Lord of Janissaries (118 page)

“Aye,” Tylara said.
And I did that once, in the war against Sarakos. Long ago.

“Indeed,” said Balquhain. “But how should we make our way back across the Sutmarg, if the rains come again and the rivers rise?”

Tylara looked at her brother with new respect. He would not have asked that question two years ago.
My lord husband, you will have more and stranger monuments than you can imagine.

“All the better, for neither the enemy’s host nor Morrone’s men will be able to cross the Sutmarg,” Ganton said. “We shall have all the time we need to parley with Strymon, and prepare a warm reception for the enemy when they
do
cross.”

“And it were me of the older days, I’d not be returning at all without a victory to dim the memory o’ Piro’s Hill,” Drumold said.

“So Morrone has ridden north, then?” Ganton asked.

“Three days ago. His escape delayed my release. Prince Strymon was not pleased to have a wolf free behind him. But then the prince realized that if we waited any longer, Toris might send south a band of horse too strong for my escort. We rode out of the camp as the Demon Sun was rising.”

“And Apelles? Yanulf will ask after him,” Ganton said.

“He is in no danger now that Matthias and his minions have fled. He stayed to tend the sick and wounded.”

“And to send us information as he can,” Drumold said. “ ’Twas how we knew ye’d not been harmed.”

“Then we must act swiftly,” Ganton said. “Before Toris merges his army with Strymon’s.”

“Majesty, there is more you must know—”

“My lady, it will wait until morning. Your rest cannot.” Ganton stood. “Lord Enipses!”

“Majesty!”

“Take your lances and join the scouts. Our patrols must be able to fight an enemy as well as to find him. For the next three days you must prevent any enemy spies from leaving our realm alive. This is most important.”

“Majesty.”

“Lord Hilaskos, you will ride north with me tomorrow to view the battlefield my rangers have chosen. We must be able to fight either, neither, or both of the foreign hosts in the land of Drantos. That will mean bringing up the Great Guns as well as the Musketeers—yes, Lord Enipses?”

“Surely, Your Majesty will not ride north with less than the entire host? At least let me come with you.”

“I have given you your task. Do you refuse it?”

“No, Majesty.”

“Good.”

“And what of treachery?” Balquhain asked quietly. “I have never met the man who could deceive my sister, but there is always the first time.”

* * *

Drumold glared at his son, but his frown showed his concern.

“I know I was not deceived,” Tylara said. “In any event I will go with Your Majesty.”

“That you will
not
,” Ganton said. “I will be surrounded by the best fighting men of Drantos and Tamaerthon. Nothing that can catch us can beat us. Now, peace. Unless there is more—discussion?”

No one spoke. Whatever doubts remained, no one would give them tongue in front of a Wanax who had clearly made up his mind.

Ganton called his staff officers to arrange foraging parties and other details of battle. Tylara drew her cloak more tightly about her.

Drumold stood. “You’re exhausted, lass. Come.”

She remembered her father leading her from the tiny council fire to a tent that seemed miles away. She remembered his laying her on a bed as if she were a child, and pulling furs over her until at last she stopped shivering. She remembered swallowing most of a cup of hot wine. Then she remembered nothing more.

* * *

The True Sun had risen and nearly set again when Tylara awoke to see her father sitting beside her bed. His eyes were red with lack of sleep, and for the first time she saw how much of the grey in his beard had turned to white.

She smiled. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiled back. “And what good would I be, lass, if I couldna help ye in a time of need? The gods willing, I’ll be ready to hand for many a year yet.” He handed her a bowl of porridge and watched as if determined to force it into her by sheer will. When she had emptied the bowl, Drumold took it from her, stood up, and went outside briefly. When he returned, the smile was gone.

“This is the Wanax’s own tent, so I much doubt there’d be any ears about that shouldna be. Still, best to be sure. . . .”

The frown deepened. “Daughter, there have been rumors of what ye did near the end of the battle. Or rather, rumors of what ye wouldna do, which is to let yourself be saved to fight another day. I ask ye for the truth.”

Tylara wanted to weep with sheer relief, to learn that her father had guessed so little of the truth, and that little something she could talk about freely. A moment later she was weeping in her father’s arms.

When she was done, he found a cloth to wipe her face and pulled a stool close to the bed. “I willna say that a lost battle is nothing. But no orders of yours began that battle. ’Twas Morrone, who never did know the value of the clansmen. I am thinking that the Wanax will have aye to say to him on that.”

“But, Father, I obeyed him.”

“I should hope ye did! Would ye be like Dughuilas, always disputing orders until someone sent him to dispute wi’ Vothan?”

Tylara shuddered, but Drumold did not notice. “I’d disown ye, an’ ye did that! Daughter, I’ve gone myself where you went the day of Piro’s Hill. Aye. Long before you were born, I led the clansmen against Roman slave raiders. I led them back too, but many fewer than I led out.

“I thought the gods had turned from me, and long I stood on the great cliff looking down at the sea. But I could no hear the gods’ voices clear, only my own shame, and it seemed a coward’s deed, to run away from only that.

“So I walked away from the cliff, and when next I led the clansmen forth, the Romans bled a much as we. That was when I fought side by side with your mother’s kin, and how ye came to be.”

“But—”

“Hush. Your luck’s better than mine. I had to wait half a year to know my luck had turned. Ye charmed the very man who took ye prisoner, until now he’s thinking after giving away his whole victory!”

“It may be a false promise.”

