'And even should the impossible happen, and Tsard threaten our borders, the weight of citizenry and standing legions we have throughout the Conquord are simply overwhelming. The Tsardon know this. They will defend as they must until forced to surrender, but they will never break us.
'You speak of joint austerity. Paul, please. It has always been that the border states face the new enemy while those at the expanding heart of the Conquord enjoy the life for which their mothers and fathers fought through history. It is the way. We are a meritocracy. We earn the right to our luxuries. When Tsard joins the Conquord, Atreska will reap those benefits too. The games we are staging are a celebration of the glory of all we have built and all we have still to build. They will go ahead and you will not undermine them.'
'And neither will I have any part in them. Nor will I or any member of the Gatherers attend. I have listened to you and I hope you are right, I really do. But it is my people who have to travel to provinces under threat and I will not have them accused of being party to wasting revenue that could have been better spent. Their job is dangerous enough as it is.'
They knew each other well, Herine and Jhered. And he knew he had pushed her as far as she would go. They glared at each other for a time. He was aware she needed his support to give the games final credibility. She was aware she had to find a compelling reason for him to be absent. Fortunately, there were plenty.
'Paul, I respect you and everything you say but you still have the capacity to surprise and disappoint me.'
'It's why you keep me around,' he growled.
She nodded. 'Perhaps you're right. But sometimes your particular brand of reality is as tainted as you believe mine to be.' She took a sip of wine and Jhered saw her reach a conclusion. 'I'm busy here as you can see and, frankly, I don't want you around here muddying the fountains and spreading your ill-humour. But neither do I want you too far away.
'We've delayed too long investigating Arvan Vasselis and West-fallen. It's plagued me throughout dusas. Where does it leave the Order? Where does it leave me as Prime Speaker? I need answers, Paul and to be honest there's no one I trust to get them except you, though I'm scared at the prospect of what you'll find down there.' She let her voice drop to a whisper. 'I've had nightmares about signing his execution order.'
'I've suffered similar anxieties,' said Jhered.
'No doubt. So go to Caraduk. Find out what's going on. And see you don't get back until the games are over. And tell Arvan he need not attend. I expect he will have other things on his mind when you arrive.'
Jhered smiled, satisfied. 'And on a more or less linked matter, how has the Chancellor taken the news of the games.'
'She's delighted, as you might expect,' said Herine. 'Games have always been stages for the Order to educate, have they not? And with so many Marshals in attendance from provinces whose native religions still flourish, she is practically drooling at the opportunity.'
'A less than pleasant image,' said Jhered. 'I'd best get moving.'
Jhered saluted, right arm to left shoulder, and turned for the door.
'Paul.' He stopped and swung back. Herine was standing. 'You are my most trusted friend. But even you are not above the law. Go carefully and mind your words. These games have already been approved by the Senate. Defamation of them is an offence.'
He sighed. 'Everything I do, everything I say, I do for my love of you and the Conquord. You should ask yourself what really drives your decisions.' He reached the door. 'Your inner circle is your only flaw. Don't let them blind you. The Conquord needs you too much.'
He left her frowning, not knowing whether she would take his words as insult or compliment.
Chapter 20
848th cycle of God, 8th day of Genasfall 15th year of the true Ascendancy
The scouts attached to the Haroq's Blades had sighted Tsardon forces seven days before and immediately, Roberto had upped the marching pace, meaning to close to within a day's march. They had moved easily deep into the Tsardon hinterland, travelling along made paths and roads where they could, and in a straight line where they couldn't. The landscape had become cluttered with valleys and clefts and more scouts had been sent out to guard against ambush. There had been three skirmishes away from the columns, all of which Estorea had won, but the chance of larger encounters was growing.
Local settlements had already been scouted and armoured foraging parties were sent out to secure supplies, under orders not to use force unless they encountered reluctance. Roberto had no doubt that some of his foragers would concoct such problems in order to swing their blades. It was the way of things and perhaps the odd demonstration of Conquord determination was not so bad.
