Date: 2017-01-16T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fantasy
Description: To forge: “Make or shape an object by heating in a fire or furnace and hammering.” —Oxford Dictionary Joseph Colsco has survived what many would not have—cast naked on an alien planet amidst humans speaking an unknown language and with a different culture and history. Now, known to the people of Caedellium as Yozef Kolsko, he has risen out of despair to prominence and finds himself a central figure in the culmination of a struggle against an imperialist power bent on subjugation. The clans of the Island of Caedellium must gird themselves for what is to come. If they can’t unite to a degree pre
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Destiny’s Crucible

Book 4

Forged in Fire

by

Olan Thorensen

Copyright 2017

All rights reserved

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

ISBN 978-0-9972878-4-4

Maps

For maps to help orient the reader to the planet Anyar, go to the web site  www.olanthorensen.com.

A list of major characters is given in the back of the book.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: BURNING

CHAPTER 2: TIME DEMANDS

CHAPTER 3: WORD FROM NARTHON

CHAPTER 4: SEAL THE BORDERS

CHAPTER 5: A NEW PLAN

CHAPTER 6: A NEW PLAYER

CHAPTER 7: FIRST MEETING

CHAPTER 8: FUOMI IN CAERNFORD

CHAPTER 9: CHANGE OF PLAN

CHAPTER 10: CARRONADES AND SNIPERS

CHAPTER 11: TO OROSZ CITY

CHAPTER 12: CONCLAVE

CHAPTER 13: WAR COUNCIL

CHAPTER 14: SELFCELL

CHAPTER 15: FIRST SITE

CHAPTER 16: YOZEF AND RINTALA NEGOTIATE

CHAPTER 17: PROMOTION AND IMPRESSIONS

CHAPTER 18: GATHERING OF THE CLAN

CHAPTER 19: RELATIONSHIPS

CHAPTER 20: GOOD IDEA OR NOT?

CHAPTER 21: NARTHANI PREPARE

CHAPTER 22: DECISIONS

CHAPTER 23: BATTLEFIELD CANDIDATES

CHAPTER 24: ISOLATE PREDDI

CHAPTER 25: LAUNCH

CHAPTER 26: TO THE SEA

CHAPTER 27: CHANGING OBJECTIVES

CHAPTER 28: CHASE

CHAPTER 29: STALEMATE

CHAPTER 30: TEMPORARILY HOME

CHAPTER 31: BATTLEFIELDS AND COMMANDS

CHAPTER 32: PREPARE TO MOVE

CHAPTER 33: OROSZ CITY AGAIN

CHAPTER 34: RINTALA’S DECISION

CHAPTER 35: NARTHANI

CHAPTER 36: INTERLUDE

CHAPTER 37: PREPARATIONS

CHAPTER 38: “YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME”

CHAPTER 39: A SEA OF SAILS

CHAPTER 40: IT BEGINS

CHAPTER 41: RECON IN FORCE

CHAPTER 42: HERE THEY COME

CHAPTER 43: WAITING

CHAPTER 44: WILL THE WALLS HOLD?

CHAPTER 45: ON TO ADRIS

CHAPTER 46: RETURN TO OROSZ CITY

CHAPTER 47: FIRST ATTACK

CHAPTER 48: LIFE OR DEATH

CHAPTER 49: ANYONE CAN FALL

CHAPTER 50: RESOLUTION

CHAPTER 51: THE LAST SHIP

CHAPTER 52: THREE CLANS

CHAPTER 53: CHANGES

EPILOGUE

MAJOR CHARACTERS

To forge: “Make or shape an object by heating in a fire or furnace and hammering.” —Oxford Dictionary

There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond, and to know one’s self. —Benjamin Franklin

The strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire, and the seeds of strength are often contained within the husk of weakness. —Chinese proverb

People and nations are forged in the fires of adversity. —John Adams

Only in the crucible of strife does God burn away the impurities to reveal the essence of a person, an inner core that might otherwise have remained hidden for an entire life. —Rhaedri Brison, Planet Anyar

Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be. For without victory there is no survival. —Winston Churchill (copied by Yozef Kolsko)

Prologue

Twenty geosynchronous surveillance satellites watched planet Anyar’s surface. A constant stream of data fed directly or was relayed by the satellites to an orbiting station housing the artificial intelligence (AI) programmed to observe and send periodic reports to its creators. In the planet’s previous year, the AI’s attention on one island had increased several-fold. Recent observations noted sailing ships headed for the island. A single ship approached from the northeast, and a group of fifteen ships were farther away to the west on the ocean that covered one entire hemisphere of the planet. Having no information about the ships’ purposes, the AI could not associate the data with a single human on the island. A human known to the AI. A human who had just suffered a fitful night’s sleep.

Chapter 1: Burning

Yozef strode through the rooms and searched every closet and cupboard. Wherever he found a lantern, he opened it and poured the kerosene on the floor. When he’d finished with the kitchen, he propped open the outside door. With the pistol he always carried now, he struck hammer to flint to generate sparks. The kerosene caught fire, and the blaze spread through the house. Within seconds, flames shot out of open windows as the fire roared through every room. A minute later, flames engulfed the entire structure. Even as the inferno obliterated evidence of an evening’s gathering turned to carnage, he couldn’t shake off memories of blood, terror, and images that had disrupted his sleep.

Thirty Minutes Earlier, Keelan Manor, Caernford

Yozef Kolsko had lain awake almost an hour. He hadn’t jolted awake from a nightmare, as happened following the raid on St. Sidryn’s Abbey. Then, for sixdays afterward, recurring nightmares had roiled his sleep: screaming Buldorians attacking him or the sight of a dead child cleaved by a raider ax. He had feared such nightmares would come back after the Battle of Moreland City. However, though he slept fitfully then, he couldn’t recall specific dreams.

Now, during the last month, he’d slept with turbulent dreams, then awoke dizzy, heart pounding. The dreams followed a similar pattern since the attempted assassination of Culich Keelan during Maera’s birthday dinner. The hetman had survived the attack, as had Yozef, Maera, and Aeneas, their new baby. Not so fortunate were Maera’s sister Anid; Aeneas’s wet nurse, Mirramel; Norlin, the teenage boy who worked at the Keelan manor; or two of the hetman’s guards.

His dreams relived that night, sometimes with scenes of what had happened and other times what might have happened. This morning, he awoke from a dream of bursting into the great room to see Breda Keelan holding not Anid but Maera, a musket ball hole in her forehead. The previous night, he’d watched himself stab the helpless Narthani he’d wounded. After both dreams, he felt strangely detached, while planning what he intended to do to all the Narthani and regretting the wounded assassin had died so quickly.

He had escaped without a scratch, to his amazement, even though he’d been in the midst of the fighting. Aeneas was unharmed, but Yozef still felt sick at the memory of seeing the baby’s nightshirt torn by the blast of an attacker’s firearm, the shot missing by an inch the soft newborn skin. Maera came through with only bruises from smashing into furniture while she dove to the floor.

Others were not so fortunate. Carnigan took a musket ball in the arm and several shotgun pellets to his torso. The arm wound was serious enough to incapacitate him for a week, but he agreed to rest only after Gwyned berated him for pretending it was minor—which the medicants assured him it was not.

Wyfor Kales lost the two smallest fingers of his left hand and took a glancing shotgun pellet along his head. However, the wiry man left the next day, along with Balwis Preddi and three other men, on a retaliation mission against the Narthani commander in Eywell Province. Even though they succeeded in killing Colonel Memas Erdelin, Yozef still wasn’t sure if he’d sent the men on the dangerous mission after rational evaluation or as an emotional urge for revenge. While everyone else congratulated those carrying out the mission and Yozef for its conception, only Maera knew Yozef’s ambivalence. She urged him to put it behind him but didn’t offer an opinion on the original decision.

Culich Keelan suffered one of the two worst wounds from the attack. A shotgun blast to a shin forced the medicants to take off his leg below the knee. While the medicants prepped him for surgery, the hetman reassured them that he knew they had done everything possible to save the leg, and at least it was his bad leg from an old injury. He even quipped that he’d probably be more mobile with a peg than the original lower leg. Breda, his wife, cried and laughed as the medicants put him to sleep using ether, the first innovation Yozef had introduced and the basis for his thriving industrial enterprises.

Ceinwyn Keelan, the twenty-year-old daughter of the hetman (eighteen Earth years) and Maera’s sister, came to Balwis’s aid when an attacker came at him from behind. She succeeded in distracting him until Balwis could deal with him, but she suffered a hideous wound from the attacker’s short sword. It sliced the side of her head from just below the eye to the bottom of her jaw and back past the ear. The flap of flesh, cheek, and ear hung loose, connected by only a few inches of skin. Medicants sewed the flap back in place, and only after two sixdays were they satisfied the flesh had enough surviving blood vessels to support the cheek as it fused back together. However, they were honest with Ceinwyn and her family. She would carry a great scar along the side of her face.

All these deaths and wounds Yozef remembered in excruciating detail, particularly in his dreams, though a single act haunted even his waking moments. In the desperate fight to defend those he loved and cared about, he had killed five men up close. At the end of his first year on Caedellium, Narthani-sponsored Buldorian mercenaries attacked St. Sidryn’s abbey. During the successful defense, he had merely distracted attackers who were dispatched by other defenders. At Moreland City, he had helped man artillery, though any casualties these inflicted had occurred a distance away, and he didn’t directly see the consequences of his actions. Not so with the assassination attempt. There, he caught the first two attackers by surprise as he crouched in shadows and fired while they rushed through the front door. A third man he shot in the back as he followed a cluster of attackers heading for the great room containing most of the people, including Maera and Aeneas.

He killed a fourth man and wounded a fifth in a brief, chaotic blade fight with three attackers. In that dark and desperate moment, Wyfor Kales’s admonition that Yozef needed to react and not think in a fight overrode any fears. The final attacker fled, leaving Yozef with the wounded man. Yozef’s higher cerebral centers told him the man would provide intelligence on the identity of the attackers. However, the lower, more primitive portions of his brain overruled, and he killed the helpless man with enough knife thrusts to slaughter six men. Only after the adrenaline washed from his blood, and he crouched, bloody knife in hand, above the body did he come back to himself and rush, fearful, to the great room to find Maera and Aeneas.

And later, when assured his family was safe and abundant help had arrived, Yozef walked the dark grounds, wondering who he had become. Balwis offered reassurance that he would have done the same, yet Yozef was not mollified that he’d acted like his bloodthirsty retainer and companion. It wasn’t so much that he’d killed that ate at him. He simply couldn’t believe how little regret he felt at executing the wounded attacker.

Who was Yozef Kolsko? What kind of man was he? He knew he’d undergone changes since being cast onto this planet, Anyar, by the Watchers. That was the name he’d given them—the alien race whose vessel had accidentally collided with his airliner. He’d been traveling to a national chemistry meeting in Chicago when his life on Earth abruptly ended. The Watchers had rescued him and healed what they implied were terminal injuries. Yet they wouldn’t return him to Earth, because he knew of their existence.

His adjustment to being cast away was hard. He’d lost his old life and found a new one on the Island of Caedellium. He judged he’d succeeded. In the process, however, he’d evolved into someone he wouldn’t have recognized as himself had they met on Earth.

Joseph Colsco and Yozef Kolsko. Was Joseph Colsco of Earth—the nerdish, unathletic avoider of physical contact sports and young man of modest ambition—now Yozef Kolsko, a principle figure in defeating Buldorian mercenaries and a Narthani army, and a deadly defender of home and family? Although he struggled with the idea and the cognitive dissonance it elicited, he acknowledged the reality: he was Yozef Kolsko, industrial magnate, enigmatic repository of knowledge, military adviser to Caedellium clans against the Narthani, and anything else he needed to be for the survival of himself, his family and friends, the clans, and the knowledge he hoped to transmit. He did his best to push aside lingering remnants of Joseph Colsco.

The first hints of morning light told him dawn approached. Maera stirred next to him, and he wondered what she dreamed. He stifled the urge to reach out and hold her. In his fitful sleep, he’d been aware of how many times she rose to feed and comfort Aeneas. She needed to sleep as much as she could, so he got up quietly and checked the crib next to the bed. Aeneas slept the sleep of the innocent. He’d kicked off the thin blanket, as he regularly did, and Yozef pulled it back to the baby’s waist level. It would be off again in minutes. He walked out of the bedroom and into their quarter’s main room. There, he lit a lantern and used the opportunity to work on his latest science journal. He had to keep them secret until some uncertain future when all could be revealed.

The Kolsko household lived again at Keelan Manor because they had no home of their own. For a month before the Narthani assassination team struck, the Kolskos had lived in a newly constructed house a half-mile from the Keelan family home. After the attack, Yozef had accompanied a support force for the thousand-man raid into Eywell and Narthani territory, led by Denes Vegga. Maera had started workers repairing damaged doors, windows, furniture, and holes from musket and pistol balls, along with cleaning or replacing bloodstained rugs and wood.

Yozef locked the latest journal into a cabinet that only he had access to. He walked from the manor to their house. The sun still hung below the eastern hills, yet workmen labored at the house when he arrived. Some men greeted him, those he knew, others bowed, and some stared. Oblivious, he walked through the foyer where he’d shot two men and down the hall where he’d shot a third man, stabbed a fourth through the diaphragm into his heart, and mutilated the helpless wounded Narthani. He passed the kitchen door through which he’d seen Norlin lying dead and walked into the great room previously filled with Narthani corpses, Breda Keelan holding Anid’s body, and all the other lifeless, wounded, and shocked.

He later couldn’t remember making a decision. He approached a cluster of men he’d passed on the veranda. “Who’s in charge of the repairs?”

“I am,” replied a gray-haired man.

“Get everyone out of the house and into the yard,” ordered Yozef.

“What? We just started today’s work. Is there something—”

“Out. Now.” Yozef voice was icy, as were his gray-blue eyes.

The foreman knew not to argue. “Mellyn, Artor, get everyone out of the house.”

“What—” started one man.

“Now! Just do it.”

The two men scattered, yelling at workers within sight, then running into the house. Within a minute, a dozen workmen had gathered around the foreman, who had moved into the yard with Yozef.

“They’re all out,” said the man.

Yozef nodded. “Stay here and don’t interfere.”

The foreman didn’t ask what he or his men were not to interfere with.

Flames shot out of open windows as Yozef walked back to the shocked workmen. Exclamations died when they saw his face. The foremen verbally restrained a few men who’d run for water buckets. The fire roared through the structure. Within one minute, flames engulfed the entire house. Within five minutes, workers from Keelan Manor came running or riding—to be clued into stunned silence by the original workmen. Yozef stared at the blaze without speaking.

Then an arm encircled his waist. Maera didn’t speak, just clutched at him and watched the inferno. Yozef looked around. He didn’t know when the others had arrived: Carnigan and Balwis, Mared, even Culich in a carriage, his bandaged, shortened leg propped on pillows, while Breda helped him sit up.

Culich’s face appeared to be carved out of rough stone. Breda wept. “The right thing,” said the hetman. “None of us could have entered the house without remembering. We’ll build another house, better than this one and some distance away. The grounds here will be cleared, and we’ll plant flame trees. Anid always loved them.”

“He’s right, Yozef,” said Maera, not crying, though her voice choked. “I started the repairs, although I didn’t know how I’d live in the house, nor could I imagine anyone else living there. Not after what happened. You’re right. It’s only a building. It could never be our home again.”

The onlookers gradually dispersed, returning to homes or moving to other jobs. When the last flames died, only Yozef and Maera were left. All except for Carnigan and Balwis, who kept an eye on the man they were entrusted to protect. Both men were unsure what he would do next, and the uncertainty led them to scan the surroundings for any danger.

“Let’s go back,” said Maera. “Braithe is tending Aeneas and has probably fed him. It’ll do us both good to hold the baby and remember what was saved from that night.”

Chapter 2: Time Demands

Yozef and Maera busied themselves the rest of the day, not speaking of the morning conflagration but both thinking of their return to Keelan Manor.

“I wish I could imagine the last sixdays hadn’t happened,” Maera said as they entered their quarters for the night. “Our new house, Anid, Ceinwyn, Father’s leg, and the other dead or wounded. It’s an odd feeling. Us back in my old quarters. Anarynd in the same guest room. Gwyned, Balwis, and Carnigan in the same guest cottages.”

“Yes, but not all the same,” said Yozef. “Besides caring for her own daughter, Gwyned also helps with Dwyna.”

Aeneas’s original wet nurse, Mirramel, had died in the attack, leaving her daughter, Dwyna, motherless. Either the Kolskos would find a relative of Mirramel’s to place the child with, or Dwyna would remain part of the Kolsko household. Never in question was that Dwyna would be cared for.

Yozef walked to Maera and reached an arm around her waist. “As for Carnigan and Balwis, they’ve both left their other quarters in Caernford and live here full time now, along with the Reeses.”

Gowlin Reese had been one of the rotating guards for Hetman Keelan. He had not been on duty the night of the attack. Later, Culich volunteered him as a natural addition to the Yozef guard detail when Gowlin’s wife, Braithe, assumed Mirramel’s vacant position as Aeneas’s wet nurse.

“And Kales,” said Maera. “I’ve never been comfortable around him, although I like his wife, Teena. But after what happened, I’m glad he’s spending more time here.”

“I admit Wyfor is an acquired taste, but I have absolute trust in him, the same as the other three guards,” said Yozef. “As for the Reeses, adding their daughter, Islan, to the household and caring for Dwyna now gives us four children, with Braithe expecting another in six months. The daycare is growing.”

The three girls, Morwena, Dwyna, and Islan, sometimes with the addition of Aeneas, were mutual playmates. Whenever the children and their accompanying caregivers congregated, Yozef began calling it the Kolsko daycare, a name that others soon adopted. After all, Yozef Kolsko had proposed the name.

Even if he could have cloned himself into three Yozef Kolskos, they wouldn’t be able to accomplish everything Yozef believed necessary. He fought himself and others to maintain enough family and personal time, so that the stress didn’t overwhelm him. Maera, with the connivance of Carnigan and Balwis, kept an eye on his condition and forced time off whenever they sensed the burdens threatened to become dangerously heavy. The demands were greater than any human, Septarsh or not, could hope to address, and they talked among themselves, along with Denes Vegga and Vortig Luwis.

“Much as we need him doing so much,” stated Luwis, “it’s better to have a fully functioning Yozef Kolsko part time than a diminished version full time.”

Prioritization was Yozef’s refuge and bane. He resorted to the four-quadrant prioritization square he’d disdained when his ex-girlfriend had explained it to him. He plotted a list of need-to-do items on a two-dimensional graph. He rated up and down (positive and negative) from urgent to not-urgent and left to right (negative to positive) from not-important to important. The items rated most urgent and most important got first attention. He discarded the most not-urgent and not-important, no matter who proposed them. The in-between items might or might not be eventually addressed. It was an imperfect system, and although Yozef occasionally violated the graph, it gave him a starting point to allocate his time. He also had a ready excuse for why an issue important to someone else would never get his attention. Not that everyone understood the reasoning of the graph. However, Yozef Kolsko used it, so it must be rational.

The order of prioritization fluctuated from day to day, with a typical day’s activity suggesting the pattern: planning the invasion of Narthani-controlled territory; holding meetings to explain why something needed to be done (such as getting all military units trained to fight under the green and starred Caedellium flag and banners, instead of those from individual clans); meeting with the Military Intelligence Unit to be briefed on the latest MIU reports; meeting with the mapping project members to assess progress and direct future emphasis; and meeting with a delegation from the Skouks clan who agitated for more cannon. Not open for prioritization was Yozef’s now twice a sixday hour of physical exercise and his once a sixday sparring with Wyfor Kales. Despite his brain’s insistence that there were more important uses of his time, his heart and gut couldn’t forget the assassination attack and what the outcome might have been, if not for his own actions.

The little time he spent with Aeneas nagged at his conscience. Maera shared his guilt. The daycare and the new wet nurse allowed Maera to return to work with a vengeance. Her shock and sorrow at Anid’s death, the serious wounds to her father and Ceinwyn, and an attacker’s near-miss at shooting Aeneas had refocused her abiding fury at the Narthani and drove her to do even more than before.

She continued to organize Yozef’s time, but she focused mainly on the MIU that Yozef had founded. He’d left its operations in her hands and Owill Brell’s. The Adris clan member assumed the role of head of intelligence gathering, while Maera concentrated on analysis and background intelligence. Her current chief project was a profile of Narthani culture and history, culled from available writings and from interviews with people who had personal experience with the invaders. They included the few Narthani prisoners from the Battle of Moreland City and escapees. The prisoners provided a view from lower levels of Narthani society but few details about history and higher levels of Narthani social strata. The escapees proved more informative, because so many of them came from different backgrounds. Savronel Storlini, a Narthani citizen with no loyalty to Narthon, became especially useful. Descended from a people conquered only a few generations previously, he hoped for a better life and had taken a leap of faith to defect to the clans. As a youth, he’d studied Narthani history with the naïve desire to find a way to free his people. He’d given up the fantasy years ago and now became Maera’s go-to source for Narthani background.

Her work in organizing the planned University of Caedellium, where she would be the first chancellor, had faded into the background. She simply had too much else to do.

Maera’s need to care for Aeneas and provide feedings (supplemented by Braithe) limited her time either at the MIU headquarters in Caernford or working at home. Despite her anxiety about failing at her maternal duties, she came to a decision while helping her mother clear Anid’s rooms in Keelan Manor.

It had been an agonizing morning. As Maera and Breda Keelan sorted through Anid’s possessions, they found it difficult to progress beyond bouts of weeping, especially when holding an object the third Keelan daughter loved.

“This was always her favorite,” said Breda, clutching a ragged stuffed dog. The brown cloth had been patched so many times, little remained of the original coat. One green eye waited to be replaced, and the stub of a tail testified to Anid’s habit of chewing on it, even when she got older.

Mother and daughter only hugged, having shed enough tears in the previous three hours. A sense of acceptance had seeped in, and neither cried as they beheld the pitiful object.

“Mother,” said Maera, “can I keep this and a few of Anid’s other things? Yozef and I have agreed to name our first daughter after Anid. I’d like to give her Anid’s things when she’s old enough.”

“Oh, Maera,” said Breda, her voice catching, “what a wonderful idea. I’m sure Anid would love that. You can keep anything you pick out, or I can keep all of it in storage until you’re ready for them.”

“Maybe you should keep them for now. We don’t have a house now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we move again before the Narthani threat is over.”

Neither questioned the assumption that they would share a future without the Narthani.

Maera looked around the room, and her mood shifted to cold fury. She tried to tamp it down. “There’s something else I wanted to talk with you about.”

“Are you sure, Maera?” Yozef asked when she broached the idea with her husband. “We could use more of your time, but you already feel guilty for not spending as much time with Aeneas as your mother spent with your sisters.”

Maera set her mouth firmly and shook her brown hair, her green eyes staring straight at Yozef. “Yes, I do feel bad and pray I’m not harming Aeneas by not being the mother I should, but there are greater issues. If we don’t prevail against the Narthani, nothing I do or don’t do with our child will compare to his future under the Narthani, if he even has a future. He’s a member of the family of a prominent hetman and the son of Yozef Kolsko. If he survived, it would likely be as a slave. What I’m doing to help you and work with the MIU is critical. It’s where I have to spend as much time as possible. And let’s be honest. We have more than enough help as long as Ana, Gwyned, and Braithe are around. Then there’s Mother and my sisters.”

The last reference came out with a catch in Maera’s voice. Sisters. Only two, now that Anid was gone.

“What about Braithe?” Yozef asked. “That would leave her breastfeeding two babies full time. Is that even possible? Would she have enough milk?”

Maera shook her head. “It’s not a problem. The more feeding is done, the more milk is produced—at least, for most women. I’ve already spoken with Braithe, and she’s willing. If it doesn’t work out, we can always find another wet nurse.”

Yozef put both arms around his wife, holding her close. He tilted his head back to look her in the eye. “I agree. Reluctantly. I want to be sure you don’t flail yourself unnecessarily. I do need your help, and the Military Intelligence Unit will expand greatly in size and importance. We must rely on others with Aeneas, and in return, they’ll rely on us to do whatever is necessary for everyone. When will you stop breastfeeding him?”

“There’s no reason to wait. I’ll start reducing the number of feedings per day and let Braithe take over more and more. In three or four days, I’ll stop entirely. From what Mother and others tell me, my breasts might ache at first, but by gradually slacking off, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Maera hesitated, then continued. “There’s something else. Although I want more children, this isn’t the time. We already brought one into this world, and I’d rather not bring more until the future is settled. If I stop breastfeeding Aeneas so I can work more, getting pregnant and giving birth again is counterproductive.”

Yozef didn’t disagree but felt a twinge of guilt when his next thought was the effect on their bedding. A flash-forward to months or years without sex wasn’t appealing.

Maera read his thoughts and took them in stride as a normal concern. “It means we’ll be careful with our coupling. I know when my monthly time is due. We’ll avoid it during the two sixdays when I might become pregnant.”

Yozef relaxed. You might know Maera would have thought this out, he mused.

“I’ve talked to my cousin Ioneid,” said Maera. “She’s given me advice on how to substitute for coupling, so don’t worry, Yozef.” She patted his hand.

Christ, he thought. Like she’s reassuring a four year old. However, he couldn’t help but wonder about Ioneid’s advice. Maera’s cousin was notorious for an active libido, though supposedly she’d exercised more restraint since she’d married.

Maera linked an arm in Yozef’s. “I swear to all I know and to God, may he forgive me, but our next child I’ll care for like I haven’t with Aeneas. That includes every night, all night, and all feeding for its first year, as much as I possibly can.”

Once each sixday, Aeneas’s parents strove to retain a semblance of normality. Four days after Maera breast-fed Aeneas for the last time, the Kolsko family attended an ad-hoc potluck after Godsday service. Yozef held a sleeping Aeneas during Abbot Walkout’s sermon at St. Tomo’s Cathedral in Caernford and slowly rocked him back and forth to keep him asleep. Maera had worried that if she held him and the baby woke and tried to nurse, he would nuzzle at her still-tender breasts and become frustrated when his mother didn’t present him with a nipple and a flow of milk.

When they exited the cathedral, they walked the two hundred yards behind the edifice to where carriages, wagons, and horses were left tied. There, they reclaimed their carriage and drove a half mile to an open, grassy field with scattered majestic trees—the area set aside for activities like festivals and other gatherings. Already setting out blankets and baskets of food were Filtin and Nerlin Fuller, Teena and Wyfor Kales, and Gowlin and Braithe Reese. Yozef felt thankful to see the latter, because Aeneas had woken up and fussed. Yozef assumed he was either hungry or needed changing—or both. He thankfully passed the baby to Braithe to attend to both possibilities, then helped Maera spread another blanket and unpack the basket she’d brought from their carriage.

Another carriage, driven by Carnigan, delivered Anarynd, Gwyned, Morwena, and Dwyna. Balwis Preddi escorted Ceinwyn and Mared Keelan on a walk from the cathedral. Culich and Breda Keelan had committed to eating at Breda’s sister’s house in Caernford.

Ceinwyn still felt unsteady, with part of her face bandaged, but she’d insisted on walking in the noonday sun, to her mother’s exasperation. Ceinwyn believed herself able to make the walk, though Maera noted that Ceinwyn hung onto Balwis’s arm for support, and her face appeared drawn.

Yozef also noticed Balwis’s assistance, especially the scarred, rough-mannered fellow’s solicitousness, as he helped Ceinwyn sit on a blanket. Yozef nodded approvingly. Nice to see Balwis help Ceinwyn. He’s mentioned he was impressed at her courage to attack the assassins coming at his blindside. I suspect he feels he owes her for saving him, especially since the same assassin turned and gave Ceinwynd her wound.

Last to arrive were Orla Morston and her family. The eldest daughter of Abbot Culich Beynom and Abbess Diera Beynom had married a Caernford printer. At Diera’s urging, Orla had invited the Kolskos for an evening meal after they moved to Caernford, and they had continued occasional contacts. Orla was heavy with her second child, and Maera and Anarynd insisted she sit with them.

After dismissing the lively older children to play, the adults laid out food and called the children back a few minutes later. Everyone ate and engaged in light-hearted banter, then the adults once again let the children run, while talk gradually turned more serious. Carnigan soon lost interest and, at the behest of several children, left the adults to give piggyback rides, first to Morwena and then to the other children, taking turns. Two-year-old Morwena geared up to protest having to share her playmate, until Carnigan picked her up with one hand. She sat proud and laughing in his palm, assuming that perch was hers, if she had to share Carnigan’s shoulders with the other kids.

Maera laughed so hard at the sight of the red mountain playing with children that she failed to notice Gwyned’s soft gaze as she watched them frolic.

Yozef noticed. Hmmm. Is Gwyned interested in Carnigan as more than Morwena’s playmate? Now that I think about it, they seem particularly polite around each other, and Carnigan obviously dotes on Morwena. I’d thought it was only his fondness for the girl, but it’s also a way to get an unmarried mother’s attention. Not that I think Carnigan would be duplicitous. It could be unconscious, if he’s reluctant to approach Gwyned directly. I’ll mention this later to Maera.

Nerlin Fuller brought forth the final course before the group dispersed.

“Muddleton berry pies, Nerlin’s specialty,” announced Filtin, holding up two dishes. “Now, everyone please pretend you like them, or my wife will sulk for the next week. Just nibble a little and don’t worry about finishing them.”

A sharp yelp followed Filtin’s words as Nerlin snapped a cloth at her husband’s behind—to the laughter of all. Nerlin’s renowned pies won prizes at festivals.

“The lout is just trying to save as much as possible for us to take back home, where he can eat the rest himself,” said Nerlin. “He’s already putting on weight.”

“I am not fat,” protested Filtin.

“Maybe not,” said Yozef, “though I notice you didn’t deny the lout description.”

“He can hardly deny what’s evident to all,” quipped Balwis, to the surprise of everyone who knew the escaped Preddi. He had only recently relaxed enough around the Kolsko and Keelan families to participate in good-natured banter and temper his normally acerbic manner.

The conversation continued for twenty minutes, the object of comments rotating through the gathering. Even Anarynd joined in, her reticence to assume a place in the group continuing to fade. The warm feelings generated the group’s interaction and Anarynd’s emerging gaiety brought forth conflicting feelings within Maera. Why can’t there be more such times? she wondered. I guess I should be grateful for the few we have.

Maera’s mood threatened to darken as she watched Braithe change Dwyna. It’s so unfair, God. Poor Dwyna—to lose a father in the Battle of Moreland City and then her mother. So much to put on an innocent babe. We’ll do the best we can for her, but God, it’s not fair!

Her eyes dwelled on Ceinwyn’s bandage. Forgive me, God. I haven’t been much of a sister to Ceinwyn the last few years. She’s been so whiny and self-centered, I found it easier to ignore and avoid her. Maera’s attention slipped from Ceinwyn’s bandage to the rest of her face. You know, now that I think of it, Ceinwyn seems changed. I know she’s still in pain, but I expected nonstop complaints and grabs for attention. There’s been little of that. Perhaps God will forgive my previous lack of empathy, if I talk with her more to understand how she’s handling what’s happened.

All too soon, it came time to leave. Men and women repacked the remains of food into baskets, shook out and folded blankets, shared hugs and handclasps, and voiced anticipation for future gatherings. Everyone wished for the coming sixday. The Kolsko household and the two younger Keelan daughters headed back to Keelan Manor. The morning and early afternoon had been an island of comfort in an otherwise turbulent world.

Chapter 3: Word From Narthon

Two men walked together down the largest pier in the Preddi City harbor. One wore the blue jacket and pants of a Narthani naval officer. Rank, braid, and medals adorned his attire. His three-cornered blue hat had gold decoration, which, with rank insignia on the jacket, identified him as a Narthani admiral. The other man wore the maroon jacket and blue pants of the Narthani army. The only markings on his uniform consisted of a general’s insignia on each epaulet. Their measured pace indicated they were in no rush to get anywhere, except out of hearing of the twenty aides and guards following behind. No one else stood on the pier at this moment; therefore, no guards preceded them. The shock of Colonel Memas Erdelin’s killing in his own villa in Hanslow, the capital of Eywell Province, still reverberated within the Narthani officer corps. Now, no senior officer traveled anywhere without a security screen, and even the lowest ranks, officer and noncommissioned, felt wary wherever they went.

General Okan Akuyun, commander of the Narthani mission to Caedellium, seldom resorted to wishful thinking. Thus it surprised him that his thoughts kept returning to a fantasy where he could read the minds of the principle planners among the clans. If not read minds, then maybe he could be an insect on the wall at their meetings. The wishful thinking didn’t last long, but the same recurring thought warned him about the level of threat he perceived facing the Narthani foothold on Caedellium.

“I know what you mean, Okan,” said Admiral Morfred Kalcan, commander of all Narthani naval forces around Caedellium and the only one of Akuyun’s subordinates he would count as a friend. “Six months ago, everything seemed to be progressing as planned. Now? I’ve wondered how you can get your head around the islanders doing the unexpected, at least from what we had envisioned we faced here. It’s easier for me. I can sit on my ships offshore much of the time. You’re here on the ground and have responsibilities for troops and civilians. I don’t envy you.”

Akuyun grunted as they stopped at the pier’s end. Waves sloshed against pilings, and the two types of avian, murvors and birds, sang to each other, or so thought Akuyun. The murvors were more common on this part of Caedellium, and the plaintive call of one prominent type of bird always drew him to the shore. Although he wasn’t a seaman, he’d miss the eerie sounds once he returned to Narthon, where he’d likely be posted far from the sea.

“I confess, Morfred, that it’s taken me longer than it should have to reorient my thinking about what the islanders might do. I, along with the rest of us, got too tied to our preconceptions. I’m hoping that’s behind me now, but who knows? I do know that we must consider all possibilities, including a need to carry out emergency evacuations of as many women and children as possible, with the men, military and civilian, holding on until they, too, can be rescued by your ships.”

Akuyun’s statement was not news to Kalcan. The two men had shared similar thoughts many times in the last month. “And how is Sadek taking all this? If it came to your worst fears, you and I would be acting against the last directive from Narthon that we hold on to our current positions. Some assessors would attempt to remove you from command.”

Sadek Hizer was an assessor, a direct representative of the Narthani High Command. Assessors held no formal position in a chain of command and reported independent evaluations of a mission’s progress and the performance of the mission’s command structure. Though seldom invoked, a mission’s assessor, in extraordinary circumstances, could remove a commander.

“So what do you think Sadek would do if you ordered an evacuation without approval from Narthon?”

“I believe he would accept my decision, even if he didn’t formally approve,” said Akuyun. “We’re fortunate to have a reasonable assessor, so I doubt there would be confusion.”

Kalcan understood the unspoken. If an assessor moved against a mission commander, and the commander refused to step down, the status of the commander among his subordinates could lead to a split in the officer ranks—those supporting the assessor and those backing the commander. In a few cases whispered about among the Narthani officer corps, though never officially acknowledged, fighting had broken out between the factions. Yet such cases happened rarely, because both the commander and the assessor had to eventually account for their actions to a higher authority. The commander needed to justify his refusal to be removed, usually because of the strategic or tactical situation or the demonstrable incompetence of the assessor; the assessor had to prove his action justified, because the commander either endangered the mission or changed mission orders without sufficient reason.

This dangerous game created a situation so precarious for all parties that such conflicts were often resolved when one of the two men suffered an unfortunate accident or fell against an enemy of the Empire. Naturally, this solution also had perilous consequences.

“Of course, there’s no way to be completely sure of what Sadek would do,” said Akuyun.

Kalcan touched Akuyun lightly on a forearm. “I’m sure you know I’ll support you any way I can.”

“Thanks, Morfred. I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

Implicit in the admiral’s words was an offer to resolve any serious command confusion, if Assessor Hizer could be enticed to undergo a sea voyage.

“How did Zulfa and the colonels take the plan to withdraw from Selfcell and Eywell, if the clans appear to launch a major thrust toward Preddi?” said Kalcan, changing the subject.

“As expected. Discouraged, grim, but they accept the necessity. There’s no way we could protect Preddi Province and have enough men in Selfcell and Eywell provinces to fend off a major islander attack. The problem is there’s no good solution. If we don’t protect the two allied provinces, we lose thousands of their fighting men. If we protect them, we endanger our garrisons from being cut off, and at the same time we open Preddi to more serious raids or attacks.”

The two men turned and started back down the pier toward the docks. The aides and the guards likewise turned and kept the same distance.

“I laid it out for them. What if ten thousand islanders threaten Hanslow? Our garrison and the bulk of the remaining Eywellese fighters would be restricted to the city and the immediate surroundings. Then another twenty thousand islanders could attack across southern Eywell and threaten to run amok within Preddi.”

“What about Selfcell?” asked Kalcan. “Couldn’t the two clans support each other?”

“On paper, yes. Unfortunately, real life isn’t paper. The two clans despise each other, and we’re the only thing that keeps them from each other’s throats. Then there’s my concern about Selfcell. Although there’s no proof, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hetman Selfcell plans to turn against us, should the right situation occur. In fact, this worry is one reason I’m still open to having both clans withdraw most, or all, of their population deeper toward, or even into, Preddi Province. The closer we keep them to us, the more we can count on their men in any fight.”

Kalcan shook his head. “Then there’s the problem of feeding and housing them.”

“Right,” agreed Akuyun. “We might have enough food to feed all our Narthani for many months, but what if we add an equal number of islanders? No, there are too many bad options and no good ones.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have the luxury of not deciding,” said Kalcan. “So what will you do?”

“Selfcell is easiest. The capital, Sellmor, is on their southwest coast and not far from the Preddi border. The rest of their population is more concentrated in the southern half. We’ll be ‘advising’ Hetman Selfcell to move nonessential clan members south toward Sellmor, leaving only those men needed to keep farms and ranches in the north producing as long as possible. If necessary, we might be able to hold a defensive line that includes the southern quarter of Selfcell Province.

“Eywell is just the reverse. Their population is concentrated in the north and more vulnerable to being cut off. That’s why we’ve started to slowly bring down the garrison size in Hanslow without it being too noticeable. We might not be able to fool Hetman Selfcell, but the new Eywell hetman has enough problems consolidating his position and fending off clan skirmishes to notice. I haven’t decided if it’s feasible to move south enough of the Eywell population to make the effort worthwhile. The first priority has to be the security of our men stationed in Eywell.”

“Am I misreading you, Okan, or are you not all that disturbed at losing Erdelin?” said Kalcan.

“Oh, I’m definitely disturbed at Erdelin’s killing,” said Akuyun, pointing to the increased number of guards preceding them back down the pier. “Now, I dare not go anywhere with fewer than five guards, and that’s just mainly between our headquarters and my villa. And now there are five permanent guards at the villa even if I’m not there, and my wife and children can’t go anywhere without a set of guards. I’ve even thought seriously of sending my family and as many others as possible back to Narthon. I’d do it, except the signal it would send to the other hundred thousand of our people on Caedellium would hardly be missed.

“As for losing Erdelin, it may turn out to have some advantages. Certainly, no officer now takes the Caedelli for granted. Erdelin’s replacement, Jomzik Jurna, is looking like an improvement over Erdelin. I just wish the change of command had been less abrupt and hadn’t exposed our vulnerability. I’d had my eye on Jurna, but, to be honest, I hadn’t paid him as much attention as I should have. As soon as Erdelin was killed, Jurna took over with minimal hesitation and kept the garrison in Hanslow from devolving into confusion. I had him here last sixday, and we worked on plans to begin a moderate reduction in the Hanslow garrison size. More important, he believes the Eywellese are so focused on their new leadership and adjusting to the disaster they suffered at Moreland City that we can make significant reductions in posts throughout the province without them noticing.”

Akuyun laid a hand on Kalcan’s shoulder and lowered his voice even more. “Morfred, there’s something else I’d like you to look into. Keep it between the two of us for now, and find some excuses for what I’m going to ask. I believe I remember you saying about a year ago that you had gone ashore on Klinwyn Island?” The eighteen-square-mile island lay eight miles off the western coast of Preddi Province. The terrain was rocky, except for a flat shelf on the eastern side with a small fishing and farming settlement—the only inhabited part of the island.

“More like two years ago,” said Kalcan, “and yes, I spent a few hours looking at its potential for a small naval station. The coast there forms an anchorage well protected by protruding peninsulas. We never felt the need to build any structures. All my captains know it’s available in case weather suddenly turns against them and they need temporary calmer waters.”

“I’d like you to investigate building a substantial station there,” said Akuyun. “At first, just a few buildings that might pass as housing administration and a permanent staff and space for ships’ crews laying up from storms. Then quietly carry out surveys to plan to rapidly construct extensive housing and storehouses.”

Kalcan’s expression had morphed from surprise to wonderment, to a grim acknowledgment of Akuyun’s direction. “Assuming you’ve not suddenly decided to take over naval planning and operations, I suspect this is to serve as an emergency refuge.”

Akuyun nodded, not surprised that Kalcan grasped his intent. “We have to consider every contingency. Even if and when reinforcements arrive, I’ll continue to have that itch I’ve told you about. The one nagging me that we’re engaged in a game where we don’t know the rules. Maybe the itch will subside, if I believe we have a place to quickly transfer thousands of civilians and hold them there for several months or more.”

Kalcan stroked his chin with the back of his left hand. “If . . . ” He hesitated while he considered Akuyun’s request. “Yes, I was thinking . . . what about the Seaborn Province? Not all the islands, but either one of the two larger ones or a smaller one. There’s more room there.”

“Consider that option, too,” said Akuyun, “but start off with Klinwyn Island. Seaborn’s much farther away. If we had to move large numbers of people quickly, it would have to be to Klinwyn. We could always move them to Seaborn as time permitted. I’ve even considered the possibility that we evacuate everyone, civilians and military, to one of the Seaborn islands. Again, this is to ensure we have options in case the situation deteriorates more than I expect.”

They reached the end of the pier, and their entourage formed a shield as they walked from the docks toward the headquarters building three hundred yards away. The aides stayed behind them, with the guards keeping a space between the two leaders and any person they passed. Most citizens were accustomed to the moving screen and made way without the guards’ action. A few oblivious workers had to be shouted aside and one roughly pushed against a building. Akuyun hated the necessity for the distance put between senior officers and lower ranks or civilians.

Halfway up the hill on whose summit sat the headquarters, Kalcan made a statement Akuyun felt tired of hearing, even if from his friend.

“Surely, a response from Narthon will arrive any day. It’s been more than enough time.”

Akuyun opened his mouth to respond, yet again, that they simply had to wait and carry on as best they could under the circumstances, when a naval aide spoke up behind them. “Admiral! A sloop is just visible coming around the southern headland. It’s flying full sail! Shouldn’t they be bringing in sail this close to the harbor?”

Kalcan spun and grabbed a telescope from another aide. He focused and scanned for the sloop. “It’s the Saber,” he said. He lowered the scope and turned to Akuyun. “She was picketed to the Northeast, with orders to return at the first sign of any Narthani ship on course here from Ezarkin.”

The most northerly Narthani port was on the western edge of the Melosian continent and the border with one of the Iraquinik states. Winds kept the waters free of ice that would otherwise have closed access to shore, and during the last five years, the Narthani had transformed the once isolated fishing village into a city to support an expansive shipbuilding complex and troop-staging base. Shipping between Narthon and Caedellium had gone almost exclusively through Ezarkin the last two years, along with the reports about the Moreland City setback. Akuyun and all the other senior officers assumed that when a response came from the High Command, the communiqué would also come through Ezarkin.

