wanted him there to remind them of the events leading to the ceremony. In a letter to the arklun-to-be, he wrote it was an event appropriate only for Kolinkans.

Even if he had been inclined to attend, which he was not, a potential mutiny ruled otherwise.

“You must be totally insane!” half-screeched Synton upon hearing Yozef pretend he considered attending. “There’s probably thousands, tens of thousands of Kolinkans inside there who would ache to get a shot at you or get close enough with a knife.”

“Hell’s fire for the Kolinkans,” rumbled Carnigan. “Even if you survived, I’d rather stay here than go home and have the women find out we let you do that.”

“Relax,” said Yozef, relenting. “I was just teasing. However, I will need to meet with Maleenor and Rakatek once more before we head back to Penabak. So far, the meetings have been about getting to where we are now. I intend to lay a foundation for hopefully good relations with Kolinka at some point in the future.”

The meeting occurred the next day at noon in the large manor Yozef had taken over for his headquarters after the truce held. The invitation to Maleenor and Rakatek had not specified who could accompany them. Still, Yozef was surprised when the party numbered only four—the two Kolinka leaders plus Rakatek’s second-in-command and a youth of about twenty dressed in civilian clothes. None of the four were armed, and Synton’s close inspection without touching them satisfied Yozef’s security.

Rakatek spoke first. “The arklun and I brought Santaka Chaktah for this last meeting. I will be retiring sometime in the next year or so. When that happens, Arklun Maleenor has agreed that Santaka will replace me as warmaster. Besides his ability to perform the duties, he has the most experience in what we all recognize will be a revolution in warfare.”

There was a glint in Rakatek’s eyes when he gestured to the youth. “This is Unklus Litlik.”

“A Litlik?” questioned Yozef.

“I’ll let the arklun explain.”

The new arklun was about forty years old, younger than Yozef had first expected, average build, traces of gray in black hair, and wide-set eyes that looked straight at Yozef when he talked. During earlier meetings, he had come to believe the Maleenor family had chosen wisely. Not that he found the new Kolinkan ruler amiable, but intelligence, rationality, and widespread support trumped sociability.

“The warmaster correctly pointed out that not all Kolinkans related to Meelis Litlik should be automatically linked to him,” said Maleenor. “Unklus helped in ridding us of Meelis. After the warmaster’s admonition, I decided it might help the transition if it was made known that one or more persons named Litlik were close to the new arklun. Unklus is formally part of a new corps of personal retainers replacing the previous Immortals that Meelis too often used as intimidators. Now that Meelis has been removed permanently, we need to move on.”

Yozef decided he did not need to know exactly what “permanently” referred to. Maleenor’s satisfied expression was hint enough.

“Moving forward is a good topic, Arklun. I’m hoping that Kolinka can achieve that, not only within her borders in dealing with the new internal situation but also with external affairs. As you know, Meelis’s dalliance with the Narthani incited other kahsaks. One result was Kolinka losing land to its neighbors. If you or any other Kolinkan feels a justified grievance for this loss, remember it could have been much worse and would have been, except for me. I don’t expect you to see me as a friend, at least not yet, but give careful thought to the current and potential future advantages for Kolinka in having good relations with Caedellium.

“Also think carefully about the wording of the truce agreement. If you do, you will see that although it is not explicit, Caedellium and Fuomon are guaranteeing the new borders. The other kahsaks signing the agreement might see it as preventing Kolinka from moving the borders back to where they were. Again, if you read carefully, it also forbids other kahsaks from taking any action to acquire more Kolinkan territory.”

“I was wondering if that was intentional,” said Maleenor. “I didn’t notice the possible complementary interpretation until I was asked about it by a group of advisers who read the text. I had to say I didn’t have an answer. I have to thank you for that, although not all Kolinkans will believe it cancels our losses in men and territory. To be honest, neither do I, but reality is reality. My task is to do what’s necessary for Kolinka.”

“Now we come to where I’m going to give strong advice you’re not required to take,” said Yozef. “From what I hear, Kolinka has never had good relations with its neighbors. Whatever the original reasons are, do what you can to correct that. It may take time, even generations, but the sooner you start, the better for both you and them. One way to blunt the anger at how Meelis plotted with Narthon is to do more in the Iraquinik/Narthon war.”