Three day's fast march and the dust cloud that signified the Tsardon army was clearly visible at the top of every rise. Scouts reported the enemy army slowing, apparently seeking advantageous ground on which to take a stand. Meanwhile, messengers from the south and east reported both Estorean armies closing with large Tsardon forces. So soon into the fall of the season.
Roberto had returned messages indicating concern at the apparent high level of organisation and intelligence of the enemy; and more importantly, at the scale of the forces that had been raised against them. He faced numbers estimated at two-thirds his own and that was reflected across the three fronts. He urged care in picking
battlefields, patience in the face of provocation and resistance of the urge to fall into the small divisive skirmishes preferred by the enemy.
Two days later and the army was moving through difficult rocky terrain, seriously impairing the movement of the wagons. Scouts had reported the Tsardon stopped and camped. Roberto decided to take his time, ordering half pace and moving four maniples back to help the wagons across the treacherous ground.
It was a tense time. The Tsardon had been here before them and the way was littered with totems and shrines. Roberto's scholars interpreted most as curses on enemy feet to bring broken bones, blisters and disease down from their Gods. But some were exhortations to withdraw, allied with threats of death should the army breast the next rise, ford the next river or traverse the next valley.
The Atreskan alae were superstitious, steeped in religious history linked to Tsard. Their concern fed back through the legions and Roberto did not hesitate to act. Leaving his extraordinarii in position, he rode through to the head of the column and halfway up a valley with sheer rock faces either side of him and a shallow tributary at his feet. There he turned and addressed the Blade's light-horse archers and any others who could hear him.
'Are we seasoned campaigners or raw recruits frightened at the scattered idols of a people who fall back ahead of us? Are we one under a God who embraces us all under sky and over stone or a fractured mass that follows every sign as if it was gospel? No one will die at the head of this valley. No one will die as a result of any of these trinkets littering our path. I will prove it to you.'
He dismounted and walked to the totem which had brought the cavalry to a temporary halt. It was a low stone tower built around a wooden stake. The stake held the single, twisted horn of a mountain ram in its cleft and the whole was splashed with its blood. It was the second they had passed but was of a larger scale, a greater warning. It read that the beast of the mountains would fall on those who attained their peak, that the rocks would tumble and the blood would run.
Roberto lashed a boot at it, scattering pebble, stone and stake. The horn bounced from the wall behind it and skittered down the slope.
'It is as fragile in construction as it is in invested threat,' he shouted. 'Blades. At my shoulder. March!'
He led them to the head of the valley, spreading his arms at the emptiness he found there and smiling down at the thousands who followed him. He heard cheers way back from those who could see little but his silhouette. He inclined his head and turned back to look out at the vista afforded him.
Conflict was close. To the north, the forest of Sirrane ran up the foothills of a low mountain range. South, the head of the valley on which he stood revealed itself as a long, unbroken ridge towering hundreds, thousand of feet in places above the floor of the narrow, tree-studded and river-run plain laid out below him. Across that plain, perhaps six miles away, the Tsardon camp rested on the lower slopes of a range of snow capped peaks. The range was cracked by passes and eventually fell away south at the farthest reaches of his vision to be replaced by gentler hills and rises. North, the line was unbroken up to and through the border of Sirrane.
Behind him, the army was coming to a halt. He was happy to stand there, alive and unmolested while he made his admittedly simple decisions. The Tsardon camp was well placed. They knew he would not attempt to march through Sirrane, hence the northern route was closed. The camp guarded all three of the easily visible passes and overlooked an army marching for the southern hills.
Up in the sky, clouds obscured the early afternoon sun. There was no sense in marching much further today. He walked back down to the cavalry and took the reins of his horse from an aide. He mounted up and spoke to the Blade's Master of Horse.