Akuyun’s chest tightened as his muscles briefly stopped working his lungs. Then he relaxed and took in several deep draughts of sea air. “So you think this is it, Morfred?” he said, briefly forgetting to maintain formal address in front of the other officers and ranks.

“We’ll know within the hour, General,” said Kalcan, using his friend’s title to remind him who listened. “My instinct is yes. It’s the right time, and Captain Irmal wouldn’t be pushing his ship so fast this close to the harbor if he didn’t believe he had information we needed to receive as quickly as possible.”

“What will it be, an hour before it’s docked and we find out why the hurry?” asked Akuyun.

“I could have a cutter meet him before he enters the harbor,” proposed Kalcan. “The cutter would get back to dockside a good twenty minutes before the sloop ties off.”

Akuyun pondered. If it was news from Narthon, what difference did a few minutes make? And it wouldn’t look good for him to appear too anxious.

“Go ahead. Send the cutter. I’ll be in my office.” Occasionally, I need to do something even if it’s not the best thing, thought Akuyun.

Akuyun stopped Kalcan before the two men went in opposite directions. “Morfred, whatever news might come from this sloop, still do as I ask about Klinwyn . . . and yes, Seaborn also. And be sure to avoid letting the intent be obvious.”

Kalcan nodded. Akuyun left him and walked toward headquarters without looking back again at the approaching sloop.

Forty-one minutes later, Akuyun pretended to be engaged in paperwork when footsteps in the outer room from his office were followed by rapid knocks at the door.

“Enter,” he called out.

He’d hardly finished speaking when his aide and guard leader, Major Perem Saljurk, burst through the door. Kalcan followed, dragging with him a young naval officer carrying a leather satchel.

“General, this is Third Officer Orkin from the sloop Saber,” panted Kalcan, his face flushed. “He has a confidential dispatch to be delivered only to you.”

Kalcan’s expression and voice expressed the admiral’s opinion of the dispatch’s topic.

“Then I suppose we should let Mr. Orkin perform his duty,” said Akuyun as casually as he could manage, although after months of waiting and wondering what the High Command’s response would be, he wanted to rip open the satchel and snatch out the message.

The nervous messenger cleared his throat. “I’m instructed to deliver the satchel contents only to General Okan Akuyun. Is this you, sir?”

Akuyun grunted.

“He’s obliged to do the formalities, General,” Kalcan said softly.

“Of course,” said Akuyun. “Yes, I’m General Okan Akuyun.”

“And I confirm,” said Kalcan.

The officer untied two thongs securing the satchel flap, opened the flap, and withdrew a leather dispatch cylinder with a sealed lid. He broke the seal, pulled out a rolled sheath of paper, and handed the sheath to Akuyun.

Kalcan and Saljurk waited anxiously, both knowing the importance of what Akuyun read. The naval officer stood unaware. Seconds went by. Akuyun read the first page, then the second, and only glanced at the third and fourth pages. He looked up. “Thank you, Third Officer Orkin. You’re dismissed.”

“Back to the Saber with you, Orkin,” said Kalcan. “Thank Captain Irmal for me and for General Akuyun.”

Akuyun waited until Saljurk ushered Orkin out of the room and closed the door.

“It seems the High Command really wants Caedellium,” said Akuyun. No one could mistake his relief and pleasure at the words. “Reinforcements are being sent. Major reinforcements. Although I suppose I should say another force and not reinforcements, because those coming will be under Marshal Dursun Gullar and not me.”

“A marshal?” queried Kalcan. “How many are coming and, even more important, when?”

Akuyun smiled. “It says sixty-five thousand. The entire Twenty-Ninth Corps.”

Saljurk whistled.

“Great Narth!” exclaimed Kalcan. “You’re right! They really do want Caedellium, don’t they? I guess that answers any doubt that they have great plans to use the island as a jumping off and resupply base against Landolin or the Iraquiniks or both.”

“And when might they get here?” asked Saljurk in his bass voice.

“Ah, Perem. You ask the right question for our situation. The dispatch says they should be arriving in about three months. They’re waiting for enough troop transport ships to be finished so they can send the entire corps in one convoy.”

“That means almost a hundred transports,” said Kalcan. “I know the design they planned on using, though I’ve never seen one of the ships. They’ll be big, lumbering tubs, slow as hell, but able to carry eight hundred troops each. Granted, the conditions are bound to be cramped, but it’s just from Ezarkin to here. It’s not like they’ll be sailing the Great Ocean. Besides the troops, they’ll bring all the supplies, weapons, and gear to support such a force. However, what about cavalry? Horses may be stinking, stupid beasts, but you’re going to need more cavalry than you’ve got now to counter the clans’ mobility.”

Akuyun referred to the fourth sheet, which Kalcan and Saljurk inferred listed a summary or manifest of what could be expected. “It says there will be ten thousand cavalrymen. No horses. We’re instructed to prepare sufficient mounts and remounts for cavalry, artillery trains, supply wagons, and extra horses. It doesn’t give explicit numbers, so I’ll estimate twenty thousand horses, maybe twenty-five. I’ll have to get with Tuzere and Zulfa to be sure the horses can be ready in three months. Also, Tuzere, along with Colonel Ketin and his engineering staff, will need to plan for the initial bivouacking of that many men. We can’t simply house them in Preddi City. Not that many. Once they’re here, we can see what Marshal Gullar intends and make longer-term quartering plans then.”

Akuyun read the four pages again, then handed them to Saljurk. “Major, see that ten copies are made, and send messages to Brigadier Zulfa, Administrator Tuzere, and Assessor Hizer that there will be a senior staff meeting tomorrow morning an hour past sunrise. They’re to bring their immediate subordinates. In the message, simply state that the meeting will be to discuss the contents of the latest dispatch from Narthon. I think they’ll all know what dispatch and what topic I’m referring to.”

Two hours later, Akuyun reached his family’s villa a mile from his headquarters. The original owner had been an important trader, rich from exports and imports. He and his family had been transported to Narthon as slaves soon after the Preddi clan was crushed. Not that the trader had been active in fighting the Narthani takeover. However, he was too prominent a figure for the Narthani to let him remain on Caedellium. When Akuyun first assumed residence in the villa, he had wondered at the trader’s fate. He hadn’t thought of the man for two years.

Rabia, Akuyun’s wife, waited for him inside the residence’s main door. Word had quickly spread that a sloop from Narthon had arrived and that Admiral Kalcan and an officer from the sloop had rushed to Akuyun’s office.

Although her face appeared calm, Akuyun wasn’t fooled. She held her folded arms tight against her body, the grip of her fingers turning the skin on her arms white. He didn’t dally in reassuring her.

“Good news from Narthon, Rabia,” he said, with a smile bigger than justified by his own feelings.

She relaxed her arms and strode quickly to embrace him, momentarily burying her face in his chest before raising her head and whispering, “Thank Narth. I know we didn’t expect the worst, but one never knows. Come inside and tell me all about it.”

The next morning, Akuyun faced the same sea of faces he’d addressed earlier, when he’d announced the mission’s change from offense to defense: from subjugating the entire island to securing the three provinces they controlled. This time he had more positive news, though he would caution they weren’t yet out of danger.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors. We’ve received dispatches from Narthon that clarify our current and future missions here on Caedellium.”

Chapter 4: Seal the Borders

Military Intelligence Unit, Caernford

Yozef considered the MIU one of his better introductions—not that he told anyone else his opinion. Maera and Owill Brell, the recruited Adrisian clansman, took the idea and elaborated on Yozef’s initial concept. Reorienting clan thinking on how to respond if the Narthani attacked a single clan was the unit’s first contribution. The MIU suggested a different framing: how to prevent such an attack in the first place or, if it occurred, how to induce the Narthani to withdraw.

The MIU proposed preparing to carry out destructive raids into Narthani-controlled territory with enough men to compel the Narthani to keep their forces close to their own territories. Unfortunately, the plan was not advanced enough to launch a raid into the southern Eywell and Preddi provinces in time to save Shullick, but a thousand-man raid, led by Denes Vegga, had burned a swath through southern Eywell and across the border into Preddi Province before returning to Keelan. Another raid, led by Hetman Stent, razed the countryside surrounding Hanslow, the Eywell capital. The success of the raids and Yozef’s arguments that the Narthani were unlikely to launch any more major sea-borne attacks on coastal provinces heartened the clans, especially those bordering the Narthani-allied clans, Selfcell and Eywell.

Now, a thousand-man dragoon regiment encamped permanently near the Keelan town of Dornfeld, twenty miles from southern Eywell. The clans stationed another regiment at the Moreland town of Lanwith, a town destroyed by an Eywellese raid and where Anarynd Moreland and her aunt had been captured and enslaved. Moreland and Stent believed that rebuilding the town and positioning a regiment there sent a message to the Eywellese that a spear now pointed at the Eywellese heart.

Although a dragoon regiment always remained present at the two sites, the regiments rotated out as more units were formed and trained. The clans commenced a pell-mell pace of preparation for the intended attack on the Narthani, though none of the new units would have been considered operational by any experienced military organization Yozef could conceive of. Yet the clans became far more organized than they were before. Yozef felt a lingering disappointment that too few regiments integrated men from different clans. His incessant harping that the clans needed to work together as a single Caedellium people made slow headway. As a result, men from single clans still composed two-thirds of the regiments. Yozef feared reactions when the inevitable happened and a regiment suffered major casualties or was lost completely. A thousand deaths in one action would be bad enough when spread among half-a-dozen clans but devastating if all the men came from a single clan.

Although Yozef often visited the MIU, and Maera kept him updated, he waited for the unit to prepare white papers, summarizing major recommendations. The name didn’t exactly fit the origin of the phrase from the British government, laying out major policy positions, but Yozef liked how it sounded.

“Why are they called ‘white papers’?” Denes Vegga asked when he first heard of the concept.

Yozef couldn’t remember how the term white paper originated, although he had prepared for the expected question. He also suspected his fabricated answer might be correct. “Such important documents should be written on the best and whitest paper possible to indicate the importance of the writing and to assure the reader that the thought that went into what was written was the careful consolidation of many individuals’ contributions. After all, isn’t white the symbol of truth and honesty?”

Denes had grunted, Balwis shrugged, Culich nodded sagely, and Carnigan laughed. Good enough responses, from Yozef’s viewpoint. White papers they were.

Unfortunately, Yozef ended up answering the same question so many times that he started shortening his response to “It just comes to me,” a phrase already associated with rumors that he received instructions from God. He didn’t know how many times he’d used the phrase, until Mared Keelan asked him, “Why white papers?” and he’d unthinkingly given the key phrase. After Mared left, content to get an answer she could tell others about, Carnigan raised an eyebrow and chortled, “Really, Yozef? I think you need a new ‘go away and don’t ask any more questions’ response.”

When the day came to present the first white paper, Yozef, Maera, and Culich rode a carriage into Caernford, there to join a dozen other Keelan leaders, along with the Gwillamer and Mittack hetmen and their advisers. They’d planned the meeting for when the other two hetmen would arrive in Caernford to discuss final issues in adding the Hewell and Adris clans to the existing Tri-Clan Alliance. Among the discussion topics was a new name. A five-member Tri-Clan alliance made little sense.

The MIU quarters now included a building adjacent to the original second floor of a commercial structure. The expanded space had a meeting room capable of handling up to eighty people. Thirty-three attended on this day.

When the three of them arrived from Keelan Manor, Maera left Yozef and went to sit with the MIU members clustered in chairs at the right-front of the room. Owill Brell led the presentation. Next to Maera sat her third cousin Riona Klofyn, an abrasive woman whom Yozef disliked and whom Maera found exasperating. However, Klofyn’s devious temperament and proven innovative thinking made her a valuable member of MIU. Yozef hoped she learned to temper her tongue before he couldn’t stand her any longer and removed her from the MIU, no matter her contributions.

Yozef knew most of the other MIU members. Halwon Ristwyn was a twenty-year-old Stentese mathematician and one of the first regular correspondents with Cadwulf Beynom after Yozef introduced Cadwulf to whatever mathematics Yozef could remember. Halwon was perhaps an even better mathematician than Cadwulf, and Yozef suspected Halwon would have worked for the U.S. National Security Agency in code breaking and development if he’d lived on Earth.

Gartherid Kennrick, a son of Pedr Kennrick, lost a leg as a youth during a foolish wagon race. He had assumed daily operations of the Kennrick properties, while his father spent most of this time as one of Hetman Keelan’s main advisers. Gartherid’s organizational talent and his knack for keeping groups on point during brainstorming sessions proved a valuable buffer to the less focused thinking of some MIU members. Isla Luwis was Vortig’s eighteen-year-old daughter, a pleasant young woman who asked questions about everything and who was meticulous in examining and producing reports. Yozef had revised his first impressions of both Gartherid and Isla—initially thinking they had been added to the MIU staff only because of their families.

The final MIU member most familiar to Yozef was Sissel Morgan. The forty-nine-year-old grandmother was the only woman registrar in Keelan, persnickety, and possessor of an eidetic memory.

At first, Yozef worried that the MIU had too many members from the inner circle of Keelan leaders. At his urging, Brell had brought in new members recommended by personal contacts in other clans. Thus, Yozef saw five new faces in the MIU group, two of whom he recognized and three he didn’t. He’d get Maera to introduce them after the meeting.

Yozef accompanied Culich to greet the Gwillamer and Mittack hetmen, following his father-in-law in the customary handclasps, glad he didn’t have to remember whether it was hand or forearm with these hetmen—the northern clans practiced forearms. Yozef hadn’t yet adjusted to the reality of being elevated to a level near that of a hetman, as evidenced by the greetings he now often received.

“So, Yozef, what surprises do you have for us today?” asked Cadoc Gwillamer.

“No surprises, Hetman Gwillamer, only some further thinking concerning our discussions about sealing off our borders from the Narthani.”

“Hetman? Please, Yozef. At least in informal sessions, I’ve already asked you to call me Cadoc.”

“Uh . . . sure. Cadoc.” The Gwillamer hetman was the most insistent of the hetmen to be on a first-name basis, but several others followed his lead. Yozef remained uncertain what each hetmen expected, though he’d become more accustomed to the familiarity. Yet he still felt awkward when interacting with the men, many of whom had decades of leadership over tens of thousands of clanspeople.

Culich rescued Yozef from his current discomfiture. “I think we’re all here. Owill, please begin.”

The Adrisian stopped talking to the other MIU members and went to the cloth-covered 4 x 8–foot blackboards lining the room’s front wall. His ambling pace came not from indolence but from an arthritic knee that acted up after storms. At the wall, he pulled off the cloth covering the central blackboard to reveal two bullet points.

“We’ve titled this white paper ‘External Security,’ as defined by the need to stop any information flow from the free clans to the Narthani. There are two parts to our proposal.” Brell turned to the blackboard and pointed. “‘Seal the borders’ and ‘Narthani agents.’

“The basic rationale for the proposed actions is to prevent the Narthani from having any knowledge of what’s happening elsewhere on Caedellium. Whatever action we decide on, the more unexpected, the more uncertain will be the Narthani leadership and the less likely they will risk more offensive actions. I’ll summarize the two categories’ recommendations you see written on the blackboard.”

For the Gwillamer and Mittack delegations, it was the first time they had seen blackboards of this size. Although schools used black slates and people making local announcements occasionally used smaller blackboards, Yozef had introduced larger blackboards, first in his workroom in Abersford and then at his shops. The mathematics cadre forming under Cadwulf Beynom had adopted them with a vengeance. The chalk came quarried from seaside cliffs in Bevans and Pawell provinces. Yozef preferred the Pawell chalk because it fractured into pieces easier to use than the Bevans chalk.

Brell pointed to the first action item. “Although the hetmen have discussed more patrols along borders, we believe this needs to be more organized because we’ve discovered that the patrols, especially along the Eywell/Moreland border, are so porous as to be ineffectual. At Yozef’s suggestion, Balwis Preddi’s platoon of Preddi escapees pretended to be individual Eywell or Narthani agents or reconnaissance patrols of up to thirty men. They found it ridiculously easy to avoid our patrols.” Brell nodded to Balwis, attending the first part of the meeting. “Ser Preddi, perhaps a word or two of your impressions might be appropriate.” Brell knew the ex-Preddi’s opinion of the patrols.

Balwis didn’t move from leaning against the back wall. “A goddamned herd of balmoths could cross the border into Moreland most days without anyone noticing. The Morelanders’ patrols are too few, too small, and too regular. Half the time they don’t even look around, just ride hard along the same route they always take. They wouldn’t detect a Narthani unless their horses ran over one. Once, my whole platoon sat on our horses not a hundred yards from five galloping Morelanders, who never looked our way.

“Things are better along the Keelan and Stent borders, meaning we had to sneak around a bit to cross undetected. Along Stent, at one place we crossed so many times it would have equaled a battalion-strength force. It was harder on the Keelan borders, especially the Dillagon Mountains. At least in the mountains, there’s the excuse the terrain is so rough. We had to cross on foot after we left the horses.”

“Thank you, Ser Preddi,” said Brell. “And be sure to thank your men for their efforts in these tests.

“So,” said the Adrisian, “I think you see the problem. If we’re serious about shutting off the borders, we need significant changes.

“Our first recommendation is that Hetman Stent assumes responsibility for patrolling the northern two-thirds of the Eywell/Moreland border. The reality is that the losses at the Battle of Moreland City left the Morelanders so disorganized that no one, especially the Morelanders, fully understands who is in charge and what orders to follow. Hetman Stent would provide visible leadership, along with some of his own men. However, the Morelanders would still be required to supply most of the men for the patrols—they just wouldn’t be giving the orders.”

When Hetman Mittack started to say something, Brell anticipated the question. “And yes, the obvious question is, would the Morelanders agree? The answer is that they won’t be given a choice. We propose that the hetmen here today contact the other hetmen to explain what is being proposed and solicit their support. Maera Keelan has analyzed the likely responses, and we believe enough hetmen will vote to support our entire set of suggestions to mandate compliance.

“At the same time, Hetman Keelan will continue to lead patrolling the Keelan/Eywell border and assuming control of of the southern one-third of the Eywell/Moreland border. What needs to change along the entire borders to Selfcell and Eywell provinces are increased patrols of different sizes, preventing patrols from passing through any territory on a regular timetable, and, where feasible, creating permanent watch stations on mountains, hilltops, and required fords. Where there is no such spot, we should establish several permanently manned picket positions. Yozef suggested we let all men carrying out the patrols know that our people will make regular attempts to sneak past them—much as Balwis Preddi and his men have done. If the patrols know word could spread that they failed their duty, it’s more likely the men will stay alert.”

Balwis spoke up. “That’ll only work for certain men. You need more direct, personal consequences for them not doing their fucking jobs.”

“Any suggestions?” Maera asked of Balwis, not perturbed by the Preddi’s salty language.

“Some patrol areas are the shits to get assigned to. Like the Boonford swamp area in the middle of the Moreland/Eywell border. A damn quagmire that smells like shit and whose smell lingers on you, even after bathing. Same with the Dillagon Mountains being an area to avoid. Although in that case, it’s the cold in the higher regions. Let it be known that failure to detect our attempted test crossings, when we pose as Narthani and Eywellese, will result in posting to those areas.”

Brell smiled and addressed the group. “Any reason not to take Ser Preddi’s recommendation?”

Head and hand motions showed no disagreement.

“Fine,” said Brell, “we’ll include that in the final white paper.”

“That summarizes item number one. Are there questions or comments?”

Denes Vegga and Mulron Luwis wanted more details about the types of patrols.

“We deliberately didn’t write down too many such details in this draft because we wanted to get input from men such as yourselves,” said Brell. “What are your suggestions?”

For the next hour, Denes, Mulron, and Cirwyn Gwillamer, the hetman’s eldest son, contributed and discussed details, with other attendees adding comments. Maera and Riona took notes. Yozef saw that the two women worked with versions of the white paper that had double-spacing—allowing room to write in changes.

When everyone seemed satisfied, Brell moved on.

“Item number two is the problem of Narthani agents living within our provinces. We all know about those who participated in the assassination attempts, the one discovered in Abersford, and the several we uncovered by using what we learned about the Abersford spy’s methods. There’s no reason to believe more spies aren’t scattered throughout the provinces. We need to root out these people as much as possible. We can increase our lookouts for light signals along the coasts, but this is not sufficient. Maera Kolsko-Keelan has developed a potential description of a Narthani spy, and I’ll let her explain it to you.”

Maera had created a “profile” of a Narthani spy at Yozef’s suggestion. He’d feared he’d watched too many TV series about profilers, yet she had several examples to model from. The Abersford spy had continued feeding phony reports to the Narthani, and the spy working at the Caernford semaphore station, Esyl Havant, was known by many Keelanders, including the station staff and the entire Keelan family. In addition, they had conducted extensive interviews with clanspeople who had known the dozen other spies so far revealed. Maera had studied all the reports, interrogated several exposed spies, and discussed her thinking with Yozef. He didn’t offer specific ideas of his own, because he wanted her undiluted opinions.

Brell sat, and Maera rose and stood in front of the blackboard. “Keep in mind that this is hardly more than a guess at who might be a Narthani spy. However, I believe there are enough generalities to serve as a starting point for taking a closer look at who we might suspect.”

Yozef thought Maera looked beautiful. She had her hair in a bun and wore a black dress to hide her feminine features, “to look more formal,” she insisted. He didn’t tell her it didn’t work.

“And I want a room of men to listen to what I say,” she’d added. He hadn’t been able to convince her she didn’t need to worry about any of the men in the room not taking her seriously.

“So what can we speculate that we should look for in a Narthani spy?” she asked. “We can’t start off assuming it could be anyone. Otherwise, it would be hopeless, so we eliminate original clan members and those who have lived in a different clan since before the Narthani came to Caedellium. Of the remainder, we focus on men, because they have more opportunity to move and, let’s be honest, women are not likely to risk themselves or their children by being spies. Any man who is a supposed escaped Preddi is obviously a prime suspect, as is any man who has recently moved from one clan province to another. We have examples of known spies matching those criteria.

“We naturally focused our attention on Keelan Province, because that’s where we are. Hetman Keelan instructed the eleven boyermen to provide the cooperation of their district’s magistrates to assemble a list of potential spies. This list was then shortened, based on factors such as living where they had no opportunity to pass on messages or in isolated locations unlikely to be useful to the Narthani.

“We deliberately excluded personal assessments of suspects—where clanspeople, even officials, have such positive opinions of a suspect that they might want to eliminate them from the list. We have our example here in Caernford with the spy who called himself Esyl Havant. He worked in the Caernford semaphore and was well known to the hetman’s family and thought to be a pleasant sort.”

Only Yozef might have noticed the slight change in tone and deepening of facial lines when Maera mentioned the man who undoubtedly played an integral part in the assassination attempt at her birthday dinner. Her sister Anid’s death during the attack and her father’s and sister’s wounds were permanent reminders. Although Yozef didn’t look in the hetman’s direction, he also detected a shift in the hetman’s chair at Havant’s name.

“I’m sure you realize this leaves us with a long list of people to check. Three hundred and twenty-seven names. However, we recommend a surprise search of the property of each man. This is how we confirmed the Abersford spy. If the search finds nothing to implicate the man, he is then told the reason for the search. Most innocent men will understand. If not, they can eat turds.”

Yozef’s effort to introduce the phrase “tough shit” never worked. It was Balwis who understood the reference’s meaning and originated a phrase with a more Caedelli background. Although Yozef didn’t think “eat turds” had the right ring, the phrase spread after incorrect rumors said it came from Yozef Kolsko.

Maera’s use of the phrase brought forth laughs from most of the listeners and a barely concealed choke from Culich.

She let the laughter subside, then continued. “If we find no evidence, and the man actually is a spy, he’ll be on notice he’s a suspect. This should restrict his action, possibly even neutralize him. We also recommend that even if we find no evidence, the local magistrates keep an overt eye on men who raise any suspicions. This will reveal any future unusual activity and keep the men aware they are being watched.

“While we don’t expect these measures to uncover all spies, we believe they will reduce information leaks to as low a level as practical.”

Brell rose to stand as Maera finished. “The action we didn’t include is increasing coast watches for spies signaling ships. We assume all clans are already doing this, although they should consider whether their efforts are sufficient. That, along with more border patrols and efforts to reveal spies, should minimize as much as we can the Narthani from gathering new information on what’s happening within the eighteen free clans.”

Questions and discussion continued for less than an hour. No one had any major objections or suggestions for change. Hetman Gwillamer said his clan was already doing as much as they could to watch for signals to ships, and Hetman Mittack noted that while his clan had few ex-Preddi living in the province, they had several small settlements of Moreland refugees he would have magistrates examine.

With so few changes and strong support, the group spent another hour on wording changes, and the three hetmen approved the final draft. Hetman Mittack suggested that Yozef Kolsko’s name be added to the endorsement. The other two hetmen agreed, and Yozef thought he detected a satisfied expression on Maera’s face. Copies of White Paper No. 1 would be sent by rider relays to all the hetmen with an accompanying letter, stating that a semaphore vote would take place in one sixday. The topic of the vote? Accept or reject WP1. At the last All-Clan Conclave, the clans had agreed to allow semaphore voting on proposals, it not being practical to reassemble the hetmen for every major decision. The letter also reminded the hetmen not to send sensitive information via semaphore, unless dire circumstances dictated such a breach of security. A second white paper, to follow within a sixday, would describe a coding system to allow sensitive information to be sent over semaphore.

Later that evening, while Aeneas slept and all the others residing in Keelan Manor had retired to their quarters, Yozef and Maera took a slow walk around the grounds. They were not alone, though no one was within hearing distance. Wyfor Kales had the evening’s watch command. He and three other armed men kept their distance, positioning themselves at four corners around their charges. A pistol and a knife hung from Yozef’s belt, and a scabbard swung from the sash of Maera’s dress. Life had changed in Caernford.

“Your status is different, Yozef,” Maera stated without preamble.

“I know,” he replied in a tone implying agreement, resignation, and approval, all at once.

“It’s been developing slowly, as evidenced from the meeting today. More hetmen are calling you by your first name, and you sit at tables with the hetmen, instead of behind them. The clearest signal was from Hetman Mittack today when he also prompted you to use his first name after Cadoc Gwillamer’s request. He’s normally . . . what do you call it? Officious? Insisting on formalities.”

“And proposing the white paper be endorsed by me, along with the three hetmen,” Yozef confirmed.

“Yes. There’s no question you’re moving to be considered, if not of equal rank with hetmen, at the minimum someone whose views are equally . . . no, not equally . . . that isn’t quite right. I should say someone whose views are those the hetmen need to consider carefully. And there are a few times when it’s almost as if your views are bordering on orders, although I wouldn’t say that publicly.”

“I’ve seen it, too, Maera. I have mixed feelings about it. I’ve made no pretense, at least to you, of my hesitation to take on direct responsibility, but somehow things have changed for me. Maybe it’s the continuing threat of the Narthani and the need to do something permanent about them, but I think it’s what occurred that night. What nearly happened to you and Aeneas still makes me feel ill, not to mention poor Anid and the others. Added to that is how I acted. I might thank God for Kales’s training, though I still haven’t come to terms with how I fought that night. I killed men by my own hand for the first time and didn’t regret it, as I thought I would. Then there’s the Narthani, or whoever he was, that I killed, even though he was helpless. Part of me wants to feel guilty, and I don’t, which makes me feel guilty for not feeling guilty. How this contributed, I don’t know, but I’m accepting the idea of responsibility more and more. I even feel impatient at times when a suggestion I have isn’t accepted immediately. Does any of this make sense?”

Maera held his arm tighter. “I think everything you did then and now feel makes perfect sense to everyone else except you. As for how you’ve changed, if you’ve changed, I still see the husband I love. I know you struggle with things I don’t always understand. I hope you know you always have all my support.”

Chapter 5: A New Plan

Although meetings consumed Yozef’s time, two topics dominated his thinking. He and Maera had talked about one of them the evening after presenting White Paper No.1—his stature among the hetmen. As uneasy as he felt, he had become more comfortable with it and saw the advantage of implementing a coalescence in his thinking.

The second topic was the proposed invasion of Preddi Province. The clans had agreed, in principle, that to rid Caedellium of the invader, they had to conduct a direct attack on Preddi Province. They had not set specific plans or a timetable, only decided that the clans would increase preparations and training in readiness. Yozef spent tense hours mulling over exactly how the clans could drive the Narthani off the island and do so without catastrophic casualties.

Yozef faced a familiar conundrum. He knew he wasn’t qualified to plan a major military campaign, yet if he didn’t do it, who among the islanders would? Denes Vegga, Mulron Luwis, and Hetman Welman Stent all showed more inherent tactical sense than Yozef would have predicted, though they still lacked enough practical experience for Yozef to trust any plan they devised. Whether his skepticism was justified, he couldn’t judge.

Four months after the last All-Clan Conclave, and after Carnigan had inadvertently made him realize they had no long-term plan to rid Caedellium of the Narthani, Yozef felt as satisfied as he ever would about a campaign he devised. He’d brought Maera into his thinking in the last two sixdays, and now they, along with Denes Vegga and Mulron Luwis would go over the plan, the latter two hearing it for the first time.

Yozef deliberated omitting a presentation of this preliminary version of his plan to the main clan leaders. Although the hetman and his two chief advisers, Pedr Kennrick and Vortig Luwis, Mulron’s father, would be brought into the planning, at this point Yozef wanted input only from the two Keelan men who had either led men in battle (Vegga) or conducted extensive maneuvers with the new units (Mulron Luwis). Denes urged that two others be present, Arnstr Sixwith, a Keelander, and Poul Kildorn, an Oroszian. Both were majors in Denes’s rapid reaction force that carried out the raid into the edges of Preddi Province. At the last minute, Yozef also asked Balwis to attend. Yozef had become more impressed with the escaped Preddi after Balwis led the attack on Erdelin and with his handling of the mixed Preddi/slave platoon.

Yozef waited until the last of the planned attendees arrived and sat, then he unveiled a chalk-drawn map of the southwest quarter of Caedellium. It elicited murmurs at the arrows drawn from free clan territories into Narthani-controlled provinces.

“What you see are the basic movements I envision for a plan to attack the Narthani and drive them off Caedellium. I see this only as a skeleton plan that needs input from other people, but I believe it contains the basic elements of what we need to do. I’ll go over the current version of my ideas, and then we can begin discussions.

“To begin, I consider the basic strategy to rid Caedellium of the Narthani, with the tactics divided into three parts: cutting Selfcell and Eywell provinces out of Narthani control; isolating Preddi City from the rest of the province; and the siege of Preddi City, where we expect most Narthani to concentrate.

“First, we need to prevent the Selfcell and Eywell clans from supporting the Narthani. Even after their losses at Moreland City, the Eywellese could put three thousand men against us. The Selfcellese could do four to five thousand. Even if they aren’t as dangerous as the professional Narthani soldiers, seven to eight thousand clan allies give the Narthani more options and would inevitably cost us casualties. We’d like to avoid major fighting with those two clans.”

“How do we do that?” interjected Denes. “If they support the Narthani, what choice would we have?”

Yozef turned to the blackboard and pointed to two arrows from clan territory aimed at northern Preddi Province. “I propose we form two clan forces, one to launch from the Dornfeld district and follow the same route the southern rapid reaction force used on its raid. A second force will launch from the same position that the northern rapid reaction force used to tie down the Eywellese. However, this time, instead of a thousand men in each force, we’ll have approximately ten thousand in each, and the purpose is not to threaten and withdraw. We’ll hold the ground and force the Narthani into their defenses. The Northern Force will bypass Hanslow, the Eywell capital, and drive straight through the heart of Eywell to stay in tactical contact with the Southern Force. The two of them will threaten Preddi City and drive to cut Sellmor, the Selfcell capital, off from Preddi. I doubt Hetman Selfcell will abandon his province and people to flee into Preddi. What I expect to happen is the Selfcellese will concentrate around Sellmor in as defendable a position as they can find or construct. While I know not all of you agree, I think there’s still a chance we can turn Selfcell against the Narthani.”

Balwis harrumphed at the Selfcell hope, then said, “What about the Eywellese? You can’t expect them to come back to us, and even if they did, I doubt the clans would accept them back.”

“The Eywellese are different. We need to recognize that Hetman Eywell is . . . or, should I say, wasn’t synonymous with every Eywell clansperson. Owill reports that a good portion of the Eywellese were never in favor of cooperating with the Narthani. Many of them felt they had no choice once their hetman made the alliance. I also understand that several hundred Eywellese crossed into southern Moreland and northern Keelan in the last months—seeking refuge with relatives living in those provinces. I can’t predict with certainty, but I won’t be surprised if we find out a sizable fraction of the Eywell population is eager to get out from under the Narthani and be accepted back by the other clans, and I doubt most Eywellese have any desire to fight other clansmen. Time will tell.

“I know,” said Yozef to forestall arguments. “I can’t predict the chances of it happening. However, if there’s a chance, I think we need to take it.

“I envision Hetman Stent commanding the Northern Force. Their first objective is to drive to the sea south of Sellmor and isolate the Selfcellese and eventually threaten Preddi City once Selfcell is neutralized. The direct attack on Preddi City will not be immediate. Instead, both of our forces will compel the Narthani to stay within their defenses, while part of our men sweep south to finish isolating Preddi City from the rest of Preddi Province. Once Preddi City is isolated, they won’t be drawing supplies from the rest of the province.”

No one asked about Yozef’s oversight in not saying who would command the Southern Force. He needed to talk with Culich, and he worried that the hetman would expect Vortig Luwis to be in command, something Yozef couldn’t agree with. If not Vortig, then who? Denes Vegga and Mulron Luwis had the most command experience in direct fighting or training with a regiment. However, ten thousand was the size of a division. Command and control issues multiplied geometrically, not linearly, with size.

“The final objective, attacking the Narthani in and around Preddi City, will start only when the first objectives are secure. Then all forces will combine and begin a siege of the city. I’ve warned you before that a siege can be protracted. We will try to negotiate with the Narthani commander for the evacuation of all their people from Caedellium and thereby avoid an actual siege.”

“Let them go!” exclaimed Balwis. “After everything they’ve done? The tens of thousands of dead and enslaved, thousands of whom were taken away and will never be free to return home! We should kill every Narthani before we let any of them leave.”

“Every Narthani?” asked Maera. “Even babes?”

Balwis shifted in his chair. “Well . . . ”

“Or women or an eight year old or a family brought to Caedellium to be settlers against their will?” added Yozef.

“All right, all right,” conceded Balwis, reluctantly. “As long as you realize there will be clansmen willing to kill everyone, no matter who or what they are.”

“Not if I have any control over what happens,” stated Yozef. “To do that makes us no different than the Narthani, and I will abandon the island and go somewhere else on Anyar if that happens.”

Several people jerked in their seats at Yozef’s declaration.

“And I believe God would abandon the Caedelli if they stooped to such atrocities,” Yozef said. Although he was tempted to use the phrase “It somehow comes to me” when he wanted to hint that God whispered to him, he restrained himself this time, not wanting to overuse the phrase. He still felt uncomfortable with the rumor that he was touched by God. Though he didn’t consider himself religious, it still felt blasphemous.

“Let’s move on.” He didn’t want to dwell on a side issue. “Assume we reach the initial objectives. That leaves the Narthani behind what we have to believe are significant defenses and fortifications. The Narthani have been fighting large-scale wars for a long time, so we have to assume they have experience defending against a siege.

“With unlimited time, we could build trench works and fortifications of our own surrounding the city and wait them out. We estimate the current population of Preddi City to be about thirty-five thousand. If you add most of their military and if they receive a good portion of their nonmilitary population within the defenses, they could have seventy thousand or more mouths to feed. They would eventually run out of food, disease would be inevitable, and we could divert streams and the river supplying water. They could dig wells, but I doubt those would be enough for that many people.

“The problem is that we don’t have unlimited time. There’s the risk the Narthani could send more soldiers, and we couldn’t have that many people surrounding Preddi City indefinitely. Despite our huge stores of food, even those won’t last forever. Men will need to get back to their families, farms, ranches, and businesses. Looking at all the factors, we should plan on concluding a siege in two months, three at the most.”

Denes shook his head. “I’m confident you’ve thought this out, Yozef, but no one on Caedellium has ever carried out a siege. While you haven’t described what it would involve, I assume it doesn’t mean a frontal attack on the Narthani positions, not after all the warnings you’ve given us and what we saw at Moreland City.”

“No direct attack until we’ve degraded their defenses as much as we can,” answered Yozef. “We will dig deep trenches zigzagging closer and closer to the city. They could bring guns off their warships and would outgun us with regular artillery, given the size of cannon we’re able to have by that time. However, assuming we work out the fusing problem, we will cast large siege mortars that can repeatedly lob bombs on top of the defenses and later into the city. Their cannon will have a difficult time reaching the mortars in deep trench works. I also have workers testing larger catapults. They wouldn’t fit into the trenches, so workers are testing different shields to protect them from cannon fire, even building large dirt mounds closer and closer to the Narthani defenses and having the catapults hide behind them. By this combination, we would wear down the defenses. The Narthani are professional soldiers, so I hope that at some point they’ll realize their defenses can’t hold and they’ll agree to withdraw from the island. If they don’t, then we continue until the defenses weaken enough for a general assault.

“The key to the siege is earth moving. For trenches and mounds, we’ll need thousands of men digging, which shouldn’t be a problem. We could have forty thousand fighting men surrounding Preddi City, and, if necessary, we could bring in another forty thousand men and women to help dig. Trust me, eighty thousand people can do a lot of digging in a short time. The trick will be the organization and logistics.”

“What if the Narthani don’t do like you expect?” asked Poul Kildorn. “What if, instead of staying behind their defenses, the Narthani come out with their army and attack us?”

Yozef nodded an affirmation. “A good question, Major Kildorn. Let’s think about what would happen. If the Narthani have ten thousand soldiers inside their defenses, they can’t send even a sizable fraction of those in an attack or we could assault their weakened defenses and get inside Preddi City. If they don’t send out enough to be a reasonable force against tens of thousands of our men, then they risk being defeated in a battle. No, I believe they’ll be stuck inside their defenses.”

“What might the cost in Caedelli lives be in such a siege, Yozef?” asked Mulron Luwis.

“Let’s not pretend it would be anything except terrible,” said Yozef. He wanted them to understand the gravity of what might come. “We’re talking about thousands of casualties, maybe ten thousand dead and wounded. It comes down to a price that might have to be paid if Caedellium is to be freed of the Narthani.”

Half of the faces in the room paled at the numbers, yet no one argued it was too much to pay.

“However,” said Yozef, “we hope and pray it doesn’t come down to a direct attack on their defenses. If we can put enough pressure on them with artillery and mortars, cut off food and water resupply, and use one other factor, they might agree to leave. If we push hard enough to isolate Preddi City, we could take thousands of Narthani prisoners. These could be used in bargaining with the Narthani.”

“But with their ships controlling all the waters around Caedellium, couldn’t they resupply the city?” asked a new MIU member whose name Yozef couldn’t remember.

Yozef shook his head. “Not for seventy thousand people. Oh, they would certainly try, but where would they get the food? I’m sure any major stores are already inside Preddi City. As for water, they would have to secure water supplies somewhere on Caedellium. The men necessary to protect that water source would be exposed to being attacked and would weaken the Preddi City defenses. No, I think they’ll be stuck with whatever is in the city when we isolate it, and they’ll have to use wells and rainwater.”

For the next three hours, they went over Yozef’s skeleton plan and made changes, added details, and agreed on an expanded version to present to Culich and the other senior clan leaders. During the entire three hours, Yozef prayed he was doing the right thing. He worried that they had only a few more months left to push the Narthani off the island. He also didn’t tell the others that he had never read about siege engineering. The only thing he knew came from movies and TV, where sieges were depicted with technology of approximately the current level of Caedellium and the Narthani.

After the attendees dispersed, Yozef and Maera gathered up maps and any papers in the room that referred to his proposed campaign; no one took any written documents from the room, except Yozef. Balwis, Gowlin Reese, and two other escorts waited outside with a carriage.

“They accepted everything I laid out better and faster than I expected,” said Yozef.

“I think they all, or most, know it’s necessary,” said Maera. “Remember, the five men you shared your campaign plan with have already seen action against the Narthani, some of it quite desperate. Not all clan leaders will take the potential cost so calmly. There were also many questions left unaddressed, like what to do with the Eywellese and Selfcellese once we separate them from the Narthani. How do we keep control of their populations and deal with the Narthani at the same time?”

“I know, Maera. I think it all depends on what happens after we separate them from Narthani control. I believe the problem won’t be too bad, although I admit there’s no good logic for why I feel that way. I guess I’m putting it in the category of issues to deal with once they happen—hoping for the best.”

Maera frowned. “Although I agree with you that events will be deciding factors, I think we need to make tentative plans for administration—a set of those ‘contingency plans’ we’re already doing for other issues.”

Then she shrugged. “Well, let’s go home and deal with things less monumental, at least for a few hours. I want to hear how Anarynd made out. She organized a picnic, as you call it, for Gwyned, Braithe, and her to take the children out to the pond near home. It’s only a foot deep this time of year, and I anticipate Morwena being covered in mud. I pray that in a couple of years, we can watch all the children play and think of it as normal, instead of a diversion from things like we did today.”

The MIU and the others who had attended the meeting where Yozef revealed his proposed invasion of Preddi worked on refining the plan during the next two sixdays. Yozef believed they were almost ready to bring in the other hetmen when events overtook their planning.

Chapter 6: A New Player

Fuomi Flagship Defiant, Off Easternmost Point of Mittack Province

Jaako Rintala stood on the forecastle of the Fuomi expedition flagship, accompanied by three others. He automatically shifted his weight to account for the roll of the anchored ship from three-foot swells and appreciated the relative calm. He watched the first two longboats reach the Caedellium shore, each boat crammed with men who would assess their chosen landing site’s security. “Assess,” meaning they would get shot at first, before Rintala committed more men. Once they pushed a few hundred yards inland and signaled clear, the next two hundred men would follow and establish a wider security perimeter, before the remaining eight hundred men disembarked with cannon, tents, tools, supplies, and all the necessities to build a defendable camp. Then they would wait. The scout sloop had selected this spot as having a landable shore, not too close to an observable village, and most important, having the maximum sea room in case Narthani troops or ships arrived in force and Rintala’s men needed to re-embark.

A Fuomi shallow-sided skiff had circumnavigated the island and crept close enough to a harbor serving as the main Narthani naval base to assess the Narthani’s number and capability of ships. The two forces were approximately equal. Because any Fuomi knew their ships to be superior, they didn’t doubt they could hold off a Narthani naval assault long enough to evacuate the camp. They didn’t land farther from the Narthani naval base for two reasons: prevailing winds and currents provided advantages to their faster and more maneuverable ships, and it was an encampment site where positioning and camouflage would hide their men from patrolling Narthani ships.

They would land in force because they lacked even rudimentary information about the situation on Caedellium regarding the Narthani and they had limited knowledge of the island’s people and geography. Once they established the camp, they would wait for the Caedelli to come calling. Hopefully, the initial meeting would go well, so they could proceed with their mission. If not well, then the one thousand encamped men could evacuate under protection of frigates.

Rintala glanced around at the ships anchored or under reduced sail. All the ships flew the blue-and-silver Fuomi flag. Not that the Narthani would have doubts, given the distinctive design of his people’s ships. Besides, what other navy could interfere with what the Narthani considered a possession of their empire?