Yozef shrugged with a sardonic expression. “That shouldn’t be difficult because I’m told that in the past, Kolinka did less than almost any other kahsak.”

“Is it really true that your stated intent is to take down Narthon?” asked Chaktah, who had thus far remained silent.

“Me? No. We. That means every realm who joins the cause. That may have seemed like a delusional dream before, but the world is evolving. To your detriment, you recently saw some of those changes on the battlefield. Narthon shows no sign altering its intent to rule all Anyar. Its favorite tactic has been to coerce or bribe nations to turn against their neighbors. That’s what happened on Caedellium, here among the Iraquiniks, and it is ongoing in Landolin, where the Jahmnor kingdom has allied with Narthon.

“That strategy was stopped on Caedellium, was halted again here in Kolinka, and the next step is to do the same on Landolin. Two of those kingdoms are members of the army invading Kolinka. Besides wanting to prevent a major Narthani advance too close to their territory, those two kingdoms have a reciprocal agreement with the kahsaks that joined against you. It has proved the principle that realms can successfully join in great efforts. We will now turn our attention to Landolin, where Caedellium, Fuomon, and the kahsaks will join the Landolin kingdoms to drive off the Narthani.”

“And what of the new weapons you used against us?” asked Rakatek.

“Caedellium will do what it can to aid any realm that cooperates in fighting the Narthani. We will have no patience with uncooperative people. The Munjorian and Naskinese men with us will take their Caedellium-made rifles back home, and we will work with their kingdoms to produce the appropriate weapons to use against the Narthani.”

Rakatek and Maleenor shared a quick look. Neither missed the emphasis that hinted Caedellium would oppose Kolinka using any weapons it provided or helped produce against any foe except Narthon. They would later speculate whether Kolsko meant the restriction would apply to any realm in addition to Kolinka.

Orosz City

Tomis Orosz looked at the telegraph message and wished Klyngo Adris had waited until there was definitive news.

TO: Tomis Orosz, Hetman, Orosz City

FROM: Klyngo Adris, Hetman, Adris City

4 Fuomi ships entered Normot Bay heading to Adris City.

2 cargo, 1 troop, 1 frigate.

Nothing else known yet.

Now what was he supposed to do? There had been no news from Iraquinik since Yozef’s message that the invasion of Kolinka was set to begin the next day. From where Yozef sent the message, it had traveled by rider to Penabak, then waited until a Fuomi ship was returning to Caedellium. Since then, nothing.

If Tomis announced the ships’ arrival, there might be no information on the Kolinka campaign. He didn’t know whether Klyngo was keeping the arrival news close or was spreading it. If the latter, word could reach Orosz City in a day or less.

He decided to wait. By now, the Fuomi ships were well into Normot Bay. It was early enough that they should reach Adris City before dark. He would telegraph Klyngo not to spread the news and to telegraph Orosz City as soon as more was known.

Two hours later, Maera was meeting with Eina when Diera Beynom burst into the university chancellor’s office. She was puffing and wiped her forehead sweat with a sleeve.

“I’ve just got news from Adris City. Fuomi ships that went to Iraquinik passed through the Normot Gap two or three hours ago. One of them is flying pennants that indicate it’s bringing some wounded.”

Maera paled and put a hand to her throat. Eina touched Maera’s shoulder but didn’t speak.

“That’s all we know,” said Diera. “The medicant staff at St. Alonal’s in Adris City is mustering all available staff to meet the ship. I’ve alerted our people in case more help is needed.”

Maera now had the same problem that Tomis Orosz had. Should she go home and tell Anarynd and Gwyned or wait for more information? She chose the first option. The three women sat mainly silent on the manor veranda as shadows lengthened, speaking only to oblivious children or one another as the youngest children were passed among them.

When they recognized Tomis Orosz as the rider turning off the road from the city, two women acknowledged to themselves that the worst was possible, and one woman repeated over and over to herself that the worst was not possible.

