Fire and Sword (22 page)

“Brother Anticus, I want you to get Father Rown. Tell no one else what you have seen, but get Father Rown now.”

Brother Anticus scurried off, his breath already coming in jerking sobs. While he waited, Powl made the primate decent—pulling his nightshirt straight, closing his eyelids, placing his hands across his chest. He did not know how much time he had, so he did only a cursory search of the room. When he heard two sets of approaching footsteps, he straightened and bowed his head in prayer.

“Oh, God, no,” said Father Rown’s voice behind him.

“Come in,” Powl said, waving for the priest and Anticus to enter the room. “Close the door behind you,” he ordered, and Anticus did.

Father Rown also felt for a pulse. When he felt none he turned, aghast, to Powl. “Do you ... do you ...”

“Do I what, Father?” Powl asked, holding his breath.

“Do you know who ...” Powl frowned at him. “... I mean, do you know
what
the word is?”

“The word?”

“Did Primate Northam pass on to you the—”

“Ah, the name of God,” Powl finished for him, and started breathing again.

“Yes, yes,” Rown said, his face taut with tension.

“Of course he did,” Powl said. “Did you think Northam would forget that?”

Rown sighed with relief. His round face seemed to fall into its normal shape, and his generous figure, released from tension, visibly relaxed.

“You must wake our brethren,” Powl told Anticus. “Do not give them the news. Tell them to gather in the royal chapel.”

Anticus opened the door and hurried out.

“You will give them the news?” Rown asked.

“No, Father, you will.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because as Primate Northam’s successor my first duty is to inform the queen and her chancellor. I will do that now.

And it is also my duty to select a new secretary to replace me. I select you. Father Rown. Now go and do your duty.“

Father Rown bowed in thanks, and in recognition of Powl’s ascension into higher office. When he looked up again, he wore half a smile. “I will do my duty.”

“I know it. Now I must do mine.”

“You have been talking with my brother.”

Orkid looked up from his desk to see the queen standing in the doorway to his office. She was looking particularly imperious and stern. He stood up so quickly he scattered piles of paper on to the floor.

“Your Majesty! I was not expecting you—”

“Was it yesterday, Chancellor? Or the day before.”

Orkid was trying to pick up papers and figure out exactly what the queen was getting at. Two secretaries were on hands and knees picking up papers as well, handing them in fistfuls to the chancellor.

“I wonder how you approached the subject? Perhaps something about how cold Hume was at this time of year?”

And Orkid understood. He stood erect, his secretaries still scrambling around his feet. “You are angry with me.”

“Of course I’m angry with you,” she said without any ire at all. “This is something you should first have raised with me.”

“You would have said no.”

“My prerogative. You would have argued me around.”

“Eventually, perhaps. But this way was quicker.”

“It was wrong of you.”

Orkid spread his hands. “My duty is to give you my best advice, and to ensure that your wishes are carried out. Approaching Olio so he could convince you himself was a shortcut I took to achieve both ends.”

Areava turned on her heel and left. Orkid was not sure if he should follow or stay where he was. He looked at the mess on the floor, and decided he could do more good away from his office.

“Your Majesty!” he called after Areava. She slowed but did not stop for him. “Your Majesty, I am sorry if you feel that I have manipulated you—”

“You always manipulate me, Orkid. I’m used to that. What I am not used to is being manipulated behind my back.”

Orkid nodded. “It will not happen again.”

“Good.”

They strode on, courtiers and visitors making a path for them. Royal Guards snapped to attention when they went past.

“There is something else,” Orkid said eventually.

Areava breathed deeply. “There is always something else with you.”

“It concerns Sendarus.”

“Go on.”

“If you are going to assign him as general—”

“You know I am going to assign him as general. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”

Orkid swallowed. “Yes, your Majesty. If I may finish.
When
you make him general, it might be wise to ensure his authority is respected among your officers.”

“They will respect him or answer to me,” she said curtly.

“Easier to enforce his authority in the first place.”

Areava stopped suddenly, forcing Orkid to overshoot. He backtracked and met the queen’s gaze.

“How, exactly, do you propose I do that?”

Orkid pointed to the Keys of Power hanging in plain view over her chest. “Give him the Key of the Sword.”

Areava blinked.
At least
, Orkid thought,
she did not say “no” outright
.

“The Key of the Sword?”

“Yes, your Majesty. As ruler, you only need the Key of the Scepter. Sendarus will be leading your army north against Haxus, in defense of the kingdom. Surely the Key of the Sword would be the perfect symbol of your royal authority and your trust in your consort.”

Areava nodded slowly. “I like this idea.” She resumed walking, Orkid in tow. “I like this idea a lot. Do you think the council would accept it?” Her expression became downcast. “With Primate Northam’s passing, it is weighted toward the Twenty Houses.”

Orkid shrugged. “Even so, if theidea has your blessing, I don’t see why not.”