He wasn’t new to command. He had a well-deserved reputation for combined naval-land operations, and he and the other two officers standing beside him had worked together several times. Colonel Reimo Kivalian knew his business, and Rintala didn’t interfere with the Fuomi marine regiment on the troop ships. Neither did Rintala concern himself with the ships under the command of Commodore Vilho Kyllo, another officer who had previously served with Rintala.

Rintala again scanned their squadron of five troop transports, two supply ships, and five frigates. Tops of sails marked the positions of the three sloops as they watched for Narthani ships. Once the troops, cannon, and supplies landed, the squadron would withdraw out of sight. The scout skiff and one of their sloops had reported only Narthani sloops and cutters operating within ten miles of the coast. Only once in two sixdays had the sloop sighted a single Narthani frigate.

The size of the mission belied the anticipated importance. The Narthani were up to something on Caedellium. The island had always been a non-belligerent, as far as the Fuomi knew—avoiding entanglements with mainland conflicts and neutrally trading their grain and other foodstuffs with all sides. What had changed? In the last year, word slowly sifted out that the Narthani were meddling in Caedellium affairs, and annexation of the island might be underway. Fuomon worried whether this was an attempt to circumvent their current containment by Fuomon, the Iraquinik Confederation, and other allied opponents of Narthon. Rintala’s assignment, straight from the highest levels of the Fuomi military, was to ascertain exactly what was happening, not to engage in major fights with the Narthani. However, Rintala had broad discretion within the general order to report back on Narthani intents and strength on the island.

Reimo Kivalian interrupted his thoughts. “The first men signaled clear, and the second wave of boats is heading in.”

“Thank you, Reimo. All seems well so far. The scout ship report is proving accurate. Let’s push on and get the primary camp set up as soon as possible.” Kivalian nodded and returned to supervising. Rintala didn’t need to say the last sentence, because Kivalian knew the details of the operation as well as Rintala did. Still, he felt better giving an order, even if the receiver didn’t need it. The words gave him a sense of involvement, instead of standing and watching. Kivalian knew the routine and took no offense at any hint that his commander and friend thought he needed reminding of his job.

Eina Saisannin was the third figure near Rintala. She was the only woman on the flagship, one of three in the entire squadron. Women held many important positions in Fuomon society, though few of a direct military nature. In her case, she was both a scholar and a member of the Fuomon intelligence corps, reporting to both the military and the General Council. Her impressive intellect, linguistic abilities, and experience in intelligence analysis had secured her role as adviser to Rintala.

“Eina, once we’re dug in, we’ll wait to see the Caedelli response, and hopefully you can establish a dialogue with them.”

“I must admit, I’m both nervous and excited,” she said. “Nervous, because it’s my first time in the field, instead of analyzing and collating information back in a safe environment in Fuomon, and excited for the same reason. As for the Caedelli—to be honest, we know so little about them that I’ll be working with very little background.”

“We do know at least a little something about them,” said Kivalian.

“Little is the important word,” she rejoined. “They export grain, and the island has no central government—being a collection of independent clans, we think. That’s just about all we know. I found only three people in Fuomon who were originally from Caedellium. Two had been exiled for criminal acts, and the other was a sailor who stowed away on a trading ship when he was only nine years old and has never been back to Caedellium since. Not exactly solid sources of information, although they gave me a chance to get a preliminary feel for the Caedelli language. Apparently, the clans have some degree of regular conflicts—how extensive, we’re unaware. And as I’ve briefed you before, although the Narthani have been on the island in some strength for a few years, doing what is the question.”

“Well,” offered Commodore Kyllo, “we’ll find out more within a few days.”

The Fuomi stopped speaking as another person climbed the steps from the main deck to join them. Rhanjur Gaya was not a Fuomi. The fifty-year-old, darker-complexioned man originated from Munjor, one of the Landolin kingdoms.

Gaya was a diplomat, of sorts. He appeared pudgy but wasn’t soft, and he had trained as a mathematician and an astronomer, until political connections and family pressure moved him in other directions. Now, as the personal representative of King Santran of Munjor, Gaya had been in Fuomon three years, two years longer than planned. When the Narthani increased patrolling of the Gut, the east-to-west waters separating the northern and southern major land masses of Anyar, the options for obtaining passage through the Gut and to Landolin had shrunk to almost nothing. The Fuomon government had offered Gaya passage home on a Fuomi naval mission, whose goal he was not privy to. All the Fuomi would tell him was that it was by way of the Great Ocean covering an entire hemisphere of Anyar and would involve a stop of uncertain duration and unspecified location before he got home. Faced with no other option and being away from his family for three years, Gaya reluctantly accepted the offer.

As a diplomat, he traveled in the squadron flagship and ate with the senior officers and Eina Saisannin. He was a reasonably agreeable traveling companion, though his studied politeness didn’t hide his people’s belief that the Fuomi, and all other peoples, were members of lesser civilizations than his own or any of the other Landolin kingdoms.

East Head Point, Mittack Province

The first native of Caedellium to see the Fuomi was a krykor shepherd pushing a flock along a slope overlooking East Head Point at the tip of Mittack Province. The sheep-like Anyar species filled roles that on Earth either sheep or goats occupied. Their ferocious visage on one of the pubs in Caernford was meant to be humorous, because the dumb, naturally timid krykor would never be associated with the word ferocious.

The old shepherd was accustomed to seeing Narthani ships cruising offshore the last few years. These weren’t cruising! They were landing men and what looked like “cannon,” as described in reports from the Moreland battle! The shepherd stood staring for several minutes. What to do? His need to tell his village chief, who would then decide on the next step, conflicted with worry about his flock. His krykors represented most of his worldly goods. He stood rocking back and forth, as duty and self-interest fought. I have to get word to the chief. If I leave the flock in the open, they’ll scatter, and I’ll never round them all up again. Finally, he compromised. He had grazed his flocks in this region most of his sixty-four years, and he searched his memory. There! Just a mile over the ridge back toward the village, a small draw with a narrow opening could serve to hold his animals. I can drive them there, then leave the two dogs to guard the opening. Most of them should still be there when I return—I hope.

Even pushing the krykors as fast as he could, it took them an hour to reach the draw. The dogs controlled the krykors within the draw until he hacked and pulled several grisselthorn bushes into the narrow dead end’s opening. After surveying the hastily laid barrier and sternly instructing the dogs to “stay” and “guard,” he scurried as fast as he could the six miles home.

His arrival and story ignited an explosion of activity. It took the chief several minutes to shout down the chaos and get the villagers organized. He ordered the people to pack on wagons and carts whatever they felt they had to save and to stand by for evacuation farther inland. He sent a rider to the district seat to alert their boyerman. Three more riders rode to East Head Point to confirm the shepherd’s story. The chief organized the remaining twenty-six fighting men of the village and led them toward East Head Point. Less than halfway there, a rider returned to back up the shepherd’s warning. A large force of men was landing and digging in. Another rider went to the boyerman with confirmation.

The Mittack boyerman waited impatiently for the second rider before sending a message to the Mittack capital with news of a foreign invasion assumed to be Narthani. He relayed that he was mustering the district fighting men and that he would observe the invaders until help arrived.

Caernford, Keelan Province

It took a full day for the message to reach Hulwyn Mittack, hetman of the Mittack clan at Kilporth, the Mittack capital and site of the end of the semaphore line connecting Mittack to the rest of friendly Caedellium. Just over an hour later, the news reached Culich Keelan while he met with Vortig Luwis and Pedr Kennrick at Keelan Manor. The three men sat in a corner of the manor’s great room. Medicants had fitted Culich with a peg leg, and he got around with the help of a cane.

Culich unfolded the semaphore message.

TO: Hetman Keelan

FROM: Hetman Mittack

RECNI SDTSB HLN5X

HENAL NTPMH LIAVC

UDANA GHOAI UTGOL

NSNNN EEINP EESKA

DMDOD AANYS WFIEN

“Mared!” he called out.

Seconds later, his youngest daughter ran into the room. Her face bore a worried expression.

“A coded message from Hetman Mittack. Get the code book in my study.”

Mared’s face morphed into delight, and she whirled and vanished. The code book was the result of the MIU’s second White Paper. After a Caernford semaphore agent, Esyl Havant, had turned out to be a Narthani agent, all sensitive communiqués via semaphore were encoded. Yozef called the method he suggested a “columnar transposition,” where each day of a year had a different code word. The message was encoded by writing the code word at the top of columns for each letter. The message was then written left to right in the columns. The encoded message was read down the column in order of the letters’ positions in the alphabet. The reverse process decoded the message. Mared Keelan proved a diligent student, much like her oldest sister Maera, and she became her father’s code reader and writer.

When Yozef explained the code system to Maera, she asked, “How hard is it to break?” In one of too many slips of attention, Yozef blurted out, “Only seconds on a laptop,” before he recovered. He made a second slip when he said it would take a hundred people days to go through all the possible Caedelli words “by hand.” He waited for Maera to ask how else would it be done, except by hand? She merely gave him a quizzical look he had become accustomed to and let the slips slide.

Less than a minute after Mared left the room, she raced back, carrying a small book, a sheath of paper, a quill, and ink. Pre-drawn columns made coding/decoding easier. Culich gave her the semaphore message, and she sat at a table and scribbled. In two minutes, she handed a sheet to her father.

H

O

R

S

E

H

U

N

D

R

E

D

S

M

E

N

A

N

D

C

A

N

N

O

N

L

A

N

D

I

N

G

E

A

S

T

H

E

A

D

P

O

I

N

T

M

A

N

Y

S

H

I

P

S

B

L

U

E

W

H

I

T

E

F

L

A

G

S

I

N

V

O

K

E

5

C

L

A

N

X

Culich took the sheet and grimaced. He wasn’t yet accustomed to the format. “Horse?” he said, glancing up at Mared. That’s the keyword of the day?”

“Yes, Father,” she answered, smiling.

“Hmmm. Hundr . . . eds me . . . n and cannon landi . . . ng east head . . . point many . . . ships . . . b . . . lue white fl . . . ags in . . . voke 5 . . . clan. Ah, there we go. Hundreds men and cannon landing east head point. Many ships. Blue white flags. Invoke 5 clan.” He looked at his advisers. “Hetman Mittack is invoking the alliance for help in whatever is happening.”

“East Head Point?” questioned Vortig Luwis. “Why would the Narthani land men there?”

“I agree,” added Pedr Kennrick. “With their navy, they could land north of Kilporth and cut the Mittack capital off before we could respond.”

Culich shook his head, perplexed. “Even if they’re being cautious after the Moreland City battle and our raids, why East Head Point? I suppose it could be a diversion, but for what? Whatever they’re thinking, we have to respond. I’ll send messages on to Gwillamer and Hewell, asking them to mobilize five hundred men each for assistance, and we need to do the same with a thousand men. Adris is too far away to send men in time. Vortig, alert Mulron and Denes that we’ll send the Naffyd regiment. Naffyd is the closest city and regiment, and their unit is reported to be ready for action in an emergency. We’ll also send Denes with a battalion of dragoons and 6- and 12-pounder batteries from here in Caernford. I assume Hetman Mittack is mustering all of his clan’s fighting men.”

Luwis appeared uneasy. “I agree there’s no choice, even if it weakens the alliance’s ability to respond elsewhere. It will take a full day to gather the men and supplies. By then, we should hear more from Mittack about what’s happening.”

Clarification came the next day, right before Denes left for Mittack. The update evoked general surprise.

Word of troops landing in Mittack reached Yozef an hour after Culich. The hetman had begun regular updates to Yozef and Maera after the battle in Moreland. Thus far, Yozef had resisted suggestions from Culich that he become a regular part of the hetman’s adviser group. Yozef felt it had been bad enough to relocate himself and the more critical facilities to Caernford, and he was loath to give up more time from everything else. Reluctantly, he knew he’d delayed only because Culich’s arguments were reasonable. Maera had agreed with her father, while she understood Yozef’s need to press ahead with the many projects.

Yozef had already moved most of the foundry and cannon development group to Caernford. Abersford couldn’t support the necessary significant expansion. The distillery didn’t need him anymore, nor did soap, paper, and the sundry other enterprises, many of which had expanded into other towns and provinces.

As promised, after Yozef had burned their original Caernford house, a large work crew finished their second Caernford home in a month. They were still moving in and furnishing. The house smelled of fresh planking and paint, and the design was different enough from the first house to minimize any remembrances of what had happened there.

Although messengers regularly came to their new house, the contents of a just-delivered sheet surprised them, just as Yozef had settled down to work on his journals and Maera had donned a cloak to walk with Anarynd and Aeneas. Maera stood on the veranda as Yozef took the message from the boy who worked at Keelan Manor. He looked at the page.

“It’s from your father and in code, so it’s sensitive information,” Yozef said, annoyed. “Why in code? Culich is at the manor today, only a few minutes away.”

Maera laughed. “I bet it’s Mared. She in love with coding and decoding. I’ll bet Father wrote the message and told her to have Sonmon run it here. She probably thought it was sensitive enough to encode.”

Yozef sighed. “We need to tell her it’s not always necessary.”

Maera hurried out of the room. “I’ll get the code book.”

When she returned, he gave her the message, and she quickly decoded, frowning as she finished.

“What is it, Maera?”

“Word has come that hundreds of soldiers have landed from ships at East Head Point in Mittack.”

“Narthani?” asked a worried Yozef.

“It’s not clear. The word from Mittack is that instead of red-and-yellow Narthani flags, they’re flying blue-and-white ones. Those are the flag colors of the Fuomi. Although the formal colors are blue and silver, common flags use blue and white.”

Yozef’s face displayed a lack of knowledge.

“Fuomi. Of Fuomon,” added Maera. “Long-time enemies of the Narthani. We haven’t had news from outside Caedellium for several years, but from what I know, I doubt they are any less hostile to each other than before.”

“Hmmm . . . so if they’re Fuomi, what are they doing here?” Yozef mumbled.

“This far from Fuomon, I don’t believe they can be seriously challenging the Narthani on the island,” reasoned Maera.

“No, which means some other reason. Maybe just to find out what’s going on here.”

“Or trying to see if they can establish a foothold on the island and maybe collaborate with one or more clans?” suggested Maera.

“Helping against the Narthani is one thing, and staking a claim of their own is something else,” said Yozef.

“From what I know, if we had to choose, the Fuomi would be far better for us than the Narthani.”

“Maybe so,” said Yozef, “yet I can assume that neither Narthon nor Fuomon ruling Caedellium would be the clans’ preference. Either way, we need to know more about why they’re here.”

Maera looked at the message again. “Father asks you to accompany the units to Mittack. I assume he’s planning to send a force of some size to Mittack, in case whoever they are have intentions we won’t care for.”

Maera paused, rereading the message, nibbling her lip as she thought. “I’ll need to go with you if it really is Fuomi. Only a couple of other people on the entire island know enough of the Fuomi language to be useful, and none are as likely to understand nuances of the situation as well as myself.”

Yozef agreed with the suggestion; the advantages were immediately obvious. She was right, as far as her assessment of herself. “Even though you read Fuomi, can you understand it spoken, since you’ve never practiced with other speakers?”

“I should be able to understand the general trends of the speech, and the more I hear, the better I’ll get. The Fuomi will surely have people who speak Narthani, and my Narthani is quite good. I’ve been practicing with the Narthani prisoners and escapees. Which reminds me, Balwis offered to help me practice Narthani.”

Yozef smiled. “And if you serve as an interpreter when we talk with the Fuomi, it won’t hurt to have someone who they don’t realize understands at least some of what they say among themselves.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” said Maera, smiling back at her husband.

“What about Aeneas? This is likely to take at least several sixdays.”

“He’ll be fine. I’m not breast-feeding him anymore, so Braithe takes care of that. I’ll tell the staff that Anarynd will oversee the household while we’re away.”

Yozef considered. Yes, Anarynd doted on Aeneas and was conscientious. It might be good if they showed their confidence in her and let her feel that she contributed. And yes, having Maera along would be good for the mission. And for me. I guess I’d miss her, if I had to be away for several sixdays.

“All right. Discuss it with Anarynd, Gwyned, and Braithe. I’ll pass word on that we’ll be ready to leave with the others.”

“You know, Yozef, it’s fortunate my monthly bleeding just finished. I hate traveling when that’s happening. I don’t get cramps anymore, but even with the kotex you introduced, it’s still a bother putting them in and disposing of them. Anarynd resisted using them until I showed her how. Yet even now she insists on burying them outside in the woods, as they did such things in Moreland.”

Too much information, thought Yozef. Men knew these things happened but didn’t need elaborate descriptions.

The next morning, a confirming message came from Mittack. The new arrivals were indeed Fuomi and indicated they wanted to meet with clan leaders. Culich suggested that the Mittack hetman wait until the Keelan men and representatives arrived before he talked further with the Fuomi. Culich still couldn’t ride, even by carriage, with his leg still healing from the amputation and becoming accustomed to the peg. Vortig Luwis would be the Keelan representative, with Denes commanding the force and Yozef as an adviser. Yozef saw no need to initially inform Culich that Maera would accompany him—they would argue later, if necessary.

Chapter 7: First Meeting

After two days’ travel, Yozef, Maera, Vortig Luwis, Denes, nine 6-pounder horse cannon, six 12-pounder cannon with limbers and caissons, supply wagons, and five hundred dragoons arrived at Kilporth, the Mittack capitol. The four of them rode most of the way in a carriage, although they also brought mounts: Mr. Ed for Yozef and a large gray gelding for Maera. At the last minute, Yozef also decided to bring three long 12-pounders. These had just passed tests after cooling and had barrels eighteen inches longer, which gave the gunpowder more time to burn before the shot exited the barrel, resulting in a longer range.

However unenthused Culich felt about Maera’s involvement, he grudgingly acceded to the arguments. The Naffyd regiment waited for them, encamped two miles from the Mittack capital. They joined other Mittack men, and the combined forces left for East Head Point—accompanied by Aelard Mittack, only sixteen and the oldest son of the Mittack hetman.

Aelard had been sent back to Kilporth to give the Keelanders an eyewitness account of the Fuomi, after accompanying his father to observe the intruders. He confirmed a rough count of a thousand Fuomi digging in a serious encampment at East Head Point—including trench works, bastions, and 30-pounder cannon probably taken from ships offshore. An interesting piece of information was that the Fuomi delegation included a woman, their translator.

East Head Point, Mittack Province

From Kilporth, the column pushed hard and reached East Head Point in one long day. They had brought extra horses to trade off pulling the artillery. Still, all the horses were well spent by the time they arrived. Denes’s thinking was that if fighting were necessary, it would not be a cavalry engagement, given the Fuomi’s lack of horses and the close and rugged terrain. From a hilltop, they saw the Fuomi dug in on a thousand-yard peninsula protruding from the coast. A rocky prominence at the far end blocked line of sight from the sea, so that Narthani patrols wouldn’t see the Fuomi camp. Low hills faced the Fuomi position, with a higher bluff to one side. There were no trees—the wind-swept point being inimical to vegetation, except for grass and a few shrubs.

While the rest of the column filed into an encampment area prepared by the Mittackians behind the hills and a mile from the Fuomi, the Keelan delegation proceeded by horse to another hilltop where Hulwyn Mittack waited. Formalities were brief. Everyone looked down on the Fuomi encampment.

“Well,” said Denes, “if the Fuomi are here for trouble, there’s no way we’re going to attack them in their current position. With their numbers and the narrow front, our men would be slaughtered before they ever reached the trenches.”

“I agree,” said Hulwyn. “They say they want to talk with clan leaders.”

“Have you met with them yourself, Hulwyn?” asked Yozef.

“No. Only one of my clansman and one of the few Preddi escapees living in Mittack. The latter’s Narthani was just barely good enough to understand that the Fuomi want to meet our leaders. That’s why I asked Culich if he had better translators.”

“We brought along another Preddi escapee,” said Vortig Luwis, indicating a man standing behind the others. “Balwis Preddi and Maera both speak fluent Narthani, and Maera reads Fuomi and thinks she can understand at least some of the speech, though not enough to translate confidently.”

“Good, good,” said Hulwyn, relieved. “No one we know or trust in Mittack knows enough Narthani for us to be confident of the translation. That’s one reason I didn’t meet with them. And, of course, we’re honored that you’re here, Maera,” he said with a smile to her. They had met many times over the years during various formal Tri-Clan Alliance meetings and more personal visits between hetmen families.

“A pleasure to see you again, Hulwyn, although one would wish under less stressful circumstances,” said Maera. “And before I forget, thank you again for the wedding present.” She gestured toward her mount. “Moldin is a wonderful horse, gentle, strong, tireless, and responsive.”

“I admit I’m a little surprised to see you here, Maera, now that you’re married and have a new child. I would’ve thought Culich wouldn’t be pleased to see you off to this place.”

“Father is Keelan hetman, but I am a Keelan, too, and do what I can for the clan. I am also married to Yozef Kolsko, and he requested my presence here—so Father had no say in the matter.”

“Well, knowing you, I imagine he had a say—it just didn’t matter,” Hulwyn said with a grin.

Yozef laughed. “I say . . . you really do know Maera, don’t you, Hulwyn?”

Maera swatted him with her reins.

“And I’m also glad you’re here, Yozef. I’d hoped Culich would send you. Maybe you can help figure out what’s going on.”

“Thank you, Hulwyn. Now, let’s think about what we want to do here.” Yozef looked down at the Fuomi encampment. “I’d think your reports are right. The way they dug in and the place they chose to do it suggest that while they don’t intend to make hostile moves, they want to have an impregnable position and perhaps impress us.”

“They certainly succeeded in impressing me,” said Denes. Several others nodded and voiced agreement.

“Well, if we’re going to have talks,” Yozef offered, “it might be better if they also have respect for us. Discussions between equals are often more productive.”

“And how are we going to impress them?” asked Luwis.

“How about if we do the same as they did? Dig in. Or, in our case, create a defensive perimeter that also blocks them from leaving the point.”

Mittack and Luwis both looked dubious, and the latter voiced his doubt. “Is that worth the effort, just in case they might be impressed?”

“What’s the harm?” replied Yozef. “If they’re not impressed, all we’ve lost is some sweat, but if they are, who knows what positive results might come of it during the talks?”

“Still,” said an unconvinced Mittack.

It was Denes who supported the idea first. “I think I agree with Yozef. One thing he’s been endlessly drumming into me is to prepare even if you think it isn’t necessary.” He gestured out at the point. “The land widens to only about five hundred yards before the foot of the hills we occupy. We could dig in at the crest and have unobstructed fields of plunging fire. We won’t have grazing fields of fire, which we will have if we dig in at the bottom of the hills, where both musket and canister fire will be far more effective. The problem is it puts our trenches in range of their cannon.”

Yozef squatted on one knee as he looked over the terrain. “I suggest the 6-pounders at the bottom, with the 12-pounders clearly visible at the crest. The added elevation will let them counter-battery fire at the Fuomi cannon. Even if we don’t know the range of their cannon, they’ll have a hell of a time landing round shot on top of the crest. The shot will either hit the slope in front of our cannon or sail on over. Our guns, on the other hand, will be shooting straight down at them.”

“You sound as if you both expect a battle to take place here,” said the anxious Mittack hetman.

“No, Hetman,” said Denes. “It’s just planning for anything possible, like we talked about. As Yozef says, ‘Plan for the worst and hope for the best.’”

“How soon would you want the entrenchments completed?” asked Luwis.

“As soon as possible and as much of a surprise to the Fuomi as possible,” said Yozef.

“Hetman, how many fighting men do you have here?” asked Denes.

“With the ones who came with you, about fourteen hundred. All I could muster on short notice and still leave some men to defend coastal villages and towns. There’s also the five hundred men from Hewell who arrived yesterday.”

“We brought fifteen hundred from Keelan, and five hundred from Gwillamer are a day behind us,” added Yozef. “What about people within a few hours’ ride from here?”

“I suppose a thousand men of all ages. Why?”

“If we want to surprise them, the best way is to complete the entrenchments over a single night. If you bring in all nearby men, we could have more than two thousand men working constantly and trading off with another two thousand who were resting and eating. If they all put their backs into it, that many working on a five-hundred-yard front can do an impressive amount of work in ten hours.”

“Able women, too,” said Yozef. “All of the clans have to understand that to fight the Narthani means every single person is available to do whatever is necessary. Maybe this is not that serious a situation, but there’s no time to start the tradition like right now. If there are two to three thousand local men available, then there should be another thousand or more strong women who can dig, too, besides carrying water and cooking.”

They used the next day to bring in surrounding villagers—who also carried every shovel, every pick, and any other potential digging tool, along with loose rails taken from every fence with ten miles. The five hundred men from Gwillamer arrived exhausted from their trip and were allowed to encamp and recover. The Mittack translator was sent to deliver the Fuomi a message that a meeting with leaders would be possible the following day. Everyone not engaged in specific tasks was urged to sleep as much as possible during the day. It would have been a puzzling sight for the Fuomi if they could have seen the other side of the ridge, where thousands of people slept in small makeshift tents and lean-tos or just lay on the grass with coats or cloth over their heads.

During the day, the clan leaders planned the exact entrenchments, assigned people to each section under the direction of crew chiefs, and then waited for sundown. As the sun first touched the horizon, everyone still asleep was awakened, fed, and crews formed up. Everyone was repeatedly told the importance of minimizing noise. Obviously, the digging would be heard, but it would be partly hidden by the sounds of waves against the shoreline rocks on both sides of the peninsula and by onshore winds.

They began when the last light faded and had until the first light the next morning. Then the digging would stop, and everyone would take up his or her pre-arranged position—fighting men in trench lines or with their cannon. The noncombatant local villagers also had a role: 2,400 in groups of two hundred would stand in ranked formations on the upper slopes of the more distant surrounding hills, holding tool handles skyward to simulate weapons. The front rank would be fighting men, and unless the Fuomi had much stronger telescopes than Yozef believed, they wouldn’t be able to tell that the arrayed companies were mainly armed with shovels, other tools, or tree limbs when no tool was available.

Jaako Rintala was deep into a dream involving people he didn’t know doing things he didn’t understand, though he enjoyed watching it all—when he woke to see Reimo Kivalian at his cot-side.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Something’s going on,” said Kivalian in his “this is serious” voice.

The tone instantly jolted Rintala fully awake. “What is it?”

“The islanders are up to something. Come listen.”

Rintala threw on the clothing he had shed for sleep, and the two men trotted quickly two hundred yards to their forward trench and climbed onto the top of the earthworks surrounding a 30-pounder. Kivalian hushed the nearby men. Rintala tilted his head to the left—his right ear was better. He heard . . . something. He cupped his ears with his hands, thereby increasing audio input. Yes. A rising and falling background noise came inland from their position.

“All right. I hear something. It seems like a constant noise with ups and downs. Any ideas?”

Kivalian shook his head, accompanied by, “Nothing for sure.”

Rintala grunted a question mark.

Kivalian volunteered, “So . . . maybe digging. Maybe lots of animal movement some distance away—on the other side of the hills. Maybe thousands of coneys sharpening their teeth on wood.”

Rintala grunted again. Kivalian, as competent as he was, was also an incurably cheery wise-ass. There was no point in encouraging him.

“One of our pickets first reported hearing something about an hour ago, as the wind died,” said Kivalian. “Before that, whatever that noise is was hidden by the waves and wind. I considered pushing the pickets farther—they’re only a hundred yards out—but in the dark, there’s more opportunity for accidents. If we’re trying to make a friendly first contact with islander leaders, we wouldn’t want someone in the dark to start firing.”

“No. You were right to leave the pickets where they are,” agreed Rintala.

“I roused the next watch, so half of the men are at stations.”

I think I would have at least gotten everyone at stations and let them sleep there, Rintala thought. However, Reimo is troop commander, so it’s properly his decision. Besides, even half the men should be able to hold off whatever the islanders might throw at us—at least long enough for the rest of the men to get to their positions.

“Send a lantern message to Admiral Kyllo that we assess something is happening we’re not sure about. Stand-to the closest three frigates. Quietly. Tell him to answer only by an acknowledgment with a single lantern. It will be light in about three hours, and then we will see what we will see.”

It was closer to two and a half hours when the first faint glow on the horizon heralded the coming sun. They all noticed a sudden cessation of the previous noise, replaced by a general rustling that rose and then died as the light increased. With the east to their backs, the land in front of their position lay in shadow. They could first make out the skyline of the hills against the darkness, then smaller terrain features came into focus.

It was the gun captain at their position whose eyes first recognized something.

“By all the gods, they’ve built fortifications in front of us during the night.”

Within a few more minutes, all of the men could see the night’s work—a continuous line of positions paralleling the Fuomi trenches and covering their entire front at the base of the low hills from one side of the peninsula to the other and about seven hundred yards distant.

“Well, well,” murmured Rintala in admiration. “They certainly have been busy little workers last night.”

Another half hour, with the sun not quite above the horizon, and the clear air showed trenches zigzagging with log-reinforced bunkers every thirty yards, nine of which sprouted barrels of light cannon. Another two hundred yards to the crest were six more revetments with what appeared to be larger-bore cannon. Men were visible on the crest and shoulder to shoulder in the trenches. The plant growth covering the farther slopes was splotched with company-sized squares of men. Kivalian made a quick count.

“Must be a good two thousand men in the blocks alone. What with those in the trenches, maybe four thousand total. Those cannon anchoring the trenches are no major threat—we would outgun them easily. On the other hand, those on the crest would be a problem. To knock them out, we’d have to elevate and hit them directly, while they would fire right down on our cannon. Even with our bigger bores, I’d say it’s even up for both sides.”

The gun captain had been listening. “That’s not all, sirs. Look to the left. On top of the bluff.”

Rintala and Kivalian swiveled their heads to the table of land at the end of the islander trenches. The bluff was a solid, flat-topped rock formation about two hundred feet high. Visible were log bunkers from which protruded three longer cannon barrels.

The gun captain spat juice from the bello bark chew plug in his mouth. “Unless I’m seeing things that ain’t there, those are longer tubes. From that height and angle, we’d have to re-position our 30-pounders—and even then, they’d have the advantage on us.”

Kivalian cursed, his usual good humor not sufficient to overcome the morning’s surprises.

“Well, well, indeed,” said Rintala. “Our simple little islanders certainly have some surprises for us.”

“If we didn’t know better, I’d say it was the Narthani facing us,” said a concerned Kivalian. “While I wouldn’t have placed all the positions exactly where they did—if I was out there, instead of here—the fact that they did it at all, and overnight, is disturbingly impressive. As if by people with the right thinking but inexperienced. Look at the trenches. The zigzags are too long. And putting the line at the base of the slope, instead of up on it. Just another twenty yards and their field of fire wouldn’t be that much affected, and being on the slope would reduce our ability to using grazing fire. Shot and grapeshot would tend to bury in the slope, instead of glancing off the flat ground and continuing toward targets. Still . . . impressive for the time they had and that they thought of any of this, although it cries out as inexperienced.”

“I think, Reimo, that we’ve had our own cleverness turned against us.”

“Huh?”

“We wanted to send a message that we aren’t aggressively seeking to move inland, and we’re strong enough to defend ourselves from anything that might come against us. And what do they do . . . ?”

Kivalian was silent as he resurveyed the scene. “So you think they’re sending a message back that they weren’t impressed?”

“That’s what I suspect,” affirmed Rintala.

Kivalian noticeably relaxed. “So the return message is that while they don’t intend to attack us, they’re strong enough to keep us here?”

“Something like that.”

“Movement, sirs,” rasped out the gun captain.

From the Caedelli trenches climbed four men carrying a table. They walked to halfway between the two trench lines, set the table down, then walked back to their lines. Several trips followed with chairs, poles, rope, and a heavy fabric held up by the poles and forming a tent with closing flaps on all sides. The rectangular table had five chairs at each long side paralleling the trenches. The islander men pushed three narrow poles into the ground on the tent side nearest the Fuomi lines—each pole’s top held a blue-and-white pennant. On the opposite side, nearest the islander lines, matched three poles with green pennants.

By now, Eina Saisannin had long since joined them. “I don’t think we need to wonder about the purpose of the tent.”

“No,” said Rintala. “It’s an invitation for five of us to meet with five of them. I’m assuming the green is either for whichever clan we landed on or the island as a whole—like our blue and white.”

“I suggest you send them an acknowledgment signal,” said Saisannin.

Kivalian turned to a waiting aide. “Bring one of our flags and pole here, quickly.”

The young aide ran off, to return shortly with a three-by-four-foot, blue-and-white Fuomon flag. Kivalian took the pole, turned inland, and waved the flag slowly a dozen times—then planted the base at his side as they watched the opposite lines. Almost immediately, a figure appeared on an islander bunker and waved a green flag. Then another man began walking toward the tent.

“It’s their Narthani translator,” said Saisannin. “I’ve been hoping they come up with someone better. I can hardly understand anything he says to the man you have translating for us, and I’m not optimistic about trying to carry on a complex dialogue using him.”

“Let’s see what he has to say,” said Kivalian and sent their own translator out. As good as the man’s Narthani was, Saisannin’s was better, but Rintala wanted to hold that off until they knew more about the islanders’ views on women in negotiations.

The meeting of the two representatives took less than a minute, and their man returned.

“Sirs. They say they will meet with you at mid-day. No more than five persons to a side. No weapons.”

As the sun reached its zenith, a green flag waved from the islander line. The Fuomi responded with their blue-and-white colors.

“Let’s not argue, Jaako,” said Saisannin. “I’ll be accompanying you. Even if I won’t do the translating for now, I’ll be able to observe.”

“Good enough,” agreed Rintala. “And the fact that there is a woman in our delegation hopefully conveys that we have no general hostile intentions—for the moment, anyway.”

“I’m still not comfortable with you exposing yourself, Commander,” complained Kivalian.

“Quit mothering, Reimo. Some risk is part of a commander’s duty—when called for and when they judge the risk minimal—as I’ve done in this instance. Besides, if Eina is going, what would the men think if I didn’t?”

“I doubt if that would have any impact on them,” said Kivalian dryly. Most of the men had served with Rintala before, and their level of respect was hardly likely to be altered by his being prudent.

With the second-in-command’s obligatory safety concern for his commander out of the way, Rintala, Saisannin, their translator, and two aides started toward the tent.

“Here they come,” said Maera. “And look who’s one of them.”

“Five of them and one’s a woman whose role we don’t know,” added Yozef. “Maybe it’s a signal of peaceful intentions.”

“Maybe,” said Luwis, “although there have been enough treacherous and devious women in history not to be certain about peaceful intents. And don’t give me that eye, Maera. You know I’m right.”

“Even if you are,” she countered, “I think it would be best if we also had a woman at the table.”

“Dear me,” said Yozef innocently, “do you happen to have anyone in mind?”

Maera grinned.

“Absolutely not!” barked Luwis. “Culich would explode if he found out we put you in danger!”

“The reasons for my coming at all still stand and are now even more important. Besides, only my husband has authority to forbid me. Isn’t that right, husband?” She turned with a blank look to Yozef.

Well, sure. Like I want to be totally screwed, if I forbid her.

Hulwyn Mittack had observed the back-and-forth banter with increasing impatience. “You Keelanders decide! We need to start out, or they might turn back if they don’t see us reciprocating.”

“Maera will come,” said Yozef flatly.

Luwis started to open his mouth to make further protests, only to be quashed by the looks on Maera’s and Yozef’s faces. Neither was going to yield, and Hulwyn was right—they needed to move. He sighed. “If you insist. But please don’t get killed or anything. I wouldn’t dare face Culich.”

The Caedelli started toward the tent, and the Fuomi slowed their pace so that the two groups arrived simultaneously. With a wave to the chairs from Hetman Mittack, the ten sat. On the Fuomi side, Rintala was in the middle, flanked on his right by Saisannin and an aide. On his left were the translator and the other aide. On the opposite side were Balwis in the middle with Hetman Mittack and Vortig Luwis on his left and Maera and Yozef on his right. Both sides quickly agreed that all interchanges in Narthani would be through their respective translators, as if each side were a single individual. Each side would converse among themselves between interchanges.

“That’s a relief,” said Saisannin in an aside to Rintala. “Their new translator is fluent in Narthani. Even if it’s a dialect expected of a common person, certainly not from the highest levels of their society, we should have no problem in conversing.”

The Fuomi translator started off speaking for Rintala. “Let me introduce myself and my companions here at the table,” and then he gave names, ranks, and roles.

“Military ranks, though I don’t know what ours, theirs, and the Narthani equivalents are,” said Luwis to the Caedelli, “except for the woman who may be a civilian or political adviser. Hetman Mittack, as this is your clan territory, you should do the introductions for us.”

The Caedelli gave the same introductions, then asked, “Why have you come to Caedellium?”

“Representatives of two clans,” said Saisannin to Rintala. “That’s a reasonable start, although since we believe there are fifteen to twenty clans, we will want to contact several more to get a balanced view of what’s happening here.”

“I assume you see no significance that only one clan leader is here of the two. ‘Hetman’ they call them?” asked Rintala.

“They say he was unable to attend so sent his top advisor and his daughter as his representatives. I would not try to make any other interpretation—at least, not yet. Sending the daughter could be a sign the Keelan hetman has good intentions.”

The Fuomi translator said, “We have no hostile plans for Caedellium. We know the Narthani have been active on the island for several years. The Narthani are the enemy of many other peoples of Anyar, including Fuomon. We have fought them for many years and are interested in knowing what is happening here on Caedellium and why the Narthani have taken an interest in your lands.”

“How much should I say?” Hulwyn Mittack asked the Keelanders.

Luwis and Maera whispered to each other, then Luwis answered. “At this time, tell them only that the Narthani are also our enemies.”

For the next hour, the two sides danced around the same questions without giving more details. Finally, the Caedelli suggested to the Fuomi that they take a two-hour break and return to continue. The Fuomi agreed, and both sides walked back toward their lines.

“They’re definitely not overly eager to share information so far,” said Rintala.

“Would you be in their situation?” countered Saisannin. “A foreign force lands on your shores with a thousand troops and cannon and then digs in with warships offshore?”

“Oh, I admit, I would probably act the same,” agreed Rintala. “It’s just my nature to want to move along now that we’ve made contact.”

“Don’t worry. I suspect once they confer among themselves, the next session will be more informative. I also got the impression that the Keelan representatives are the sharp ones. The older man and the hetman’s daughter seemed to discuss as equals, and their questions are subtler.”

The islanders were relieved. “I must say I’m encouraged from the little time we spent with them. I didn’t get the impression they were particularly deceptive types,” said Hulwyn Mittack.

“Possibly not,” countered Luwis. “However, never forget they have their own agendas that are still unknown to us.”

Luwis looked to his right at Maera and Yozef. “Any impressions?”

Maera spoke first. “The woman . . . Eina Saisannin? She speaks Narthani and probably better than their translator.”

“How do you know that?” blurted Hulwyn.

“Although my Narthani still needs improvement, twice I thought their translator made mistakes on a word, though not enough to change the meanings that much. Both times I saw the woman’s lips form the correct translation.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Yozef approvingly and patted her on the back. “That’s my girl!”

Maera blushed.

“Obviously, they want more information,” said Luwis. “How much should we give them?”

“I’m inclined to be open to telling them almost anything,” suggested Yozef, “with the possible exceptions of internal clan politics and any plans about the Narthani—yet, anyway. If Fuomon is a true enemy of the Narthani, then the Fuomi may give us useful information. Ideally, they would also help us, but I imagine they would have to believe it to their advantage.”

“Perhaps Sen Kolsko-Keelan should take over the translation,” suggested Balwis.

Yozef considered for a moment.

“You seem to be doing perfectly well, Balwis. Let’s have you continue for now.” Yozef gave a questioning look to Maera—who nodded in agreement.

Two hours later, they were back at the table under the tent. Both sides opened up slowly, then more, as information was exchanged. The Fuomi were informed of the history of the Narthani on Caedellium—the extent of which appeared to be news to the Fuomi. The fate of the Preddi clan was confirmed to be a standard practice of the Narthani with whomever they conquered—either the victim society allowed itself to be totally absorbed into the Narthani Empire and culture, or it was destroyed.

Later, the Fuomi brought out an Anyar map and described the current extent of the Narthon Empire and the opposing realms on both Narthani borders on the major continent of Melosia. The islanders learned that the Narthani had been frustrated in attempts to expand their empire farther in the last decade, which made it likely their Caedellium venture was part of an attempt to break the deadlock—although exactly how Caedellium would facilitate such a result wasn’t clear.

The group broke again an hour before sundown and agreed to meet in the tent an hour after sundown for evening meal and continued discussions. Hulwyn Mittack offered to provide local foods for the dinner, and the Fuomi graciously accepted. On the chance that such a “friendly” repast might occur, Hulwyn had arranged for cooks and foods for such an occasion. The Fuomi were suitably impressed by the marinated and fire-roasted half beef, fresh vegetables and fruits, just-baked bread, and a selection of Caedellium wines and liquors—several of the latter being from Yozef’s distillery-related enterprises. However, the kerosene lanterns created the biggest impression—they were a novelty because candles and whale oil lamps were de rigueur throughout Anyar for nighttime illumination. None of the Fuomi managed to hide various levels of interest or amazement at the intense light put out by six lanterns hanging from the tent poles. One of the junior Fuomi officers started to examine a lantern more closely, before a word from Rintala pulled him back.

However, the first thing the Fuomi noticed was that only four islanders appeared at the evening meal. Missing was their translator. The mystery was solved, to more Fuomi surprise, when Maera spoke to them before everyone sat down.

“Welcome again, honored visitors to Caedellium,” she said in perfect Narthani. Rintala visibly started, while Saisannin only smiled.

“We thought we would dispense with the pretense of needing additional translators. I will speak for Mittack and Keelan, and I suggest Sen Saisannin do the same for Fuomon.”

One young Fuomi officer said something in Fuomi—with an intonation that Yozef interpreted as “What the hell!” or some such.

Rintala grunted, and Saisannin only smiled further and answered back, in equally perfect Narthani, “A most reasonable suggestion, Sen Kolsko-Keelan. This way we can be sure of no mistakes in our understanding.” She then turned to Rintala.

“I see we have to be careful not to underestimate the islanders,” said Saisannin in Fuomi to Rintala. “I sense that besides speaking Narthani, this Kolsko-Keelan woman is sharp as a newly honed knife.”

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised,” replied Rintala. “If the Narthani have been on Caedellium as long as they say, and with what has happened, I suppose it’s natural that many of them learned Narthani out of necessity.”

“True,” agreed Saisannin, “but this one learned Narthani and has pretty much mastered it, albeit with a bad accent.”

“Please. Sit and enjoy the food,” urged Maera in Narthani—allowing herself to be seated by her husband. Having made themselves comfortable, all nine dug into the meal. From that point on, eating was interspersed with a resumption of discussion, this time with Maera and Saisannin speaking for each side.

“Our commander’s compliments on the food,” said Eina. “Especially the fresh vegetables and fruits. Any we had ran out over a month ago.”

“I’m sure we can provide more for you and your men. Hetman Mittack says he will arrange for a month’s supplies of vegetables and fruits within the next sixday. Shall we say enough for twenty-one hundred men?”

Despite himself, Rintala almost choked on a piece of tender beef. The islanders’ estimate of 2,100 was within twenty of their actual total force—troops and sailors. As Eina said, we need to not underestimate these people.

“That would be greatly appreciated. What gracious hosts you are. We also hope to see more of Caedellium and meet more of your clan leaders.”

“That should be no problem,” said Maera. “Of course, not for all of your people. We’re happy to provide supplies to make your people’s stay here more pleasant, as long as most of you remain here. If a delegation wishes to move more freely in Caedellium, we would be happy to provide escorts for a limited number.”