No one had informed Tomis that word of the ships had reached Kolsko Manor. The gathering on the veranda and the women’s expressions were sufficient. He rushed to convey the main news.

“Both Yozef and Carnigan are fine. We just received a telegram from Adris City.”

He dismounted and waited for their composure to return before Maera asked for details.

“Only a few over the telegraph. Written reports will be on the next train here. Evidently, the campaign was successful. There was fighting and the Kolinkan rulers replaced. One of the ships carried several hundred wounded. Yozef expects the rest of the people will remain in Iraquinik for about another month, but the main fighting is over. Since these ships took time to get to Caedellium, that means the rest may have already left and are coming home.”

When written reports arrived a day later, there was a packet of letters for both the Kolsko and Puvey households—far more for the former.

Penabak, Ponomyna

The Penabak harbor was as busy as it had been for the last sixday. The Aroian and Gympoian Alliance contingents used both their own and Ponomynan ships and were the first to leave. Next were regiments from Naskin and Munjor starting that day, minus their officers and senior NCOs. They would return to Caedellium for more training in new weapons, tactics, and maneuvering with Caedelli units. The Landoliners would also use their own ships, escorted home by Fuomi warships to provide protection from chance encounters with Narthani and if a Landoliner ship ran into problems. The Caedelli and Fuomi regiments were encamped two miles outside of Penabak. Later that day, Yozef would return to those regiments for a final review of the operation before he returned to Caedellium. He doubted he would hear anything new. Problems had arisen, had been discussed, and had been taken care of as much as possible, right from his first day of landing in Penabak up to his return from Chikawan.

There would be changes in standard operations and planning before Landolin. They would need more remounts, both to accompany each dragoon regiment and for remount depots secure in the rear. Yozef was also satisfied that the decision to stay with the dragoon organization was best, rather than switch to infantry, which Vernik had originally suggested. Even if all the men were not the best horsemen, the added mobility and sufficient firepower from breech-loading rifles were now confirmed.

They were returning with half of the rifle ammunition they’d landed with. As effective as the Sharps rifles had been, it was the few howitzers and Ordinance rifles that proved better than projected. The ammunition for both weapons had come close to being exhausted by the final fighting, and that was after judicious use of the guns. Yozef was not inclined to reduce the projected need for rifle ammunition, but logistics would have to be adjusted for a significant increase in the number of the heavier weapons.

The medical units with the Caedelli and Fuomi regiments appeared sufficient, but less so those from Munjor and Naskin. Yozef was confident that situation could be improved reasonably easily, but the medical provisions of the Ponomynan units were beyond lamentable, to his thinking. If, as they had committed to do, the Iraquiniks sent forces to help against the Narthani on Landolin, better medical care was only one of many things that would have to change. Yozef was sure the same was true of the Munjorian and Naskinese armies, as confirmed by Gaya. Besides the advantage of returning more Landoliner casualties to active duty, there were morale issues. Soldiers were more effective the more confidence they had in the treatment when wounded. Also, it wouldn’t do for word to spread among the Landolin troops that external Alliance troops had far better medical care.

Language problems had not been as bad as everyone feared they would be, but a campaign on Landolin would involve more men against a more professional army. They would have to be confident that language would not be a problem. There had been a few cases where a misunderstanding could have had worse consequences.

Yozef had not discussed a thought that might elicit more resistance on Caedellium. The 1st Caedellium Dragoon Regiment had performed outstandingly. He wished they could field an entire Caedellium division, but the island’s people and economy simply could not afford that many men leaving the island for a long Landolin campaign. Then there were the political aspects. Opposition to a single regiment going to Iraquinik had been dealt with, but the issue left residual grumblings. Sending four or five regiments to Landolin was out of the question, but maybe two regiments was possible. He would talk with Maera and then a few others before he seriously contemplated making the proposal.

As for the Fuomi regiment, it also performed well— as expected from professional soldiers and career officers. Yozef would press Eina on whether they could get more Fuomi troops to Landolin. If his earlier impressions were correct that Fuomon was not under serious threat on its own front with Narthon, then it should be able to spare a few regiments. Of course, that left the problem of how to get them through the Throat. He mentally shrugged. No harm in asking.