“Hah. Your brother said it. Who last fooled you? Lass, lass, you must no think less of yourself than you are worth. Modesty is no virtue for those who lead good men to war.”

25

The wide valley was green with maize not yet high enough to form ears. Tents stood at each end, green and white at the north, blue and gold to the south. As the True Sun stood high overhead, a single trumpet sounded in the southern camp, to be answered by one from the north.

Ganton mounted carefully.
Vaulting into the saddle is all very well, but this is no time to break a leg. Or be in pain.

Drumold was helped to his saddle by Balquhain.

“I like this not,” Hilaskos said. He glared at Drumold.

Ganton ignored him. He signaled to his squire to raise the banner of the Fighting Man and ride ahead. Ganton and Drumold followed.

“Be careful of the corn,” Ganton said.

Drumold nodded. “Aye. An’ this goes not well—”

If this doesn’t go well, there won’t be anything standing here, or in a dozen other valleys.

A party of three rode toward them from the other end of the valley.

“We’re out o’ range o’
their
bows,” Drumold said.

And the center is beyond range of both. But Drumold has a point. I wonder what orders he has given those clansmen of his?
“By Yatar, he’s brought Apelles!”

“So ’tis no trick,” Drumold said. “Or Strymon’s the greatest fool in nine kingdoms.”

Ganton’s squire reached the tiny flag the scouts had set twenty paces short of the field’s center. He halted, and Ganton rode on ahead. Drumold waited with the squire.

“Hail, Prince Strymon.”

“Hail, Wanax Ganton.”

He dresses well.
Ganton smiled grimly. His own armor was still stained with dust from the trail, and the golden helmet tied to his saddle had dents from battle. Despite the protests of his bodyguards he’d left his axe and carried a jewel-hilted sword of state, not really fit for war, but otherwise he looked very much the commander of an army.

If Strymon wore armor, it was concealed under his green and white surcoat and scarlet silk cape. His sword was hilted in amber, and he wore gold rings on fingers and ears.

No helm or shield.
Ganton relaxed. He unslung a flask from his saddle horn. “Wine, my lord?” He poured into the goblet that hung from his saddle, drank, and turned the goblet over to show it was empty.

Strymon grinned. “With pleasure, Majesty.” They came closer together. Strymon accepted the flask, drank deeply, and returned it. “Excellent wine. I should have my vintners speak to yours.”

“Thank you.”

Strymon’s grin faded. “If the Time leaves any grapes at all in our lands. Your pardon, Majesty, but we have little time this day. The High Rexja’s army approaches, and much of his vanguard will be in my camp by tomorrow night.”

Ganton shrugged. “Highness—your army is in my lands, not mine in yours.”

“Yes. I received my orders, and I obeyed them—”

“Whose orders?”

“Yes. You know, then. Orders signed by Wanax Palamon, but never written—never
understood
by him.”

“In a word, orders from Toris.”

“Or Issardos.” Strymon shrugged. “Does it matter? The question now is, can we come to terms we can both accept? I confess, Majesty, that I have always been a simple soldier. I am not accustomed to thinking like the Wanax of Ta-Meltemos. War has been my profession. Now I must think of my people.”

“I see you have brought Apelles.”

“Yes. He has much experience at—what he calls
administration
. I have learned much from him. Majesty, I know his true loyalty is not to me.”

“Nor to me,” Ganton said. “Apelles serves Yanulf, who may be my chancellor, but who is first and always Highpriest of Yatar. You could have chosen a worse advisor.”

Strymon shrugged. “Except for military officers, there is no one in my camp I can trust not to give first loyalty to Chancellor Rauros or his master Issardos.”

“Highness, if you wish the services of Apelles for the future, I am certain Yanulf will give his consent.”
He’d better!
“This is an odd moment. We each have an army. We each believe we would win victory were we to fight.”

“And we would each lose no matter who has won,” Strymon said. “Were it not for the Time, it would be—interesting to see whether your
guns
could make the difference. I tell you this, no army of mine is going to ride down this valley against nine of those monsters.”

Ganton grinned wryly. “Your scouts are better than I had thought. But we have eleven.”

“Nine. One has lost a wheel, and another was overturned in a river last night.”

Yatar, Christ, and Vothan!
“I—see. Thank you, my lord. Battle between us might be more—interesting—than either of us would like. But your army must leave my Realm!”

“Of course. That will not be as easy to accomplish as I would like.” Strymon’s voice dropped even lower. “Majesty, less than half my troops are of Ta-Meltemos.”

“Issardos again.”

“Yes. I see now that he schemes to make the High Rexja into a Great King of Kings, and I have been his catspaw. Majesty, all of the chivalry of Ta-Meltemos will follow me north, but the rest probably will not.”

A problem I cannot solve for you, my friend.
“Where will you go?”

“To the Green Palace, to send Rauros packing! I see my duty is to take the throne, in fact if not in name.”

“A hard decision.”

“Not so hard. My father will not know the difference.”

“I grieve for you.”
My father knew he had been cast out. You’re lucky, my friend.
“Now to terms. You will withdraw your army. Ta-Meltemos will give no more aid to the Five Kingdoms in war against Drantos, and will send aid to Drantos in war against anyone
but
the Five Kingdoms.”

Strymon considered. “I can agree to this. In return, you seek no reparations for damages done in this campaign, and you will share your knowledge of the Time with us.”

“That is easier to agree to than you think,” Ganton said. “Even if we all stand together, few enough will survive the Time and the
skyfire
that follows.”