“Our commander wonders if we would be able to accomplish all of our objectives in assessing the events on Caedellium with only such a limited access. He is wondering whether perhaps we should move elsewhere on the island.”

“That would be most unfortunate, since the other clans will look to us for advice on how to welcome you to Caedellium. It might also make it impossible for us to be as gracious of hosts as we could have been.”

Saisannin translated to Fuomi the last message to Rintala and then added, “I think the message is clear. They will be friendly as long as most of us stay right where we are. Things could turn different if we try to circumvent that restriction.”

“I think we need to tread gently here. There’s more going on here than dreamed of back at Fuomon.”

“I concur,” said Saisannin, shifting her position in her chair.

During the next fifteen minutes, the two sides danced around the issue and finally settled on allowing a Fuomi leadership delegation of Rintala, Kivalian, and Saisannin, accompanied by fifty men as “companions and aides”—aka, guards. The immediate itinerary would be to escort them to Kilporth and on to Caernford, then eventually to Orosz City, where other clan leaders would have the opportunity to meet with them. The trip was expected to take three sixdays to cover the four hundred road miles. The relatively leisurely pace would allow time to learn more about the Fuomi before exposing them to all of the clans.

More Relaxed Conversation Ensues

With main meal finished, the remains were removed and replaced by bowls of fruit, plates of cheese, and bottles of wine from the slopes of the mountains in eastern Mittack—generally considered the finest wine produced on Caedellium and ruinously expensive for most Caedelli. It was the same wine Yozef had been served the first time he ate evening meal at Keelan Manor.

The tone of the interchanges funneled through Maera and Saisannin became less guarded as the evening wore on and the agreement on movement settled.

Yozef had said very little all day, until he finally asked a question through Maera.

“My husband asks that if the preliminary niceties have been dealt with, can we be frank? If the Narthani are your enemies and also our enemies, is it possible for us to work together against them?”

“How would you see us working together?” asked Eina. “We don’t mean to be disrespectful, but Caedellium is small compared to other major realms and far from Fuomon areas of vital interest.”

“My husband recalls a saying that the enemy of my enemy is my friend—as long as both find it advantageous. Could Fuomon and Caedellium be friends?”

“Anything is possible, but while Fuomon would wish the people of Caedellium well, to do more than wish would require careful consideration and would have to be of mutual advantage. Perhaps our visit to Caedellium will help clarify any possibilities.”

“Very understandable. My husband also wonders if there is something you know that you are not telling us. To come so far from Fuomon with the size of force you did suggests that Fuomon has more than a casual interest in Caedellium.”

“Whoa,” said Rintala softly to Saisannin in Fuomi, “where did that question come from?”

“I have no idea, but something tells me more is going on here at this table than we thought. I’ve noticed that numerous times the two clans’ senior men glance at the woman when sensitive questions are asked or decisions are to be made.”

Rintala considered for a moment. “Yes, I think I’ve noticed the same.”

“Yes, although now I’m wondering if they were looking at the woman or at her husband—this Yozef Kolsko.”

“That wouldn’t have occurred to me since he’s been so quiet. I did wonder why he was here and just assumed he was escorting his wife, who was one to be careful with.”

“Oh, she’s smart enough, though she and her husband are very at ease with each other, and I think I notice a degree of deference from her when he talks to her—which may suggest he can at least hold his own with her intellectually.”

“So what do we answer? They’re all waiting, and by now the others suspect this Kolsko is on to something.”

“Is there any reason not to tell them more?” asked Saisannin.

“I suppose not. We had thought to wait until we meet with more island leaders. Now, I think that since the question was asked, they might not take it well if we didn’t answer or answered falsely.”

Saisannin turned back to the islanders.

“You are correct. We had thought to tell you more after meeting additional island leaders, perhaps in a meeting of all the clans, but there is no reason to conceal anything. What caused Fuomon to send us here at this time is that only in the last year, before we left Fuomon, did we learn of Narthani interest in Caedellium. Recently, our spies within the Narthon Empire reported that the Narthani are planning to send a significant army to Caedellium. While we don’t know the exact size of the force, it apparently is on the order of sixty to seventy thousand men.”

Maera paled on hearing this, putting a hand to her throat and sitting back in her chair. Her husband put a hand on her arm and whispered something to her. The Fuomi listened as she translated into Caedelli. All of the islander men made various exclamations—except Kolsko, who received the words as if he were expecting them.

“By Merciful God,” cried Luwis. “Seventy thousand Narthani soldiers! We only managed to hold off ten thousand at Moreland City. But up to seven times that number! Merciful God!”

The Mittack hetman said no words, only let out a string of curses and raised a shaking hand to his forehead.

Yozef sat digesting the news, his gut twisted into a knot, his pulse elevated, though his mind surprised him with its acceptance of what had been on the edges of his worst fears. Well, I thought that would be one of the possible outcomes of the Moreland City fight. The Narthani thought to take the entire island with a minimum force and piecemeal carving up of the island. Once they found it was going to be harder than that, depending on how bad they want Caedellium, I suspected they might send a much larger force. Now we know. They really, really want it.

Yozef spoke to the others on his side of the table. “We knew this was a possibility. Let’s find out more. Maera, see if they know when the additional Narthani might come.”

She turned back to the Fuomi. “Do you know how soon we could expect this Narthani army to arrive on Caedellium?”

Eina answered. “When we left Fuomon, our latest information was that the force was still being planned. There was an expected departure of six months or more from that time. Preparations did not seem urgent but were progressing firmly enough for us to believe it would happen. It took us four months to reach Caedellium, so you might expect them any time after two months from now. Of course, that’s only an estimate, so it could be several months later.

“Please also understand that our mission here is information gathering and not to engage the Narthani. We intend to leave before the larger Narthani army and naval forces arrive at Caedellium. Given the uncertainties, we will be leaving within a month—sooner, if necessary, which is part of our concern about taking too long to meet more of your leaders.”

The word that they had perhaps only two months to prepare for what would come set off another round of despair that Yozef quelled after an initial flurry of panic.

“People! Please!” Yozef urged the other Caedelli. “Remember that we are far better off at this moment than we were five minutes ago. If it weren’t for the Fuomi, we would only have found out about this new army when they landed at Preddi or maybe even crossed the border again into Moreland. They could also have caught us besieging Preddi City, and we might have found ourselves trapped. Now, however, we know what we face and have time to consider and plan. Also, two months is the earliest they might arrive. It could be much later, and even when they land it will take time for the men to recover from the voyage and for them to get organized to move against us.”

Mittack took several deep breaths. “Yes. Yes. Yozef is right. As bad as this sounds, at least we know what we will face. Yozef, do you think we have any chance against such a force?”

“We always have a chance,” said Yozef. “How good a chance will depend on many factors, including how well the clans work together and how committed the people of Caedellium are to what will come. One thing we’ll need is any and all help the Fuomi can give us. At a minimum, information on the Narthani, the tactics their larger forces are likely to use, how they think about military campaigns, advice on how to improve our preparations, and who knows what else.

“Maera, ask them if they are willing to give military advice.”

“Thank you for that information,” said Maera in Narthani. “As you can imagine and saw from our reaction, this isn’t good news. However, we are determined to resist the Narthani to our upmost. We know the fate of the one clan they have completely destroyed, and my husband believes the Narthani will find Caedellium a difficult prey to swallow.

“We also understand that you are not here to fight the Narthani, but while you are here, can you give us as much information as possible about Narthani tactics and advice on how to improve our resistance?”

The Fuomi talked among themselves again for a couple of minutes.

“We, of course, will provide anything we can,” said Saisannin. “But again, being blunt about what is coming, do you have any conception of what it will be like to face a Narthani army in the field? If Caedellium has never had conflicts involving more than a few hundred or thousand men at a time, this will be a professional Narthani army experienced at fighting other armies like themselves.”

Maera translated. This time, only Yozef spoke to her—so that when she translated, the Fuomi knew the response came from him alone.

“The Narthani here on Caedellium sent ten thousand men to conquer provinces that would have split the remaining clans from one another. Some of the clans united and faced them with twelve thousand men. We killed almost three thousand of them, captured half their artillery, and the remaining withdrew back to their territory.”

Saisannin turned excitedly to Rintala and translated. He blinked and leaned forward. “Another surprise,” he said to the other Fuomi. “These islanders are getting more interesting all the time. And I think we now know the main figure among these islanders. This Kolsko was not given any title, except as the husband of a hetman’s daughter, but he’s obviously much more.” He urged several more questions on Eina.

“The artillery you have here—are these cannon ones you captured from the Narthani?”

“No. All these were made on the island. Many more are being made.”

“Do you think you can defeat a Narthani army in the field?”

“No. We would have no intention of fighting a major maneuver battle with them. Besides being wasteful of men’s lives, that would allow the Narthani to fight to their advantage. We will fight to our advantages.”

“And what advantages do you think you have?”

“This is our land. We know every tree, every rock. We will fight only when, where, and how that knowledge will work for us, and we will also have more mobility than the Narthani if most of their men are infantry. All our men will be mounted and will either fight that way or dismounted. Our cavalry will be accompanied by large mobile artillery units that we think will be a bitter surprise to the Narthani.”

“You already said you pushed the Narthani back into their enclaves. Does that mean you don’t consider the battle a victory?”

“There are different ways to define victory,” said Maera. “In that first battle, our goal was to drive the Narthani out of clan territory. We accomplished that goal, so therefore we considered it a victory.”

“What would be your goal when facing a much larger Narthani army?”

Yozef had been the only islander speaking to Maera for the last questions. When only he answered again, all of the Keelanders at the table and several standing aside from serving barked out a forceful cheer.

“We intend to kill every single Narthani who does not leave Caedellium on their own,” translated a snarling Maera.

The Fuomi had no response to that statement, and the evening broke up with polite statements and plans for the next day.

Maera Elated

When Yozef and Maera entered their tent and closed the flap, she turned and hugged him fiercely.

“Oh, Yozef! We just heard that our worst fears of more Narthani will happen. I should be scared. For Aeneas, for us, for all of Caedellium. I’m frightened . . . though . . . at the same time . . . yes, somehow, I feel excited. How can that be? I’m so confused,” she gasped, laughing and crying at the same time.

Yozef hugged her in return, stroking her back. “It’s probably just so much happening today—the meeting with the Fuomi, the news of more Narthani, and maybe . . . uh . . . you said your time of the month had passed?”

“Yes,” she said. “Two sixdays ago.”

“Well, I can see why you could be frightened. But why do you think you’re also excited?”

She was quiet for a moment.

“I think . . . maybe . . . it’s because I was somebody today.”

“Somebody?”

“Someone who mattered and others knew I mattered.”

“Maera, you always matter.”

“I know, I know. I matter as a hetman’s daughter, as a mother, as the wife of Yozef Kolsko . . . and yes, I know you care for me. And yes, I know I’m smart, smarter than most, but for some reason today, I felt like I was an equal of all the men—even you and Hetman Mittack. I was part of the sessions today. Translating Narthani and participating, having valued ideas, secretly knowing enough Fuomi to listen in on what they thought we couldn’t understand, and . . . oh . . . I don’t know. It’s so confusing.”

“Whatever is going on inside that brown-haired head of yours, I’m glad you feel better about yourself, but I hope you always know how much I love and depend on you.”

“I know. And I want you to know I am grateful to Merciful God to have a husband like you.” She pulled away from his arm and looked at him in a way he had never experienced before. She appeared flushed in the lantern light turned low and put her hands on his shoulders.

“I should be tired from today, but that’s not how I feel.”

She jerked his coat open and off his shoulders, then jumped to her feet and pulled one sleeve off and then the other. Standing in front of him, she started to frantically undo his shirt. Yozef stood frozen.

“Well—help me, you idiot!” she hissed.

When he began pulling off the shirt, she let go of his clothing and tore at her own. In moments, they were naked. She pushed him back onto the bed, climbed on top of him, using a hand to help his growing erection, then straddled and guided him into her—gasping as she moved back and forth. In hardly more than a minute, she cried out and collapsed on his chest, her breath coming in deep gulps, her knees clasped to him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

Yozef was processing the last few minutes. Maera had always been dutiful as a wife. He knew she enjoyed their sex life, more so since her first orgasm prompted him to encourage her to tell him when manual help was needed—to his self-castigation he hadn’t offered before—but she had never been assertive in bed and never had a climax like this one.

“Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” he asked through her hair covering his face.

She laughed throatily, her face still pressed to his chest. Then she rose, still straddling him.

“I am Maera Kolsko-Keelan. Daughter of the greatest hetman of the greatest clan on Caedellium, mother of the next Keelan hetman, confidante and adviser to Caedellium leaders, plotter and holder of secrets, and wanton wife of Yozef the Magnificent!”

Yozef roared with laughter.

“Then, you wanton wife, experience Yozef the whatever!”

He rolled her onto her back and proceeded to eagerly perform his marriage duties. Later, as they lay entwined on the bed, a blanket pulled up over them, Maera . . . giggled?

“I think we made enough noise that everyone in hearing wondered what was going on.”

“Oh, I think they full well knew what was going on,” said Yozef dryly.

CHAPTER 8: FUOMI IN CAERNFORD

Fuomi Encampment

“I don’t like it,” said Kivalian. “You’re the commander of this mission and shouldn’t put yourself in such an exposed position. That’s my job.”

“Time may be short, what with the islanders’ evident plan to take their time in allowing us to meet with more hetmen. I consider it a reasonable risk, and Eina agrees with me. The fifty men with us will provide security from minor threats and give us messengers to get back here, if necessary.”

“I still say you should be here in case something goes wrong and the encampment has to be abandoned.”

“Commodore Kyllo is perfectly capable of pulling our men back aboard ship, should it be necessary,” said Rintala. “Neither you nor I would add anything to such a withdrawal.”

Kivalian stomped off, muttering to himself something about “stubborn idiot.”

Rintala smiled to Saisannin. “He’ll get over it. We’ve had this conversation many times in many places. Reimo will be his usual irritating self the next time we see him.”

The Fuomi had not brought horses with them, and nothing had been said the previous night about how they would travel. The answer came the next morning at first light when clansmen led fifty-three riding horses, twenty packhorses, and three wagons with four-horse teams to the Fuomi encampment. All three of the Fuomi leaders were adequate horsemen, and Kivalian had chosen the fifty men for both their martial abilities and their horsemanship.

The Fuomi were mounted and three of the wagons loaded with gear by sunup. The Fuomi followed a Mittack clansman sent to gather them. The Keelan delegation, escorted by four hundred mounted men, three hundred from Keelan and one hundred of Mittack, met the Fuomi at a hill’s crest. The other islanders—from Keelan, Gwillamer, Hewell, and Mittack, plus the cannon—had started out earlier and were returning to their homes, except for two hundred Mittackians, who would remain to keep an eye on the Fuomi base.

Rintala voiced the Fuomi’s surprise at how quickly the islanders had disbursed the force.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect you to trust us and remove most of your men so soon.”

All three Fuomi leaders noted that the other islanders automatically glanced toward Kolsko, who smiled at the Fuomi.

“Oh, it’s not so much trust,” Maera translated, “as it is knowing who you are and how many of you there are. If necessary, we could have twenty thousand men back here in a sixday.”

Kivalian was suitably impressed. “That’s a good mobilization time, assuming some would be coming from at least as far away as your Keelan Province. If you don’t mind my asking, how many total men could you gather at one time to fight the Narthani?”

“I think we can hold off on such details for now,” replied Yozef, thereby shutting down that question and alerting the Fuomi that there was still a level of trust to be earned.

Caernford

It took them two days to reach Kilporth, the capital of Mittack Province. There, Hulwyn Mittack left to attend clan business, while his son, Aelard, continued to Caernford as the Mittack representative in his father’s stead. Another three days and they reached Caernford, where the Fuomi would stay for a sixday for meetings and tours.

Culich had received daily encoded semaphore summaries about the Fuomi and several long written reports from Maera. The latter were too long to send by semaphore and were delivered by a relay rider network paralleling the semaphore lines and, in some provinces, also linking district headquarters not accessible via semaphore. No one knew why Yozef tried to call the new system the “Pony Express,” although he settled on the name the “Rider Express.” Its original intent was to allow sending inter-hetmen encoded messages and reports too long for the semaphore. Once the system was operational, tradesmen and common citizens took advantage of it to write letters and exchange commercial communications. Mail traffic increased enough that Pedr Kennrick was merging the Rider Express system with the previous mail packet method of delivery. However, sensitive mail among hetmen was delivered separately from mail of the general populace. Those riders—only especially trusted men—rode heavily armed with orders to maintain security at all costs. Their delivery was locked in flat metal containers whose key only hetmen possessed. The system wasn’t totally secure, only the best available.

Yozef had made the mistake of once, without thinking, telling Culich about ways to send messages instantly, either over wires or even without wires. On their return from Mittack with the Fuomi, Culich groused that the reports took too long to get to him, and when would Yozef produce these “telegraph” and “wireless” techniques? Each time the hetman asked, Yozef told him they were still working on it. He didn’t say he had given up the ideas for the time being. An attempt at a telegraph sat in a side room of one of his workshops. The apparatus looked crude, which it was. It should work, but it didn’t. As a ten year old, he and a friend next door had constructed a working telegraph with a wire strung between their second-story bedrooms. The only difference he could see in the basics of that apparatus and this one was D batteries versus Leyden jars. The rest, mainly a homemade electromagnet and the key to make and break circuits, should be the same. Then again, maybe the new device was working, because the one he and his friend made only had to transmit over twenty-two yards. The apparatus in the storage room had yet to send a message farther than a hundred yards. Yozef knew it should be a simple matter of more power or some other adjustment, if he only had enough time and people qualified to keep working on the project—for now.

Yozef found the problem of getting a working telegraph especially frustrating after talking with the Fuomi. He had the impression that although their basic level of technology was not much advanced over Caedellium, they possessed a more extensive infrastructure. Even small advances in technology would enable him to introduce more innovations. He ached to complete a land-line telegraph, wireless telegraph on the way to radio, steam engines, and chemistry projects that he couldn’t accomplish on Caedellium but that might be feasible with more resources.

“You should never have mentioned those other methods of sending messages,” said Maera when they returned from Mittack and after hearing her father gripe once more about slow communication. “He and the others have gotten used to you pulling miracles out the air, so when it doesn’t happen, they wonder if you’re holding back on them.”

“Tough shit,” Yozef remarked in English. Although the phrase hadn’t been taken up by the Caedelli, he was tired, sore from the trip, and hungry, and he didn’t want to hear about something he hadn’t done. They took their leave from Keelan Manor and returned to their new home. They held Aeneas for a few minutes, said hello to everyone with promises of giving more details of the trip the next day, ate a meal readied for them by Serys, their cook, and barely undressed and pulled covers over themselves before both fell asleep, bodies touching, despite their travel odors.

The next morning, Yozef and Maera woke within minutes of each other. One whiff and Maera’s disgust at the odor transfer to bedding required that they strip the bed and then bathe themselves. It took only a little teasing by Yozef to convince his wife they should bathe together. One thing led to another, and they were delayed another hour. They finally went down to the kitchen, hoping that food was cooked and ready. Serys took one look at them, smiled, and shook her head.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll get you some kava.”

Anarynd was less circumspect. “My God, you two, at least pull the covers over yourselves. We could hear you from the other side of the house.”

Maera blushed, then stuck her tongue out at her friend, and they both laughed. A bemused Yozef was used to the degree of ribaldry of the Caedelli, compared to the United States on Earth. He felt pleased Anarynd had relaxed enough to act like a normal islander, instead of staying within her shell, as she had done at first.

“Oh,” said Anarynd, “your father sent a message he wants to meet with you two at ‘your earliest convenience.’ I suspect he meant before mid-day.”

Yozef looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was mid-day. They finished their cups of kava and walked the half-mile to Keelan Manor.

Culich and Breda Keelan sat with Yozef and Maera in the smaller dining room of the manor. The hetman waited until his famished daughter and her husband finished eating before getting to business.

“Well, I can’t say the last sixday or so hasn’t been interesting. First, the Fuomi show up and then the news about a massive Narthani army headed our way.”

His tone transmitted his opinion of the news, and Maera had whispered to Yozef earlier that the wrinkles in his face seemed deeper.

“I’ll meet with our new visitors this afternoon, and I want to hear the impressions you both have of them. I’m still having trouble grappling with the news. My God! Sixty to seventy thousand more soldiers! I confess I succumbed to despair when I first heard.”

Breda leaned toward her husband and laid a hand on his forearm. Both women had made game attempts at keeping the conversation light, though drawn and pale faces betrayed both Culich and Breda.

Culich patted her hand. “And yes, Breda chided me that there is always hope. I know she’s right—it’s just hard to grasp. Yozef, what does this mean for the plan for the clans to attack Preddi Province?”

“I only see two options,” Yozef replied. “We could attack immediately, meaning as soon as we can gather the clans’ men and the supporting supplies. The intent would be to deprive the new Narthani army of a ready base of operations before they arrive. There are three main problems with this option. I don’t believe the clans are ready for such a commitment. Maybe in another two months, but not now. However, if we wait two months or longer, the new Narthani might have already arrived or they could arrive while we’re besieging Preddi City. We could find ourselves between a Narthani anvil and a Narthani hammer, which could also happen even if we could attack within the next few sixdays, because we expect a siege to last months.”

Culich drummed his left fingers on the tabletop. “So we cancel the plans to attack Preddi. That means we’ll have to face both the Narthani already on Caedellium and this new army. Unless you have some other idea, I assume you will recommend the strategy that we discussed briefly. The one where we pull all the clanspeople into safer positions and try to get the Narthani to attack someplace where the advantage is ours. I confess I hadn’t thought much about this possibility, and when I did, I didn’t understand how it would work.”

Yozef shook his head. “Like you, Culich, I spent most of my attention on the direct attack on Preddi option. However, there’s been a low level of planning, just in case we had to fall back on what, frankly, is almost certainly a desperation scenario. As you say, somehow getting the Narthani to attack us where our chance of victory is best. And let’s be honest, that might not be where we even have a good chance to win, only any chance.

“We’ve already been preparing refuges for the people and storing up food and other supplies. That has to increase. Before, we had a ‘just in case’ reason; now it’s a necessity. We have to assume a time will come, likely sometime in the next three to six months, when we have to abandon every town, village, farm, ranch, and mine and the people gather where the Narthani can’t get to them—at least, as long as we have active clan fighting units.

“Training, planning, and weapons production all need to increase even more than before. A Narthani army many times larger than we faced at Moreland City will be maneuvering on Caedellium soil. Somewhere we’ll have to fight it. The critical factors are when and where. Our map making is far along. I’ve used those efforts to also look for potential battlefields. A high priority is to go over those maps, reports from surveyors, and every clan’s knowledge of its province to find every site that might work to our advantage. We need to identify the most favorable sites as soon as possible to start preparatory work.”

Breda Keelan had listened quietly, her arms folded as if hugging or protecting herself, her expression tight. “How long would the people of Keelan have to stay in the refuges, and will there be enough food and shelter for however long it will be?”

“We’ve been preparing several high valleys in the Dillagon Mountains, Breda,” said Culich. “Other clans are doing the same, although most haven’t been as diligent as Keelan. I’ve told you of the work, though perhaps I haven’t shared all the details with you. So far, it’s been mainly food storage in deep caverns and clearing ground, in case we needed to house thousands of the clanspeople there. Now, we must step up our efforts. Food stores now kept elsewhere in Keelan will need to be moved there, along with whatever herds can be kept in the mountains for at least several months. All available materials for tents will be used to start setting up shelters, and we’ll cut trees for more shelters and firewood. Even if conditions will be difficult, the people should be kept warm and fed for months.”

“And if the Narthani defeat our men, then nothing else matters,” stated Maera matter-of-factly.

Breda shook her head and hugged herself tighter. “I just don’t see how this will work. I only hope that the three of you, and all the others doing the leading, planning, and fighting, know what you’re doing.”

I truly hope that trust is well-placed, thought Yozef. I’d hate to have to put odds on our chances.

Instead of sharing his thoughts, Yozef moved on to what he saw as the final part of a vision for how the clans might survive. “As difficult as sheltering the whole population of Keelan in refuges might seem, that’s the easy part. Once that’s done, we still have to meet the new Narthani army.”

“What we’ll probably have to do won’t sit well with the clans,” said Culich. “I know you and I have talked about it, Yozef, but even I cringe to consider it.”

“Merciful God, Culich, and Yozef!” exclaimed Breda. “Now I wonder if I want to know exactly what you’re talking about, as if getting the people to safety wasn’t hard enough.”

“The idea is to get the Narthani army to chase our men until we have them where we want to fight a battle,” Maera told her mother. “That may mean fighting smaller battles to keep the Narthani’s attention and allay any suspicions. Battles mean deaths. Hundreds, even thousands, of our men might be killed while this happens, and that’s only preliminary to a hoped-for final battle.”

Breda looked even more stricken than before. “I’ve known worse times were coming, and I suppose Culich has tried to prepare me, though now, hearing the words makes it too real.” Breda unfolded her arms and sat upright. “It’s hard, but we’re Caedelli, Keelanders, and the hetman’s family. We’ll do whatever is necessary.”

For the first time that morning, steel came into her voice and face. “I and every Keelander will do whatever’s necessary, in hope for the day when no other mother has to bury a daughter killed by Narthani because they want to enslave us.”

After another day of meetings with the Fuomi and forming his own assessment, Culich said he would try to arrange an All-Clan Conclave in Orosz City, based on the news brought by the Fuomi. Balwis Preddi would stay with the Fuomi as their formal guide and translator, although Eina Saisannin had proved to be a prodigy at languages. In only a few days, she was carrying on simple conversations in Caedelli with Maera. The Fuomi woman acknowledged her own skill at new languages and said that Caedelli was related to the Frangelese language group of one of the southern landmasses and the origin of the main wave of immigrants to Caedellium some four centuries earlier. Naturally, she spoke several of the Frangelese dialects.

By the end of a sixday, Culich concurred with Yozef’s and Maera’s impressions of the Fuomi, and the days and some evenings filled with meetings. Most clans had responded to the call for a conclave, and when agreement came from the final clan, it required mandatory attendance. The call went out for an All-Clan Conclave in three sixdays—time to allow all hetmen or representatives to reach Orosz City, including Seaborn, which would receive the announcement and the date of the conclave by sea.

The Fuomi Also Assess

While in Caernford, Reimo Kivalian visited the city and Yozef’s shops, observed Keelan military training, and spent time with the Kolskos. Maera had served as his interpreter during visits to the foundry and discussions with the workers. Kivalian himself was expert in the deployment and utilization of cannon; unfortunately, he knew little of their construction. After the first day, he mentioned that gunners on their ships knew far more than he and offered to send back to East Head Point for a few of them to come to Caernford. Yozef readily accepted, and a semaphore message went to Hetman Mittack, who, in turn, sent a rider with the message to the Fuomi encampment. Two days after the message arrived, a Fuomi sloop anchored at the fishing town of Rummeln on the eastern coast of Keelan and delivered three Fuomi naval gunners. Each of the men had worked in cannon foundries and had extensive practical experience in cannon casting. Within a sixday, although the three had been drained of all pertinent knowledge on improving Caedelli cannon casting, they stayed to work with the Caernford foundry as it continued a furious expansion.

The three Fuomi leaders sat at a table under an enormous spreading tree on the grounds of a house where they had resided since arriving in Caernford. Their escorts and aides stayed in adjacent cottages and generous tented accommodations thrown up on short notice. The site was a mile from Keelan Manor, where all three Fuomi dined most nights. Rintala estimated that armed Keelan men were always around in greater number than whatever grouping of Fuomi were present—be they only the three top leaders or including the fifty escorts and aides.

“I know we’ve discussed portions of this many times. Now, let’s put it all together,” said Rintala. “What do we think of the Caedelli?”

Kivalian spoke first. “There’s no doubt there have been many surprises. The Caedelli are far more than we were led to believe we would find here. I expect the Narthani have also realized the islanders are not as easy to subjugate as they may have initially thought. While they have no central authority, so far my impression is that the clans do better than I would have predicted, as far as coordinating their efforts. Of course, all that is relative. They have to eventually pay a steep price for lacking that central authority. Yet . . . ” Kivalian hesitated. “Yet somehow I find myself not wanting to lay a wager against the islanders.”

“Do you honestly think they can beat back the Narthani?” asked a surprised Saisannin, shaking her head.

“My brain says no. My gut says . . . maybe.”

“And why does your gut say something different?” prodded Rintala.

“Perhaps three factors,” answered Kivalian after long thought. “One is that I see no lack of will in the Caedelli. When combined with their forcing the Narthani to withdraw at the battle in Moreland Province, their morale and determination are as good as any I’ve ever witnessed. Second is their response to the Narthani threat. They already produced cannon and our men advised making some improvements, and I’ve seen records of their production and how fast they’ve adopted things our men suggested. The speed with which the islanders have increased production is amazing. You can also see the response in other areas that I wouldn’t have expected, such as their medical corps. Their medicine is in some ways equal to or more advanced than our own. They also focus on using their strengths and Narthani weaknesses. There are more examples.

“Then there’s a final factor—from my own impressions and from what Eina has found out about this Yozef Kolsko. Much of what gives me pause in thinking the Caedelli can’t win is at least partly due to his input. We’ve all seen and heard about what he’s introduced here. Things never heard of anywhere else on Anyar. Just who is he, and where does he come from?”

Saisannin nodded vigorously and leaned forward in her chair. “As Reimo says, I’ve talked with many Caedelli—including high-ranking men, ordinary citizens, and Kolsko’s wife, Maera. The story that comes through is like some mythical tale. The stranger who suddenly appears and saves a people from the forces of evil. If we weren’t here and hadn’t seen some of the results and heard personal accounts, I’d have dismissed it all. There’s no question Kolsko played a major role in beating off the Buldorian attack on the abbey where he lived at the time and where he first appeared ‘mysteriously’ on a beach. Then, at the Moreland battle, it was his first cannon and tactical advice that led to the Caedelli victory. Fewer details are available about the attempt on Hetman Keelan, except that this Kolsko is supposed to have killed anywhere from five to ten of the Narthani all by himself.

“I haven’t even mentioned all the innovations he’s introduced. No, there’s no question he’s a significant factor in resisting the Narthani.”

Rintala had listened carefully to the other two. “I find myself in agreement with most of what you both say. Let me share what has struck me the most. It was how the clans handled the Moreland battle. Recognizing the Narthani tactic and devising a counterattack simply doesn’t match with what we know, at least now, of the island’s history. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Narthani suspect outside advisers, perhaps even us, of helping the Caedelli. It all seems to come back to Kolsko—and back to the question of exactly who he is and where he came from. None of us have heard of an ‘Amerika,’ and I’m skeptical it’s only a matter of different pronunciations. I also don’t believe the innovations introduced by Kolsko could have remained unknown to the rest of Anyar.”

“That still leaves us with a more immediate question,” said Saisannin. “What is our course? It can be argued that we’ve already fulfilled our mission. We know what the Narthani are doing here.”

“While that may be our specific assignment,” said Rintala, “isn’t the bigger issue to stop or slow the Narthani? I think we need to seriously consider what additional aid we might give the Caedelli, short of actively fighting with them against the Narthani, and continue to find out more details of the innovations we see here.”

Saisannin shook her head.

“A dangerous path. It’s not always easy to disengage. Even without intending, it could increase our risk of being drawn directly into the fighting between the Caedelli and the Narthani.”

The discussion continued for another half hour, with Kivalian and Saisannin doing most of the talking and Rintala listening and asking occasional questions. Finally . . .

“There’s enough unexpected happening here that I’ve decided we’ll stay as long as possible and provide what advice we can to the Caedelli. I’ll send a sloop back to Fuomon with a full report and my decision that the opportunity to impede whatever long-term plan the Narthani have for Caedellium justifies additional risk.”

Maera and Eina

It was hardly surprising that a close relationship developed between Maera and Eina Saisannin. Each was the only woman high in her respective leadership circles in a sea of men. In addition, they served as each side’s primary translator, which ensured constant interaction. Maera’s status as a new mother provided an easy avenue for less political discussions. Saisannin was a mother of three, ages ten to eighteen. Although their children afforded a natural topic of conversation and allowed a degree of instant rapport, neither woman forgot she came from a society with a different history and goals.

Eina had been uncertain about coming on the Fuomi mission, because she would be away from her family for upward of a year. Yet duty and opportunity prevailed, once Eina was assured of her husband’s and children’s support. It was during a leisurely glass of wine at the end of a long day of meetings that Saisannin broached a difficult question to Maera.

“Maera . . .” Eina said gently, “do you really believe your people have a chance against the Narthani?”

Maera looked pointedly at the Fuomi woman.

“I take it you don’t.”

“It’s just that Caedellium and its people are so small, compared to a vast empire like Narthon. It’s all that Fuomon and the other nations allied against them can do to keep them contained. Even we are not sure about the future.”

“However, it isn’t the whole Narthon Empire we face,” said Maera. “I think it will depend on how much they want Caedellium—what they are willing to pay to conquer us.”

Eina’s countenance was grim. “If our information is correct, and they send an army of sixty to seventy thousand—how can you hope to stop them?”

“I doubt that the Narthani still understand exactly what they face here,” she said in a firm voice. “The foolish Preddi clan gave them the impression that all the clans would be as easy. They should know by now that isn’t the case, but even now they will underestimate us. Even if eighty thousand Narthani do eventually conquer us, those already here and the more coming, it will be after fighting they haven’t imagined even in nightmares. And as my husband says, even eighty thousand is not enough to totally control the island. The surviving Caedelli would move into the mountains, and it would take five or more times the number of Narthani to dig us out. If the Narthani think they can force conquered clans to hunt down the others, they are fooling themselves. So it comes back to how bad the Narthani want Caedellium.

“And then there’s Yozef. Even I don’t know exactly what he will come up with next, but the very fiber of my being says that with Yozef, the Narthani are outmatched. Although it may not appear rational, every instinct I possess tells me that he will find ways for us to win.”

Eina’s eyebrow rose at the last statement of faith, so she leaped into a question she had not brought up with Maera before this day, a question even more sensitive than whether the Caedelli woman thought they could win.

“And who exactly is Yozef?”

“I assume you’ve heard the tales of how he came to us—washed up on our shore. You asked who he is. All I can say is that he is my husband, father of my child, and there is none other like Yozef Kolsko. There are even moments when I almost pity the Narthani. Yozef is a mild-mannered man, which reminds me of the Landolin story about the dog that assumed it was chasing a coney. When it caught up, the coney turned out to be one of the merstors endemic to that continent, and the dog was never seen again.”

CHAPTER 9: CHANGE OF PLAN

Caernford

The Keelan leadership and members of the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU) met at the clan headquarters at the Caernford Grand Plaza. The morning sun gleamed on the gold-colored veins lacing the white marble of St. Tomo’s Cathedral and the Grand Hall of the Keelans. All meeting attendees saw the two impressive structures, the many Keelanders passing through the square, and the bustle of working shops and stalls. What would ordinarily have been a scene of pride was instead one of trepidation. Each attendee knew the Fuomi news about a huge reinforcement of the Narthani already on the island. Though they didn’t know when the additional Narthani forces would arrive, all despaired to different degrees.

The meeting room was unusually quiet—minus greetings and conversations among the men and women. All eleven boyermen had been hastily summoned, and the last had arrived only half an hour earlier. Six other clans sent representatives: Cadoc Gwillamer, his son Cirwyn, and two senior leaders; Aelard Mittack, who had accompanied the Fuomi to Caernford and stayed as his father’s representative and an adviser; and a son and one adviser each from Hewell, Adris, Orosz, and Stent.

No Fuomi received an invitation to the meeting.

At precisely nine bells, Culich rose from where he sat conversing with Yozef and walked to the front of the room.

“You all know the news. As bad as it is, it’s hardly unexpected. We knew one possibility was more Narthani would come, now that they see they can’t conquer Caedellium with the numbers they had. One reason all the clans were preparing for the eventual attack on Preddi City was to eliminate the Narthani foothold before more arrived. We now know our original plan is not practical. However, as easy as it is to drift into despair, we don’t have the luxury of losing hope. All our peoples are counting on us.”

Culich paused, taking in the countenances of those listening. Their faces encouraged him.

“I assert that while the future is even more difficult than we previously thought, it’s our duty to not give up. If our previous plan is no longer feasible, then what do we do in its place? Yozef Kolsko has been considering such an eventuality for many months, and he has shared his thoughts with many of us. I’d like him to tell you about his current thinking.”

Culich nodded to Yozef, who took a deep breath as he felt Maera give his forearm a reassuring squeeze. He rose to face the group.

“As Hetman Keelan says, there are hard times ahead for Caedellium. But, like Hetman Keelan, I believe it’s not hopeless, although it will require even more effort than before. So the question is, ‘What do we do?’ The first thing is to acknowledge that our previous plan, the one we just finished working on, is not going to work. Even if we gathered all the clans’ fighting men as fast as possible and launched that plan, it’s doubtful we could take Preddi City before the new Narthani army arrives. From what we have learned from escaped slaves and those whom the southern Rapid Reaction Force freed on the raid to the Preddi border, the Narthani have been constructing fortifications around Preddi City. The Narthani officers are professional soldiers, and there’s no reason to think those fortifications are not formidable. Yes, we could breach them and take the city. Yet the cost in Caedelli lives would weaken the clans so much, we would have no way to defeat the new Narthani army.”

Yozef could see from most of the faces that people accepted his words. A few—a very few, he consoled himself—continued to convey despair, so he hurried on.

“However, all this means is that we need to agree on a new strategy. I believe part of the previous plan is still viable—the part about cutting out Selfcell and Eywell, so they can’t support the Narthani, either those here now or the new ones coming. The same arguments hold. We need to prevent those two clans from providing seven or eight thousand men to the Narthani. It also pushes the Narthani border back to Preddi Province and gives us more warning when they make another move against us. Thus, whatever new plan we decide on must still begin with a quick invasion of those two provinces and pushing the Narthani border back to Preddi Province.”

“That’s all well and good, Yozef,” said Hetman Gwillamer, “but it still comes back to how do we resist that many more Narthani? I’ve known you long enough to assume you have a new plan?”

“I think Yozef always has a new plan,” said Mulron Luwis, to the grunts and snorts of many listeners.

“As it happens,” said Yozef, “I do happen to have a proposal. In broad terms, it comes in three parts. The first two are easy. The third is the crucial part. Let’s dispense with the first two.” He turned and pulled off a cloth covering a four-by-eight-foot blackboard. On it, written in chalk, were three lines he read aloud.

“One. Cut out Selfcell and Eywell. I’ve already mentioned that one.

“Two. The redoubts. All the clans have been working on establishing havens that most of their noncombatant population can move to, in case of large-scale fighting in their province. In some clans, the preparation is more advanced. In others, preparations have lagged. In all cases, we need to accelerate preparations as much as humanly possible. Before, it was mainly a contingency, one of those activities we saw as only a possibility. Now it’s a certainty. Once the Narthani are reinforced, they will move to overwhelm the clans. To resist, we can’t have each clan and clansman worrying about the safety of their families. There has to be reasonable assurance that the bulk of the population is in redoubts the Narthani can’t easily capture.”

“And how do we do that?” asked Aeland Mittack. “With that many men, the Narthani could capture any redoubt, no matter how inaccessible and defended.”

“That’s true,” said Yozef, “if they threw all their forces into redoubt capture. However, in that case, our forces would harass them and threaten their supply lines. Also, while capturing a redoubt would be tragic, they can’t conquer Caedellium without eliminating the threat of our fighting men. The redoubts should be such difficult targets that they’d require the Narthani to divert a significant part of their strength to that objective, which weakens or slows what they can do against our fighting men.

“To lessen the chances of them attacking our redoubts, we need to keep large numbers of our own forces in close contact with their army, in addition to appearing to threaten Preddi Province, if they don’t leave enough forces there to defend it.”

“All right,” groused Balwis, “so we remove Selfcell and Eywell as threats, and let’s assume most of the population is reasonably secure in these redoubts. That still leaves us with a huge Narthani army.”

“As my impatient friend notes, that still leaves a large Narthani army. In our previous plan, our choices were either a long siege or a quick assault that would have led to terrible losses for the clans. Now, I see it as a choice between direct field battles or having the Narthani attack us where we have the advantages. If the former, the chances of us winning are not good, and even if we did, the losses would be too great. On the other hand, if we can get the Narthani to attack us where we have chosen the battlefield, then our chances are greater, though not certain. As you might guess, I favor the second approach, and I’ll describe how I envision this happening.”

Yozef deliberately used the word envision to invoke rumors he was a Septarsh to whom God whispered knowledge and advice. Although subterfuge bothered him, necessity ruled. If it took stoking such rumors to get the clans to operate together, then so be it.

He pulled another cloth off a second blackboard. The first thing people noticed was an odd-looking chalk sketch of two outward arched vertical lines mirroring each other and connected at the top by a thin green rectangle and at the bottom by a wavy blue line, below which was a longer, thin yellow rectangle. The second thing they noticed was that instead of the usual white chalk, as quarried on Caedellium, lines and rectangles were in color. Yozef had recruited a dye-maker in Caernford to figure out how to infuse different-colored dyes into mined chalk. The tradesman had discovered that the white, porous calcium carbonate version of limestone found in Pawell Province worked best, and he already planned to produce a dozen colored chalks as a novelty product.

“What you see is a rough drawing of the situation we need to look for. This is only an example to illustrate the features we have to seek out everywhere on Caedellium.” Yozef turned to the blackboard and picked up a two-foot-long wooden pointer he used to indicate features as he spoke. “This represents a battlefield, one where the terrain favors us over the Narthani. We need to find places where we can lure a Narthani army into an area with only two exits, one narrower than the other. Imagine the drawing represents a valley. At the top is a narrow entrance to the valley, where we would need to construct fortifications to block the Narthani. The sides of the valley need to be confining enough to prevent the Narthani from escaping.

“At the bottom of the valley would probably be a wider opening where the Narthani enter the valley. We don’t want the opening to be so narrow that it discourages them from pursuing what has to be a large-enough clan force to tempt them to follow. Once the Narthani force is within the valley, we’ll need to block the bottom exit. We’ll call it the blocking position. This is the most difficult part of the plan. Once the Narthani realize the situation, the blocking position has to be as impregnable as the fortification position at the other end of the valley. The Narthani would then have to attempt to breach one or both of the fortification or the blocking position. We would have to hold both positions, no matter what. It’s there that we need to destroy the Narthani army, as they are forced to assault our defenses.”

“I can imagine the top end of the valley being fortified enough to stop them, but what about the bottom end?” asked Denes. “There can’t be any sign of defenses of any kind, or they’d either hold that position or refuse to follow us into the valley.”

“You’ve seen the critical point and where the plan is most likely to fail. Once the Narthani are in the valley, we would have limited time to build defenses at the blocking position strong enough to stop them from getting out. To help, look at the wavy blue line. This represents some terrain feature that would be to our advantage but not stop them from going into the valley. For example, it could be a small stream or a decent-sized gulley. Our blocking position would include this minor terrain feature, plus defenses we had time to construct.