He would push Mark on weapons, though he admitted it was probably more to satisfy his own anxieties than to expect his fellow American to do more than he was already doing. The small and medium mortars needed only slight adjustments: a smoother elevation adjustment mechanism and a sturdier cleaning brush until they could shift from black powder. The few medium mortars they had brought to experiment with had performed well, but he would talk to the others about the possible utility of a heavier mortar that would need wheeled transportation, rather than human as with the light and medium versions.

The Gatling guns were potent but unreliable. Despite Yozef’s telling the army commanders he wouldn’t trust the guns against the Narthani, he intended to push Mark and the development teams hard to solve enough of the Gatling’s problems so the weapons could be incorporated into any Landolin plans.

A major upcoming change was with the howitzers. The combination of its ability to both fire at visible targets and send arching shells to targets not visible had proved devastating and contributed to Kolinkan units collapsing. The standard 6-pounder cannon for dragoons moving rapidly would be replaced by the howitzers.

All the fuses needed work, some types more than others. There was more. It would be a busy time when they returned to Caedellium and would continue off into the future. As daunting as was the intent to bring down Narthon, he felt a big step had been taken on the way to the Pax Caedellium he and Mark had imagined.

There was much to do, including coming to terms with his lack of trust in how to apportion the outcome. How much was due to himself, Mark, Vernik, Kivalian, other Caedelli, Landoliners, Iraquiniks, new weapons, skill, competence, and most unsettling, sheer luck? In retrospect, he had agonized over the plan and the details. Now, he felt his naivete had been breathtaking.

Whatever the reasons, he and Caedellium were heading down a slope within the proverbial toboggan without breaks. Ironically, it was the victory that forestalled backing away from the intent to take down Narthon. The expectations of allied realms would inevitably soar, as would the reputation of Yozef Kolsko. He feared the vision of someday concentrating all his energy on the University of Caedellium was more and more turning into a mirage or an illusion with a reality only within his mind. But these were thoughts for another day, months, and years.

Yozef watched men of the first Munjorian company assemble to board a Fuomi ship, rifles slung over their shoulders.

“That’s the last we’ll see of those Sharps,” mourned Kivalian as the Munjorians boarded.

“Yes, but they can be replaced,” said Yozef. “That was part of the agreement. Munjor and Naskin can keep the rifles issued for their regiments. Cheer up. I’ll bet Mark has improvements in the new ones being made. It’s also not like we’re losing total control over the ones the Landoliners take. The spare parts will continue to be made on Caedellium for quite a while.”

Rhanjur Gaya reached them after he left the Munjorian company formation. Kivalian nodded to the Munjorian before walking to where Gartherid Luwis was talking to Krysilla Wydmon.

“I’ll return to Caedellium as soon as I give my reports to our military and political leaders,” said Gaya. He stood next to Yozef and likewise watched the boarding. “They, of course, will press me for when they can expect Caedellium’s men and weapons on Landolin to help against the Narthani/Jahmnor alliance.”

“I can’t give you a firm timetable yet,” said Yozef. He was not worried about Gaya not stopping at Caedellium with the other Munjorian leaders—they had met and talked enough during and after the campaign. “I’ll have to talk with people on Caedellium about our degree of readiness for another expedition, and this one against a far more dangerous foe. That’s in addition to the political factors I have to deal with. I should be able to say more by the time I see you again.”

“Be honest, Yozef. Do you expect the Iraquiniks to honor their promises to help Landolin? Our people and theirs have never had serious wars, but the history is that our peoples have various levels of disdain and even outright contempt for the other. Plus, the distance is so far, and transportation will be a more complex issue than coming here from Caedellium.”

“I believe they will. After all, it’s not like they would be denuding their own defenses by sending the bulk of their forces to Landolin. At worst, the kahsaks will simply forgo major offensive operations and focus on defense until Landolin is secure again. I could then ask a similar question of you. Whether, after the Iraquiniks sent aid to Landolin, your kingdoms reciprocate when it’s their turn to help the entire Iraquinik Confederation?”