'Down slope and hard right. Three miles south and break for camp. Have a colour party and engineers ahead with you for marking the boundaries. Delay only means empty stomachs.'
'Yes sir.'
'Go,' he said and kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse, goading it into a trot down the mud and rock slope to where the tributary burst from below ground. 'Blade's Master of Sword!' He roared. 'Where are you, Davarov?'
'Sir,' came back the reply from the mass of men and women crammed into the narrowing valley sides.
'Deploy your light infantry between us and the enemy during camp build. There will be cavalry with you. You won't be troubled but showing intent never hurts.' A smile touched his lips. 'And you could use the practice, eh?'
'Might I remind my General that in the last games, the Blades infantry were the swiftest at the exercise you give us tonight?' Around him, citizens cheered. 'And if we need practice, what does that say about the infantries of the Arrows, Fists and Hawks!'
The cheering got louder, mixed with laughter.
'It means you are all slack after a dusas where you exercised only your hips and wrists,' said Roberto, clapping his hands. 'Now march. The cavalry escapes you.'
He rode back up the path and took his horse to one side to watch his army pass, encouraging every citizen that caught his eye, assuring them that each pace brought them closer to honour.
His head buzzed with excitement. Battle was close.
The camp was complete before nightfall and fires scratched at the twilight sky. Smells of cooking came from a dozen directions. The engineers had found a slightly raised plateau almost directly opposite the Tsardon. A stream ran at its base and the ground was firm for pitching tents and hammering in the stockade panels.
While the bulk of legionaries and cavalry saw to equipment and horses, carpenters and smiths worked under the direction of engineers to repair the damage to wagons resulting from a tough day's march. The surgeons too were doing brisk business on bites, blisters, sprains, twists and the odd break. The camp felt confident, loud with chatter, song and activity.
Across the plain, the Tsardon had chosen not to attack, exactly as Roberto expected. He'd long ordered the Blades back into camp and now just a few riders prowled the open spaces between the picket lines, ready to give early warning of any raid or full blown attack. Roberto was sure they would suffer neither.
He dined in his tent along with all his senior commanders that evening. Scouts weren't expected through the camp gates until the early hours and he was in the mood for a little relaxation and speculation in advance of any concrete information they brought him.
He raised his silver goblet, embossed with the Del Aglios crest and etched with the family prayer. They were almost the first words he had learned as a boy.
When the world is dark, there is always light for us
When the flood waters rise, there is always ground for us
When the mountain falls, there is always shelter for us
When the enemy strikes, there is always a shield for us
When God's embrace surrounds us, we need never be afraid.
'Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your new home. For the next few days, at least.'
They drank and the army's Order Speaker, Ellas Lennart, led the prayer.
'May the arms of God be forever around this army as it performs His work in His name. May each of us be kept safe in His embrace.' 'So it shall be as dawn lightens the sky,' they responded. 'Thank you, Ellas,' said Roberto. 'Eat, eat.'
The low table around which they lounged was stocked with smoked meats, bread and sweet sauces, hot and cold. Flagons of wine and water stood in three places. Plates were filled in silence, all of them waiting for him to begin the debate. He was happy to oblige.
'We have options,' he said. 'You know them, I know them. So tell me the mind of a Tsardon commander this evening.'
'We are the invading force,' said Elise Kastenas, the 8th legion Master of Horse. She was a Caraducian from the heart of the northern plains, and born to ride. Short and powerful, she was a career soldier and bore the scars of her battles proudly on her long, striking face. 'They should want to keep us at arm's length indefinitely. But they are a curious enemy in some regards and we have been able to draw them out on a regular basis these past five years. A march towards them will prove too much temptation.'
'I agree,' said Goran Shakarov, Master of Sword for the God's Arrows. He was a great barrel-chested Atreskan with heavy features and black hair that hung almost to his waist. 'They are a proud people and our presence here on their land as invaders is an insult. I've lived next to them all my life. They aren't waiting for us to tire of war and melt away like ice under the solastro sun. They want to drive us out of their country.' He smiled, showing off broken teeth. 'I know how they feel.'