“Now, use your imagination and pretend you’re the Narthani. Our forces have been harassing the Narthani army as it tries to get us to stand for a battle. We keep withdrawing while staying in contact with the Narthani and not letting them cut us off and force us to fight until we’re ready. Even if they chase us for hundreds of miles, we keep withdrawing right into this valley you see on the board. Close your eyes if you have to. You’re on this ground. You come to a moderate stream that’s easy to cross. In front of you, a valley widens out, maybe to five miles. The valley walls are steep enough to impede troop movements. You walk or ride up the valley to the widest point and then on, as it narrows to an opening that is perhaps no more than a quarter-mile across. There, in the narrow opening, lie extensive fortifications,” Yozef touched the green rectangle across the valley’s upper opening, “that we’ve built without Narthani knowledge, because we’ve kept their scouts away from the area and because the fortifications might be camouflaged. At the fortifications await enough of our people and cannon to stop any army from passing. Many of these people might even be older men, boys, and women—anyone who can stand and fire at attackers or help those who are firing. The fortifications at the top end have to be formidable and the width of the valley narrow enough to funnel the Narthani into firing zones for our cannon. We can also set traps and obstacles to further hinder any attacks.

“When their entire army, or at least most of it, is in the valley, more of our fighting men move into the blocking position at the wide opening to the valley—perhaps twenty thousand men or more. Our men furiously dig in, using materials hidden nearby.

“The Narthani army now finds itself between our two forces in defensive positions. The Narthani would find themselves with five thousand Caedelli blocking the narrow opening of the valley and thirty thousand at the wide opening. Other thousands of islanders might be on the cliff-tops to stop any Narthani attempt to climb out of the valley. The Narthani are forced to attack one or the other of our forces at the two valley ends. In theory, they could attack both. However, it’s more likely they’ll concentrate on one end.

“I’ll stop for a moment to let you visualize all this.” After most of the people had turned their gaze back to him, he continued. “What we have done is lure the Narthani into a trap where all the previous battlefield experience and maneuverability of their army does them less good. They are forced to attack under the worst conditions for themselves and the best for us.”

An Adris aide stood. “Where is this place you’ve described?”

“Remember,” said Yozef, “this is only meant as an example of the type of sites we need to find. Is there a place on Caedellium exactly like this? Highly unlikely, but we need to scour the entire island to find places that meet the general criteria I’ve described. The key features are a confining terrain that gives the Narthani only two options: one position we can pre-fortify to be impregnable and a second position where we can use existing terrain features and hurried construction of defenses to stop the Narthani.

“I’ll continue meeting with our map-making and surveying teams and everyone else necessary. Once people understand what we need, they’ll go back out to look for sites. I might go with them at first to be sure they understand what we’re looking for.”

Maera had kept an eye on other people’s reactions—without being too obvious. She saw their expressions become more attentive and firm the more Yozef talked—as if visualizing a new plan helped push away their discouragement and despair. She also noticed how often Yozef spoke as if the plan was, as he used the phrase, a fait accompli. Whatever that meant exactly in English. He also called it a “done deal” or a fact describing a decision already made. When he began, she first worried that the hetmen and the advisers would take umbrage at his assumed control of the plan. They hadn’t.

Not that they didn’t have questions.

“What if we can’t find such places as your example?” asked Denes.

“Then we are back to fighting small to large battles against the Narthani,” Yozef said.

Denes grimaced.

“What if they don’t fall into the trap?” asked the Mittackian adviser, whom Yozef didn’t recognize.

“The Narthani can’t take control of the island until they eliminate most of the clans’ fighting men. While they may hesitate to pursue us and could even burn cities and towns, they have to force a battle,” said Yozef, reiterating the point he’d already made.

Culich looked troubled. “Yozef, the redoubts bother me. If Keelan sends tens of thousands of people, including most of our women and children, into the Dillagon redoubt, part of me remains afraid the Narthani might think it worthwhile to attack the redoubt, if only to use our families as hostages.”

Yozef understood the hetman’s worry. He repeatedly beat back the same concern. “Let’s assume that’s what the Narthani do. They try to attack the Dillagon redoubt. Most of the Keelan men will be east of the pass, where they can move freely to wherever they might be needed on Caedellium. If the Narthani attack from the western end of the pass, we’d have time to get enough reinforcements there to stop ten times their number. If their army is operating on the eastern side of the pass and they attack the redoubt, they would have to commit a large part of the army against the redoubt, and we could attack their rear.

“No, I think they’re stuck with the main objective of destroying the clans’ ability to fight, which means killing so many fighting men that the remaining clanspeople are enslaved at Narthani leisure.”

Aelard Mittack raised a hand.

“Aelard, you have a question?”

“Yes, Ser Kol . . . er . . . Yozef. With this many men, couldn’t the Narthani attack in multiple places? A large-enough army could march into the middle of Caedellium, while one or more smaller groups attack individual clans from the sea?”

“Of course. If they did, each force would be subject to our attack in detail. Ah . . . you understand what I mean by in ‘detail’?”

Aelard shook his head.

“It means a piece at a time. Let’s say forty thousand Narthani invade Moreland and drive to cut the island in half, like the Narthani tried before. At the same time, they land ten thousand men in Keelan and Pewitt. Depending on where our main forces are, we might attack one of those troops of ten thousand with three or four times their number and destroy them. Or we could still trap the forty thousand and have better chances to defeat them than if it was sixty thousand.”

Yozef didn’t elaborate on this as he brushed off an all-too-possible scenario and the complications it would present.

Yozef and others in the group answered questions for an hour, until Culich drew a close to the discussion by summarizing what he’d heard.

“I believe that what Yozef proposes may be our best plan, based on the Fuomi news of more Narthani coming to Caedellium. As many details as we have to work out, the major issues of planning and acting will have to wait until the conclave and input from all the hetmen.”

The meeting ended, and the Keelanders moved to a smaller room in the MIU facility and sat in no particular order on wooden straight-backed chairs turned to face the center of the group.

“I wanted to meet briefly among ourselves before we go on about our duties,” said Culich. “I’ve decided to call a Gathering of the Clan for when we return.”

Many eyes widened at the news. “A Gathering!?” exclaimed one boyerman. Several boyermen nodded, as did Kennrick and Luwis.

Yozef and Maera already knew Culich’s intent.

“Whatever happens at the conclave, every Keelan clan member deserves to know what we face. I realize there’s a danger of panic and despair taking hold, but after the initial shock, I believe knowing the truth will have two longer-term effects. One is that we’ll get the best possible effort from the most clanspeople, if they realize the severity of the threat. Yes, there will be those who collapse and become less productive, but overall it will get the most effort out of the entire clan.

“Second, it will eliminate questions or grumbling about the necessity of actions we must take. We can’t spend time arguing or convincing. The people just have to do.

“Kennrick, I’ll leave you in charge here when the rest of us go to the conclave. You’ll need to make the arrangements to send out the formal notice of the Gathering, as well as prepare to feed and house those thousands coming. Naturally, we don’t expect every single clansperson to attend, but we can squeeze many thousands into the Great Hall. Although it won’t be comfortable, packed together, we need as many as possible to hear what I’ll say. It also won’t hurt people to feel other clan members pressed against them to reinforce that we’re all in this together.

“Those thousands will go back home and spread the word, along with efforts by all of you boyermen. Talk with the prominent people in your districts, and it’ll be your responsibility to select those from your districts to attend the Gathering. Make every effort to have a member of each family make the trip. The news will be better believed and understood if the clan members not attending hear directly from their boyerman, local leaders, and a member of their own families.

“Every boyerman should also think about how to get all their non-fighting people to redoubts. Here in Caernford, we’ll focus on how to push production of food stores, weapons, and training as hard as possible.”

None of the eleven boyermen had questions. They had all been briefed separately or in groups by Culich, Vortig Luwis, or Pedr Kennrick during the last two sixdays. Ten of the boyermen were experienced, having filled their positions for a minimum of five years, one man for thirty-seven years. The eleventh boyerman was Hurnmor Kulvin, who had been a boyerman for ten days. Culich had decided the existing boyerman, Belman Kulvin, had too weak a personality to lead his district in what was coming and had replaced him with a cousin. Although he hated to make a change at this time, two prominent Arwin leaders assured their hetman that most of the Arwin district welcomed the change.

Culich looked at Yozef and raised an eyebrow. Yozef took the gesture as a question whether he had anything to say before the meeting broke up. He glanced at Maera, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Yozef shook his head at Culich.

That afternoon, Yozef met with the map-makers and the surveyors, along with Maera, Denes, Mulron Luwis, and Balwis—the latter having become more engaged in plans and learning as his responsibilities rose.

Yozef went over the same example of a potential battle site that he had described earlier with the clan leaders. Gartherid Kennrick asked for and received leadership in the first stages of searching for battle sites. Pedr’s son was missing his left leg below the knee and used a special saddle made the last month. Gartherid felt confident he could ride however much was necessary. Yozef left them with instructions to begin by combing the maps, the surveys, and the reports on Keelan Province as their first attempts to find battle sites that fit Yozef’s criteria. After Keelan, they would move on to the rest of Caedellium. He gave them two sixdays to make an initial list of potential sites. Yozef would listen to their report, and they would pare down to the most likely candidates. Then, Gartherid, several of the surveyors, and Yozef would visit those sites.

CHAPTER 10: CARRONADES AND SNIPERS

At sixteen bells—four in the afternoon, as Yozef mentally translated—the same group who had met the map-makers and the surveyors met with men involved in artillery production: Yawnfol and Brellen Nyfork, the Abersford cannon foundry cousins who had moved to Caernford to help establish the much larger foundry; Razil Gurbuz, a captured Narthani artilleryman who knew about cannon casting and who had switched allegiance to ensure better treatment by his captors: two of the Fuomi naval gunners who were lent to the clans because of their experience in cannon casting and deployment; and three men from a factory producing canister and grapeshot containers.

Yozef moved straight to the point of the meeting, addressing the foundry staff first. “I want you to assign a casting crew to a new type of cannon.” He handed out sheets with drawings and instructions. “This new cannon is called a carronade. As you see from the drawings, the barrel is shorter and the bore larger than other cannon you’ve made. While the shorter barrel will make it less accurate than the 6- and 12-pounders, it means less powder is needed, because we won’t care about the shorter range. Carronades are used in close-engagement sea battles and as antipersonnel weapons. Obviously, we aren’t concerned with the naval uses. We’ll use them against Narthani infantry and cavalry attacks. Carronades are also faster to reload. I’ve estimated the shot size will be equivalent to a 30-pounder cannon, so we’ll call them ‘30-pounder carronades.’ The advantages to carronades over regular cannon is that the gunpowder charge only needs to be one-third that of a cannon of the same shot size, and the gun’s weight is also about one-third that of the same pounder cannon. Although we previously considered attempting to cast 30-pounder cannon, the same amount of metal will go into three 30-pounder carronades.”

“Why are they called carronades and not something else, like short 30-pounders?” asked a young worker.

“It’s the name I prefer,” answered Yozef, not able to tell the men the name came from a company in Scotland that make the first officially recognized carronades—the Carron company. He thought he remembered that the British used them against the Americans in about 1780, and both sides used them in the U.S. Civil War.

Yozef faced the men from the canister factory. “While we may eventually cast solid shot for the carronades, I want a crew to work on making wooden kegs to serve as canister rounds. Keep in communication with the foundry. By the time the first carronade is ready for test-firing, I want wooden canister rounds holding musket balls ready for testing. From my numbers, look for a canister length that will hold three hundred balls. That’s only an estimate. Once test-firing begins, you’ll experiment with lengths of the canisters, number of musket balls, and the gunpowder charges to be useful against an enemy at different ranges. Carronade canister may be maximally useful at no more than two hundred yards. You’ll have to find out by experimenting.

“Once you have the canisters worked out, move on to grapeshot.”

Questions from the working staff went on for half an hour before they quit asking Yozef and huddled among themselves. He watched, satisfied that they need little more input from him—very different from his first innovations, when he had to husband the projects along at every step for months. Most of Yozef’s project teams had become accustomed to taking an idea and running with it themselves, instead of depending on Yozef. The thinking was spreading to other clans, though slower than Yozef wished.

A month later, the assigned foundry crew demonstrated the first carronade. After experimentation, the foundry crew made adjustments to the bore diameter and length, and the final version was designated a 25-pounder carronade. Without checking with Yozef, the foundry felt so confident of success, they proceeded to cast more barrels before testing the first one.

Yozef shared his reaction to this revelation that night with Maera. “Before I realized I was being foolish, I started to be mad at them for moving ahead when they didn’t know whether the first barrel worked. I want people to use more initiative with both production and military matters, and here I was about to castigate the foundry staff for doing just that. If anything, it shows confidence and enthusiasm. And, of course, even if the first barrel fails testing, all the one crew lost is time, because the barrels can be melted down and recast as other artillery.”

The foundry’s confidence proved well founded when Yozef witnessed the first test-firing. The first 25-pounder carronade passed the ten-firing test without detectable damage to the barrel. They next tested six different canister models and settled on the model holding 312 to 318 musket balls—the small variation due to differences in how the balls packed together in each separate canister round. Yozef gave the order for a second casting crew to join the first crew in switching to the carronades.

As predicted, loading was faster than with cannon, with the crews able to get off three shots for every two for a 12-pounder. Yozef judged effectiveness by the number of musket ball hits on ten straw men lined in a row facing the gun. As expected, the targets shredded at fifty yards by so many hits. At three hundred yards, only half of the targets had single hits—the cone of balls had spread too widely. Yozef ruled that an arbitrary maximum efficiency was where ninety percent or more of the targets had at least one hit. After he plotted out multiple tests, the peak effectiveness was around 160 yards.

I thought I remembered the range was farther out, thought Yozef. Oh, well, these are our results, so we live with it until we have a chance to figure out how to increase the range. Even at three hundred yards, we’d hit half of a Narthani infantry charge and more if they were cavalry—horses are bigger targets. Hell, I wish we had the fusing problems worked out, so we could use case shot where a container of balls could explode above an enemy and shower them with balls.

He also worried about giving crews and battery commanders too much leeway in deciding when to fire, subject to specific instructions in a specific situation, so he “ruled” that given sufficient ammunition, firing canister on attacking infantry would begin at three hundred yards and on cavalry at four hundred yards.

After viewing the test-firings, Yozef turned to Vortig Luwis’s son. “Mulron, please talk to your father and tell him the carronades are successful. Ask him to speak with the hetmen about convincing other clans to switch a fraction of their cannon production to 25-pounder carronades. I’ll work with the foundry crew to prepare detailed written instructions for both the guns and canister. Once grapeshot is worked out, those instructions will follow. I want to know how quickly the other foundries around Caedellium can begin producing carronades and estimates of production each month after that. Similarly with ammunition production.”

Maera noticed again how Yozef seemed comfortable with assuming authority, even if only by implication. She wondered if her husband were conscious of the changes in his behavior.

When finished with the test-firings, the group walked a short distance to an adjacent building. The sounds of metal striking metal and the roar of furnaces were evident well before they reached the open front of the building. They could see heat waves drifting out and up from the opening. Inside, two dozen men worked at making muskets, and the sound was deafening.

I need to tell the foreman about earplugs and muffs, thought Yozef, before noticing small wads of material protruding from several ears. He didn’t understand the details of musket production, but he recognized an assortment of bellows, muscular men pounding away at white- and red-hot pieces of metal and what had to be several sizes of trip-hammers.

“Ser Kolsko!” shouted a large man loudly enough and close enough that Yozef’s eardrums recoiled. The man saw Yozef flinch and grabbed his arm in a vise-like grip, pulling him back outside. They stood away from the opening in the factory, where the others in the group from previous meetings had waited.

The man unplugged his ears. “Sorry, Ser Kolsko. Shouting’s necessary to be heard above all the noise. Even then, much of the work is done with men using hand signals.”

“No problem, Vallyn. I got your message. Is the rifle complete?”

“Finished and test-fired. I have to say that getting that telescope mounted so it could be moved up and down, back and forth, about drove the man doing most of the work crazy. Ilnor is his name. And that was after getting a barrel with the rifling characteristics you wanted. Yet when it was finished, and we all saw the result, he was eager to move on to the next one. He says he’s got several ideas to make the work go faster and give a better final product.”

“Okay, Vallyn, let’s see what you’ve got. Oh, and before I forget, let’s stop calling this a gun factory. From now on, it’s called the Caernford Musket Armory.”

The man shrugged, having no idea why the name should be changed or what “armory” meant. However, if Yozef Kolsko said the name was changed . . .

Vallyn went to the armory opening and shouted loud enough that Yozef reflexively flinched again. A minute later, a man ran out of the armory carrying a long leather case and gave it to Vallyn. He untied leather fastenings and pulled out a five-and-a-half-foot-long gun with a sixteen-inch mounted telescope. The front mount included screw mechanisms for fine adjustments.

It was Balwis who first appreciated what they saw. “That’s got to be a rifle, not just a musket. The telescope brings the target closer, and the only thing that makes sense is that the barrel is rifled. It wouldn’t do any good with a musket. No matter how close a target seems, the accuracy wouldn’t change.”

“Correct,” said Vallyn, “and the rifling using cold hammer forging around the rifling mandrel required that we construct a bigger trip hammer. There’s still things to work out with it.”

“Have you tested it yet?” asked Yozef.

Vallyn’s grin stretched ear to ear. “The people in the cannon foundry said they thought you might like to see the first tests, but Ilnor wouldn’t shut up until we let him try it. He claimed he’d never fired a rifle before, and within an hour he was putting balls in a one-foot circle at two hundred and fifty yards, using targets we set up behind the armory.”

“Two hundred fifty yards!?” exclaimed Balwis. “I had an uncle purported to be the best rifle shot in all Preddi Province, and he told me he didn’t trust himself to hit anything over two hundred yards! And this Ilnor had never fired a rifle before?”

“That’s the truth,” said a rangy man who spit to one side. “Never before. Once I finished this beauty, I had to try it. Didn’t hardly believe it myself how it shoots. Hell, I found myself imagining shooting Narthani when they were too far away to see where I was hiding.”

Yozef had pretended he thought the clans had more chance against the Narthani than he feared was the case, but his dour mood momentarily lifted. Every little bit helps. We need to see just how accurate this sniper rifle is to know how useful it will be. I can imagine picking off officers and senior NCOs in Narthani units far beyond their own engagement range. And two hundred fifty yards? That sounds great for a novice, but we need to see someone more experienced using the rifle. All those TV shows and movies showing Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone hitting targets four hundred yards or more away was just Hollywood. I’d read that three hundred yards was the outer range of even the best marksmen without a telescopic sight.

“Balwis. You say your uncle was considered one of the best rifle shots? How about yourself? I imagine your uncle taught you something about rifles?”

“Yeah, when he visited us or we him, which was two, three times a year. My father also wasn’t a bad shot and had his own rifle he let me use. Irked him to no end I was better with the rifle than he was.”

“Okay, then, let’s see how you do with this one.”

Vallyn handed Balwis the rifle, and he peered through the telescope. “Could be a wider view. A shooter should be able to locate his target, though it may take a few moments to scan around till he finds it.”

The group and the armory workers walked to the test-firing range behind the building. Targets stood at several distances, starting at what Yozef estimated was fifty yards and out to the most distant he figured was the 250-yard mark.

Balwis loaded the rifle. While Yozef watched, for the first time he fully understood the practical problem with rifles versus smoothbores for large-scale fighting. It took Balwis three times as long to load the rifle as he would a smoothbore. The rifle required an effort to push the ball down the spiraling rifling with the ramrod.

Minie balls, thought Yozef, remembering the bullet introduced on Earth in the 1850s and pronounced “minnie” by Americans. I’d put the idea aside for now, thinking we didn’t have time. Now that I see the rifle, maybe even a few handcrafted minie balls would be worth the effort.

Once Balwis had loaded the rifle, he hefted its weight and tested different positions before sitting on the ground and resting the barrel on a box.

“I suggest you start at fifty yards to see where the balls end up, compared to where you aimed,” said Yozef.

Balwis glanced back at Yozef with a look that conveyed how much he needed advice.

Everyone quieted as Balwis took aim and fired at a sheet of paper with a one-foot circle tacked on it. Boom! A flash erupted from the end of the barrel, and Balwis jerked back from the recoil. Black smoke quickly dispersed in the moderate wind.

“It hit the paper high and to the left,” called out an unidentified voice.

Balwis cursed.

“Use the screws, Balwis,” said Yozef. “The barrel and the telescope aren’t perfectly aligned at first. By adjusting the screws, it moves the front end of the telescope up and down and back and forth.”

He had seen an old black-and-white movie where adjustments were referred to as Kentucky Windage and Tennessee Elevation—not that he was tempted to explain those references. In the movie, the shooter adjusted his aiming point. If a shot was struck four inches to the right, the next time the shooter aimed four inches left. Maybe we should call it Preddi Windage and Keelan Elevation? Naw. Doesn’t have a ring to it.

Balwis turned the screws too much, and the next shot again missed the circle. He cursed, then said, “Okay, I’ve got the idea. I should only need a few more shots to put them near the center.” It took eight more shots for him to begin putting successive balls within a two-inch circle. He moved on to the 250-yard target. There, hits were all within the one-foot circle.

“Put targets farther out,” said Balwis. “Let’s try four hundred yards.”

A worker ran out and tacked a target against a thick stand of trees backed by a rising slope. Of five shots, two hit within the circle, and the other three hit no more than three inches outside.

Balwis turned to Yozef, his feral grin almost as wide as Vallyn’s cheerful one. “If I practice with this, I’m sure I’ll be able to hit man-sized targets out to five hundred yards. Possibly farther. Even at six hundred yards, it might be possible to get a fair percentage of hits. However, I have some suggestions. One is to have a support for the end of the barrel. Maybe two to four legs that the end is supported by. Could be attached to the barrel or probably better to be a separate piece, because the rifle might be used in other positions. Also, the screw part of it needs to be locked down. Every time I shot, I could see the next round was slightly off. I think the screws move slightly from the jolt of the shot. I changed my aiming point once I realized what was happening.”

Vallyn wasn’t offended by the suggestions. “The support for the barrel is no problem. For screws, we’ll have to figure out a way to lock them in place. Maybe a toggle lock or something like that. We should be able to work that out in a few days.”

Balwis handed the rifle back to Vallyn, who passed it on to an assistant for cleaning.

“Congratulations, Vallyn. Marvelous work,” said Yozef.

The foreman smiled, then shuffled his feet, and his grin faded. “Uh, unfortunately I have to also report we’ve been unsuccessful in standardizing musket lock parts enough to be completely interchangeable. For any specific musket and any one of the lock parts, only about one in five of the same part can be easily exchanged, and even that may require minor filing or hand hammering. However, it’s still an improvement over before, where once a part was damaged, the entire weapon was useless until taken back to a gunsmith shop. If the repair teams that you envision accompanying large forces carry bins of parts, it’s a matter of finding one that closest matches the firearm needing repair and making any final adjustments to the shape. In tests, we find a skilled gunsmith can repair any single part of a musket or pistol in about ten minutes, on average, and this is without any heating needed.”

Yozef tried not to look disappointed. “I’m sure you and your men have done the best possible, Vallyn. While I’d hoped for complete interchangeability, you’ve made great progress.”

No need to tell them it’s only because we don’t have the equipment and technology here on Caedellium to do better. Maybe in a few years, but not now, and the now is what we have to deal with. At least, the solution to standardizing calibers was easier—either replacing or boring out the barrel.

Things are progressing, though not as fast as I’d like. I just hope the Narthani give us time, even if Napoleon said it was one thing no subordinate could ask him for.

When the sun settled behind the western hills, Yozef, Maera, and their escorts left Caernford, heading back to their new house. They passed one of two cartridge works now operational in Caernford, the second one up to full production only three days ago. The workers filed out of the building as the Kolsko party passed. Most workers waved, a few cheered, and a very few bowed hesitantly, those still not sure they shouldn’t be more respectful to the Kolsko family, no matter what Yozef Kolsko said. After all, someone that important and whom many believed a Septarsh, not to mention married to the hetman’s daughter—shouldn’t obvious respect be shown?

Yozef forced a smile and waved back, hiding his guilt. The workers handled lead, everywhere from mining to cartridge production, and were exposed to lead particles, dust, and smoke. The EPA and Earth doctors would have been aghast at the workers’ exposure. Yozef believed that the dire straits the clans found themselves in justified the health risks. In this case, any precautions against lead exposure would have shut down ammunition production. Worse, for Yozef, was that he hadn’t told anyone, even Diera or Maera, about the health risks. He couldn’t see any rationale for being truthful, except to assuage his guilt, which didn’t rise to enough justification.

CHAPTER 11: TO OROSZ CITY

Caernford

Preparations for the next wave of Narthani galvanized most of the clans, particularly those in the now Five-Clan Alliance and, from reports, at least Stent, Orosz, Farkesh, and Bultecki. The others were slower to respond, but Culich stayed optimistic, which Yozef told himself he needed to emulate. Although cannon production remained lower that Yozef wanted, it was steady, the cannon reliable, and the expansion of foundries continued apace. Every fighting man in the five formally allied clans finished the basic training as a dragoon and in elements of unit maneuvers. Powder and shot production reached as high a level as they could, given the available materials they needed and found within the provinces. More medical units formed, and every scrap of food not immediately consumed was stored and pre-prepared, when possible. A hundred other smaller details were addressed.

Approval came from Orosz City for Culich’s All-Clan Conclave call. The main purpose was to discuss a unified resistance to the Narthani, in light of news brought by the Fuomi. Most clans said they would attend. Even Seaborn agreed, reluctantly, complaining it was the peak of their fishing season. Pawell declined but gave no explanation. Nyvaks never responded. When Moreland, still in the throes of confusion from leadership loss at the Battle of Moreland City, never formally responded to the call, Hetman Orosz, as titular conclave chair, certified that sufficient Moreland boyermen had responded positively, and he ruled that Moreland supported the call. Thus, the formal call for the conclave went out—thereby obliging all clans, including Pawell and Nyvaks, to attend.

The importance of the conclave and the momentous decisions everyone expected to be made resulted in larger than usual representations from each clan. Any clan not cognizant of the agenda was clued in when the clans communicated the makeup of their delegations. Keelan would be represented by Culich Keelan, with Pedr Kennrick, Vortig Luwis, Abbot Sistian Beynom, and Yozef Kolsko serving as major advisers. In addition, Denes Vegga, Mulron Luwis, and Balwis Preddi were listed as military advisers. Breaking with tradition, Maera Kolsko-Keelan’s name appeared on the list as scribe and aide to Hetman Keelan. She dissuaded her husband and father from naming her as an adviser, because she felt that having women in such councils could be an unnecessary distraction.

The last names on the Keelan list were the three Fuomi leaders, already in Orosz City, with Eina Saisannin surreptitiously identified as a woman through the use of the Caedelli female pronoun to refer to her position with the Fuomi.

Kolsko Family

Kolsko family preparations for the conclave involved issues personal and practical. Maera once again felt conflicted about leaving Aeneas and excited to be part of the conclave. Even if men from other clans didn’t understand her role, she knew she would be involved in planning and advising, as much as the rest of the Keelan party.

“Maera,” said Yozef, after hearing his wife’s self-doubts for what he considered one too many times, “you have to come to terms with this. Reality is that we’re both not going to pay as much attention to Aeneas as we think we should, and I assume, at least from the standpoint of what a man can understand, that it will be worse for you. We both know the stakes and the prices to be paid if the clans are to survive. Time away from Aeneas is a tiny sacrifice compared to everything else and what many people will have to pay.”

Maera wanted to be angry at Yozef for his exasperated tone and for openly stating that her feelings of guilt were insignificant. Reluctantly, she knew he was right. What finally got through to her was that he so seldom showed irritation with her. She knew she could be imperious, and her reputation for having a temper was not undeserved. That they so seldom exchanged sharp words she considered partly due to his equanimity with her “quirks,” as he called them. Thus, his rebuke, once a few seconds had passed, served as a shock of ice-cold water. He was right. She had to “suck it up,” another of his English phrases he’d explained to her.

She took several deep breaths. “You’re right. I need to get over this. It is what it is.” She still felt angry with him, though she knew it to be irrational, something she hated. Only when he embraced her rigid body, not saying anything as he held her, did her tension melt away.

“Oh, Yozef. I’m sorry. I know Anarynd, Gwyned, Braithe, and the others will give Aeneas all the attention he needs. I guess I’m being selfish in wanting everything when everything isn’t possible. I’m especially thankful for Ana. She loves Aeneas dearly, and I’ve no reason to worry about him as long as Ana is near him.”

“Just keep those thoughts in mind, Maera. We won’t be gone long, but we’ll undoubtedly have to be away at other times in the coming year.”

For Yozef, preparations to leave included an unexpected change in the status of a friend. A sixday before leaving for Orosz City, Yozef asked a stable boy, Yuwin, to bring Seabiscuit in from grazing and saddle him. Yozef intended to ride to Caernford for meetings and then to the dragoon training center west of Caernford. Ten minutes later, Yuwin arrived, running and breathing hard, to where Yozef read reports.

“Ser Kolsko! Something’s wrong with Seabiscuit. He won’t put weight on his left foreleg.”

Forty minutes later, twenty people had gathered around the gentle gray gelding. Balwis was examining the leg—he had come to escort Yozef to the meeting. Also present was an older man who oversaw the Keelan Manor stable and as close to a veterinarian as existed on the island. Both men agreed about Seabiscuit’s problem.

“It’s an incomplete fracture in the lower leg,” said Balwis, looking at Yozef with one eyebrow raised. “Usually, the horse is just put down. However, if we put a strong splint on the leg and keep him from moving too much, there’s a chance it will heal enough he’ll be able to walk again, but I doubt you’d ever be able to ride him for anything other than short distances.”

Maera linked an arm through one of Yozef’s. She knew how fond he was of the horse.

“If you decide it’s best to put him down, I can do it for you,” said Balwis.

Yozef didn’t speak immediately. He couldn’t. Damn it. It’s just a horse! he told himself, despite knowing Seabiscuit wasn’t just a horse. The injured animal somehow represented everything he hoped to save.

He breathed deeply, then turned to Balwis. “We’ll try to save him. Do what you can for him or find those who know what to do. If it doesn’t work and he’s suffering, I’ll do what’s necessary.”

Maera’s hand on his forearm squeezed tight. He turned to her. “I know it’s just a horse, but in a way he’s also a friend, and it’s like he represents Caedellium. He deserves a chance to live.”

Yozef held the bridle and stroked Seabiscuit while men splinted his leg. They moved him to a stable with extra straw laid thick to provide more cushioning when he put the foot down, which he started to do by the third day.

After a sixday, Balwis came to the Kolsko house to tell Yozef he thought it was going well and Seabiscuit should recover, though Yozef should be prepared never to ride him again.

“That’s okay,” Yozef said. “He can laze around pastures for the rest of his life—he’s served to the best of his ability and can retire.”

“That means you’ll need another horse, unless you want to only ride Mr. Ed,” said Balwis. “I’ve taken the liberty of finding you an appropriate new horse. It’s tied to the rail out front.”

Yozef wasn’t in the mood for a new horse, but Balwis’s concern and consideration mandated that Yozef acknowledge the gesture. They walked to the front veranda, and there Yozef beheld a coal-black stallion of at least seventeen hands, possibly more. Its coat was sleek, and muscles rippled with each move.

“Jesus, Balwis, is that a horse or what? Looks like its name should be Annihilation or maybe Yozef-Killer.” He’d spoken in English, still reverting occasionally under unexpected circumstances. Nevertheless, Balwis understood the gist of the comment.

“Now, despite how he looks fierce, he’s quite mild-mannered. I wouldn’t have brought him here otherwise. No telling what Maera would do to me if he hurt you. Give him a chance.”

And Yozef did. He mounted, nervously, only after assurance that Balwis would hold onto the head and other men stood by—just in case. The horse only casually looked back to see who the new rider was. Balwis led the horse around the yard for ten minutes before Yozef risked taking the reins himself and walking the horse. After another ten minutes, he urged the horse into a trot. Nothing untoward happened, meaning Yozef survived.

During the next two days, Yozef became satisfied with Balwis’s assessment of the horse. As impressive, some would say intimidating, as the horse appeared, he was easier to ride than Mr. Ed.

“Now that you’re satisfied,” Maera said with a grin, “I assume you’re going to give him a name that none of us understand.”

Yozef had been thinking of just that issue. As tame as the horse behaved, he looked fierce, and this was a time for fierceness. He picked a name and made the translation into Caedelli.

“His name is Man o’ War.”

Maera’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the odd name, but she instantly saw the utility, given Yozef’s growing stature and the future confrontations with the Narthani. Both Balwis and Wyfor nodded with approval. Carnigan rolled his eyes.

When time came to leave for the conclave, Man o’ War came tied behind the carriage carrying Yozef and Maera—except for periods when Yozef practiced his horsemanship or at least pretended to, because the horse needed little guidance. Carnigan noted that Yozef started to assume heroic poses whenever atop Man o’ War. On hearing the observation, Yozef tried to avoid the pose, then decided, “Why not?”

Fuomi, Orosz City

One group not needing to travel for the conclave was the Fuomi delegation. A month had passed since the Fuomi had landed at East Head Point. The Fuomi leaders had toured much of Keelan Province, along with making with a brief visit to Gwillamer’s capital. They had passed through Mittack on the way to Caernford and had met with hetmen and advisers from several other provinces, when they were allowed to travel to Orosz City in advance of the conclave. They had also talked to hundreds of the ordinary people of Caedellium, at first only through translators such as Maera, Balwis, and several recruited Narthani-speakers, and then recently with Eina, whose progress in Caedelli was astounding. They had voluminous notes, and whether it was time for them to return to their base camp in Mittack and depart Caedellium had become a more frequent topic. Saisannin urged their leaving soon after the conclave.

“Are they going to ask us for help?” Kivalian asked Rintala and Saisannin.

“I would assume so,” responded Saisannin, sighing. “The All Mighty knows they could use all the help possible. Unfortunately, there’s little we can do beyond the advice and information we’ve given them so far.”

“I know,” agreed Kivalian. “It galls me, though.”

He slammed a fist on the table around which they sat.

“I’ve unexpectedly come to have tremendous respect for these islanders. The thought of them being ground under by the Narthani leaves a bitter taste.”

“It’s not just what the consequences will be for the islanders,” said a grim-faced Rintala.

The other two looked questioningly at their mission commander.

“We’ve seen the innovations here, largely due to Yozef Kolsko. These Caedelli have taken many of Kolsko’s basic ideas and improved on them, and Kolsko’s ideas, when combined with Caedelli ingenuity and energy, have produced nothing short of a revolution. We’ll take some of this back with us to Fuomon; however, think for a moment of the consequences if the Narthani appropriate all this to their own ends. Consider if Kolsko ends up working for Narthon—which could happen, if he’s captured. Whether he wanted to or not, the Narthani might compel him by threatening his family and other Caedelli.”

“And I felt depressed about the situation here before, Jaako,” snarled Kivalian.

“Jaako is right, Reimo,” remonstrated Saisannin. “It comes back to what could we do about it? Even if Fuomon decided to contest Caedellium with Narthon, by the time our full reports get home, a decision to intervene is made, and a force arrives here, whatever is going to happen will already be well in the past. Once the Narthani are entrenched here, an effort to dislodge them will be out of the question.”

Rintala took on a thoughtful expression. “Let’s not wallow in worst-case scenarios just yet. Let’s see what this conclave concludes.”

Orosz City

The Keelan party left Caernford and rode in several carriages, accompanied by five hundred dragoons, five 6-pounder and five 12-pounder cannon, three of the new 25-pounder carronades, examples of mines, napalm, a sniper rifle, and a 10-inch short-barreled mortar that Yozef hoped wouldn’t explode when they demonstrated it with a single firing. They wouldn’t do more, because Yozef thought the design still far from deployment. Besides the formal clan meetings, Culich planned on giving separate reports to individual hetmen on how his clan intended to prepare for the coming Narthani army.

Other clan members included in the Keelan party but not formally attending the conclave were Yozef and Maera’s four main guards: Carnigan, Balwis, Wyfor Kales, and Gowlin Reese. St. Tomo Abbey’s Abbot Walkot came as a representative of Keelan’s theophists—Abbot Beynom being listed as a clan adviser, instead of his role as St. Sidyrn’s abbot. Medicants from most clans were coming to Orosz City to consult with one another on medical issues when tens of thousands of Caedelli moved to redoubts and when fighting resulted in mass casualties. Diera Beynom would lead the planning to increase and coordinate Yozef’s MASH units, which had already proved their utility at the Battle of Moreland City. Diera and Walkot would be meeting with colleagues separately from the conclave meeting.

After three days of travel over a route Yozef knew too well, the Keelan party to the All-Clan Conclave arrived at noon. The small building Yozef expected from the previous conclave he’d attended had been replaced with a larger building, in addition to a cluster of smaller buildings for any separate meetings hetmen wanted to have. The new structures lay just inside the main Orosz City walls. Quarters within the city were assigned to the clans’ main representatives and escorts, while the five hundred dragoons and cannon in the Keelan party were bivouacked outside the walls. An Oroszian directed the Keelander leaders to city quarters and the escorts to a reserved encampment area outside the walls. Culich told the man that all Keelanders would stay together in the bivouac area. Culich didn’t think the dragoons should see better accommodations for leaders than for the men. Yozef concurred.

The rest of the day was relatively free while they waited for all of the clans’ delegations to arrive. The next day would consist of informal meetings with various delegations—the usual human politicking to gauge views, to garner support for positions, and to form ad hoc alliances. Yozef planned to walk around with Maera after mid-day meal—because it might be his only chance to see the city. Sistian interfered with that plan by stopping him after morning meal.

“Yozef, I would like you to accompany me to see someone.”

“Who?” Yozef knew no one in Orosz City, except for agents for his enterprises and the hetman’s family.

“It’s an old friend named Rhaedri Brison, a somewhat reclusive theophist brother who has asked to meet the mysterious stranger from the sea.”

Yozef groaned to himself. Although he’d much rather walk the city for a couple of hours with Maera, he owed the abbot so didn’t see a graceful way out once Sistian formed the request as a favor.

“Sure. Glad to.” Okay, that’s a small lie. So what? “Can Maera come, too?” If she wants to, which I doubt.

“It’s best just you and I,” said Sistian, piquing Yozef’s interest.

Yozef hadn’t thought to ask exactly where Sistian’s friend lived. He had assumed, incorrectly, it was within the city. The first hint of his mistaken assumption was when Sistian led him to where the party’s horses were being kept, there to find Carnigan holding five saddled horses, with Kales and Gowlin armed and standing nearby.

“Uh . . . and exactly where is this friend?”

“Only about forty minutes away. He lives alone in the hills northwest beyond the city.” Sistian pointed toward the cleft in the mountains into which Orosz City sprawled.

Yozef looked in that direction, and the “hills” looked more like mountains to him—and farther away than forty minutes.

“I’d thought just the two of us would go, but Carnigan insisted that these three would trail along, although they promised to stay aside once we reach my friend.”

The view was deceiving, and exactly forty minutes later, they finished following a small road that climbed into the mountains and led to a small valley perhaps a quarter mile long and wide. The valley branched off the cleft that continued higher into the mountains. Yozef admitted it was idyllic: forested slopes, groves of deciduous trees along a stream, birds and murvors of many shapes and colors, and quiet, except for the wind, an occasional avian call, and the gurgling of the stream along the path.

They rode to a neat little house in the middle of the valley. Yozef’s three companions stopped a hundred yards from the house and said they would keep this distance and walk around the area to confirm security. Sistian sniffed at the news, but Yozef’s experience with the attempted assassination of Culich had eliminated any qualms about excessive caution.

An old man, Yozef guessed seventy to seventy-five Earth years, sat in a rocker on the porch. A boy of about ten led their horses down to the stream to drink, then staked them out in the meadow to graze.

Sistian made the introductions. “Rhaedri, this is Yozef Kolsko. Yozef . . . Brother Rhaedri Brison, a theophist and old friend and mentor.”

Yozef vaguely thought he’d heard the name, but his mind was focused on the conclave and the Narthani.

“Welcome, welcome, both of you,” said the old man.

When he spoke, a sense of friendliness oozed from him. Some people had such a knack. When they said, “Welcome,” somehow you believed they meant it, as if they had waited days or years for you to come. Others could have said the same words a million times and give the opposite message. Whoever this Brison was, he fell into the first category.

“Pleased to meet you, Brother Brison,” said Yozef, wondering if “brother” was the appropriate address for a theophist whose appearance and location might best describe a reclusive monk.

“Please, please. Just Rhaedri. I’ve never liked the ‘Brother’ address. Makes everything seem too formal. Just Rhaedri, and I will call you Yozef.”

Despite still wondering what he was doing here, Yozef smiled and relaxed in response to the old geezer. Whoever this guy is, he’s full of charm.

The three of them made small talk for a few minutes—how is your health, typical mid-late season weather, common acquaintances of the two prelates, terrible news about the Narthani . . . on and on. Yozef was almost lulled to sleep when Sistian asked, “Is that young Vellen who took our horses?”

“Yes,” said Rhaedri, “his older brothers have helped me here, and now it’s his turn.” The older theophist turned to Yozef. “The Vellen family has provided helpers for me here for many years. I’m afraid this is the last of the sons. Either I will die when this one leaves, or I need to find another family.”

From the jovial tone, Yozef assumed it would be the latter option.

“You’ll outlive us all,” riposted Sistian. “However, in case I don’t see young Vellen again, I’ll go and ask him how his other brothers are doing.” With that, Sistian rose from his chair and walked off in the direction they saw the boy lead the horses.

Yozef’s warning sensors went up several notches. Sistian had not visited long with this good friend he’d supposedly not seen in some time—too soon before leaving Yozef alone with Brison.

“Yozef, Sistian has written me about you. Came from the sea from a distant land, bringing new knowledge to Caedellium? Sounds like a tale out of the legends my mother used to tell me to put me to sleep at night.”

As warm as the theophist’s eyes and grin were, Yozef had a hunch an interrogation was forthcoming. “Well, I don’t know if it’s one of the tales of the hero who comes to slay the beast, save the village, and marry the beautiful lady. I can honestly say it’s not a tale that I would have ever imagined for myself.”

“You have to admit the improbability of it—to be thrown onto a distant shore, likely never to see family and friends again? Sistian writes how you’ve become part of Keelan, a respected place on Caedellium, with family now. All this sounds like you’ve adjusted, or is it resigned?”

Yozef thought silently for a few moments. Though he needed to be careful how he answered, the question pierced to the heart of many matters. There were ways to answer truthfully without revealing details that would raise questions he couldn’t answer.

“You’re right. I’ve made a place here on Caedellium and made peace with doubting I’ll ever see my home again. However, here I have friends and family. Friends who in many ways are better friends than I had at home. Perhaps I was not as appreciative of old friends the way I should have been. Too wrapped up in my old life to see beyond my own nose.”

“Hardly something unique to yourself, Yozef. We all tend to focus on what is directly in front of us. One path to wisdom is recognizing we do that and trying to be more aware.”

Yozef nodded. “I sometimes wonder how many times I missed helping a friend because I didn’t pay attention to them,” he added with regret.

“And family? What family did you leave behind?”

“Mother, father, brother, two sisters, and all the other aunts, uncles, cousins, and three grandparents still alive,” Yozef responded sadly.

“Were you close to them all?”

“Some more than others. I was close to both sisters and my father. Mother was . . . you know . . . the mother . . . so there always that special connection, but she often seemed overwhelmed by life and struggles. For whatever reason, my brother and I didn’t get along.”

Brison nodded sympathetically. “It is the same in most families. We connect with some more than others, but they are still all family. In my youth, my two brothers and I constantly fought, both verbally and physically on occasion. Yet let anyone outside the family threaten one of us, and the other two were instantly at his side. How do you feel about never seeing your family again—or do you think someday you will?”