Gaya smiled. “I can give you as much a promise as you could give me for the kahsaks helping Landolin. On my honor, I will do everything I can to honor Munjor’s pledge, but that’s no absolute guarantee. I think it will fall to you to force, bribe, or cajole the kahsaks and kingdoms to do as they promised.”

“And I will do it,” threatened Yozef. “I leave it to you whether to pass my words along to your leaders. It will be up to you not to make any such action by me necessary.”

“So, Yozef, I assume you’re eager to return home.” The Munjorian wanted to change the subject.

“Naturally, but there will be an unanticipated stop at Kweslon, the Aroian capital. I got a surprise yesterday when Sachar Aro and Zashtah Tonkan came to see me. Sachar asked me to stop at Kweslon to meet his father, the Aroian arklun. I don’t know whether that was the plan all along, if he somehow communicated with his father, or the invitation is on his own. There were also hints of future cooperation, though he didn’t specify Landolin. It could be about trade, but it’s not something I can refuse because I hope I never set foot on Iraquinik again.

“It also happens that the observers from Sonet, Sensarsha, and Irapah are going to be there at Aro’s invitation. There’s no hint of what’s up with them, but it promises to be an interesting stop.”

Another surprise had been when both Sachar Aro and the Irapahan observer had spoken in broken Caedelli to Yozef about the visit to Aro. He had already noticed Landoliner officers making efforts to learn Caedelli. Trade was also developing with Aro, but Yozef had not noticed the observer from Irapah making the effort to learn Caedelli.

Kivalian appeared suddenly back at Yozef’s side and whispered in his ear.

“A Fuomi officer just brought some surprising news. You need to come with me.”

Yozef tried not to change his expression and turned to Gaya.

“Sorry. I have some business to take care of. If I don’t see you again before you leave, I look forward to having you back on Caedellium. Maybe then we’ll get more news of Munjor and the rest of Landolin.”

Gaya gave one of the many forms of bow that Munjorians seemed addicted to.

I’ll have to learn the differences one of these days, thought Yozef as he trailed Kivalian, both of them followed and preceded by Yozef’s guards.

A hundred yards farther down the harbor, Kivalian pointed to a Fuomi sloop just tying up.

“A harbor cutter brought people ashore before the sloop could be taken to a pier. Word came that a Narthani ship approached the sloop as it was patrolling off Onunza. The ship was flying the parley flag.”

“Narthani! Something to do with us being here in Kolinka? I suppose word could have gotten to Narthon about where I am, but what do they want?”

“Whatever is going on, the Narthani ship is being held at Onunza after transferring some fifty people onto the sloop, which then came here. Evidently, most of the people they are returning are Caedelli who were captured or enslaved. I suppose it’s some kind of goodwill gesture, though I have a hard time imagining why they would bother. It’s not like we’re going to forget everything they’ve done to Caedellium and its people. However, what’s most interesting is that among the people transferred is a Narthani person who speaks Fuomi. I talked with him, and he claims to be an assessor with a message for you. What should we do with him?”

Yozef reflexively looked over his shoulder at Synton.

“Yeah, I heard,” said Synton. “You won’t be getting within touching distance of any Narthani. If it’s just the one, we’ll strip-search him and everything on him before we allow him close to you.”

“They’ve taken most of the transferred people off the sloop,” said Kivalian to Synton. “We can pull the supposed messenger from the group you can see clustered together up ahead.”

Yozef looked to the grouping of people near a harbor building fifty yards from the moored Fuomi sloop. The details were hard to distinguish, but the group seemed to include women and children.

“All right,” said Synton. “Have him pulled out, and we’ll check him.”

Twenty minutes later, an escorted, innocuous-appearing young man dressed in all black and appearing calm approached the knot of men—all of them armed.

“That’s far enough,” said Synton, stepping forward when the man was twenty feet away. The menacing posture of the guards flanking the man needed no explanation about the consequences of his failing to halt. Kivalian stood between the Narthani and the group to translate, a step back so they could face each other.

“You say you have important objects to give to Yozef Kolsko?”

