Rise and Fall (34 page)

Those who would come with me are dead to him.
Jonrell shook his head.
What a close-minded view.
Unsurprising, the half dozen who joined were those guards who accepted a place at the fire and a hot meal in their stomach the night before.“
Never underestimate good manners,” Amcaro would tell me. Though I’m sure he never thought manners would be used to recruit killers.
Jonrell laughed at the thought.
Killers?
Of those that came over, only one showed any real skill, the rest would need some serious training before he would feel comfortable calling them members of the Hell Patrol. Until then, they would stay recruits. Only after that first battle would their status as members be decided. Only then would he know if they were killers.

Jonrell stiffened in his saddle remembering Denneth’s words from the day before.
Perhaps he was right. I am looking for souls to lead into death.
He thought about that as memories of past battles and the men he’d lost under his command flooded his mind. Then he remembered the men who lived on.
Just because I lead them to death, doesn’t mean they have to accept it. That choice is theirs. And if they do die, my cause is far from meaningless.
His grip squeezed tight around the reins, twisting them in his hands.
And six men are not enough for that cause.

“Wait!” A faint shout from behind eased the tension in Jonrell’s body. Everyone in his group halted and turned to the sound of the voice. The men assigned to rearguard looked back at their commander with a questioning look. Jonrell nodded and the two men set off in the direction of the shout.

The riders came back into view and next to them were three on foot, carrying packs of weapons and equipment. A boy, and a man favoring a leg as he limped along, accompanied Mal.

“What are you fellas up to, Mal?” asked Jonrell.

The lad had his head down. “We’ve come to join.”

“Have you now? Don’t you think you’re a little young to be running off?” said Jonrell glancing at the other boy. The pimpled young man with floppy hair did not appear to be the least bit intimidated by the situation. He boldly looked about curious. “Your friend looks even younger than you. I’m not accustomed to taking on recruits so green.”

“We can help. I’ll do whatever you ask, just say the word. And Drake,” Mal said tilting his head toward the other boy. “He’s like a genius or something. He helped design most of our buildings, that bridge we crossed, and our irrigation system.”

Taking even one away will harm us.
Jonrell could hear Denneth’s words echoing in his head.
The decision is theirs.

“Is that true?” asked Jonrell, turning to Drake.

“Oh absolutely, Sir. It’s really not that difficult, all you have to do is…”

Jonrell raised a hand, cutting him off. “Now’s not the time.”

Drake nodded and to his credit added nothing further.

“So, will you take us on?” asked Mal.

“You need to look at me when you talk, son. A man needs to be able to meet the eyes of the person he’s speaking with,” said Jonrell.

Mal raised his head slowly, revealing a welt on his forehead and a dark circle under his eye. He said nothing.

“Denneth did this?” asked Jonrell, anger creeping into his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“I see,” said Jonrell. He turned to the man accompanying the boys. “And what’s your story? How can a man with a limp help me in battle?”

“Well, if it’s ok with you I’ll stay away from the battlefield unless I’m pressed into it. My name is Cisod and I’m a smith by trade, but I can do a little bit of everything.”

Jonrell looked at the man’s calloused hands and exposed chiseled forearms. “I can see that now. Are you the one who built the armor then?”

“I am.”

“Impressive,” said Jonrell. “Why leave? Seems like you had a pretty good setup.”

Cisod shook his head. “I’m sick of being second guessed by someone who has no business doing so,” said the gruff man.

“Well, if you can give us armor and weapons like the ones I saw, then I see no reason to question your work.”

“Sounds fair. I’ve got a lot of ideas for improving your armor and weapons.”

Jonrell nodded. “Grab a spare mount and we’ll talk later, when we make camp.”

“Aye, Commander,” said Cisod as he turned and walked to a free horse.

Jonrell eyed Mal and Drake. “So I guess that leaves you two, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Drake. Mal remained quiet.

“Raker,” Jonrell called out.

“Yeah?” said Raker.

He nodded to Drake. “You just got yourself an apprentice.”