“I doubt I’ll ever see them again. I never thought about exactly where my homeland was until I wasn’t there. I’ve looked at maps at the Abbey and cannot identify where it is. While I suppose word may come someday that gives a clue, I decided I had to make a life here on Caedellium instead of waiting for something that might never happen.”

“A wise choice, my son. One must always look ahead.”

“Not advice that’s easy to follow. My people say the past is past, and you can’t change it. All you can do is live in the present such that the future will take care of itself.”

Brison nodded approvingly. “And speaking of the present, the future, and the life you are building here among us, I must say you are building quite a life. Not just for yourself, but for everyone on Caedellium. The pieces of knowledge you have brought have already made major changes for our peoples. The ether alone is saving countless lives and preventing endless suffering, and if I understand correctly what you are teaching our medicants, that may only be the beginning. Thousands will eventually owe their lives to you.”

“My people believe knowledge should be available to all. Well, most of my people feel that way and that God wants us to help others. There are always others who will want to control knowledge.”

Brison watched closely. “Of course, by sharing the knowledge you help yourself, in case you come to need better medicant treatments.”

Yozef agreed. “I wouldn’t want anyone to look at me as some kind of saint. I help myself, and I help everyone else at the same time. My people would call it a win-win situation.”

“Win-win?”

“Yes. In some conflicts, it is a win-lose proposition. One party to the conflict gets something the other wants, either taking from the loser or getting something they both want. One party wins, and the other loses. Win-lose. There are also lose-lose situations, where both parties, by not working together, may both lose the goal. Best is win-win, where the parties work together to gain more than either could gain alone. My sharing medical knowledge is a win-win.”

“Win-win, win-lose, lose-lose,” repeated Brison aloud to himself. He reached toward the table next to his chair, picked up a quill and paper, and wrote for a couple of minutes.

The theophist put the paper down. “A very insightful way to consider the advantages of us all working together. Then there are all the other things you come up with. Some people wonder whether it’s all good. You are becoming very rich, which derives from the changes you bring.”

Yozef winced and shook his head in resignation. “I must admit I don’t always think clearly about the results. The liquors come immediately to mind. It was an obvious use of the distillation tools we used to make ether. I sometimes wonder if I should have shown people how to do it. There will always be those who find reality while being drunk preferable to the real world.”

Brison shook his head. “Those same people would find escape in beer or wine even without your liquors.”

“Probably true in most cases, but some may be seduced with the liquor acting different and faster. On the other hand, the process of making liquor also produces alcohol that the medicants use as a disinfectant, and it has uses in some types of lamps. And, of course, it is one of the two ingredients needed to make the ether. Knowledge is a two-edged sword.”

“Yes, Yozef. Knowledge can do good, and it can do evil. How do you think we need to balance the two?”

“Ah. Now you’re asking for an answer that is beyond my wisdom, if you want the answer. I want to believe that knowledge is almost always for the good.”

“Almost always?”

“A small child asks his mother if the father loves him. Maybe the father doesn’t. Maybe he isn’t suited to be a father and wishes the child didn’t exist. Should the mother tell the child he isn’t loved by the father? The child may come to realize this in his own time, but why burden a child who is still forming his being and views of the world? Or another case. An evil man wants to poison someone. He goes to a library to read about poisons. Is knowledge good in this case? One can always think of situations where telling the truth isn’t best. The problem is knowing when it’s one of those cases and living with the uncertainty.”

“I can see many of my colleagues would have interesting discussions with you on such issues. I agree with your last words . . . the uncertainty. However, back to the two-edged sword of the knowledge you bring. Kerosene is another example. It’s certainly a better source of light than either tallow candles or whale oil, but it has taken away the work of many men who hunted the whales or made the candles.”

“That is unfortunate, and I worry about those consequences, even though they’re a natural result of change. I’m sure there were more candle-makers before we learned to use whale oil. Yet no one now worries about those candle-makers who lost their work. We always see only what is directly in front of us. In this case, there may be fewer whale hunters, whale oil processors, and candle makers, but there are also new workers needed to collect the petroleum, distill the kerosene, and make the metal lanterns, which means there is more need for the metal and consequently more mining and refining.”

“What about the men who lose their trade right now?”

“I believe we must try to take them into account. I’ve certainly tried to do this. As far as I know, no man is without work because of what I started in Keelan—unless he chooses it. In fact, I believe records will show that more men have work and at higher wages than before. A whaler might work producing fertilizer. A candle-maker now makes kerosene. What is lost is the attachment some men have for their previous trade. If a candle-maker regrets having to make kerosene, I’m afraid that’s one of the costs of knowledge. We can sympathize with the candle-maker and make efforts to be sure he has work and can support his family as well as before, and in many cases better, but we can’t hide knowledge or stop changes.”

Yozef paused and looked off at the surrounding hills. “Does God want us to never make changes, in case anyone is negatively affected? I don’t believe so. Should I not have shown how to make the ether, for fear of poppy traders losing business? And what of the poppy farmers in those distant lands where the poppies are grown? As knowledge of ether spreads to those lands, as I know it will and believe it should, should we ban ether so as not to harm those farmers?

“The kerosene lanterns? The light they give off is better than from whale oil or candles. Medicants can operate at night, while before they might have waited for the next sunrise. Everyone, and not just scholars, can read more and easier after sunset than they could before. Should we ban kerosene so that we don’t hurt the workers and their families who make candles or hunt the whales? I can’t believe that would be God’s preference. Everything in this life cannot be based on fear of harming someone, as long as we keep others in mind and help where we can.”

Brison had quietly listened to Yozef. “Then we come to a central question. How much are we responsible for helping others? There’s no clear consensus here on Caedellium.”

“It is the same with my people. I would say that most would agree with the wording that we are all ‘our brother’s keeper.’ A problem is that there is no agreement on what to do. I see a hungry child or woman or man. Am I obliged to feed them? The easy answer is yes, I should give them food. However, we live in the real world. What if my own family has little food and to give any to another reduces my own family’s chances of living? What if the hungry man is a Narthani soldier who, if I give food to him, will someday kill Caedelli? What if there are many hungry men and I can only give food to save one? Am I playing God to decide which one to save?”

“Fortunately, such decisions are not common,” said Brison.

“Not in such extreme cases perhaps, though every day we make little decisions that come with uncertainty. I believe all we can do is the best we can do and hope for God’s understanding, in case we make the wrong decisions.”

Brison smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Such weighty issues and problems. I share with you that I believe God is understanding, as long as we carefully consider our decisions and do the best we can to help others.

“Let’s move away from such deep philosophical thoughts. What about yourself? How do you see the rest of your life? You have great standing among the clans. You also have great wealth, and all the signs are that you will gain even more.”

“Coin is a tool,” Yozef said. “It allows us to do things not otherwise possible. When I made the first ether, I could only have done it with coin provided by the abbey and an Abersford tradesman. It was my knowledge, the abbot’s support, and their coin that made it happen. Most of the gold I make is plowed back into the new trades, into shops working on new products, and into helping scholastics in their work. All these are important, although I will say that the last of the three is more where my heart is. I would have likely become a scholastic in my nation, if not thrown here on Caedellium. My life there was well settled. Not only with my studies, but with my family. At home, I had a betrothed. We were to be married in two months. She was with child. I will never see either of them again. A child of mine will grow and become an adult without me ever knowing anything about them. That’s hard. Yet here I am, with a wife whom any man would be fortunate to marry, a son born not many months ago, and another being raised in a good farm family. If I could design my own future, it would be working with scholars and my shops and enjoying a rich family life with many children. I would leave all the fighting and blood behind and never touch a weapon or be party to so many deaths again.”

Brison sensed the heartfelt core of Yozef’s last words, and it pleased him that Yozef did not relish his position of influence in Caedellium politics and society. At the same time, he was sad that he didn’t think Yozef’s wish for a quieter life would be possible.

Yozef obviously does not foresee it yet, thought Brison. He will be drawn ever deeper into politics—both within Caedellium and, if my intuition is right, external to Caedellium. Then there’s the tragedy and waste that every second Yozef spends on such issues will be seconds lost to the real treasure of Yozef—his depth of knowledge and his willingness to share it. As Yozef said earlier, all we can do is all we can do. God has a mission for Yozef, and it may be one that neither Yozef nor anyone else understands.

As much as Brison might regret how the stream of circumstances would sweep Yozef toward an unknown destination and turmoil, he knew only God could say which was the long-term greater good.

They continued talking for another hour, alternating between the mundane and the elevated. The final half hour they chanced into aspects of comedy, and Brison learned that Yozef was also a treasure chest of jokes and humor he had never heard before. Brison’s mood grew lighter on seeing Yozef laugh so heartily at funny stories of his own telling and a few classic Caedellium ones.

Only late in the afternoon did the talk move to the Narthani.

“And this terrible struggle with the Narthani, where do you see it ending, Yozef?”

Yozef’s voice was firm. “There are only two possible endings: either the Narthani will be driven from Caedellium or the clans will be enslaved, whether literally or figuratively. There are no other possible outcomes. Anyone who thinks there is a third option is stupid, delusional, or whistling in the wind.”

Brison smiled. “Whistling in the wind? Sistian told me how you come up with such interesting expressions. I think our closest expression to match that one is ‘chopping with the flat part of the ax.’

“Let’s get back to the Narthani. Can your first option be done? Can the clans drive the Narthani away, or is it hopeless? The task seems overwhelming.”

“Hopeless? No. Easy? Also no. No one should fool himself that terrible times aren’t coming and great sacrifices may be needed. There’s hope if the clans, and by that I mean every single person, do their utmost. Every small thing that may seem minor can add to innumerable other small things to have great effects. As a wise man from my people’s past has said, ‘The longest journey begins with a single step,’ and ‘A man who moves a mountain begins by moving a small stone.’” Yozef thought it was Confucius for both quotes.

“What of yourself, Yozef? You’ve obviously become important in the clans’ efforts to resist the Narthani. What if a hetman says to you that he doesn’t see a way forward and you can’t articulate such a way? Then what do you say?”

Yozef’s smile stopped at his mouth. His eyes never blinked. “Then I will say that if no way forward is clear, then we will make a way.”

It was an hour from sundown when Sistian reappeared and said they needed to return. Brison and Yozef rose from their chairs, and to Yozef’s surprise, Brison gave him a surprisingly strong hug. Caedelli were generally not that demonstrative.

“What a great pleasure to meet with you, Yozef. I enjoyed our talk immensely, and I can predict we will have other opportunities. If you’re not too busy, I’d like to exchange letters with you.”

“I would be honored.” And Yozef was both honored and pleased. Despite having to carefully craft answers so as not to reveal anything that seemed contradictory about his history, in many ways it had been a relaxing meeting. Although I hope I wasn’t simply worked by this crafty old guy.

“Yozef, please go and ask young Vellen to get the horses ready for us,” said Sistian. “I’ll say my goodbyes to Rhaedri. Vellen is still down by the stream. Something about fishing being best this time of day.”

“Sure, Abbot,” said Yozef, and off he went to find the boy.

Sistian watched Yozef until he was out of hearing. Without turning his head, Sistian asked, “Well, Rhaedri, what do you think?”

Also watching the strange man, Rhaedri said, “One of the more interesting afternoons of my life, Sistian. He is certainly everything you said . . . ” The elderly theophist hesitated, as if gathering words. “When I started to say ‘and more,’ the words didn’t quite convey my thought . . . perhaps, much, much more is closer to my feeling.”

“That’s the best description the great Rhaedri Brison can come up with?”

The old man laughed. “Oh, thank you, Sistian. I wish you were around more. I don’t see many people here, and when I do, I get so tired of everyone tip-toeing around the great holy man—the Septarsh-in-waiting. One reason I stay here with only a single boy is to avoid all that. By the time each boy is old enough to know how deferential he is supposed to be with me, it’s time for him to move on and another take his place. I could not think, pray, or write among too many such people.”

“And how did Yozef behave with you?”

“Like I was any equal he happened to meet by chance in a tavern. Someone to share a pleasant meal and a stein or two with and then never see again. You are sure he never heard of me before?”

“Well, he may have heard your name mentioned, but when I described wanting to visit you, he didn’t seem to recognize your name.”

“Is he like this with everyone? What about Hetman Keelan?”

“The same. I don’t think he sees a natural difference between people. Oh, naturally he sees the outward differences, and he is invariably polite around those of high station. On the other hand, deferential is something you don’t see with Yozef.”

“Although we didn’t delve into it too deeply,” said Brison, “his basic beliefs in God don’t seem completely in conflict with our own. There are obviously differences in emphasis and probably in ritual, but I get the sense of simply a different approach to the same goals. In fact, I’m having thoughts that some of our theophist brothers would consider bordering on heretical. I wonder if wherever he is from has come to an understanding of God completely independent of our own and yet at the roots very similar. I have simultaneous feelings of excitement about coming to more insight into God, while at the same time fearing that some of what we think and do is a product of ourselves and not God’s will.”

Sistian smiled knowingly. “A conundrum for us all. To be satisfied with possibly limited understanding or strike out into unknown territory that may lead us closer to God.”

“If he wasn’t so . . . innocent, I suppose is the word I am groping for, I might be afraid of him. We know the Evil One can tempt us by appealing to our better natures and wishes, and in that regard Yozef would be a perfect agent for such deception, but I don’t think Yozef is anything except what he appears—a well-meaning stranger with the basic good of all people at heart. Not to say he’s a saint, although I haven’t had the time with him that you have.”

“And if not a saint?”

“By your question, Sistian, am I to infer that you are not averse to considering him to be what the rumors say?”

“One image of a Septarsh is a holy man totally wrapped up in serving and studying the Word and devoting himself to helping others. While Yozef certainly wouldn’t fall into that category, a Septarsh can fulfill other options for serving.”

“Ah, then there is where that leads us.”

“Yes. The question,” said a serious Sistian.

“Is he a Septarsh?” queried Brison with a multilayered tone and expression.

“The concept of a Septarsh has always been more part of the Caedellium legends than the accepted liturgy of God. Until now, I would have kept them separate in my mind.”

“Until now?” emphasized Brison.

“Until now,” agreed Sistian. “Consider what he has wrought. New medicines and treatments. The medicants are euphoric from all they can do for people with pieces of knowledge he has shared. New trades—he calls them industries. It has been most evident in Keelan and the other provinces where it’s spreading. If we can regain access to trade with other lands, Caedellium will become an exceedingly rich land. And then there’s his role in fighting the Narthani. He doesn’t give the impression of being a great warrior, although one of our people who trained him told someone who confided in me that while his strength is deceiving, his reflexes and speed are amazing. Then there are the reports from when the Narthani attacked his home, attempting to kill Hetman Keelan.

I’ve also seen how fast he learns. He only has to be shown or told something once and it’s learned. Yet unlike too many of the clansmen, he hates fighting and will admit to being afraid. It’s his insights into what he calls tactics and strategy that may be decisive. In the Battle of Moreland City, without his advice and insights, the Narthani would have crushed us, and the island’s fate to be enslaved by the Narthani would already have been decided. Before that, his role during the raid on St. Sidryn’s was critical.”

“I don’t get the impression he would be suited or would want to be a leader on the battlefield,” said Brison.

“I agree,” said Sistian. “For many reasons. For too many clansmen, he’s a stranger and not like other men. Therefore, they might resist being ordered by him. Although that was my earlier impression, things may be changing. In addition, although he has learned a great deal about our people and is finding a place here among us, including a family, he still doesn’t have the instinctual understanding that comes with a lifetime of experience. Therefore, he would make little mistakes in dealing with men that could accumulate into larger problems.”

“And the news of the Narthani? Hetman Orosz sends me summaries of events. Is it as serious as it sounds?”

“Even without knowing exactly what you know, I can say it is at least as bad and probably worse. The Narthani were defeated in Moreland, by the criterion that they were forced to withdraw. However, they will be landing an army of between sixty and seventy thousand men at Preddi within a few months. Exactly when, we don’t know, and I pray to God it’s delayed to give us more time to prepare. The Fuomi leader assures us these new Narthani include veteran leaders with years of fighting other armies on the mainlands. In addition, the number of Narthani meant to be permanent residents on Caedellium is already around a hundred thousand. Undoubtedly, this number will greatly increase, and the Narthani intend to conquer and enslave us.”

“They were defeated once.”

“We must be honest. They were defeated because the Eywellese made a fatal blunder on the battlefield, and we had Yozef to advise on a tactic. If either of those had not occurred, it would have been a slaughter. Even now, a few of the hetmen believe we would have won anyway. Most do not, especially after seeing the Narthani troops’ discipline and the tactics. Yozef warned us that making a direct assault on their positions would have been catastrophic. You only have to know what happened to the Morelanders when their hetman didn’t follow the agreed-on plan and attacked the Narthani infantry by horse assault. We were fortunate that Stent and Hewell didn’t follow the stupid action of Hetman Moreland. We were also fortunate in the collapse of the Narthani left wing, using advice from Yozef and implemented by Hetman Keelan and our other men.”

“Now, if a new Narthani army is larger and, as you say, experienced in their kind of warfare, what hope is there?” asked Brison.

“I find it difficult to be optimistic. This ‘warfare’ is something new to Caedellium. Certainly, we’ve had far too much fighting over the centuries, with inter-clan fights, vendettas, and raids, but we’ve worked to change that part of our society. This now with the Narthani is completely different. Yozef calls it total warfare. The Narthani intend to kill or enslave every single human being on Caedellium—every man, woman, and child. And in doing so, erase from memory our histories, beliefs, customs, and eventually any record of our existence. Our only hope is to mobilize every possible tool to resist them. I agree with the Fuomi leader’s advice that the only way this can be done is with a central authority. There has to come a time when a clan is told what to do and does it without argument. Anything less and we will disappear.”

Sistian paused to breathe deeply several times. “This is the message that the Fuomi leaders have given us several times—that all the clans must unite. Yozef says the same thing.” Sistian smiled. “He worded it in one of those phrases that he seems to pull out of the air. “If the clans do not hang together, they will hang separately.”

Brison smiled a smile of ice. “Both appropriate and foretelling at the same time.” He took his turn sighing. “To summarize, the clans need to unite under a central authority, and they need to heed Yozef’s advice. The question is how to do that.”

“Culich and I have discussed this at some length. Yozef needs to be at the center of what is decided. Although he agrees he can’t lead men into battle, how the battles are fought must have his ideas and advice. There is one more factor—the Fuomi. Rintala has told me, along with Culich and Hetmen Orosz, privately, that Fuomon might be willing to help only if they believe we have a reasonable chance to defeat the Narthani, and they insist that centralized planning is an absolute prerequisite. How this is implemented needs discussion and thought. One proposal that will be made at the conclave is to appoint a small number of men as the battle leaders, with Yozef as an adviser.”

“How many is small?”

“Either three or five. The idea is that if there is disagreement, the majority position will be followed. There is also the problem of who these three or five would be.”

Brison rose from his chair and walked slowly down the porch. He leaned on a supporting post, stroking his beard while thinking. Finally, he turned back to Sistian. “What about a slightly different proposal? A command council of four with Yozef as adviser. Actions and plans to be determined by the majority of the council. Decisions would then need a 4–0 or 3–1 vote. In the case of a 2–2 vote, then and only then would Yozef have a vote to break the tie.”

Sistian stroked his beard. “Hmmm . . . something like that might work. It would put Yozef in the center of planning, but he wouldn’t have an initial vote. That might placate a few of the hetmen who hesitate to give a non-hetman such a role, even if he is supposed to be a Septarsh. Of course, it still has to be agreed on.” He switched hands with the stroking, raised an eyebrow, and looked at Brison. “And you know what I am going to suggest next.”

Brison scowled. “Come to Orosz City.”

“If this is going to be accepted, we need all the weight we can to get the clans to agree. If you could attest that Yozef is a Septarsh, should such a declaration be necessary to come to an agreement—would you be able to do that?”

“Then we are back to the question of whether or not he is a Septarsh,” said Brison. “What if I don’t think he is or I’m unsure?”

“At least, you can show support for the concept of a central organization with Yozef in some role. I know you don’t like to leave your valley, but there are times when one’s own wishes are not important. This is one of those times. You’ve hidden yourself here for too long as it is.”

Brison surprised Sistian by giving him a warm smile. “As it happens, my scolding friend, I’ve already been thinking similar thoughts. It’s time for me to spend at least a few months a year back among people. And, never being one to put off action when a decision has been made, I’ll be coming to Orosz City tomorrow. I’ll stay at the St. Wyan’s. Should the need arise for my input into any general matters, I’ll be available by tomorrow evening.”

“You old schemer!” exclaimed Sistian. “If you knew you were coming to Orosz City, why didn’t you save us the trip here?”

“I hadn’t completely decided on when to go, and I wanted to have an opportunity for my first impression of Yozef to be here, away from all that’s going on outside this tranquil valley and before he had the chance to plan how to talk with me.”

They stopped talking as Yozef and Vellen led the horses up to the house. They offered final parting words, and the two horsemen trotted out of the valley, rejoined by the three escorts. It was dark when they arrived back in Orosz City—the last half hour almost complete blackness, with lights from gradually more numerous dwellings showing the way. Seeing the city lights, they slowly descended the last slope from the mountains.

CHAPTER 12: CONCLAVE

Core Hetmen

A small meeting of hetmen took place that same evening. Culich made sure the meeting site had a good supply of the new kerosene lanterns and a stock of one of the finer liquors to come out of Yozef’s distillery complex. Both were a reminder of the changes wrought by Yozef’s years on Caedellium. Five men sat at a square table, a small glass in front of each man. They had had one shot already and would refrain from another until they settled business. Culich and Sistian sat side by side on one side of the table; Feren Bakalacs, the Farkesh hetman on a second; Welman Stent, a third; and Tomis Orosz, the fourth. Of the five, four had already discussed the topics. Stent was the exception. Everyone considered his participation crucial, with him being hetman of a major clan and by rationale of his province’s population and wealth, as well as Stent’s border with both Selfcell and Moreland. His newcomer status was not lost on him, as evidenced by his wary expression.

Culich cut right to the main topic of their meeting, as well as Stent’s unease. “Welman, you, of course, know that the rest of us here have discussed ideas on how Caedellium should meet this new Narthani invasion. And I am sure you already know much of what we will propose—both from previous conversations with some of us and from your own assessments. So let’s get that out of the way and come right to the point. We believe the only hope of our surviving as a people is if the clans can agree to a unified command in fighting off the next Narthani invasion.”

Stent started to say something, until Culich held up a hand to forestall him. “And your question is exactly what form this command would take.”

Stent just nodded, waiting to hear Culich continue.

“It cannot be that each clan or even a group of clans carries out actions independent of the others. We all saw what happened at Moreland when one clan broke from the agreed-on plan and attacked the Narthani center. If we continue with such independent action, we are almost surely doomed. The raids we carried out after the attack of Swavebroke were a start, but only a start. Much more is needed. Abbot Beynom here visited with Rhaedri Brison today. The topic of how to centralize came up, and Brison thinks it’s important to consider a possible structure that has been discussed among the Five-Clan hetmen.”

Stent’s eyebrow rose slightly on hearing that Brison had been consulted. The theophist’s reclusion was known throughout Caedellium, and while he had not made public appearances for many years, he was revered throughout the island. Brison’s support would give any proposal more weight.

“Brison supports the idea that all the clans obey decisions made by a group of four men chosen by the hetmen. Those four would plan strategies and tactics to be carried out by the clans. They would work together to decide on those plans. Decisions would be carried out only if three or all four of the men agreed. No major action would be taken if only one of the four supported it.” Culich waited for Stent to ask the obvious question. Stent didn’t disappoint.

“What if it’s two for and two against?”

“In that case, there would be a fifth man who would cast the deciding vote. Otherwise, his role would be to advise the other four, and he would have a vote only in cases of tied votes.”

“I believe I know the answer to the question I am about to ask. Who would the fifth man be?”

“Yozef Kolsko.”

Stent nodded. “I was at Moreland City, so I know his role in our victory. My question is, how would you convince all the clans to accept a stranger in such an important position? Not to mention how to get them all to give up independence, if they see hetmen of other clans making these decisions for them?”

Orosz spoke up. “Taking the second question first—how to convince the hetmen. I don’t think that’s a major problem. There are twenty-one clans. Preddi, Selfcell, and Eywell are already lost to the Narthani—leaving eighteen. Moreland’s ability to fight, after their fiasco at Moreland City, means that they will have to go with whatever the others decide. Bakalacs here assures us that most of the northern clans will agree.”

“Really?” Stent scoffed. “No offense, Hetman Farkesh, but you and the other northern clans are known to be the prickliest on independence and not known for cooperation.”

Bakalacs’s lips tweaked a brief grin at the polite skepticism. “Normally, I would agree. However, these are not normal times. Farkesh and Bultecki will strongly support this concept. Swavebroke is weakened by the Narthani attack that burned Shullick and killed their hetman, which was a Narthani mistake. The new hetman leads a clan that was one of the more reluctant to form a coalition against the Narthani and now is one of the most fervent. Similar with Skouks. While their hetman wasn’t loved by all the clan, he was respected. His death, and that of his daughter’s entire family by Narthani assassins, has lit a fire under them. That leaves Nyvaks and Pawell. I expect the Nyvaksians will be as difficult as they usually are and will resist a central command. The Pawellese can be brought around to support the concept . . . eventually. Of course, one of the four leaders will have to be from the northern clans.”

Orosz continued, “Bevans may hesitate, we aren’t sure yet, but with Adris and Pawell supporting the idea, it’s unlikely they would go against the only two clans that border them. Pewitt will follow your lead. We already know the Five-Clan Alliance will agree both to a central command and to Kolsko as a fifth deciding vote. Hetman Hewell especially has become attached to Yozef and is a firm believer that Yozef is a Septarsh. With the Five-Clan Alliance, and naturally Stent, if we convince you, the northern clans, and the others, that would give us at least fifteen clans for certain, leaving only Seaborn, Nyvaks, and Vandinke. If Bakalacs’s confidence in our persuasive abilities and rational reflections is valid, we need only one more vote to force compliance of the others.”

“What if the sixteenth vote doesn’t come?” asked Stent.

“Then the fifteen clans would proceed without the other three and, if necessary, force compliance where needed. This would only be a last resort, and many clans wouldn’t be happy. Unfortunately, this isn’t a time to worry about future consequences.”

Stent nodded, though he didn’t indicate whether he agreed or he only understood the reasoning. “Agreeing is one thing,” said Stent, “but cooperating is something else.”

“That is true,” said Culich, “and that is something we will have to discuss.”

“Let’s say even all the hetmen agree—do they all have enough control over their clans to ensure compliance?” asked Stent.

Culich sat back in his chair. “Oh, I think we only need worry if all the boyermen of a clan are opposed. I’m sure we’ll have no serious problem.”

“What Culich doesn’t say outright, Welman, is that several boyermen have been replaced around the different clans,” said Bakalacs. “One of my own boyerman was suspected of having secret contact with Narthani agents. Fortunately, he had a fatal accident and is no longer a problem.”

No one asked the nature of the accident.

“All right,” said Stent. “Let’s assume, for the sake of this discussion, that I agree to commit Stent to this centralization. Who would be the four leaders?”

“Supposedly, it would be decided by the hetmen as a group. In reality, it would be the four hetmen at this table.”

“And if other hetmen have other ideas?”

“That is unlikely to make any difference. Once all the clans agree, deciding on the four will follow quickly. We don’t see any other clan having enough support to push their hetman into the group.”

Stent met the eyes of the other four men. “All this seems to fall to myself and my clan to work. If I disagree, then Pewitt will most certainly not agree either, Swavebroke might reconsider, and Vandinke resistance might stiffen.”

“That’s true, and we assumed you would see that scenario,” said Culich calmly.

Stent laughed. “Hah! I hate being thought predictable. If you had any serious doubts about my decision, it seems unlikely I would be at this meeting.”

Orosz spoke. “We are counting on your good sense and your widely known commitment to protect your people.”

Stent’s expression had gone blank and showed no hint of where he would leap. “What if this group of four turns out to be a mistake?”

“Then we are all in serious trouble,” said Culich. “I doubt there will be time to replace even one of the four and continue with an effective effort against the Narthani. We can only pray to God that we don’t fail.”

Stent was silent for most of a minute. The other four waited for more questions or a decision.

Finally, he said, “I hate the idea. My district chiefs will hate the idea. All my people will hate the idea.” Quiet again. Then, “Unfortunately for them and myself, I see no choice. So I will support you in this. Believe me, if there was any other way I thought we could defeat the Narthani, I wouldn’t agree, so may God’s grace make this work.”

The other four men visibly relaxed. Though they had believed Stent would support the idea, believing wasn’t certainty.

“Now all that’s left is convincing the other clans,” said Bakalacs in an ironic tone.

“I’m afraid it’s not just hetmen who need convincing,” said Culich. “There is one other who is not a clan hetman.”

“Another?” asked Stent.

“Yozef,” answered Sistian.

Bakalacs looked confused. “Why is that a problem?” he said, staring at Culich. “He’s a member of your clan. He should do as he’s told.”

Stent had had a moment to consider Sistian’s naming Yozef as a possible recalcitrant. “You haven’t met him, Feren, as often as I have. I sense Abbot Beynom may be right. If Yozef is a Septarsh, he might have objectives none of us know about or wouldn’t understand if we did. If God is whispering to him, who knows the mind of God?”

Bakalacs looked concerned and addressed Culich. “Do you think he might refuse?”

“No, I don’t. I think he would prefer to stay at Caernford and his shops, at the scholasticum he’s planning, and with his family, although I believe he’ll see the necessity. Abbot Beynom also took Yozef to talk with Rhaedri Brison earlier today.”

Culich smiled. “Just in case, my daughter Maera has come with us.”

“Your daughter?” echoed a further confused Farkesh Hetman. “Why would a Keelan daughter have any role in this?”

“You have not met Maera,” said Stent with a twinkle in his eyes. “She’s Yozef’s wife, and he listens to her. She’s ready to help us with him, if necessary.”

Bakalacs threw up his hands. “I bow to whatever it takes—no matter how strange so much of all this seems.”

The Conclave Begins

Two days later, the final delegation arrived from all eighteen free clans. There were fifteen hetmen present and two eldest sons of hetmen too elderly or ill to attend. Moreland still had no agreed-on leader, and an abbot represented the clan as a neutral party not connected with the factions vying for control. The eighteen clan representatives sat at rectangular tables forming a rough circle. Advisers sat behind the hetmen on chairs, benches, and stools. To the rear stood those people needing to be present for only part of the proceedings. One hundred and thirty-four men and two women filled the room, the women a first for a clan conclave. Maera Kolsko-Keelan sat as an interpreter for the three Fuomi (Rintala, Kivalian, and Saisannin) and the single Landoliner, Rhanjur Gaya. When the foreign party entered the room, talk subsided, and many heads and eyes turned to the two unusual attendee types—foreigners and women.

They finished the obligatory preliminaries by mid-morning—introductions of everyone in the room to assign people’s faces and stations. Theophist attendees gave several prayers for God’s grace and guidance, followed by a summary of the Battle of Moreland City, Narthani attacks, the clan raids into Eywell and Preddi, and what news they had of the expected new Narthani army.

Tomis Orosz called on Jaako Rintala to speak. Although Rintala had worked hard to learn Caedelli, for this occasion precision was important; therefore, Maera served as interpreter. Rintala pointed out locations on an enlarged Anyar map Yozef had ordered to be prepared at the Fuomi’s request. Rintala gave a brief history of what the Fuomi knew about the Narthani, how they rose to power, and the decades-long wars between the Narthon Empire and its neighbors. Question after question followed, Hetman Orosz serving to recognize each man. Rintala understood some of the questions and answered a few on his own—other answers were relayed by Maera.

When Rintala’s presentation and questions hit the hour mark, several men stood to be recognized when Orosz called a halt. “There are additional important matters to be discussed today. Our Fuomi visitors will be available for further questions during the next several days, so we need to continue to the next topic.”

Hetman Orosz declared the main question, in general terms without details: “What would the clan response be to a new invasion?” followed by each clan representative giving a brief statement of his clan’s basic intent and thoughts. From these statements, Culich discerned the basic tenor of each clan. Nine clans were committed to a fight to the death. Most of these clans directly bordered the Narthani threat or had been part of the battle in Moreland. Two more clans seemed resigned to the coming fight, two brought up again the question of negotiations with the Narthani, and four clans told Culich they planned, or hoped, to stay out of the coming struggle: Seaborn, Nyvaks, Pawell, and Vandinke. Seaborn, the clan of the northwest islands, was no surprise. With no direct land connection to Caedellium, Seaborn had little part in the history of clan rivalries and conflicts. Nyvaks was also not a surprise. Their province connected to the rest of Caedellium by a narrow isthmus. Their one neighboring province, Pawell, had focused most of its attention on keeping raids from Nyvaks to a minimum and had also not been much of a factor in clan conflicts. The fact that Pawell also seemed less inclined to participate against the Narthani was likely because they saw their main threat as Nyvaks.

Vandinke surprised Culich. He worried that he detected a deeper resistance than anticipated. They were the least populated province, due to their land being the most mountainous and rugged on Caedellium. With that harsh terrain and being landlocked, they were also the most reclusive and conservative of all of the clans.

Culich chided himself for not paying more attention to the Vandinke hetman. He probably believes their mountains will prevent any Narthani invasion. If so, he’s only partly right, Culich thought. The Narthani might well leave them for last after subjugating all other provinces. They would enjoy a few months or years of independence before being overwhelmed.

They took a half-hour break and reconvened. Orosz rose to resume his position as conclave moderator. “There have been five requests from clans with specific plans to propose. As is the custom, the order of speaking was determined by lot and will be Bevans, Keelan, Farkesh, Pewitt, and Moreland.”

Culich would have preferred to move straight to his proposal, because at least half of the hetmen already knew its substance, but it was always best to follow protocol and not ruffle any more feathers than necessary.

Zitwyn Bevans spoke first. Culich considered him a reasonably good and respected hetman, despite getting a bit dotty as he aged. Fortunately, Bevans simply emphasized the danger Caedellium faced and called on God’s help. Also fortunately, he didn’t take long. Then Culich rose to speak.

“Thank you, Hetman Orosz. I think I can assume that most of you realize the imminent peril we are all in.” The slight emphasis on most brought both grim grins and grim frowns—more of the former than the latter. Among the latter were leaders from Seaborn and Nyvaks. Another resisting clan was Vandinke, and their hetman didn’t change expression—making Culich think he hadn’t caught the reference. Hetman Vandinke was reputed to be one of the denser hetmen, and if Culich’s information was correct, his clans’ people couldn’t wait for him to die, because his son and heir was more highly regarded. He sat behind his father and obviously didn’t miss the qualification.

“I tell you now, and I believe many here have already come to the same conclusion, that there is no way for us to triumph over a Narthani army of this size and experience if we don’t recognize both the severity of the threat and the necessity to make changes in our customs. If we have any chance at all, we will have to fight smart, disciplined, and coordinated. All clans must work together. We must also recognize that this will be what one of my advisers has called ‘total warfare.’ This means that every man, woman, and child—every horse, dog, and pile of manure, if necessary—must go toward driving the Narthani from Caedellium. Anything less, anything that does not make complete efficient use of whatever weapons and tools we have, can only lead to our destruction.”

Culich paused briefly, gesturing with his left arm to the Fuomi group at the back of the room. “If our own experience and intelligence did not tell us these unpalatable facts, we have the words from our Fuomi friends.” Although friends was a stretch, Culich thought he might as well put the Fuomi in as good a light as possible. “They have fought Narthani armies as large or even larger than the one we face and have held them as equals. They have seen our men and our lack of organization, and Leader Rintala assures us in no uncertain terms that unless we can unite into a single force to oppose the Narthani, they will destroy us and our people. Our customs, our histories, will turn to dust, and future peoples of Anyar might never know we existed.”

Culich described the basic proposal: four hetmen serving as the central authority to make decisions approved by the majority of the four, along with authorizing who would implement the decisions, and Yozef serving as adviser and having a tie-breaking vote, if necessary. Needless to say, the following discussion was lively.

The red-faced Nyvaks hetman found one point particular vexing. “What if a hetman decides not to follow these orders?”

Culich’s expression stayed blank. “That clan would find itself between the Narthani and all the other clans. Does anyone here believe a single clan can stand alone against the Narthani or against all other clans?”

Hetman Orosz called a halt to further discussion on Culich’s proposal, to let the other three scheduled hetmen speak. Bakalacs followed. The Farkesh hetman was briefer than Culich and gave the same message of doom unless the clans united. Then he surprised most hetmen by saying that Farkesh and two other northern clans, Skouks and Bultecki, would back the plan first proposed by Culich.

Pewitt was next and, to Culich’s disgust, urged negotiating with the Narthani and even implied perhaps giving up parts of the island to placate them—everyone knew he meant the entire Moreland Province. While a couple of hetmen seemed to listen with some level of interest, most had dismissive expressions.

Finally, the Moreland representative rose—a man most of the hetmen didn’t recognize and only knew that he had been selected by a majority of district boyermen to lead the Moreland delegation. Hetman Moreland, both sons, and most other males of the lead family had died in the reckless charge against the Narthani center at the Battle of Moreland City.

“I am Abbot Abelard Elsworth, of the Abbey of St. Xyllos in Moreland City. I speak here today for all of my clan. Over a third of the province has been destroyed by the Narthani. Two major towns and scores of villages burned to the ground. Thousands of our people were killed, including nearly a third of our best fighting men. Moreover, close to a thousand Morelanders—mainly, women and children—have been taken into slavery by the Narthani, their fates unknown. Many we fear have already been sent by ship back to Narthon. Some of these include members of my own family. Try to imagine how I feel to know we will never see them again. No matter what we decide here, no matter if we manage to drive the Narthani from Caedellium, these captured Morelanders are gone forever. The Fuomi tell us that the usual treatment of conquered peoples who resist the Narthani is that any enslaved men will live short lives in mines and construction gangs. Any young children will be given to Narthani families and raised as Narthani. The women will be common slaves, if they are fortunate, and younger women not so fortunate will provide service in brothels or as chattels to Narthani men.”

The room was silent. Most faces resembled grim masks as the Morelander recounted what had happened to his clan.

“I tell you this now. I’m sure you are all aware that Moreland is in needless turmoil over who will be the next hetman. Even with that, by unanimous decision of all Moreland district boyermen, and after meetings throughout Moreland, we will never surrender to the Narthani. We will fight them to the last living Morelander. If our fate is to fall to them, let it never be said that any of us died with our backs to the enemy!”

A shout of approval roared throughout the room, each man thinking of what could happen to his clan, his family, his children, his wife. Culich noted that not all clans cheered. The Vandinke, Nyvaks, and Seaborn delegations remained silent.

The Morelander abbot finished his brief statement. “Moreland supports the proposal of Keelan. We put every living creature in Moreland at the disposal of a united Caedellium front against the Narthani.”

Murmuring slowly rose as members within delegations talked among themselves and carried on exchanges between clans. Orosz let this continue for a minute, then drew their attention by striking the small gong that functioned as his symbol and tool when chairing conclaves.

In a formal tone of voice, he said, “Leaders of all the Caedellium clans, there have been two proposals placed before the conclave. Are there any other proposals?”

Some hetmen looked around, others simply straight ahead.

“Two proposals have been submitted. One is to unite all the clans under a centralized command where decisions on fighting the Narthani are made by a group of four hetmen, with Yozef Kolsko serving to advise and break tied decisions. The second proposal is to try to negotiate with the Narthani. I submit that there is a third alternative, which is that each clan be free to resist or negotiate as they see fit. Are there any comments before we vote?”

Orosz looked around. Most delegate leaders nodded or voiced agreement.

“Let us vote on the second proposal, that our main effort will be to negotiate with the Narthani. All hetmen in agreement raise an arm.”

Four men at the table raised their hands: Nyvaks, Pawell, Seaborn, and Bevans.

“All opposed to the main effort being to negotiate, raise an arm.”

Ten hands were raised.

“There being four clans who did not vote, by custom they have indicated they do not have a strong opinion either way and will support the majority. The vote being ten to five, the proposal to negotiate with the Narthani is rejected.

“Another proposal is that the Narthani are to be resisted by force or negotiated with and that each clan is free to do what they believe is necessary, either alone or with other clans they have allied with. All those in favor, raise an arm.”

Three hands were raised.

“All those opposed to each clan being free to resist the Narthani independent of the clans, raise an arm.”

Twelve hands were raised.

“The three clans not voting are assumed to have no strong opinion and will abide by majority. The vote being three for and twelve against, the proposal for each clan to resist the Narthani as they see fit is rejected.”

Orosz didn’t comment on clans casting contradictory votes.

“The third and final proposal is that the Narthani will be resisted by all means and that the resistance will be coordinated by a central command where decisions are made by a group of four, selected by this conclave, with Yozef Kolsko as adviser. All those in favor, raise a hand.”

Fourteen hands were raised.

“All those opposed to a central command and decision making to resist the Narthani, raise a hand.”

Two hands were raised: Nyvaks and Vandinke. Pawell and Seaborn had abstained.

“The two clans not voting are assumed to have no strong opinion and will abide by the majority. The vote being fourteen to two, the proposal to resist the Narthani by creating a central command and control to which all clans are required to obey is accepted.”

The air in the room had been heavy and quiet during the voting. Now, with the voting finished and the path decided, the room exploded in sound. Cheers and support from the supporters, curses and worse from the dissenters. Orosz let this continue for several minutes to allow them to exhaust their initial spleen or enthusiasm, then used the gong to override the noise.

“Hetmen and representatives . . .  Quiet. Quiet!!”

The noise gradually subsided.

“The decision now is how to select the four men to serve on the decision-making committee.”

The Nyvaks hetman was red-faced, but Vandinke spoke first. “The fourteen votes are not enough to mandate compliance. From a recent conclave, the number was agreed to be sixteen.”

“That is correct, Hetman Vandinke. No clan is under compulsion. However, I can assure you that the fourteen clans approving Hetman Keelan’s proposal will carry on without those who voted against. Or abstained,” Orosz said, with a pointed look at the Seaborn and Pawell delegations.

The Pawell hetman rose. “After seeing that most of the clans support the proposal, Pawell does not see how it can stand aside. No matter my preference, my clan will be impacted. Therefore, reluctantly, I change my vote and now support the Keelan proposal.”

Turmoil broke out again. Yozef had kept his eye on the Seaborn and Vandinke delegations. He agreed with Culich and Maera that Nyvaks was probably hopeless. Seaborn had the smallest delegation—only five men, because they had to run the waters between their islands and Caedellium in a small craft to avoid the Narthani patrols. The five Seaborners had their heads touching in a circle. After several minutes, the heads drew apart, and the Seaborn hetman rose to be recognized. Orosz struck the gong several times before the hubbub died enough that he could formally recognize Hetman Seaborn.

“Hetman Orosz, after consulting with the rest of the Seaborn delegation, and after seeing the commitment of other clans, Seaborn has reconsidered its position. Although we do not see clearly how we can contribute to fighting the Narthani, because of the waters separating us and the need to protect our own people, Seaborn does not want to be known for having blocked the will of most clans. Therefore, Seaborn now votes to support the Keelan proposal for a unified command.”

The Nyvaks hetman jumped to his feet. “You can decide whatever you want, but Nyvaks will never be ordered by anyone outside our clan!” he exclaimed and made a move to leave the room. He was stopped by the Orosz hetman, whose voice took on a more authoritative and menacing tone.

“You are free the leave the conclave. But the vote is now sixteen in favor and two opposed, and the unified command against the Narthani is approved. This decision is binding on Nyvaks, as are any related decisions made after you leave. Nyvaks will accept the decision of the conclave or be considered outcast.”