The man made a low bow from the waist to Kivalian.

“Yes. My name is Urkelin. Do I have the honor of addressing Paramount Kolsko?”

“I’ll ask the questions. What is it you are here to deliver?”

“The first item is in the pouch I’m carrying. May I reach inside? Your people have already opened everything to examine them.”

Kivalian glanced at Yozef, who nodded.

“Go ahead, Urkelin. But move cautiously.”

The Narthani slowly moved the pouch at his side to his front, opened the flap, and pulled out an envelope whose seal was broken. He held the envelope out to Kivalian.

“There’s a letter inside,” said Urkelin.

“Take it out and hand it to me.”

Kivalian took the folded sheets, opened them, glanced over the writing, frowned, and turned to the knot of men behind him.

“It’s just writing I don’t recognize.”

“Okay, give it to me,” came a voice, and Yozef stepped out from the group.

Urkelin smiled and bowed again, this time to whom he now believed to be the Caedelli leader.

Yozef took the sheets, still looking at the Narthani, then glanced down at the top sheet. His vision blurred. He stopped breathing. His skin flushed hot, turned cold, and went back to hot again. His senses were momentarily muddled. He had the urge to sit on the ground, its firmness more attractive than maintaining balance on two legs whose muscles quivered. He ignored the questioning looks from Synton, Arlen, and the other men.

Yozef looked at Urkelin.

“Do you know what is in this letter?” asked Yozef, Kivalian translating.

“No, Paramount. I am merely responsible for delivering it to you. I had never seen the contents of the envelope until your people opened it for inspection.”

Yozef looked again at the first two lines.

Greetings to Yozef Kolsko

Leader of the People of the Island of Caedellium

It was confirmed. The words were written in English! Yozef scanned the rest of the letter, not registering the meaning of the contents but confirming it was all written in a language only he, Mark, and Heather should know. He tried to push aside options swirling in his mind, took a deep breath, and started reading from the top.

Greetings to Yozef Kolsko

Leader of the People of the Island of Caedellium

You may remember me from some of your meetings with General Okan Akuyun before Narthani forces and civilians left Caedellium. I was the tall, dark-haired person accompanying General Akuyun. I write to you not in any official capacity, and not with expectations of results from this message or what accompanies it. If there are gods of fate, the existence of a single capricious God, or simply a culmination of events in an uncaring universe, the result has been to intertwine Narthon and Caedellium in ways none of us could have predicted. Much blood has been spilt and more is likely to come, and it is irrefutable that our two realms are enemies. Much has transpired that cannot be taken back, but consider that all may not be as it seems. None of us can foresee with certainty what the future will bring, and what is, does not have to be what will be.

With regard to Narthon, be cautious in what you assume. We know you are from America. We know Mark Kaldwel has joined you on Caedellium. We know you two have told a similar tale of how you found yourselves alone, naked, on a strange beach among people whose language you could not speak. We know you cannot identify where on Anyar is your homeland. We also know that only the last part is truthful in its literalness, but deceitful in its essence. We know you are not from this world we call Anyar, but from another world somewhere among the stars we see at night. Your world is named Earth and has continents named North America, South America, Asia, Africa, Europe, Antarctica, and Australia. We know of a nation called the United States, of musicians named Beethoven and Springsteen, of Coca-Cola and McDonald’s, of stock markets and central banks, of New York Yankees and Woodstock, of Paris and Singapore, and enough more to fill many volumes. Other things we know about are machines running on gasoline, steam, nuclear energy and electricity, craft that fly through the air and can even reach the single large moon of Earth. This should be enough to confirm your secret is known to us in great detail.

Unless things have changed since the last loyal Narthani left Caedellium, it is doubtful the island’s people know of your true origin. We can both speculate on their reaction when the truth is revealed. However, what we do with this information is still to be determined.

You will obviously speculate about our purpose in revealing what we know and what you have kept secret. We will let you ponder that question, but we will give you no answers at this time. Whatever the future brings, we want you to remember this moment and how things to come might be different than you have planned or imagined.