“The Twenty Houses would be against it,” she said slowly.

Orkid did not even have to think about how to answer that. “True, your Majesty. Another point in its favor.”

Within two days of each other, three armed forces moved out of camp and toward enemy territory.

The first to move was Rendle’s raiding party, nearly four thousand strong. Divided into three columns, they rode single file along one of the three passes his scouts had discovered toward the end of winter. They moved quickly, perhaps dangerously, but carried only the limited supplies needed to reach the Oceans of Grass as soon as possible.

The next day Salokan started his invasion of Grenda Lear. His force was several times larger than Rendle’s and took considerably longer to cover a similar distance, even though the ground was level and mostly clear of snow or mud. Hume’s border posts were swept out of the way like solitary trees before an avalanche.

The same day, and before news of Salokan’s invasion could reach his ears, Jes Prado had moved out his own force, heading straight for the Algonka Pass.

There were eagles overhead. Rendle cursed them, then turned his attention to the column struggling up the defile. He looked west, saw that the largest part of his force was now over the pass’s highest point and descending to the Oceans of Grass, still a good two days away. The eagles were waiting for accidents to happen, as some—inevitably—would. A hoof slipping on loose scree would send rider and mount into a long, uncontrolled fall, ending in broken limbs and maybe necks. He could not afford to leave anyone behind to care for the injured.

But almost all of us will get through as long as the snow holds off,
Rendle told himself. He feared the cold more than anything else.

General Thewor, as he had since the invasion began, stayed close to Rendle, just waiting for him to make a mistake. Rendle could
feel
him, like bad luck, hovering behind him, but paid him scant attention.

“We have been lucky,” the general said.

Rendle knew that, but was not going to let the comment go that easily. “We made our own luck, General. We moved when the time was right.”

The general snorted but said nothing more. He knew he should have had command of this expedition—his cavalry made up more than half the riders!—but understood why Salokan had given it to this aging, petty mercenary. As long as they intended to ride through Chett territory, Rendle was still necessary; but the moment Lynan was in their hands and they were safely back in Haxus, or that part of Hume controlled by Salokan, Thewor himself would personally supervise Rendle’s execution.

“Your men are slowing us down,” Rendle said, pointing to a gaggle of uniformed riders who were trailing at the end of the column.

“They are not used to the cold,” Thewor said defensively.

“The truth is they are not used to such hard work,” Rendle said. “There is a great deal of difference between parade ground riding and real campaigning.”

Thewor tried unsuccessfully not to blush. He shouted an order and an adjutant rode back to the stragglers to hurry them along.

“Two more days, General. Keep them together for just two more days, then we hit the Oceans of Grass.”

“They will get there.”

Rendle grunted, but did not argue. He spurred his horse to catch up with the main column, and Thewor stayed as close behind as his shadow.

For a moment Salokan’s eyes brimmed with tears. He thought it was caused by the majesty of the event, the serried ranks of his spearmen—dressed so finely in their sky blue tunics—marching in attack column across the border with Hume. There was no one there to attack, of course—his cavalry was four leagues away sweeping up any resistance and screening the movement of his army—but it was a great morale builder for the rest of the army waiting their turn to invade Grenda Lear. An hour later the colonels and majors would shout the command for the regiments to fall into marching order and the spears would be raised, the column spread out, and the rate slowed down to sixty paces a minute.

Salokan, for all his emotions, was far more pragmatic than most of his opponents gave him credit for. Except Rendle, he remembered. Rendle understood him the way the a frog understands the kingfisher: with respect, true knowledge, and a little fear. He wiped away the tears, knowing he would spill none for those who would die or be wounded over the next few weeks, and tried not to feel hypocritical about it.

We are all instruments of the state,
he silently told the soldiers.
We all have our part to play for the good of Haxus, to wipe away with a brilliant victory the disgrace of our fathers ‘ defeat at the hands of Grenda Lear.

Soldiers with darker blue tunics were now marching past him. They were conscripts largely, and would not last long if Grenda Lear had a chance to put its regulars into the field. But they were good for holding a line or digging and then occupying a siege trench; and if they were lucky, most of them would survive long enough to become veterans.

Twenty regiments of spear marched by him that morning, then ten of sword and shield, and finally his cavalry, full panoplied in fancy gear none of the troopers would ever think of using in real combat. And another five thousand light infantry had already fanned ahead to secure bridges and fords. Nearly thirty thousand soldiers in all. Not a bad-sized force with which to start an invasion of a kingdom several times bigger than his own.

But the enemy are spread out
, he reminded himself,
and unprepared
.