Tomas Engaard was shaking his head. The ioth's Tundarran Master of Horse was tall, blond and imposing. He was a fine archer from the saddle, the best Roberto had ever seen.
'I don't see how you can say that. It might have been the case three years ago but we've seen them cede ground to us on a regular basis
over the last four or five seasons. There's two possible reasons for that and both should worry us. First, they are learning from us and we're going to find it increasingly difficult to draw them out on our own terms. Second, they might be deliberately bringing us in. What concerns me is that the eastern front is facing a stone wall again this year if our intelligence is correct. And that means we have significant Tsardon forces behind us. We are more reliant than ever on General Gesteris keeping them busy.'
'I don't think we can afford to worry about being cut off, Tomas,' said Roberto. 'I hear what you say but our enemy is ahead of us. Gesteris is not going to fold, let's be realistic. If we can defeat those before us, we can circle round and deliver the decisive blow.'
'What I'm saying is that if they continue to fall deeper back into the hinterland, chasing will leave us ever more isolated.'
'Which is why I want to know the mind of their commander,' said Roberto. 'They have camped and let us catch them. For what it's worth I don't think they'll be packing up and falling any further back. They want to fight us now. The question is, will they meet us on the plain and if they won't, where will they line up and can we force their hand? Should we, for instance, break camp and false march south?'
'Not as first play,' said Davarov of the Blades. His voice was hoarse from habitual shouting on top of a heavy cold. 'We have a sound position here. Excellent all-round vision and no chance of a surprise at our backs. Let's get across there and see if they'll join us on the flat.'
'Would you?' Ben Rekeros, a native Estorean, was well into his fifties and would retire from his position as the 10th
legion's Master of Sword at the end of this campaign. He was a man of few but weighted words and Roberto respected him enormously for his brain as well as his leadership and muscle. 'Think I'd just draw up on the slopes below their camp if I was them and see if we'll break on their phalanxes or wait down range of their archers.'
'But this is where it doesn't work like we expect,' said Elise. 'I don't agree they're drawing us in, and I don't think they have the patience to match march with us to gain best tactical advantage. They've never shown that sort of will before. They need a victory early in the season and they've stopped here because they can deploy against us. It may not happen tomorrow but I bet a day's pay we'll be at them on this field and nowhere else.'
'Mind what I say,' said Tomas. 'Even if they don't move, they can hold us up here for as long as their patience holds out. That's maybe all they want to do.'
'So you're saying you're wrong?' Roberto was smiling.
'No, General, I'm saying that while I concede that they may not want to draw us any deeper into their lands, they may still be planning on isolating us from help. We are already far further advanced than the eastern front. I say again, they are learning from us. They won't just charge down the hill at us.'
Roberto drained his wine and refilled his goblet with water to wash down the rather dry bread and tough meat.
'Do we have a contract to hunt Sirrane for game?' he said.
'Quartermaster says so,' said Shakarov.
'Then I wish he would shoot us something fresh. This animal is way past its best.' A light laugh greeted his words. 'Right, thank you for your thoughts. Unless our scouts bring me very surprising news, I suggest you all assume the camp stays for tomorrow at least. We will march in battle formation all the way and see how close we can get before I order triplex acies deployment. I will not provoke assault at this stage. Tomas, I don't quite agree with you. I don't think delay is in their thoughts. Neither, Elise, do I think they'll rush out at us the moment we get within taunting distance.
'So, a nice easy day.' He chewed on a mouthful of bread, his teeth cracking a seed. 'By the way, now is the time to bring up any problems. I don't want to hear them at dawn.'
None of them had the chance to say anything. The sound of spears being snapped to attention was followed by a soldier ducking inside the tent and sweeping off his helmet.