Our representative is merely a conduit for this message, and we would appreciate receiving him and his ship back, but that is at your discretion. However, before you decide on that, he has one last task. A gift from us to you. We also ask that someday you remember this gift.

The letter ended without identifying the sender. Yozef turned over all of the pages. Nothing. His hands trembled as he folded the sheets.

“Let me see the envelope this came in,” he said to Synton, who took it from the Narthani and gave it to Yozef. It was blank on all surfaces.

“Who is this from?” asked Yozef.

Urkelin shrugged. “I was tasked with the delivery without being told any details of what is in the letter or who wrote it. The seal remained unbroken from when I was handed the envelope until your people broke the seal.”

“And what response am I supposed to make?”

“None that I was told to expect, Paramount.”

“Nothing?” Yozef held up the folded sheets. “You were to simply give this to me and then return to Narthon?”

“As I said, Paramount. Those were my only instructions, along with what I am to say is a gift accompanied by the following words. ‘Accept this gift. Some day may come when you should remember this moment.’” The Narthani smiled. “And no, I don’t know what that message means either.”

Yozef’s mind whirled, the implications of the letter too enormous to deal with at the moment. the other men waited. He needed to say something.

“Do you know about this gift, Synton?”

“A gift? No, unless it has to do with the other people the Narthani transferred to Fuomi control. We searched everything this Urkelin had with him.”

Yozef turned back to the Narthani. “All right, so what is it?”

“I have one last instruction,” said Urkelin. “If I may be allowed to face the people we brought with us, and if I can raise both arms?”

Yozef looked at Synton, who nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Urkelin’s escorts shifted positions so there was a clear line of sight between him and the cluster. He raised his arms. Seconds passed. Almost a minute. Yozef looked at Synton and Kales. Both shrugged. Then there was a shifting in bodies. People within the cluster moved until two women stepped from the group. The brown-haired woman wore a nondescript dress, a cloth head covering, and carried two large bags. The other woman wore a patterned dress and a knitted shawl. She carried a baby in one arm and held the hand of a young boy.

THE END

MAJOR CHARACTERS

Akuyun, Okan; Narthani, General, eastern front

Akuyun, Rabia; Narthani, Okan’s wife, daughter of Ergoman

Bakalacs, Feren; Caedelli, Hetman, Farkesh Province

Beynom, Diera; Caedelli, Medicant, Chair Medical Dept., Univ. Caedellium

Beynom, Sistian; Caedelli, Theophist

Bindbar, Suham; Naskinese, Naskin regiment commander

Bota, Maklos; Kolinkan, Captured officer

Brison, Rhaedri; Caedelli, Theophist

Chaktah, Santaka; Kolinkan Subwarmaster

Chen, Heather; American high school student

Chimon, Ilio; Kolinkan, Cavalry battalion commander

Duwey, Gwadlyn; Caedelli, Logistics, Alliance Division

Ergoman, Khalid; Narthani, Retired Marshal, Narthon army, Rabia’s father

Ethlore, Synton; Caedelli, Guard, friend of Yozef

Gangala, Dhupa; Ponomynan, Ponomynan Arklun (ruler)