Besides, if Rendle did his part, he would soon have another four thousand cavalry and Prince Lynan Rosetheme, a symbol Salokan would use to best effect. As well, he had ten thousand regular infantry and cavalry in reserve and encamped near his capital, though he hoped never to have the need to call on them. This war would depend on speed and luck. If things went well, he would soon control all of Hume. He would then add a sizable merchant fleet to his own, possess new grazing lands, and control access to the Algonka Pass. Perhaps he could even fortify the pass and control it outright. Imagine the tithes and taxes from that. His mind did some quick and not too fanciful calculations. He liked the numbers that rolled around in his mind. With that kind of money, he could double the size of his army and come close to matching Grenda Lear soldier for soldier.

And with Prince Lynan in my hands, perhaps I could force Chandra into an alliance. I could guarantee Tomar’s independence from Kendra. He would like that, I think. Then I would match Grenda Lear in every respect.

But only if this first stage worked, he reminded himself.

He knew it best to remain pragmatic; if worse came to worst, he must know the time to retreat back to Hume to lick his wounds and wait for another opportunity.

Just now, however, having watched his wonderful army march past in all their glory and untested courage, it was hard to be pragmatic.

More tears came to his eyes, and this time he did not bother to wipe them away.

Prado’s forces were moving slower than he liked. There was no problem with his cavalry, but the five hundred Arran archers were not used to marching long hours over alien territory and in winter. He had made sure they were all properly equipped for the cold, but the short days, the gray skies, and the melting snow all took their toll of morale. He knew the hardest part was still to come—the climb over the Algonka Pass, where altitude would add to their misery—but once in the Oceans of Grass things would improve, so he hurried them mercilessly. His troops hated him for it now, but would thank him later on. His captains—Freyma and Sal—knew from their own experience what he was doing and supported him completely, as did the older mercenaries who had gone through the Slaver War, so it could have been worse.

His scouts were already at the base of the Ufero Mountains, and so far there was no sign of any Chett movement. The threat of war had forced him to throw out his initial plan to raid into Haxus itself, but there was no reason why he could still not force Lynan and his protectors into action by raiding the Strangers’ Sooq. If he could return to Kendra with Lynan’s corpse, he would be a made man; Areava might even let him keep his force intact for action against Haxus at a later date. Whatever, he could not go after Ren-dle this spring as he had hoped, but maybe in the summer or spring of the following year.

Prado was eating his evening meal of thick vegetable soup when Freyma, looking excited, interrupted him.

“News from the pass?” he asked.

Freyma shook his head. “One of Charion’s border riders stopped by to get a fresh horse. Salokan has made his move.”

Prado did not hide his surprise. “Already? Any sign of Rendle?”

“No, not that the rider could tell. He only saw light cavalry, and they were dressed in Haxus colors. He said they were screening.”

“So Salokan’s infantry can’t be far behind.”

“That’s the rider’s guess. He only waited for a new mount to be ready and then was off again.”

Prado put down his bowl. “We don’t want to get in Salokan’s way.” He stood up and buckled on his sword belt. “As soon as the evening meal is finished, we set off again. I want to be at the pass in two days.”

Freyma nodded; Prado knew as well as he that the troops would not like it, but they would like it less if they found themselves overwhelmed by an army from Haxus.

“Get Sal and come back here.”

Freyma left, and Prado shouted for his orderly. A young man burst in. Prado gave orders for the horses to be readied and the tent taken down, then strode outside. He placed a map on the ground and pinned it down with two daggers. His captains appeared, Sal slightly out of breath.

“I want you to take a company and guard our right flank,” he told Sal. “Don’t engage the enemy. If you see them, send a rider to let me know their position and then retreat. If we have to, we’ll follow the Barda River to the pass rather than take the main road.”

“Do you think Salokan is trying to secure the pass?” Sal asked.

“He will if he has any brains at all, but it won’t be his first priority. He has to bottle up Hume’s forces first.”

“He might send a small force to secure this side of it,” Freyma said.

“If so, you’ll shadow it, Sal. When we’re ready, we’ll take care of them and be across before Salokan can follow up. He won’t send anyone after us until he controls the whole province anyway.”

“Things are happening faster than anyone expected,” Sal said.

Prado sheathed his daggers and rolled up the map. “Good for us,” he said. “Enemies in a hurry make mistakes.”

“You’re thinking of Rendle,” Freyma said.

Prado nodded. “I can hope,” he said. “But no matter. If Salokan is here in Hume, then we’ll have a free hand in the Oceans of Grass. If we take the Strangers’ Sooq, only the Chetts will be able to respond, and we can handle any clan that comes against us.”

“As long as it’s only one clan,” Sal said.

Prado stood up. “Most of them will still be at the High Sooq, a month’s hard ride from the Strangers’ Sooq. By then, we should know which clan is protecting Lynan and can make our move.” He studied his two captains. They looked grim, but ready. All three knew the time had come to commit their force to action or withdraw over the border and stay out of the way until the war between Haxus and Grenda Lear was decided. If Freyma or Sal had been in command, the choice could have gone either way.

But with Prado in command, there was really no choice at all.