“What? I don’t want to spend my time wiping some kid’s nose,” said Raker, spit from his chew dribbling down his chin.

“Too bad. He’s yours. Find out what he knows and teach him everything that he doesn’t. I don’t know what our resources are going to be when we get to Cadonia, but there is no such thing as too many engineers. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Come on, kid,” Raker said with a grunt. “Let’s find you a horse,” he spit a wad of chew that nearly hit the boy. Drake kept his mouth shut, but his face was covered in disgust. Still, the boy followed after him.

“What about me?” said Mal.

“I’m not sure what to do with you now, but you said you’re willing to do anything, so I’m sure we’ll eventually find a place for you.” Jonrell gestured with his head. “Get a horse and fall into line. We’ll talk again later and figure something out then.”

For the first time since Mal had stepped out of the woods with that cocky smile on his face, Jonrell saw him grin again. “Thank you.”

He smiled as the boy ran off. Jonrell turned his horse around and signaled ahead for Rygar to move out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Krytien shaking his head.

Chapter 14

“Amazing. I knew you were making progress but…all this in less than two months?” asked Tobin as his eyes drifted from floor to ceiling and then wall to wall of the vast room.

“I know. Having free reign to ensure all is ready in time for your father’s next move has ensured that both speed and quality are equally impressive,” said Nachun.

“So it was your idea to have the forges running all day and night?”

“Yes. Seven days a week, working in alternating shifts to ensure there is no downtime in production. Bazraki is adamant about meeting his deadlines.”

“I’m sure the craftsmen weren’t happy with that.”

“Not at first. The worst were the artisans I pulled away from their trades and pressed into service as blacksmiths and fletchers.” The shaman paused and a grin crept onto his face. “However, it is quite remarkable how attitudes change when the matter of compensation is discussed and they come to understand that far more money would be made under my employ than peddling their wares in the market.”

Tobin nodded. “Well, my friend. It looks as though you’re running out of room here,” he said, turning his gaze back to the rows and stacks of shields, armor, swords, and barrels of arrows.

Nachun gestured for Tobin to step back, and after he did, the shaman closed the thick door. “We secured two warehouses in other parts of the city. We’ll start sending items to them tonight.”

“I see,” said Tobin, watching Nachun slide a heavy lock into place.

The shaman faced Tobin. “And how is the new weapons training of the Kifzo coming along?”

“Better than I expected. There was some grumbling about change at first, but it didn’t take long for many to see the advantages in some of your ideas. Though, to be honest, they were loathe to admit it.”

“It seems that despite my best efforts, many still haven’t warmed to me.”

“I’ve known some for close to twenty-five years and they still haven’t warmed to me.”

Nachun nodded and after a pause asked. “So you said that the Kifzo have only seen advantages in some of my ideas? Where have they found fault?”

“Like my first reaction to the crossbow, they don’t see it being practical to the Kifzo style of fighting. It has its benefits, but I think it should be used solely by the rest of our military. The weapon is too heavy and bulky for a Kifzo to carry in the heat of battle and it would likely slow us down. And remember, we would be in the front line of most engagements where its cumbersome nature would be more of a hindrance when reloading quarrels.”

Nachun nodded. “I have no argument against that. Military strategy is best left to the experts such as yourself. I’m just glad that you’ve been open minded to the devices and found an appropriate use for them.”

Tobin snorted. “Me an expert? You must be confusing me with my father, he does the planning. We only follow his lead.”

“True, but how often have you had to think on your feet and make a decision without your father’s aid? Or even Kaz’s instruction as Warleader? I’m sure you can think of many times where your decision impacted the outcome of a mission. Your father provides a broad strategy, but you are tasked with making it work.”

Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that before. There were times when we all but abandoned Father’s original plans. And there were times I had to change new plans Kaz had given me as new information arose.

Nachun patted Tobin on the shoulder, startling the Kifzo from his thoughts. “Come. I want to show you something I’ve been working on. Actually, several somethings,” he said, face lighting up with excitement.

“Where are we going?” Tobin asked as they entered the street.