Gangala, Tasman; Ponomynan, Son of Dhupa Gangala, Ponomynan commander

Gangala, Uzman; Ponomynan, Son of Dhupa Gangala, Ponomynan commander

Gaya, Rhanjur, Munjorian, Munjor ambassador, Commander Munjor Regiment

Hizer, Sadek; Narthani Assessor

Hizer, Yennaev; Narthani, Niece of Sadek, assessor assistant

Jalabo (Hakeem Stambouli); American math professor

Jormaki, Tuvo; Fuomi, Commander Fuomi regiment

Kaldwel, Maghen; Frangelese, Wife of Mark

Kaldwel, Mark (Mark Caldwell); American engineer

Keelan, Culich; Caedelli, Hetman, Keelan Province, Maera’s father

Kehlee, Robin (Robin Kelly); American accountant

Kivalian, Reimo; Caedelli, ex-Fuomi officer; 2nd in command to Yozef

Kolsko, Aeneas; Caedelli, son of Meara and Yozef

Kolsko, Xena; Caedelli, daughter of Anarynd and Yozef

Kolsko-Keelan, Maera; Caedelli, Yozef’s wife, Univ. Caedellium Chancellor

Kolsko-Moreland, Anarynd; Caedelli, Yozef’s wife

Kolsko-Moreland, Odysius; Caedelli, son of Anarynd and Yozef

Kolsko-Puvey, Dwyna; Caedelli, adopted daughter Kolskos and Puveys

Litlik, Meelis; Kolinkan, Arklun (ruler) of Kolinka

Luwis, Mulron; Caedelli, Caedelli battalion commander

Luwis, Gartherid; Caedelli, Intelligence chief

Merton, Aragorn; Caedelli, son of Bronwyn and Yozef

Muhabi, Amaz; Caedelli, ex-Narthani, Caedelli battalion commander

Munmar Kellen; Caedelli, ex-Narthani, Caedelli battalion commander

Orosz, Tomis; Caedelli, Hetman, Orosz province

Popul, Amapal; Naskinese, Naskin replacement commander

Puvey, Carnigan; Caedelli, Friend and bodyguard of Yozef

Puvey, Gwyned; Caedelli, Carnigan’s wife

Puvey, Morwena; Caedelli, Gwyned’s daughter

Rakatek, Horen; Kolinkan, Warmaster (commander) of Kolinkan army

Saisannin, Eina; Fuomi, Fuomon Ambassador to Caedellium

Saisannin, Paavo; Fuomi, Scholar, husband of Eina

Stent, Welman; Caedelli, Hetman, Stent Province

Swavebroke, Harmon; Caedelli, Hetman, Swavebroke Prov., Commander Caedelli Reg.

Torkinian, Keko, Fuomi, Admiral, Fuomi Navy

Vegga, Denes; Caedelli, Caedelli battalion commander

Vernik, Haree; Fuomi, Army Marshal, Observer and Advisor to Yozef

Washtah, Vinok; Mukamonese, Mukamon Arklun (ruler)

Wydmon, Krysilla; Caedelli, Chief medicant, Alliance Division

Kolsko, Yozef (Joseph Colsco): American chemist

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Patricia Waldygo at Desert Sage Book Editing Services for innumerable improvements to the book and teaching me those things about writing and grammar that I didn’t learn in school. Appreciation to my wife, Kathleen Martinez, for reading drafts and understanding my sequestering myself during writing sessions. A special appreciation for Jenna Ossip-Klein for innumerable suggestions, enthusiasm for the series, reading drafts, and remembering more about Anyar than I often do. Unacknowledged but appreciated over time are comments and suggestions from many other readers and listeners of the Destiny’s Crucible series. Trevor Doolin contributed to the maps. Cover by Alex at Podium Audio.

About the Author

Olan Thorensen is a pen name. He’s a long-time science fiction fan (emphasis on ‘long’) who jumped into independent publication with all its pitfalls and unknowns. He thinks all colors go together: clash, what clash? A fan of Dilbert, Non Sequitur, Peanuts (even if old strips), and still thinks the end of The Far Side was a tragedy. In his youth, served in the US Special Forces (Vietnam:SOG). Has a Phd in Genetics, around 200 science publications as author and co-author on genetics, molecular biology, and bioinformatics. Is a Fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS). Lives in the Blue Ridge country of Virginia. Thinks it’s totally cool someone can read his stories and enjoy them. Loves fireflies, thunderstorms, is eclectic in music, and thinks four seasons are better than one. His web page is olanthorensen.com. All input from readers is appreciated.

Please email me with any comments at olanthorensen@gmail.com or through my web site at olanthorensen.com. I promise to read all emails, though I won’t be able to answer personally every one. Also, if you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment/review on appropriate venues, such as Amazon and Goodreads. Readers and authors have a synergistic relationship. The more reviews, the more likely there are for more books.

Table of Contents

- Book 8 of Destiny’s Crucible
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- CHAPTER 43
- CHAPTER 44
- CHAPTER 45
- CHAPTER 46
- CHAPTER 47
- CHAPTER 48
- CHAPTER 49
- MAJOR CHARACTERS