Many of the hetman were stunned by the intensity and content of Orosz’s words. By the Conclave of Nordwyn more than a hundred years previous, all of the clans had sworn to follow the agreed-on customs and rules of the conclave. The most important feature was that no clan be allowed to flaunt the will of the conclave on pain of not just being outcast, but being without protection of the conclave. The clan would then be subject to compulsion by any means possible, which all knew meant facing the potential of fighting all other clans together—something no clan, no matter how strong, could survive. This condition had been invoked only once, soon after the conclave system was established—until now.

Culich could see that invoking the threat of being outcast had not gone well with all other clan leaders. Perhaps two-thirds seemed to approve or at least accept, but the others showed different degrees of discomfort. Yet he could see that all the major clans agreed.

The Nyvaks hetman glared at Orosz for some moments, then sat back down, still glaring. Finally, he said in a grating tone, “And how long would this committee exist?”

Culich answered. “Only until the Narthani are defeated. After that, another conclave can decide to dissolve the committee and make any other needed decisions.”

That seemed to mollify Nyvaks and some of the other hetmen—including several who had shown support for the unified command but were not pleased by the outcast threat.

Orosz continued to the next decision—membership of the committee of four. By prearranged agreement, the new Skouks hetman nominated Feren Bakalacs of Farkesh and indicated the support of Bultecki. There were no dissenters. Likewise, Gwillamer spoke up for Culich to represent the Five-Clan Alliance. Again, there were no arguments against. It was then that Culich nominated Welman Stent, to no objections. The fourth was not as preordained. Nyvaks tried to nominate himself, which went nowhere and only deepened his resentment—not that any other clan leader cared. Orosz was mentioned but declined, based on his feeling that Orosz’s existing role as neutral conclave moderator meant another clan should complete the committee. His feeling was beaten back by the lack of other obvious candidates and support by Bultecki and Moreland. In addition, it was pointed out that he could serve to ensure that no more intrusion into internal clan affairs would occur than necessary—an argument that even Nyvaks grudgingly accepted. Thus, the committee of four was set to oversee the fight against the expected Narthani: the hetmen of Farkesh, Keelan, Orosz, and Stent. It was also agreed that Orosz would serve as the head of the committee only so far as organization and meeting operations.

Hetman Orosz had one more detail to cover. “Hetmen, before we move on, I want us all to understand what we have committed to. Until the Narthani threat is over, all decisions will come from the council. There will be no more All-Clan Conclaves until the Narthani are gone from Caedellium.”

Orosz’s statement was expected by most hetmen, and the few who were surprised by his statement accepted the necessity after moments of reflection.

With the main decision made, Culich addressed what to call the commanding committee. “I suggest that to show that the committee exists only to fight the Narthani, and to give it an appropriate name, we call the committee the Caedellium War Council—or, simply, War Council.”

There were no objections, and thus was born the Caedellium War Council—the first entity to exercise overall control of anything in the island’s history.

With no objections to his proposal to name the council, Culich continued. “I think it wise that we take as much advantage as we can that all clans are here represented. I suggest that the War Council meet separately today and the entire conclave reconvene tomorrow. I know some of us would like to return to our provinces, but several more days of discussions and planning seem justified, given the seriousness of what we are about to undertake.”

There were no objections, and Orosz asked if people had any more questions or statements before the general conclave adjourned until the next day. A single arm was raised by the Swavebroke hetman—who had not spoken yet that day.

“This Yozef Kolsko. We have all heard the tales about him. He is going to advise the council and have a tie-breaking vote, yet what exactly is known about him? This is an important position for someone not even of Caedellium.”

Bevens voiced another question in many minds. “Rumors spread that he is a Septarsh—one to whom God whispers. Is this merely fantastic chatter, or is there some truth to it?”

Orosz looked to Culich to answer. “This being a sensitive subject, at least for some of us, I’ll ask Ser Kolsko to leave the conclave for the moment, so the rest of us can discuss Hetman Swavebroke’s question more openly.” Culich looked at Yozef. “If you don’t mind, Ser Kolsko?”

Yozef had been startled by the question. He’d come to accept the rumors but had not expected a full-blown open discussion of his Septarshhood. “Of course, Hetman Keelan. I’ll be outside.”

He rose and walked out of the room, conscious of stares and whispers.

Once Yozef was gone, Culich continued. “First, let me say that however Yozef Kolsko came to Caedellium, he now is of Caedellium. He is formally a member of the Keelan Clan and is married to my eldest daughter and now father of my first grandson. I assume you all know of his influences since arriving so mysteriously to our shore. The ether and the kerosene alone have changed our peoples’ lives for the better. Whatever accounts you may have heard about his role in defending St. Sidryn’s Abbey from the Buldorian sea raiders, it needs to be made clear he played a major role in repulsing the raid. There is also no question of his critical role in the Battle of Moreland City. Only God can know if we would have been victorious without his advice. I, for one, have serious doubts we would have driven the Narthani back, and even if we had, our losses would have been far greater. I also have experience with him during the last year and some of you also. Is he a Septarsh? I don’t know. However, we have placed that very question to another and have asked him to address the conclave.”

Culich nodded to Denes by the side door. Denes opened the door, said something to unseen persons outside, and a moment later a short old man walked in. The response of people in the room was palpable, as if the level of tension physically lowered. It was Rhaedri Brison. Though not everyone at the conclave had met him, many had, and all knew with what reverence he was held.

The elderly theophist used a walking stick, and his physical appearance suggested frailness. Yet there was no weakness evident when he faced the conclave and spoke. “Although I have no place at this conclave, hetmen Keelan and Orosz have asked me to speak to you about this Yozef Kolsko. I assume it is because of the rumors that he is a Septarsh—one to whom God whispers. I have spent a very delightful afternoon with Yozef. We spoke of many things. Of God, of the dangers of the Narthani, of the nature of things, of good and evil—it was quite interesting.

“He and I did not always agree. He does not worship God as I do or as I suspect most of you do. Yet there is no doubt in my mind that he is a good man. God’s grace does not only fall to those who openly recognize and worship him. One can even deny the existence of God but by one’s actions prove worthy of God’s grace. This is something that many people do not understand, but I say to you that it is true.

“Yet even if he is good . . . is he a Septarsh? The Word does not mention the existence of any such being or person as a Septarsh. Understand that this is part of our mythology—something that the history and lore of our people have come to include in our mysteries and that appears several times in the Commentaries on the Word. Is this incompatible with the Word? Not at all. Septarsh can also simply be viewed as a word we use to describe someone who does good and great deeds. There is no restriction on what kind of deeds. Yes, it can be those of a great warrior who leads a struggle against evil. It can be a theophist or another holy man who has insights into how we can approach God. It can be a peacemaker. In our histories, Kelvin Orlyn is considered a Septarsh because he pulled the clans together in the Treaty of Nordwyn and ended the internecine fighting among clans. A scholastic might also be considered a Septarsh, if we honor him in how we think about the nature of our world.

“So . . . what about Yozef? He is clearly not a warrior. Not that he cannot fight, because he has shown that he can. But he hates violence and considers it in most cases a failure to settle disputes by peaceful methods. He is certainly not a religious person, not in the formal sense as we think of it. Although I must say that I suspect he is closer to God than some theophists. Then we come to peacemakers. It may seem strange to consider the topic of making peace when you are discussing a great war. But are you not here uniting your efforts against a common foe? If you manage to drive out the Narthani, I would predict that the cooperation and mutual help among clans in the future will be greater than ever before, and Yozef has already had a hand in this by his past deeds.

“Still, he brings to us two other important aspects. First is that he comes to us from a different culture—wherever that may be—from a people who share many of our basic values but come from a different origin. It cannot be too greatly emphasized that we have difficulty understanding ourselves if we have nothing to compare our people to. He gives us such a comparison.

“Then we come to the last and, I believe, most important aspect of Yozef. His knowledge. Knowledge that he freely shares with us and that can bring him enormous wealth and power, should he choose. But he doesn’t. Yes, he is wealthy by any standards, but he spreads the wealth out among his workers, friends, and everyone in general. Much of what he knows can seem like magic, although our scholastics believe it is simply a deeper understanding of processes we already have some familiarity with. Though not always.

“Many who have interacted with Yozef say there are times when a problem arises and he comes up with a piece of knowledge to solve the problem. When this happens, he often stops and is quiet for a few moments and then says something about a solution. Not always, of course, but often enough to feed the expectation that he always has an answer—something he himself would strongly advise us against assuming. It is in these moments that rumors develop into legends. Is he going through his memory to find a piece of knowledge he already has in his mind? Is he just taking those moments to gather his thoughts? Or is he listening to a whisper in his mind or ear? Could it be a whisper from God? My brothers . . . I must tell you that I do not have the answers to those questions. Yozef himself would vigorously deny hearing from God. But his belief is not relevant. If God wants to whisper to someone, whether or not that person recognizes the source of the inspiration is not important. All that is important is that God’s message is received and given to others.”

The old theophist paused, looked around at the most powerful men on Caedellium, and concluded, “Is he a Septarsh? I do not know. By his deeds, can a reasonable man have a reasonable suspicion that God is whispering to him? Yes.”

With that simple word, Brison delivered his message and, without acknowledging questions that started coming, simply walked back toward the door. By the time he was halfway to the door, the questions had ceased, and everyone stood as he exited.

When Brison was gone, Orosz asked, “Are there any more questions or reservations about Yozef advising the War Council?”

Silence. Even Nyvaks appeared unsure for the first time. He had been perched on the front of the seat, as if to launch himself somewhere or at someone. A man sitting behind him—probably a son, given the resemblance—said something quietly in his ear. Nyvaks said nothing in return but sat back in his chair for the first time.

CHAPTER 13: WAR COUNCIL

First Meeting

Orosz used the quiet to adjourn the conclave for the day. Most attendees spoke within their own delegation or with other clans. A half hour passed before the four War Council members slipped away to a quieter room. Denes had been dispatched to retrieve Yozef, who then joined them at a table. The sun had set, and a single kerosene lantern lit the room and the five faces.

As usual, Yozef initially felt out of place. Each of the other four men was a leader of tens of thousands of clanspeople. They had a lifetime of training at the expectation of being hetmen and then in leading their clans—in Orosz’s and Keelan’s cases, leading for many decades. While part of Yozef wondered why he should be a member of the council, another part, more prominent than before, was more ascendant, as if he should be there.

“Well,” said Culich, “getting here was the easy part. Now it becomes hard. All eighteen clans are pledged to follow whatever plan we decide. Now the question is, ‘What exactly do we do?’ Before we start discussions among ourselves, do any of you have any preparatory thoughts? Yozef, do you want to start?”

Yozef found the suggestion incongruous. He, whose total military experience before he found himself on Caedellium consisted of playing video games and reading novels from science fiction, action, and fantasy genres, was now being asked to advise on how to defend 800,000 people against a professional Narthani army. A people with no history of large-scale warfare and no concept of whatever strategies the Narthani had honed over their history. Holy shit, are they desperate! he thought for the umpteenth time.

He had been tag-teamed the last few weeks, directly or indirectly, purposely or incidentally. First Culich, then Maera, the others such as Denes and even Carnigan, who usually was silent—all of them insisting that his help in thinking how to fight the Narthani would be important. The problem was that no matter how much he had argued during the last year against his having any special experience or knowledge, part of him thought they were right. And that scared him. He felt scared for himself, for Maera, for their son, for Anarynd, for his friends here in Caedellium, and for all the people.

Four bearded faces looked to him for advice. He took two deep breaths.

“We’ve already made a major step forward today by the clans agreeing to unified command structure. Yet we’ve only started. The fact is the clans have no history of coordination to the degree that we need to defeat the Narthani. This isn’t going to be easy, and we have to be realistic that it might not happen.”

Culich felt pleased that Yozef consistently said “we” instead of “you.”

“That, of course, is only one of a number of problems and issues I see. I’m afraid I don’t have a particular order of importance, because all seem important.”

“Then you can just explain them in any order, Yozef,” Culich reassured him.

“Okay, then. Your command structure. Keelan and some of the provinces have made progress setting up formal command hierarchies, but others have hardly started. This needs to be formalized and standardized. The problems that can come from not doing this aren’t too bad at the lower levels, where tens or hundreds of men are led. But by the time you get to many hundreds to thousands, we have very few men with such experience. We can’t have circumstances where decisions are made and leaders from different clans argue about who is in command. Bad decisions can be worse than chaos.

“Then there’s the issue of who is qualified to lead. I understand the clan system, but you saw what happened at Moreland City. The Moreland hetman was a fool and got a thousand of his men killed for no reason. The same thing will happen again, in large-scale battles down to small fights with tens of men.”

Hetman Stent clearly felt uncomfortable at Yozef’s statements. “But it has traditionally been the duty of the hetman to lead in battle. Honor demanded it.”

Yozef started to grind his teeth and snap at Stent, until he realized Stent was stating the obvious problem with some clans, not necessarily his own. He had been expecting this response. Although he had broached this topic before, now was not the time to dally. It would keep coming up until they learned. It was time for a dose of a Septarsh, though not too much of a dose.

“The duty of the hetman is to protect his people. Honor is a good thing and something to be acknowledged, but if concerns about the honor of the hetman harm the people, then it is not honor but self-interest, and the man is not worthy to be a hetman.” Yozef did not know a Caedellium word for egotism.

“I tend to agree, but not all hetmen will be easily convinced,” said Stent.

“Hetman Stent, let me give you a hypothetical situation. You are leading your men in battle against the Narthani. They have many more men and will surely defeat you and kill most of your men. You lead a charge against the Narthani and then pretend to run away, as if frightened. You do this to trick the Narthani into chasing you. Once their force is divided, groups of your men, led by other of your leaders, attack and destroy first the Narthani chasing you and then the remainder. You yourself never directly participate in the fighting or lead men directly in battle. Now, the question is, did you do the right thing?”

Stent considered for a moment, then replied, “I presume from what you describe that only by the Narthani thinking I was fleeing and leaving many of my men would the Narthani follow me into a trap. And I assume this is only a thinly veiled situation that is not hypothetical but what Hetman Keelan did at Moreland City.”

Yes! thought Yozef. He’s as sharp as I thought he was.

“You’re right. That is what Hetman Keelan did at Moreland City. The Narthani were defeated. Hetman Keelan never directly led men into the fighting. After the battle, would you say that Hetman Keelan’s honor was intact or not?”

Stent grimaced. “Of course, no one is going to question Culich’s honor. I see your point, but I must say it makes me uneasy, and it will be a difficult lesson for not only hetmen but also men who believe their positions require them to lead into battle.”

“Then they will have to be convinced. It is critical that the four of you accept this idea. If you are not strongly behind this, it can’t spread to all the clans.”

“I have a suggestion,” said Orosz. “I believe Yozef is right in this, but I know it will be difficult to implement in my own province. While some men will accept, many others will resist. My suggestion is that we make it clear that Keelan is already working under the principle of leadership by ability, not station. And we need to stress that we mean only in military matters. We wouldn’t want any suggestion that the rights of hetmen and boyermen are being questioned.”

Not yet, anyway, thought Yozef, although that may come, even if not in my lifetime. Inherent rights by birth inevitably go away, but right now we have to focus on surviving the Narthani.

“I agree that Keelan is making efforts in this,” said Culich, “but we have to recognize the limitations. Facts are that men accustomed to leadership are readier to step into the role of leading one of our new military units than someone whose life experience has been different. Yozef has described to me a man named Napoleon who rose from a common background to lead great armies. But this Napoleon didn’t go from stable boy to leading armies; he had years of experience between those two points. I believe we’ll have to keep much of the existing leadership structure until such men gain experience and better leaders rise to our attention. All we can do is find them as soon as we can and push them into more and more important positions.”

“I want to argue with you, Culich,” said Yozef, “but you’re right. Even in Keelan, it’s a slow process. The mixed-clan units are helping, but it’s still too slow. One thing we have to do is push those men you refer to into higher positions far sooner than we should. For example, Denes Vegga. He commanded a regiment of a thousand men on the raid toward Preddi, and from all I can see, he did it well. Under other circumstances, he would have more years of experience before commanding more men, but that’s a luxury we don’t have. He’s going to soon find himself commanding what we’ll call a division—a unit of around eight to ten thousand men in several regiments. It’s the same for the two majors Denes had leading his two regiment battalions. Sixworth and Kildorn will be commanding regiments way too soon. We can only pray they are up to the task. If not, then we have to pray again but this time that we can replace them before disaster.”

“And what of me?” asked Stent. “I also have led a thousand men into battle, once to attack Parthmal after the Battle of Moreland City and then the raid into Eywell Province. Could I be replaced as a leader?”

Yozef had interacted with Welman Stent enough to suspect the question was more generic than specific to himself. What if another hetman tried to lead but was incompetent?

“Then we have a serious problem,” said Yozef. “In your case, the fact that you did lead two successful actions gives us all confidence in your ability. However, and this is only a hypothetical example, what if Hetman Pewitt wants to lead a division, but it is evident to all that he is not capable? Then the other hetmen must try to change his mind.”

There was no way Yozef was going to voice what might be necessary in such a case. If an incompetent hetman endangered the entire struggle against the Narthani and refused to step aside, Yozef, against any previous scruples, had already considered removing the hetman by any means possible. Wyfor Kales and Balwis Preddi had shown themselves capable of eliminating a senior Narthani leader, and Yozef thought both would understand the necessity.

“Well,” said Culich, “we can only do what we can do. I can assert that Keelan will do what it can as fast as it can, and so will the other four clans in our alliance. The rest of you need to do the same, and we all work to convince other clans. Likely the best argument will be if they see our eight clans pushing the concept.”

“Orosz will,” said Hetman Orosz, “and Bultecki will agree, perhaps reluctantly. The remainder will come around—hopefully in time to avoid too many disasters.”

“As will Stent,” said Welman. “I’ll work on Pewitt. I think Swavebroke and Moreland present different challenges. Moreland is too chaotic and hasn’t settled on a new leadership structure. If all of us put enough pressure on them, we can almost appoint any Morelander we want into a command position, as long as we make it seem that these are temporary military positions and not part of their political struggles.

“Swavebroke also lost some leadership and, from what I know, probably the least flexible-thinking ones. I know Harmon Swavebroke, and he’ll be a far better hetman than his father was, though I respect Margo Swavebroke for staying with the men who slowed down the Narthani to allow most of the citizens of Shullick to escape. I think Harmon will do anything necessary to drive the Narthani away.”

Culich nodded vigorously. “I think you’re right, Welman, but there’s something else. Yozef, I know you’re uneasy with the Septarsh talk, but you have to tolerate it to some degree, especially when we need to keep some hetmen working with the rest of us and accepting some of the custom changes. Tomis has already asked me about using this to help convince the doubters and those irksome ones who cannot conceive of relinquishing any of their assumed rights. In those cases, and with Yozef’s unspoken backing, we can hint that they might be going against the will of God if an idea comes from Yozef.”

Culich raised both hands to forestall Yozef’s objections. “I didn’t say we’d overtly state it’s God’s will. Let the person come to that conclusion on his own.”

“With possibly a few hints and nudges,” said Stent, slapping Yozef on the back.

“Okay, okay,” said Yozef. “Just try to keep it to a dull roar.”

“A dull—?” muttered Hetman Farkesh.

Culich interrupted him. “Never mind, Feren, it’s just one of Yozef’s expressions from his own language. He means he hopes we don’t pile the manure too deep.”

Orosz had assumed the duty of recorder for their meetings and was scratching away with a quill to a sheet of paper. When Culich finished speaking, Orosz looked up. “The leadership issue was your first suggestion, Yozef.” And with a smile, he said, “I tremble to think of what’s next.”

Yozef didn’t smile in return. “We talked about this in the conclave earlier today, but I doubt that everyone hearing the words really understood the meaning and consequences. All the people need to understand that this is total war. This is not a raid or a gathering of clansmen for a week or two, such as at Moreland City. This will require mobilizing every possible resource and tool. Tens of thousands of men will be in arms for months at a time. The rest of the population of Caedellium must support them in every way necessary. Normal activities can be carried on only to the degree deemed absolutely necessary.”

“I understand, but what do we do about planting, tending, harvesting crops?” protested Bakalacs.

“You already have more stores of grain than usual, since the Narthani have shut off trade. The grain you normally would trade to other lands is sitting in silos and barns. If it is not shipped or eaten, it will slowly rot or be infested with vermin. If the Narthani win, they will eat it. The only good use of it is to feed the people while we’re fighting the Narthani. In addition, the current crops are largely in the ground. Even without proper tending and with fewer people to harvest, there will still be crops produced. When combined with stores, I’d guess there will be enough food to carry the people through until the following year’s crop. Others, of course, might make more accurate estimates, but I think mine will be close.”

Stent stroked his beard as he thought. “And what will the people be doing? I can see fighting men training and doing the actual fighting, blacksmiths making swords, men and women feeding the men, transporting the food, and all the other activities we likely don’t realize will be necessary—but even then, what else?”

“I guarantee that all their time will be used in the total effort. I have some ideas that you’ll need to approve, but there won’t be enough hours in a day to do everything necessary to defeat the Narthani. Let me give you only a few examples. Producing tons of gunpowder, millions of musket balls, and tens of thousands of cannon balls and canister; caring for and feeding tens of thousands of horses; preparing, shipping, and delivering enough food to support all the fighting men and noncombatants in the field; building fortifications . . . I could go on and on. Some ideas I have will involve building projects as have never been seen on Caedellium and, with our time limitations, that a rational person would say is impossible.

“We’ll mobilize medicants for thousands of wounded—many with major wounds that need immediate attention. We cannot wait to treat injuries until the men are transported to a town with medicants. It’s what the men deserve, and it’s practical. Men treated quickly will have better chances of recovery, and many will return to fight sooner. This is what Keelan did at Moreland City and now needs to be done on a larger scale. Diera Beynom tells me that only half the clans have been preparing MASH units.”

“My clan has just started organizing these MASHes,” said Bakalacs, “but what are the fortifications you had on your list? Are you thinking of reinforcing the defenses of the major cities and towns?”

Yozef wondered if this might be the biggest test of whether or not they would listen to him.

“Before I answer, there is something you must realize completely, even if it’s been said before. I don’t believe there is any way you can defeat a major Narthani army in a field battle, short of a miracle from God, which we can’t count on. This means that when the new Narthani army moves to invade the free clans, we will have to withdraw from them.”

“We’ve read and talked about your outline plan, Yozef,” said Stent. “It will be a bitter bite for many of us to abandon our cities and farms to the Narthani, even if we plan to regain them.”

“Well,” said Yozef, “the fact is, you don’t have an army. You have thousands of brave men who are willing to die if necessary to protect their people, but that isn’t an army. You simply don’t have the experience and tactical knowledge for that kind of warfare. However, that isn’t the only way to fight. I believe the Narthani can be defeated but only by fighting smart and using our advantages.”

Bakalacs nodded. “I assume you refer to something like what happened at Moreland City?”

“Something like that. There we tricked part of their forces into making a major mistake, which exposed their positions to an attack where the advantage was in our favor. We must do similar things with this new, much larger force. Among the advantages we have are mobility, knowledge of the terrain, and short lines of supply. All our men who will be in contact with the Narthani army will be mounted. That means we can reposition and move faster than they can. We know the land. There will always be Caedelli who’ve lived their whole lives within any piece of land on the island. That means we will always know more of the terrain than they will.

“We also will be closer to our supplies than the Narthani will, once they move to the interior of Caedellium.”

“But how is that?” asked Orosz. “It would seem about the same. For example, the distance from Preddi to Moreland is about same as Keelan City to Moreland City.”

“True for part of their supply line, but not the most important part. From what escapees and freed slaves have told us, the Narthani are building infrastructure, the tools needed to support themselves and make weapons. I suspect the existing Narthani army is self-sufficient from Narthon by now. That won’t be the case for the new army. They need much more support and will have to bring all their ammunition and weapons from Narthon. Whatever forces and ammunition they have for a battle will probably be all they will have when the real war starts—at least for some years, until they establish more production capability on the island. In theory, more troops might be scheduled to come, along with more supply ships, but I believe they will think whatever they send with this new army will be sufficient against the level of resistance they assume Caedellium can mount. The longer they stay, the weaker they will become, as they use up their supplies. Much of their food will come from the three provinces they control, but ours will come from all the rest of the island. Our medicant treatments will be better than theirs, meaning that more of our wounded than theirs will eventually return to fight again. Their supply of horses is limited. All they will have are those taken from the three provinces, while we can draw on the entire island. We must ensure that they can’t find food or horses by foraging. We give ground but leave nothing for them. All the people need to be evacuated to safer areas, all animals moved or butchered and the meat cured or destroyed. All crops collected, if possible. If not, burned. We leave them an abandoned wasteland to move through.”

Culich wore a thoughtful expression and stroked his beard. “Yozef, are we to understand that the fight can go on for many months? And what does this mean for both us and the Narthani?”

“The longer it takes, the better for us. Their army is trained for major battles. Here they made a mistake. If they had sent this number of men, but with different tactical experience and structure, we would be in worse shape. The Fuomi tell us the coming army is similar to the smaller one we have already faced—mainly infantry and artillery, with cavalry as support. If I had been them, and knowing what I know, I would have sent more cavalry and horse artillery—with only infantry to garrison towns and important positions. As it is, the longer we avoid major battles, the better for us.”

“What if they move this army around the island, burning cities and villages along the way? At some point, there will be nothing left,” said a worried Bakalacs.

“Nonsense,” Yozef snapped in irritation. “What will be left are the only two things that are important, the land and the people. Everything else can be rebuilt and regrown.”

“So,” said Culich, “if we don’t meet them in battles, then we’re left with your idea of maneuvering until we get them where we have the best chance to win.”

“I did not say there would be no fighting. We need to harass them every step of the way. Our greater mobility means they can’t force us into a major field engagement unless we allow it. We can ambush patrols, set traps, look for opportunities to cut out small pieces of the whole army and overwhelm it with numbers. Slowly wear them down and draw them deeper into the island and farther from their base at Preddi.”

The next hour was full of questions from the four hetmen and heated discussions on tactics. They had started to wind down when Yozef brought up a final point.

“One other thing we need to discuss. What is our objective?”

“Our objective?” rumbled Stent. “It’s to drive the Narthani from the island.”

“But what happens if this large army is unable to defeat us and withdraws back into Preddi?”

“Then we retake most of Preddi,” said Stent forcefully.

“I think I see where Yozef is headed,” said Culich. “If they pull back into Preddi, their position there may be too strong for us to force them to reboard their ships and leave. They would have supply problems, but Preddi City could still be a base for even more Narthani troops.”

Bakalacs sat back in his chair. “Which leaves us . . . where? We could not keep all our men in arms indefinitely, to guard the Narthani from expanding again. In addition, they have warships to assist them. If they only hold out a year, more supplies could arrive, along with many more troops.”

“So you see the problem,” said Yozef. “Even if we deal the new army a serious defeat, they could withdraw back to Preddi City and continue destroying the clans piecemeal, while we raid and threaten. It would be a stalemate, although somewhat in their favor. To secure the entire island, they have to come after us and force battle. We may want to avoid large battles, but they eventually have more resources and would wear us down. Our supplies won’t last forever, and they could prevent planting and harvesting new crops and maintaining herds. We can’t keep a large-enough number of men under arms to hold them inside Preddi City fortifications, so as soon as our numbers get small enough, they can send workers out into the provinces to farm and raise food. If we then gather our total forces again, we are right back to the same situation as before. No. We can’t allow this army to retreat to Preddi. Our goal has got to be to destroy this army to the degree that any troops that remain in Preddi are too few to defend. They will have no choice but to load whatever they can on their ships and sail away.”

Stent had been listening intently and now gave a grim smile. “Well, I don’t know whether I should be optimistic or afraid. The topic has gone from trying to drive this bigger army back to destroying them instead.”

“Yozef,” said Culich, “give us your honest opinion. Will we be able to do this?”

“Yes,” said Yozef softly.

“Why are you so sure?”

Now it was Yozef’s turn to smile grimly. “Because we have no choice, and because if there is a God, he has to be on our side.” Oh boy, do I hope so, Yozef thought.

The War Council Reconvenes

The War Council met again the next day over the morning meal. The other four men did not know the specific foods were Yozef’s favorites—hot biscuits with butter and fruit preserves, fruits, a kava blend he favored, and cured meats he thought reminiscent of what he called “bacon.” Yozef saw Maera’s hand in this. They would meet again with the entire conclave at midmorning.

Yozef’s lingering reticence to assume too important a role against the Narthani hung on by only a thread. He saw that he needed to serve as a nucleating point for their planning. All four of the hetmen had many years of shouldering enormous responsibilities in leading their clans and were all far more natural leaders than Yozef felt he could ever be. What they did not have was experience in the logistics and tactics required for such an undertaking. Once an idea or a plan lay in front of them, they could run with it—but they lacked recognition of what was needed. This would change. As they became accustomed to this new way of thinking, Yozef’s input would be less critical. But that lay in the future.

“It’s imperative that we mobilize every resource as fast as possible. I have several suggestions. All are important, and all need to be done at the same time. A crucial part of this is to centralize planning for each section under the authority of a single person. I suggest we divide the responsibilities into four groupings, Personnel, Operations, Intelligence, and Supply.” Yozef had seen enough war movies, read enough books, and played enough strategy games to remember the four main departments on at least U.S. command staffs. Depending on the size of the units, back on Earth they were named G-1 to G-4 or J-1 to J-4. Here, they would just be called by their functional names.

“Each of these departments needs to be controlled by one person, and each must have a staff whose members themselves will have responsibilities. Think of it as a tree turned upside-down. At the top is the coordinator, the one who is responsible for achieving the goals of that department. We’ll call that person the director.” Yozef wasn’t asking or suggesting; he was telling and waiting to see how the four hetmen responded to his usurpation.

“Under the director, the major branches are those that have more specific responsibilities, and on and on down to the leaves, which are the hundreds or thousands of people who do the actual detailed work. It’s best if each coordinator has extensive experience within his department, but we don’t need to have that. I suggest that at least to begin, each of you assume the duties of one of the major tasks: intelligence, gathering and evaluating information; supplies, providing all the material items for fighting and the people; personnel, organizing all the fighting and non-fighting population; and operations, planning and carrying out actions against the Narthani.”

Bakalacs wore a doubtful expression behind his gray beard and shook his mane of hair. He cut straight to what he saw as a problem with this organization. “I assume this means each task, each director is making demands on all the clans in that area of responsibility. We all know there will be resistance to this. Even if the hetmen have agreed—some reluctantly, of course—to the centralization, the people will not always agree when it comes to the details. Am I to tell Hetman Adris to do something and perhaps he hates all Farkesh?”

Culich proposed a solution. “Maybe part of your department’s organization includes an Adrisian man of enough prominence that the order comes through him. In this way, the commands are not directly from a Farkesher.”

Bakalacs grunted acceptance. “That could help, but there will still be resistance.”

“I believe Culich is correct in his suggestion,” said Yozef. “I would also go further and suggest that the people performing the duties in each task—let’s call them departments—be selected from many different clans, so that the actions of any department are not associated only with that one clan. Culich’s suggestion is good, but it may also be best to appoint men from other clans as your direct subordinates. I realize each of you has people of competence you are familiar with. It is natural and efficient to have some of them on your staffs—just not so many of them that others see the actions from your task as coming from your clan only.”

“And how do we identify these men from other clans?” asked Stent.

“Start off with the hetmen here at the conclave. They will all be here for a few more days. They can propose men from their clans who can serve. It will also make each of them feel as if he is directly participating in the plans to see his clansmen in these roles, especially if he had a hand in the initial selection.”

“What exactly is the responsibility of each department?” asked Stent.

“One department is intelligence—information about where the Narthani are and what they are doing. I see two parts to this. One is to keep close contact with any army they send out against us. The sooner we know what they’re doing, the more time we have to react. When the Narthani army crosses the Preddi border, assuming we have removed Selfcell and Eywell as enemies, we can figure the Narthani have started their campaign to conquer the island. When that happens, our riders need to keep them in sight and send daily reports on positions and all activities back to a central site. Here in Orosz City would be the logical place.

“A second part of our intelligence must be to get more information within the occupied provinces. I know individual clans have done some of this in the past, but it needs to be on a larger scale, more targeted to where we need information most, and all information gathered together to make sense of it. We’ve hesitated to do this to prevent the Narthani from knowing anything about our preparations, but with the news about the new Narthani army coming, I think it’s time to make major efforts to have spies. Owill Brell, the head of the Keelan military intelligence unit, has wanted to do this in the past, but I’ve discouraged it. It’s time to turn him loose. Oh, and I think we can change the Keelan MIU’s status to being the core of the intelligence department.”

Yozef could see that Bakalacs felt uneasy. “Hetman Farkesh. I can tell you are not comfortable with spying. I believe I understand. There is something that seems a little dishonorable about spying on anyone without their knowledge, and I believe I remember passages in the Word that decry secretive behavior. We all prefer to be open. But this is war. It is not life as normal. There is only one rule in war and that is to win. We have to be prepared to do anything it takes to win this war. If we are not so willing, the chances we can win are diminished. And consider the consequences of defeat.”

Bakalacs shook his head. “I recognize the value of knowing where your enemy is and the size of his forces, but somehow I believe this is not all you mean.”

“You are correct. We want to know everything about the enemy. What is their supply situation? How many cannon rounds does their army carry for each cannon? Are any of their troops trained to fire their cannon, except those already with the cannon? What are the names of all their leaders, their histories, fears, weaknesses, and strengths? Damn it, I even want to know how many times a day they shit.”

The latter piece of desired intelligence elicited a welcome guffaw from the group.

“I know some of this might sound trivial. But what if we knew a Narthani commander was sluggish at making decisions in the morning but alert and intelligent in the afternoon? That piece of information might affect when we engage his command—there being a slight chance he would make more errors when he first awakens than later in the day. What if we knew the Narthani army commander was under pressure to conquer Caedellium on a strict timetable? We could try to tempt him to a quick victory in battles to our advantage. What if we knew the Selfcell people were willing to revolt at a critical time, if they had some support? How would we know this unless we had people living among them? The important thing to remember is that we might not know exactly what pieces of information are most important until we put all the pieces together.”

Stent acknowledged Yozef’s points with a nod and an open-handed gesture. “You are right. This is a different way of thinking, but I see your points.”

“And the other departments?” asked Orosz.

“The department that fights the battles is Operations. You might think that is the most important one, but you would be wrong. Fighting is only the final step, and it cannot be done successfully unless all the other departments do their jobs. We talked about intelligence—knowing our enemy. Now let’s consider Personnel. Who will fight the Narthani? How many? Where from? How organized? Who will lead them? How will they be trained to fight the kind of war we must fight? The answer is the Department of Personnel. It is this department’s task to identify, gather, and train the men to do the fighting. I realize this doesn’t sound like an attractive assignment, but we aren’t seeking glory in this war. We’ll achieve the maximum honor by every person doing the best he can for the good of all, no matter his personal preferences.”

“Then this should be my department,” said Bakalacs, to the surprise of all. “My gut tells me to lead men into battle, but as I consider the organization you propose, there are others here more suited to other departments than me. Since I must assume responsibility for one, Personnel seems best. For another reason, I know I will have, being a northerner, a totally undeserved reputation for being stern, unyielding, and self-righteous.”

This last comment was followed by another round of laughter, and Stent gave Bakalacs a hearty slap on the back.

“Putting together the size of force we’ll need requires men from different clans to work together,” said Bakalacs. “I foresee most of them needing a period of, as Yozef calls it, training. Such training will come easier if it is being mandated by someone they are at least leery of annoying. I think I can fill that role.”

More laughs.

Oh, thank God, thought Yozef. These four might be even brighter and more flexible than I’d hoped—to grasp this and some other principles so quickly and run with them. Maybe my input will be less important sooner than I anticipated.

“A splendid idea, Feren!” Culich exclaimed, rushing to support Bakalacs.

Culich next offered to lead a department. “If I may propose, I think I can lead the Intelligence Department. If we agree, as Yozef suggests, that the Keelan MIU form the beginnings of a larger intelligence effort, then it seems logical I assume that responsibility. As I see it, that means letting those already doing the work continue, and I’ll work with other hetmen to bring in additional qualified people. And I agree with Yozef’s suggestion on subordinates. I will select several immediate candidates from other clans before we leave here, possibly among the delegations. I know of a couple of hetmen’s sons who actually have brains. I’ll also note that Owill Brell is Adrisian, so my department already includes other clans in important positions.”

“Well,” said Orosz, “that leaves Operations and Supply. I quiver to think I would have responsibility for commanding an army, or whatever we call all our men, but since Orosz is the central point of our planning, and since the province is centrally located, Supply would naturally fall to me.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to Stent. There was only one department left—Operations. Stent’s eyes narrowed as he considered it and noted their attention on him.

“Am I to understand, then, that I might be responsible for the actual fighting against the Narthani?”

Yozef looked Stent in the eye. “You would be responsible for seeing that the best planning possible is done. It might not mean that you yourself do the planning but that your department comes up with the detailed plans. To see that the best possible plans are made—whoever has the basic ideas. Your department will be the tip of the spear, but it can’t do anything without the departments of Intelligence, Personnel, and Supply.”

“And your role, Yozef?” asked Stent.

“I imagine I’ll have ideas relevant to all departments, particularly intelligence and operations.”

Conclave Ends

For the rest of the morning and the afternoon, the full conclave discussed details of what would be expected of each clan. Dissention and arguments cropped up, but in the end the sense of unity of purpose remained. When it came time to adjourn, Hetman Orosz rose from his clan’s group, faced the throng, and called for attention, using the traditional miniature gong. Small as it was, the carefully crafted curved metal plate was tuned to a frequency that cut through any number of human voices. He hit it once. The noise in the room subsided. When he hit the gong a second time, the din receded to a low hum of whispers.

“Leaders of Caedellium. Yesterday we chose a council to lead against the Narthani. We agreed that Yozef Kolsko be an adviser to the council and be allowed a tie-breaking vote on council decisions, as necessary. Before we close, he has asked to speak to the conclave. I have heard much of what he will say, and I encourage every man here to listen carefully.” Orosz sat down.

Yozef had crafted this speech as well as he could, and Maera had worked on it as hard as he had. It would be short. Yozef had shamelessly purloined most of the words from Winston Churchill, Dwight Eisenhower, Abraham Lincoln, and William Shakespeare.

No different than giving a talk at a scientific meeting, Yozef told himself, unconvinced. This is about the number I expected in my audience at the meeting I was flying to before the universe turned upside-down. Right—tell yourself that. Those would have been mainly students with a scattering of scientists. Not leaders of hundreds of thousands of people about to embark on a literal fight to the death.

He took several deep, slow breaths.

“At this conclave, you have wisely chosen to unite yourselves to resist the Narthani’s attempt to conquer Caedellium and force it into the Narthon Empire. I am not originally from Caedellium. Although I am bound to you and your struggle, I recognize the changes that are being forced on the clans. This threat you face is what my original people would call an ‘existential threat’—a danger that threatens your very existence. You’ve all heard or read reports of the Narthani, where they come from, who they are, what they have done to Preddi.

“Over four hundred years ago, your ancestors first came to the unspoiled island of Caedellium. In those centuries, the island has remained free of the conflicts endemic to the rest of Anyar. The clans were established, an era of conflicts subsided with the Conclave of Nordwyn, and the peoples of this beautiful island have prospered.

“Now, a dark cloud threatens this island. An evil force gathers itself to destroy all that you cherish—your freedom, your lives, and your history. A great war has come to Caedellium to test whether the people can survive.

“The world has known little of events here on Caedellium, and what we say here today will not long be remembered. But what we might accomplish in turning back this evil could be remembered forever throughout Anyar, where other people fear and resist being consumed and forgotten.

“Before us lies a great task, one that will require the full measure of devotion from every person. It will involve the greatest battles ever seen on Caedellium, battles to dwarf even the one at Moreland City. What can each of you offer, what can I offer, what can any man and woman of Caedellium offer to this struggle? I tell you simply, it is to offer every measure of blood, sweat, toil, and tears. Let there be no pretending the way forward isn’t hard. There will be no victory without cost. There may be times when we will fight when there seems no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than live as slaves. There will be hard times ahead, many months of terrible ordeals, and many will die. Too many. But if we are successful, they will not have died in vain, and they will live forever in the existence of a free people, under God’s grace, who would not let themselves perish from Anyar, no matter the cost.

“What is our purpose? I say to you it is to wage war. War against a monstrous evil. What is our goal? Victory. Victory at all cost, victory despite all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. And how shall we obtain this victory? It is simple. If necessary, we shall fight them on the plains of Moreland and Orosz, in the mountains of Bultecki and Vandinke, along the shores of Swavebroke and Bevans, in the forests of Gwillamer and Farkesh. We shall never surrender.

“Today, on the second day, third sixday, month of Keforon, in the four hundred and fifteenth year of the settlement of Caedellium, a day that will live in fame, the free clans of Caedellium have committed to a great crusade. When we are victorious, and it comes to me that victory is within our grasp if we are steadfast, then this day will be remembered each year as Freedom Day. Anyone who lives to old age will remember this day and each year will show his scars and share the tales of what followed. Parents will tell their children and grandchildren of the first Freedom Day, when the clans came together as brothers and sisters. For everyone who fights will be my brother or sister, no matter how vile they may be. And people everywhere on Anyar will hear the tales of how a small island beat back a great empire and will in their hearts wish that they could have been here. They will wonder if they could have measured up to the men and women of Caedellium, and your courage will give heart to those still resisting this evil.”

He surveyed the room, taking time to look each clan leader in the eye. He hoped it came off as an effective dramatic gesture. Then he finally concluded.

“Therefore, let us brace ourselves for the great task ahead, knowing that for a thousand years, throughout Anyar, people will say of Caedellium, ‘This was their finest hour.’”

He walked to his seat and sat amid the silence. Oh, shit. Did I sound like a pretentious phony? Did I undo all the good the conclave accomplished? He snuck a peak at Maera, sitting with the Fuomi, separated from the Keelan delegation by the Oroszians. Her expression revealed no opinion, but he thought he detected an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders.

It started with a single foot stamping on the plank flooring. Yozef couldn’t tell whose foot, but he thought it came from the direction of the Farkesh delegation. Within seconds, the in-sync thunder shook the walls as hundreds of feet, then hands, then voices threatened to crumble the entire structure.

CHAPTER 14: SELFCELL

It took another hour for Yozef to untangle himself from the energized, determined Caedelli men. Hetmen, advisers, and men he didn’t recognize seemed obligated to shake his hand, clasp forearms, and slap him on the back or the shoulders. By the time they were finished, his hand was weak, and he suspected he had bruises from shoulder to shoulder. The last ten minutes, Maera had hovered behind him to deter the most enthusiastic gestures of approval.

His ultimate savior was Welman Stent.

“Yozef,” said Stent into his ear, “we need to talk about something that has come up in the last two days. Let’s go into the side room.”

Stent held Yozef by the elbow, and Carnigan suddenly appeared and acted as a plow, pushing aside men, as the four made their way to a door at the side of the meeting room.

Maera answered his curiosity by pulling Yozef’s head down so she could talk into his ear—whispering was still impossible with the din in the meeting room. “Hetman Stent alerted Father, and he passed it on to me. It’s something about Selfcell.”

“Self—” Yozef started to say, before Carnigan opened the door and their group pushed through. Yozef had no idea where Carnigan had come from, because he hadn’t attended conclave meetings.