The shaman only smiled.

* * *

A cool breeze blew off the water as wind rushed in from the north and carried itself along the bay. The docks flowed with movement. Shipwrights overseeing the activity, barked orders at men and women alike who pushed and shoved all who stood in their way.

Most of the dock’s workers were captives—slaves in Tobin’s mind—taken from the Orange Desert Clan after conquering Nubinya. It had been Nachun’s idea to use the powerful and influential captives as labor in order to lessen the chance of revolt. Tobin had not cared for the idea then, but Nachun’s argument that a growing empire needed extra laborers appealed to Bazraki. His father had wasted little time breaking in the captives during the trek from Nubinya to Juanoq. After a few days of public punishments for dissenters, no one dared question their new role in society. The captives had been tasked in many of the ship building processes.

Nachun paced the docks, explaining in great detail each of the many projects underway. Ships of various shapes and sizes, all foreign to Tobin, caught his imagination. The feeling humbled him as a member of the Blue Island Clan, a people who prided themselves on their mastery of the water.

How does a shaman from the Red Mountains of Hesh know so much?

“This one is massive,” said Tobin, shouting over the clamor of activity around the frame.

“It is a transport ship, carrying more men and supplies than anything ever seen in Hesh.”

“But it is too large to come ashore. No other clan has a dock large enough to handle a ship this size. You can’t expect us to swim the distance while carrying supplies on our back.”

Nachun chuckled. “Of course not.” The shaman pointed. “Smaller boats will be attached to either side of the ship and lowered by winch. Those will be used to come ashore.”

“When did you start all of this?”

The shaman looked up to the sky as if searching for an answer. “About a week after starting the weapon production. Your father was so pleased at my progress then, that he allowed me to pursue these ideas as well.”

And yet this is the first I’ve heard of this? Am I just that lost in my own world not to see what is going on around me?
“Where do you keep getting these ideas from, Nachun? How does a shaman from the Red Mountain Clan learn so much about weapons, armor, and now shipbuilding?”

Nachun laughed. “It does seem strange, doesn’t it? But what can I say?” He tapped a finger to his skull. “The ideas come from here. I read something here, pick up something from someone there, and it just builds upon itself.” He shrugged. “Come to think of it, I’ve always been that way. I remember when I was just a boy, no more than ten or eleven I came up with an irrigation system for my father’s farm that soon everyone else copied and found success with. Seeing my ideas work was all the motivation I needed to try new ones.”

Tobin grunted.

Nachun smiled. “There is one more I want to show you.”

The two walked down a bit further, coming upon a ship much further along than the others, though not quite as large as some. “This one will be finished long before the rest. More than twice the number of workers are assigned to it,” said the shaman.

“What is its significance?” asked Tobin.

“These new ships,” he said waving a hand, “will take some getting used to. It will take time to learn their tendencies and how to maneuver them properly in the water. This vessel,” he added, walking up to its side and slapping the hull, “will be the training tool to learn from. The sooner she gets into the water, the better.”

“Father will be pleased to hear your foresight. He has always placed a great deal of emphasis on preparation.”

The shaman’s face hardened and eyes grew distant. “I’ve learned its importance as well. Never again will I assume success.”

An out of breath messenger from Bazraki’s personal guard arrived then and interrupted their conversation.

“What is it?” asked Tobin.

The messenger bowed in respect to Tobin and gave merely a nod to Nachun. Tobin glanced at the shaman but his face betrayed no anger by the slight. “El Olam wishes to speak with you both. I was instructed to bring you back to the palace immediately.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Nachun.

“It is not my place to speak on El Olam’s behalf,” said the guard in a stern voice.

“Very well,” said Tobin. “Lead on.”

* * *

Bazraki stared out an open window with his back to the door and hands clasped behind him. He held his head high. Tobin found it odd for a ruler with such a large palace, sprawling over countless acres of land, to spend most of his time in its war room. Since Kaz’s disappearance, his father had even begun taking meals there, strategizing late into the night while pouring over his maps and the piles of information received from messengers.