Already in the room was Owill Brell, the Keelan MIU leader. Culich and Hetman Orosz followed.

Yozef heard Maera speak to Carnigan. “Please stand outside and let no one come in, Carnigan. No one.”

The big man grunted and closed the door.

A confused Yozef sat at one of the chairs around a rectangular table, followed by the other five also seating themselves.

“Yozef,” said Culich, “Welman has had an interesting contact with Selfcell.”

“Selfcell? What kind of contact?” Yozef asked, turning to Stent.

“One of our patrols at the Selfcell border came upon a man sitting on a rock and evidently waiting for us to find him. He said his name was Karvan Sewell, and he had a message for me from Roblyn Langor, the Selfcell hetman. My men brought him to the patrol encampment, and from there he was sent on to Clitwyth, our capital.”

Stent paused and managed to look annoyed and amused at the same time. “It turns out that your MIU leader, Brell here, had been in contact with Sewell, unbeknownst to me or any of my people.”

Yozef turned to Brell. “Owill, I thought we’d agreed not to send any spies into Narthani-controlled territory?”

“Of course, and I didn’t. However, we didn’t decide to have no contact. I’ve had a few people meeting individual Selfcellese and Eywellese at the borders, for them to pass on observations about what’s happening inside their clans. My people don’t cross the borders themselves; they only relay information and don’t know anything of our plans.”

For the first time, Brell appeared almost embarrassed. “The MIU has not only been preparing information about those two provinces but also been making profiles of the leadership and projections of responses to future events. Maera has been developing these profiles.”

Startled, Yozef glanced at his wife, who looked flustered, then her mouth set firm.

“It was a need-to-know thing, Yozef. Up until now, we had no information that was complete enough to be useful to you. You’ve nagged us about secrecy and the need-to-know, and you didn’t have it, yet.”

Well, shit, thought Yozef. Maybe I stressed secrecy a little too much. I think I should have known what Brell and Maera were up to. On the other hand, I’ve wanted all of them to take more initiative, so maybe I can’t have it both ways.

Brell continued speaking before Yozef could express any opinion about being kept out of the loop. “We had reports from escapees and a few Selfcellese that the average clansperson was largely unenthusiastic about their supposed alliance with the Narthani. It was no secret that they were more subject to, rather than allied with, the foreigners. The more rational ones were aware of their predicament and fully cognizant of what had happened when the Preddi resisted. Yet they were obliged to support the Narthani. The conflict between doing what was necessary for the clan to survive and turning against the other clans twisted a dagger in the body of their people.

“There had been cautious hints from unnamed and unidentifiable contacts that the leadership of Selfcell, including the hetman, might be willing to turn on the Narthani, if they thought there was any chance of success. These contacts became more persuasive after the Battle of Moreland City and the Narthani withdrawal. When we got word of a larger Narthani force on the way to Caedellium, I thought that any chance of turning Selfcell likely had vanished. To my surprise, I learned that no less than the youngest brother of the hetman was directing one of the Selfcellese contacts giving us information. The Selfcell leadership knew of the contact, who had been assigned by the hetman. And the hetman wants to meet with someone in high authority to discuss matters unspecified. Before we continue, I think it’ll be useful if Maera gives us a report on the main Selfcellese involved in this.”

Maera sat directly opposite Culich at the rectangular table. She had several folders and pieces of paper with notes spread before her. She wore her usual work attire: a full-length dark-colored dress with long sleeves, a high collar, and her hair tied up. She appeared every inch the efficient, hardworking Caedellium woman. The only discrepancy was the brightly colored scarf tied around her neck, with one end hanging down her front and another, the back. One of Yozef’s gifts to her had been a set of scarves. She always wore one—unless the weather or the occasion dictated otherwise. Today’s choice was a brilliant orange, red, and yellow swirl that somehow made even the plain brown dress seem fashionable. Breda had once asked her daughter why she’d started wearing such scarves. Maera simply answered tersely that Yozef liked them. Given Maera’s history, her mother did not believe for an instant that she wore them for any other reason than to declare her bond with Yozef.

Maera finished adjusting her papers, one hand playing with the end of the scarf that hung in front. “Roblyn Langor is forty years old. He became hetman at thirty-three after his father, Norwell Langor, died.” She continued with known events in his tenure as hetman, statements he had made at conclaves and other meetings, public and private, his family status, his stature among his clansmen—on and on for ten minutes. Considering the amount of detail she recited, Yozef wondered whether she knew how many times a week Selfcell and his wife had sex. She probably did, he decided.

Finally, she finished the preliminary background.

“Then the question comes, ‘Who exactly is Langor?’ Is he a genuine supporter of the Narthani, doing it against his wishes, or something in between? Everything we see supports the second option—he is doing what he can to protect his people from destruction, as happened to the Preddi. Our analysis believes he hates what he’s being forced to do with every fiber of his being, but we should never doubt that he’ll do what is necessary to ensure his people’s survival, which includes being subservient to the Narthani.”

“Then what of this supposed message from him to meet with someone in authority from Free Caedellium?” asked Yozef.

“There are several possibilities,” said Maera. “It could be Langor is genuinely reaching out for any possibility of resisting the Narthani, consistent with ensuring his clan’s survival, or he could be positioning himself in case the Narthani lose and he needs to attempt a reconciliation with the other clans.” Maera looked Yozef in the eye and emphasized her next words. “A third possibility is that it’s a Narthani trap, hoping to ensnare some of the top clan leadership.”

Bakalacs nodded. “The second possibility would be a smart thing to do. If the Narthani lose, he can claim he was trying to turn on them at the first chance—which coincidentally never happened. So what’s your people’s best guess, Maera?”

She looked up from her papers. “We have information from numerous people who have had extensive interactions with Hetman Selfcell, including previous servants and several cousins from Stent and Moreland. Moreover, as you know, several thousand Selfcellese fled their province when the Narthani took over. Some because they feared they and their families would be targeted as potential troublemakers, and others because they would not live under the Narthani and saw a chance to flee. A few of these also had personal contact with Roblyn Langor. Of course, one of those is Karvan Sewell. We have confirmation of his identity and that he was Langor’s tutor and is considered a close adviser. He’s told us that he came to us under the instructions of Hetman Langor and had been directed to wait until he received a signal to tell us what his hetman had told him.”

“And that was . . . ?” prompted Yozef.

“That Langor had to cooperate with the Narthani to save his clan but prayed to God that the rest of Caedellium could resist them.”

“That’s it?” blurted Orosz.

“It is consistent with what he could do,” said Culich. “If by some chance the tutor was captured and forced to tell what he knew, the message could be explained to the Narthani as a simple statement of fact. At the same time, it could be interpreted by us to say he might sympathize and be willing to turn—a very nice covering of the possibilities.”

“This leads us back to the fundamental question,” said Brill. “Is this a genuine reaching out by Selfcell or a trick?”

“I think we have no choice but to pursue this as if it is a real opportunity to turn Selfcell actively against the Narthani,” said Maera in a tight voice that alerted Culich.

“The problem is, he insists on meeting with Rhaedri Brison to ensure his safety,” said Brell.

“And that is a major problem,” agreed Culich.

“Did he specifically mention Brison by name?” asked Yozef.

“The message insists on a meeting with the Septarsh. His reputation is, of course, known to the Caedelli within Narthani territory,” added Brell.

“It’s an opportunity that we can’t afford not to explore further. The obvious question is whether it’s real or a trick or trap of some kind,” said Stent. “I suggest we make it a test for him and make that explicit. Sewell says Langor wants to meet at the border with five guards on each side. We can tell him that since he is the one initiating this meeting, and given the history of Selfcell supporting the Narthani, it is up to him to prove his sincerity. We will insist the meeting take place well within Stent territory and that there be three people in each delegation. It’s out of the question for Brison to be there, but then who?”

Yozef looked at Stent. “Welman, do you personally know Roblyn Langor, and would you recognize him?”

Stent nodded grimly. “I have known him for most of my life. I would have counted him as a friend at one point. Not now, of course.”

“If turning Selfcell against the Narthani were possible, could you set aside what has happened?”

Stent’s face showed a series of emotions—anger, regret, sadness, suspicion. The kaleidoscope of human expressions finally settled on uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “So much has happened.”

“We all appreciate your honesty, Hetman Stent,” said Yozef. “However, I think it probably necessary that you be there for the meeting. You are someone he knows. If he really is sincere, then having you there may help. Since you acknowledge that you might not be completely impartial, I wonder if that will be a problem for any Caedelli. I think I should be at the meeting, too—as someone with less history with Selfcell and to let me assess him personally.”

“No way!” blurted Maera. “There is too much danger, if this is a trick!”

Stent smiled. “Whereas I’m more expendable?”

Maera looked at him blankly for a moment without speaking, then started to say something before her father interrupted.

“I think Maera has several reasons for her outburst—one of which is naturally her concern for Yozef. However, and I say this with respect for you, Welman, Yozef is more important to our cause than you or me or both of us, for that matter.”

Stent laughed. “As it happens, I agree with you, Culich. But I think I may also agree with Yozef. My knowledge of Roblyn Langor and Yozef’s different perspective might be our best option for gauging the man’s sincerity and the opportunities this presents.”

Maera glared at all of them—especially Yozef. He glanced back at her serenely, knowing he would hear more about this later. She figuratively shook herself, then forced her thinking, for the moment, back to the problem at hand.

“If Yozef goes, then we need to take extra precautions. For the same reason as insisting that the meeting occur well into Stent territory, our delegation needs to be larger. They are the supplicants here and need to understand this. If Langor hopes the Narthani are defeated and the Selfcell can be accepted back by the other clans, it needs to be made clear that they will have to earn this privilege and that it will not be cheap, considering what has gone before.”

Everyone agreed, and Sewell carried the response back to Selfcell. They arranged the meeting for seven days later. Maera lobbied unsuccessfully to accompany Yozef and groused that her time was being wasted. She would neither be helping Yozef with Langor nor be able to get home to Aeneas until Yozef returned.

“You know why, Maera,” Yozef chided. “We shouldn’t encounter serious danger, but we never know these days. There’s not enough justification for you to take even a small risk of Aeneas losing both parents.”

Yozef pointed out that St. Wyan’s Abbey’s library might have writings related to Selfcell that she had not read before. She could spend most of the time while he was gone refining her briefs on Langor and Selfcell.

They left at mid-day for the spot where the Stent, Moreland, and Selfcell provinces met. Maera sent Yozef off with a begrudging speech to be careful, accompanied by a clasp and a kiss that were more demonstrative of her concern. Her usual “come back with him or don’t come back at all” talk to Carnigan, Kales, and Gowlin Reese had by now been reduced to a glare. They knew her message.

“Does she really mean that?” Reese asked Kales the first time he got the warning.

“Let’s just say it’s best to assume so,” answered the wiry man. He saddled up, still favoring his left hand after the loss of two fingers in the attack at the Kolsko Caernford house.

Stent forces had secured a small village inside Stent for several miles in all directions. A single man would meet the Selfcell delegation at the border and lead them to the meeting site. They would be in sight of other Stent horsemen the entire way—who would keep their distance. The cleared village would have only the clans’ delegation: Welman Stent, five of his guards, Yozef, and five men chosen by Culich. One of the latter was Carnigan, who, along with Yozef and Hetman Stent, would be the three to meet with the Selfcellese leader.

The meeting happened as a weather system moved over the western part of Caedellium. Winds were high, and the rain, while only moderate, pelted horizontal to the ground, driven by the gusts. Yozef, Stent, and Carnigan waited under a tent roof with the sides facing the rain rolled down. An hour past midnight, four riders trotted up the village road. The meeting needed to be short. Before sunup, Langor had to ride hard back to a Selfcell town forty miles away to prevent his absence from arousing suspicion. The Stentese guide said something unintelligible under the wind, and the four dismounted. Two Stent men came forward, took the horse bridles, and led the mounts to a watering trough, while the three Selfcellese walked to the tent with the table, six chairs, lanterns placed at the four corners, and the three waiting men.

No one gave a formal greeting. There was no pretense of civility. Stent’s hostility was palpable, despite his efforts to suppress it. The Selfcellese were also cautious, but Yozef thought he detected a regretful aura to their reserve.

The three men stood by the table, all six silent for several moments before Yozef said, “Please sit, Hetman Selfcell.”

Langor had never wavered from looking at Stent until he heard Yozef’s words. Then, for the first time, he took in the other two men who seated themselves along with Stent. One was enormous, his mass almost twice that of an average man. His emotionless eyes did not blink but simply stared at the three standing men. This one was not a negotiator but a force of nature in the event of a Selfcell trick. The hetman knew instantly that this one could break all three of them barehanded, if anything untoward occurred.

The third man was . . . Langor didn’t know what he was. An ordinary-looking youngish man of average size and physique. Langor had the oddest feeling he was being weighed. The young man looked at him somehow differently than did the other men.

There were no introductions. At Yozef’s words, Stent waved his hands brusquely at the three chairs on the opposite side of the table. Langor’s two companions were his bodyguard and one of his most trusted military advisers. The former was an otherwise impressively sized and manner of man, if it had not been for the creature facing them. The two bodyguards looked at each other with hands in plain sight and with no facial expressions.

Stent finally spoke. “You asked for this meeting. So here we are. What is it you have to say?”

Langor reddened at the tone but controlled his temper with some effort. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remember his mission.

“There is no pretending, other than to recognize that much blood has spilled between us these last few years. I only ask that you consider our predicament: Selfcell was faced with the choice of surrendering to the Narthani or being destroyed, as were the Preddi.”

“Yet it was your choice to surrender and become dogs of the Narthani!” grated Stent.

“Only after we appealed to the conclave for help and were refused. What choice do you think we had?”

“You could have resisted anyway and at least died honorably!”

“Brave words from someone sitting safely in his own province with no Narthani army occupying his land. In the same situation, what would you have really done, Stent? If you were faced not just with your own death, but with the death and enslavement of every man, woman, and child in Stent, what would you really have done?”

Stent was silent. As angry as he felt at Selfcell, he was also rational and honest. He stared at Selfcell for a full minute, all six men silent. Finally, he said, “I don’t know what I would have done. But that doesn’t change what you did.”

Yozef thought they had gotten the worst of their feelings out in the open. “Hetman Selfcell, can you simply tell us why you wanted this meeting?”

“My responsibility is to my people. I surrendered to the Narthani because there was no option at the time. They had overwhelming military force, and no other clans were willing to commit to come to our aide. I had to obey the Narthani leaders and at least make them satisfied with Selfcell’s commitment to them. They didn’t expect our cooperation to be enthusiastic, but they expected obedience. You may believe whatever you like, but I have done what little I could to meet their minimum expectations.”

“Besides the raids into Stent, that obedience included Selfcell horsemen supporting the Narthani invasion of Moreland,” accused Stent.

“Yes. That was required of us. I would point out, however, that our men deployed on their left accompanied by the Narthani cavalry, while the Eywellese were trusted alone to protect the right of their infantry.”

“You’re saying that this deployment organization occurred because the Narthani didn’t fully trust your commitment?” asked Yozef.

“I am.”

Neither Yozef nor Stent replied.

“Until that battle, I didn’t think we had any chance to resist the Narthani,” said Langor. “Selfcell was thus forced to make the best deal with them that it could, in order to survive.”

“And things are different now?” Yozef asked softly.

“Things may be different now,” affirmed Selfcell.

Stent leaned forward. “Are you hinting that Selfcell might now be willing to fight the Narthani, where you were not before?”

“If we have the right assurances and if we could believe we have a reasonable chance to succeed, yes.”

“Then I do not see a purpose to this meeting,” said Stent. “For one thing, how could we convince you that we will win? And even if we could, and wanted to, why would we ever trust you?”

Langor flushed. “I’ve risked my life and more in coming here! That should be proof enough.”

“It proves nothing,” Stent fired back.

Selfcell jumped to his feet. “Then you are right. There is no further purpose to this meeting.”

Yozef raised a placating hand. “Yet you are here, Hetman. Please sit back down. Perhaps there are still things that can be discussed.”

Stent grunted but said nothing further. Selfcell glared at Stent, then his eyes went to Yozef on Stent’s right. Whoever this was, the Stent hetman seemed to defer to him—at least, in the request for him to stay. He stared for another few moments, then sat again.

“You see the problem, Hetman,” stated Yozef. “There is no way the clans can trust you at this point. The real question is whether this could change in the future. Please understand that while you have done great harm, we acknowledge the difficult position you were in. And let us be honest . . . it will be up to you to show your change of heart to the clans, not their responsibility to trust you without such proof.”

The creases on Langor’s face deepened. “Then what am I to do?” he said, his voice hinting at desperation.

“While any forgiveness from the clans will have to be earned, there are three things you can do to help your cause. We know you are compelled to obey the Narthani, because they effectively hold all your people as hostages, but in future actions you can do what you can to minimize harm to the clans, short of outright defiance of the Narthani. Second is that you can provide us with information on Narthani intents, forces, and deployments.”

“Both of those involve risking our position with the Narthani and likely causing harm to my people,” protested Langor. “Information about my own men could lead to their deaths.”

“That risk is part of the price you will have to pay. I can only say that if you give us information on their troop movements and plans, we will try to take this into consideration during the fighting. The alternative is that your people will be lumped with the Narthani when there are opportunities to not show mercy. You should also know that the conclave has outcast the Eywellese for their actions but not yet Selfcell. Feelings among the clans are strong, and while some clans wanted Selfcell outcast as well, there is still hope Selfcell can somehow redeem itself.”

Stent started slightly and glanced briefly to his right at Yozef but remained silent. Carnigan simply grunted. Langor took on a thoughtful look.

“Eywell has been cast out formally?”

“Yes.”

Langor considered the news. No clan had been cast out since shortly after the Treaty of Nordwyn a hundred years ago. At that time, there had been twenty-two clans. One clan, Raslyn, refused to sign the treaty and agree to the conditions aimed at reducing interclan fighting. The other twenty-one clans signed the treaty and then proceeded to band together and occupy the dissenting clan. Fighting had been brief. The Raslyn leadership was banished from Caedellium and the lands and the people absorbed into other clans.

“There is still the question of whether such a move can be enforced,” Langor said.

Yozef nodded. “There is still that, but if the Narthani prevail, then casting out is moot.”

“You mentioned a third condition.”

“Since the clans have no reason to fully trust you at this point, there is no information on clan intentions that can be shared with you. However . . . ” Yozef paused to give his words more meaning. “There will come a time—maybe a moment—when your turning on the Narthani can be decisive for you. It might not be so decisive for the clans, but it will be a moment when your actions can commit you to the clans. It might come at great risk and sacrifice, but it’s the third part of the price you will have to pay. We might be able to communicate with you, if we believe the moment has arrived. If not, we might be able to arrange a situation where you will see our intention without receiving actual communication from us. It might even be completely without clear indication from us, and you will have to make the decision on your own. We understand the difficult position this places you in, but this is the way it must be.”

Langor looked hard at Stent, who yielded no sign of agreement or not with Yozef’s words. He glanced back to Yozef. Here is the authority at the meeting, Langor thought. Whoever this individual is, Stent is here because I know him and we once were friends. But it’s this person who truly represents the conclave. Who is he?

“I can promise nothing,” Langor said. “The survival of my people is still my primary responsibility. But I will keep your words in mind.”

With that, he rose, along with the two other Selfcellese, and walked back to their horses being held just out of earshot. The three men mounted and rode off into the night.

After the Stent party disappeared, Stent said in a normal conversational voice, “Somehow I fail to remember that the conclave voted on outcasting either the Selfcell or the Eywell clan. Was I asleep during that vote?”

“You know there was no such vote. I know there was no such vote. Even our large friend here might know there was no such vote.”

“But Selfcell doesn’t know there wasn’t any such vote,” Stent completed. “Do you think this meeting did any good? I have doubts Langor will risk the wrath of the Narthani or, even if he does, whether it will do us any good.”

“I may have the same doubts, but logic says to try enough of such unlikely possibilities. Some will work out. We need to try everything we can. If this one fails, all we’ve lost is a trip and a meeting.”

CHAPTER 15: FIRST SITE

Southern Stent Province

Welman Stent wasn’t satisfied with allowing their party to sleep overnight in the cleared village. “Too close to the Selfcell border,” he said. “There’s no reason to take any chances that this might have been a trap and a large Narthani or Selfcell force comes after us. We can’t ride all night, but we’ll move another ten miles back from the border and dry camp. After we get some sleep, we’ll head toward your potential battle site, Yozef.”

The MIU had worked a month on identifying potential battlefield sites where the clans might have a tactical advantage over a Narthani army, obliging it to assault strong clan positions. The survey was still in its early stages, but Gartherid Kennrick had visited a site in Stent near the Vandinke border, and Pedr’s son believed it the most promising of the ten sites he had inspected.

They got to sleep with only four hours of darkness left and slept until the sun was halfway to mid-day. Stent, Brell, and Yozef leaned over a map spread on a tree trunk left over from logging the area decades earlier.

Brell pointed out their destination. “We won’t make it there today unless we push the horses, so I suggest we detour slightly and reach Clitwyth tonight. We’ll have a proper place to sleep, hot food, and baths, then set out early the next day. That would put us at the location before mid-day and give us the rest of the day to inspect the area and see if Gartherid’s enthusiasm is justified.”

“I agree,” said Stent. “We’ll be fresher when we get to . . . Site 1, as MIU calls it. As it happens, I know the valley, and Kennrick may be right in his assessment, although I wouldn’t have thought of it without Yozef’s example. It’s also got the advantage of being only a few miles from where my clan is preparing a redoubt for our people, if the Narthani invade.”

“When they invade,” Yozef corrected.

“You’re right. When they invade. It’ll certainly be more efficient to incorporate redoubt and fortification planning, and we’d have thousands of potential laborers nearby,” said Stent.

Brell grunted. “If it looks like a potential battlefield, meaning if we think we could lure the Narthani where they are cut off and forced to attack where we want them to.”

“Don’t mind Owill, Welman,” said Yozef, smiling. “It’s his job and nature to be cautious. When we get there, we shall see what we shall see.”

Northern Stent Province

Two days later, they sat on their horses and gazed from a hill at what first appeared to be a lake covering a valley several miles wide. Beyond the lake, perhaps a mile farther, grassland continued four or five miles until the valley narrowed. On the valley’s right, steep slopes rose sharply, sheer much of their length. The left side of the valley seemed similar, though the tops of the hills were not as high, and about halfway up the valley the left side appeared not as steep, with lower hills.

On second look, clumps of vegetation dotted what Yozef originally thought to be a lake. When they got closer, he realized the lake was actually a wetland. They followed a dirt tract only marginally qualifying as a road, more like an elevated stretch of land that cut straight through the center of the valley.

“How deep is the water?” asked Yozef when they were halfway across.

“I doubt more than two or three feet in the deepest places,” answered Stent. “Two good-sized streams feed into this flat area of the valley. One stream comes down the length from the other end, while the second stream comes through a gorge halfway up the valley. I didn’t point it out, but below the wetland is an outlet that drains south and meets the Orgun River. There’s also a number of springs and a few rivulets, but the larger of the two streams accounts for most of the water.”

“Is the water level consistent, or does it vary with the season?” asked Yozef.

“It varies some, but I’ve never heard of it being dry. If a big storm comes, the level might go up a foot but then back down as it drains.”

When they reached the other end of the wetland, the raised tract continued higher than the surroundings. A half-mile farther and the berm-like structure split, with one fork continuing up the valley and the other branching toward the gorge with one of the streams feeding the wetland.

Damn, thought Yozef. I bet this is a medial moraine. The whole region must have been glaciated at one time—thousands, millions of years ago. He remembered from a high school general science course that when two glaciers met, debris from the sides of both glaciers joined and was carried on top of the ice. When the glaciers retreated, the debris was left as a ridge in the center of the valley.

He looked around. Yes, here’s where a glacier coming down the main length of the valley probably met a smaller glacier that formed the gorge cutting through the hills on the left. I wonder how long ago this happened? The maps I’ve seen show permanent icecaps on both of Anyar’s poles, and the planet’s climate is definitely cooler than Earth’s. We’re not that far from the equator, and Caedellium’s weather is more like central California than the tropics. Wow, most of the whole planet must have been covered in ice and snow at times in the past.

“Do you know who built this traveling tract?” asked Brell. “And why did they make it branch like this? It doesn’t look like anyone could move through that gorge.”

“No one knows,” Stent replied. “As far as I know, the earliest people to see this valley said the tract was always here.”

“What do you call this?” asked Carnigan, who rode his Percheron-like horse just behind the leaders. The big man could read Yozef’s expressions and body language and recognized that Yozef knew something.

Yozef had been mulling to himself the origin of the tract and hadn’t noticed Brell and Stent talking. All he heard was Carnigan’s question. “It’s a medial moraine from two glaciers meeting,” he blurted.

“What?” said Stent.

“It’s a medial mor—” Yozef stopped speaking as his brain caught up with the circumstances. Damn it, Carnigan. Don’t do that. He glared at his big friend and bodyguard, who looked back with equanimity, as always, unimpressed by Yozef’s ire.

Stent, Brell, and several other men close enough to have heard waited for Yozef to say something.

Well, why not? It doesn’t involve any technology, just facts about glaciers.

“The tract was left by—” Hell. What’s the Caedelli word for glaciers?

“Uh . . . a long time ago, long before Caedellium was settled, the snow and ice must have been so deep that it moved down valleys like slow water, breaking rock as it went and pushing it to the sides and center of the valley. When the ice and snow melted, it left the rock. I imagine if we dug down from the surface of the tract we just used, under a few inches of dirt would be gravel and rocks.”

Stent frowned, and Brell looked skeptical. “Ice flowing like water?” said Brell. “Ice is ice. It doesn’t flow.”

“It does if there’s enough. When it fills a valley, it’s called a glacier and can be hundreds of feet thick.”

“How long ago would this have happened?” asked Stent.

“Oh, at least thousands of years ago.”

“Then these glaciers must be in your original homeland for your people to know about them if they were here thousands of years ago,” stated Brell.

Oh, shit. The more I explain, the deeper into shit I get. I’m dropping too many clues and raising too many questions. I need to end this.

“I’ve never seen a glacier myself, but my people know about them, though I don’t know from where.” Let’s see if claiming ignorance gets me out of this.

Carnigan grunted loudly, which sounded like a deep drum. “Oh, Great God, either just take his word for it or dig and see if there’s gravel under the dirt and grass.”

Brell glared at Carnigan, but Stent just smiled and dismounted. Using a large-bladed knife, he sawed at grass and surface roots until he could peel away a section. There, only two inches below the surface, was gravel. He poked at it with the blade enough to see that it went at least several inches deeper. He looked up. “Well, I guess it’s true. If Yozef says so, it must be so.”

Brell gave Yozef a reserved look, shook his head, and said, “Whatever caused the tract, it’s not our purpose here.”

Stent nodded, Carnigan laughed, and Yozef felt grateful to move off the topic and get back to assessing whether this valley was a potential battlefield.

They continued toward the opposite end of the valley as the walls closed tighter. When the walls were five hundred yards across, the land rose sharply fifty feet higher, with the stream cutting through next to the right side. They left the horses and walked up the slope. At the top, they could see that they stood on a ridge running from one side of the valley to the other.

Well, this has got to be a terminal moraine. The glacier coming down the valley must have stalled for a long time. As the ice melted, it kept dumping rocks at the tip of the glacier. Over hundreds or more years, this ridge was deposited. As the glacier retreated farther, the melt backed up and finally cut an opening in the ridge. Now, the stream flows through that opening. Not that I’m going to explain this to them and open more cans of worms.

They stood looking in all directions, each of them assessing the site’s potential.

“Well, Yozef,” said Stent. “What do you think?”

“It looks good,” said Yozef. “Very good. This end is perfect. It would be terrible for an attacker. The front narrows to only about five hundred yards, and they would have to climb a forty-five-degree slope in the face of fire from muskets and cannon. Even worse for them, we could have fortified the top of this ridge. The sides of the valley are too steep in most places for them to easily climb, especially the eastern side and the first half of the western side. The rest of the western side would have to be studied to see what could be done, but I suspect it wouldn’t take much preparation to make that as difficult to breach as where we stand.

“The main problem is the other end of the valley. The Narthani army would have to get into the dry part of the valley, and then we’d block their turning back without going through defensive positions as good as we could build here. The wetlands are a formidable obstacle but only after they cross it. Their leaders are bound to see the problem of having their backs to the wetlands and decide either not to cross or, more likely, leave a considerable force on the other side. They have enough men; they might leave ten to twenty thousand protecting that entrance. We wouldn’t be able to defeat them before those inside the valley crossed back out.”

“What if the wetlands weren’t there?” asked Stent.

“Well . . . yeah,” said Yozef, “but then there’s no blockage for their retreat.”

“Let’s look at the map,” said Stent.

They knelt around a map spread on the ground, and Stent pointed to the gorge and the stream entering the valley from the western side. The gorge walls were nearly vertical for more than two miles. “We could use gunpowder to drop parts of the walls into the streams. It would stop water from flowing to the wetland. That would reduce the flow that replenishes the water level in the wetland.”

Yozef shook his head. “But eventually the water would back up enough to break through.”

“Eventually, yes,” agreed Stent, “but it might hold long enough for our purposes. We need the wetlands to shrink enough to give their army more than the narrow tract to maneuver. Best would be if we could drain the wetland, let the Narthani enter the valley, then reflood the southern end of the valley. In the gorge, we could try to drop the walls in several places, which would create smaller backups and less pressure than on a single dam. Of course, we’d have to blast holes in the dams once the Narthani are in the trap. We can do something similar with the other stream, the one here, that flows through this ridge we’re on. The Narthani would then find themselves caught between fortifications here and wetlands with a large force of our people moving in on the other side of the waters. They’d have to slog through water to get at our positions.”

“I like the concept,” said Yozef, “but there are too many unknowns. What if the dams don’t hold? What if they hold too much and can’t be breached at the right time? What if the wetland doesn’t drain fast enough? I’m sure I can think of more problems.”

“What about the other end?” asked Brell. “If we wanted the wetland to shrink, maybe even dry up, instead of stopping the inflow, what about increasing the outflow? Stent, what’s it like where the water drains out?”

Stent pointed to the southern edge of the wetland on the map. “The land drops here and flows over hard rock formations. There’s a long series of cascades and short falls before the water reaches flatter ground and turns into a calmer stream. I suppose we could blast a deeper channel in the rock, but then we’d have to block the flow or slow it once we wanted the wetland to fill again.”

“Hmmm . . .” Yozef thought out loud. “Blocking or slowing might not be that much of a problem. Remember, most of the water should have drained out, so the flow would be less or even stopped. We’d have to figure out a way to block the new channel when we want. However it’s done, the Narthani shouldn’t see it.”

“We’re not going to decide today,” said Stent. “I suggest I have people study the possibilities and report back.”

“All right,” said Yozef. “I’m sure you know, but I’ll say it anyway. Time is a factor. The sooner site preparation starts, the better.”

The group retraced its way down the valley, stopping twice so that Yozef or Brell could make notes. They were clear of the valley and climbing toward a pass headed toward Orosz when a thought occurred to Yozef.

“Say, Welman, you don’t happen to have any Flagorn Eggs in Stent, do you?”

Carnigan snorted.

“Flagorn Eggs,” said Stent, surprised. “Why are you interested in Flagorn Eggs?”

“It’s just one of my interests. I’ve seen one in Hewell, but I understand there are more scattered around Caedellium.”

“Well, yes, Stent has two that I know of. If you were interested, you should have said something earlier. There’s one not far beyond the end of the valley we just visited. It’s on the crest of a hill, while the other one sits on a rock prominence of an islet off the southwest coast of Stent.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Brell. “I’ve always wanted to see one, but something always happens whenever I’m in the vicinity.”

Now that Yozef had a fellow egg admirer, he was tempted to turn them around. No, it’s over an hour back to where we were, then who knows how far to the egg? No, it’ll have wait.

“Don’t worry, Owill. I’m sure we’ll have other chances. We need to get back to Orosz City.”

CHAPTER 16: YOZEF AND RINTALA NEGOTIATE

Before returning to Caernford, Yozef had one more important meeting—with Jaako Rintala. They sat under a flower-covered arbor: Yozef, Maera, Jaako Rintala, and Eina Saisannin. Bright green foliage with purple and yellow flowers from two intertwining vines created enough filtered sun for them to stay warm. From their chairs, they could look out over Orosz City to the flat, brown plain below the city. A perfect spot to relax, read, and contemplate being.

But not today. None of them felt tense as much as anticipatory. They had skirted around an important topic before, but all four sensed the dance was over.

Eina translated Rintala’s words into Caedelli. Its similarity to languages she already knew and her prodigious linguistic talent made her sound like a native speaker. Maera listened and only commented if she thought there was a translation problem.

After the pleasantries, it was Yozef who began the real dialogue. “Now that we have established what a wonderful day it is, let us move on to more interesting topics. You have been here for almost two months now, Commander Rintala. You have seen parts of the island, talked with hetmen, learned about what the Narthani are doing on Caedellium and what we are doing to resist them. What are you willing to do to help us?”

Rintala smiled as Eina translated.

“I agree it’s a wonderful day, and yes, let’s cut to the bone, as my people would say. I’ll start by saying that I have been extremely impressed with what your people have done so far. Frankly, far more than I would have predicted. Can you stop the Narthani from taking all of your island? I don’t know. Logic would say no. The resources they can bring to bear on the island are overwhelming in comparison. Yet what I have seen so far makes me doubt logic. Not convinced—just doubting.

“As for helping you against the Narthani—my instructions are to gather information and not get Fuomon involved in something so far from our realm. No matter what my personal hopes are for Caedellium, I must ask what would be the advantage to Fuomon if we helped you more than we have so far?”

Yozef appeared relaxed, as if they were discussing which meat to have for evening meal, instead of the future of Caedellium.

“I can see four reasons. An obvious answer is that anything that occupies or defeats Narthani forces is good for Fuomon. Every Narthani killed on Caedellium is one less Narthani you might one day face in battle. I assume you have asked yourselves why the Narthani are bothering with an island so far from Narthon, even if Caedellium is a resource-rich land. From I’ve learned of the Narthani, they see their eventual destiny as ruling all of Anyar. In that case, why Caedellium now, instead of simply picking it up among the remains once the major powers on Anyar have succumbed?

“The answer suggests that they see Caedellium as a step toward the long-term goal. My own suspicion would be that they hope to set up Caedellium as a staging base to break the current stalemate you have described. With Caedellium as a major base, they could threaten any number of other nations. My own guess would be those on Landolin, because they have so far escaped the worst of the fighting and may be the easiest victim for an invasion launched from Caedellium.

“There is also the principle of resisting evil, as the Word instructs us. Of course, I don’t expect those who rule nations to always guide their actions by what God would approve of, but neither would I discount the potential of rallying alliances against the Narthani using something as trite as the common good.”

Yozef paused, then continued. “Then we could discuss what Caedellium can do for Fuomon.”

“What could Caedellium do for Fuomon?” asked Rintala, not in a doubting tone, but as if prompting answers.

“Come now, Commander. Let us not pretend that there is nothing here you want. If this discussion is going to be productive, let’s be honest. Tell you what. I will tell you things that Caedellium wants, and then you tell me what Fuomon wants. I will go first to show good faith, but I expect the same, or this discussion is over.”

“Please proceed,” requested Rintala.

“Cannon, muskets, shot, powder, poppy seed extract, some level of protection of our coast by the Fuomon navy, advisers to help train our people in the ways of warfare on the main land masses, and, finally, helping us plan resistance to the Narthani. I think that’s a good starting list.”

“You realize,” said Rintala, “that much of what you ask for is beyond my authority or ability to grant.”

“I know some would be difficult, but difficult is not impossible. Given the distance between Fuomon and Caedellium, I imagine you have considerable latitude.”

“Some latitude, yes, but not complete freedom and only latitude with what I can solidly justify.”

“Well, we can come back to what’s possible. What is the Fuomi list?”

“Ether and kerosene would be the two most important. After that, many of the other products that seem to be unique to Caedellium, such as the different papers, soaps, and medical knowledge that is unknown elsewhere on Anyar. And one more item. One that is not necessarily something to directly barter for, but of which we are intensely curious.”

Rintala stopped for a moment and looked hard at Yozef.

“Where do you come from?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard how I came to be on Caedellium and how I have been unable to identify my land on an Anyar map.”

“I know the tales, but I’m asking you.”

“There is no harm in asking, but I have nothing else to add from what I’ve told others ever since I arrived unconscious on a beach in Keelan Province. I suggest we move on to our primary items.”

“Let’s do, but you should not expect our curiosity to end.”

“Feel free to be as curious as you can be. Let us also be clear that I see two levels of exchange between us. The first is simple give-and-take. You give me something, and I give you something. What I am ultimately looking for is a significant commitment from Fuomon to ally with Caedellium against the Narthani.

“But let’s talk of the here and now. In exchange for a supply of ether and the knowledge of how to make it, and the same for kerosene and any other process you’re interested in, I want thirty 30-pounder cannon—the equivalent to the armament on one of your five frigates, along with a generous supply of powder and shot. You have two thousand troops and sailors, so you must have extra muskets, in case replacements are needed. I don’t have an exact number but as many muskets with shot and powder as you can reasonably spare. You have a supply of poppy seed extract. While I recognize you must have enough for your own purposes, if we share the ether with you, then you won’t need the entire supply of extract.

“I want your warships to make themselves known enough to the Narthani that they become cautious about coastal raids or trying to land large numbers of troops to outflank our men. I don’t expect you to fight naval engagements, but at least limit their activity until their new force arrives. I expect they will be accompanied by many more warships, and by then, you might well decide it’s time for you and your men to sail back to Fuomon. Until then, I want you to provide men to help train the islanders in different aspects of modern warfare, and I want you, Saisannin, and Kivalian to provide advice on defeating the Narthani.”

The two Fuomi had sat staring as Yozef went through his wish list. Then Rintala answered.

“Would you also like my firstborn child? You have as much chance at that as your list.”

“Please understand that while I mean no disrespect, I’m not very good at bargaining where both sides state positions everyone knows to be extreme, expecting the other side to do the same. Then the two end up where we both knew we eventually would. Maybe it’s a fault of mine, but I have stated my wants, and in exchange you get ether, kerosene, and other things. I believe that to be fair. If you think it’s not, I’m willing to listen to your arguments and counterproposals. If you insist on starting with an extreme position, however, then enjoy the rest of the day. I have other tasks that need my attention.”

Eina translated, paused, and then started to say something else to Rintala, but he cut her off and continued staring at Yozef for almost two minutes. He then spoke to her. She started to say something back, and he stopped her again. Yozef could see she was not pleased—at what Rintala had said, at being silenced, or both. Maera, listening intently, would later give Yozef a translation of the Fuomi exchanges.

When the two Fuomi turned back to Yozef, Eina spoke in her own voice. “Commander Rintala says he is not quite sure how to proceed. He does not necessarily agree that it is possible for two sides of a bargaining session to know where it will end. He also admits that the ether is an important item, and he is willing to give something for it. However, what you ask is more than it is worth. We could sit here and argue about the details, but he will give a counterproposal. He will agree to some of the items on your list, but some will have limitations. He cannot agree to expose our warships, because we are so far from home and they are the only way we can leave Caedellium, when and if it becomes necessary. The obvious exception is if they have to defend our encampment in your Mittack Province. He and his men are willing to advise you on tactics, but we will take no direct part in any action against the Narthani—the exception again being if necessary to defend ourselves.

“As for muskets and poppy extract, we don’t have sufficient supplies to give you any significant amount, but we can spare a little. To give more would potentially place our men under risk, either in battle or if wounded. The cannon he will agree to. Your request for cannon implies taking them from one of our frigates, but they will come from our transports. They each carry six cannon, but those are not enough to fight off a determined foe. The frigates are the transports’ main defense. I agree to the thirty 30-pounder cannon and will add sixteen 18-pounders, which will come from one of the sloops that will then sail for Fuomon to be rearmed and to carry my recommendation that additional cannon, muskets, ball and shot, and poppy extract be sent to Caedellium as soon as possible. Commander Rintala cannot guarantee his superiors will approve, nor can he guarantee that if they do, the shipment will arrive in time to help you against the Narthani. In return, we will get a supply of ether, detailed instructions on its creation, and samples of your kerosene and lanterns and other products, along with details of production. These may help convince Fuomon that aid to Caedellium has other benefits. You will also allow our surgeons to talk with your medicants and copy any information they deem important.”

Yozef smiled. Rintala smiled. Both Maera and Eina wondered what the men were smiling about.

The men rose simultaneously and held out hands. Handshakes were the custom in Fuomon, both hand and forearm clasping on Caedellium. A confusion of what to grasp where was sorted out with a handshake. The deal was struck. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, a new protocol had begun that would extend to future Caedellium-Fuomon dealings.

CHAPTER 17: PROMOTION AND IMPRESSIONS

Surprises and Changes

When Yozef arrived back in Caernford, two unexpected pieces of news awaited. In a previous conclave, the clans agreed to let the Pewitt and Bevans hetmen explore negotiations with the Narthani. No one expected acceptable results from such an effort but didn’t see any harm in discovering whether the Narthani might be interested. Yozef noted that nothing had been mentioned about Narthani negotiations in the conclave he’d just returned from, and he had deliberately avoided bringing up the topic. The lack of news was clarified the day after the group returned from Orosz City, when all hetmen received an encoded semaphore message. The sender was Zitwyn Bevan, representing himself and Milton Ernmor, the Pewitt hetman. Events had interrupted their planning, and they now agreed that news of the coming of a larger Narthani army and the formation of the clans’ War Council meant they saw no purpose in attempting negotiations. Yozef felt relieved that this inevitably fruitless avenue was closed.

As a second surprise, the text of his short speech at the end of the conclave had been distributed throughout the clans.

“How did that happen?” Yozef spluttered on hearing Mared Keelan recite several lines over their first evening meal at Keelan Manor.

“Oh, I gave a copy to Cadoc Gwillamer,” said Culich. “He wanted to share it with his boyermen. He may have passed it on to other hetmen, which was a good idea. We should have thought of it. I imagine over half of the entire island will have read it or had it read to them within a month.”

Maera put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you go telling me it’s not your words, but those of others among your people. You are the one who put them before the people of Caedellium, and your name will be forever tied to them. So shut up about it.” She softened the scold by leaning forward and drawing him to a kiss.

Bodyguards

Yozef’s three amigos—Carnigan, Wyfor, and Balwis—had been supplemented with Gowlin Reese as permanent features of the Kolsko household after the attack at Maera’s birthday dinner. Two of them always remained nearby, and all four assembled for travel, with additional escorts rotating among men of the Caernford garrison. The situation with the four regulars became more untenable as Balwis and Wyfor took on more duties, especially with Balwis training and leading a platoon of escaped Preddi and off-island slaves.

As much as Yozef had come to trust and depend on Balwis’s presence, necessity ruled when Balwis was handed more responsibility.

Yozef had delayed talking with Balwis until the day he saw the scarred man showing Ceinwyn Keelan how to hold and dry-fire a musket behind the Kolsko barn.

“Well, I never,” said Maera. She had walked up behind Yozef without his noticing, so intent was he on watching Balwis stand behind Ceinwyn, his arms around her to position her arms with the musket.

“Is this something new?” asked Yozef. “Balwis giving firearms lessons?”

“Firearms, yes,” said Maera, “though I’ve seen the two of them talking several times.”

Yozef didn’t need an explanation for why seeing Balwis talk to anyone was worth noting. The man wasn’t known for his congeniality.

“You don’t think he’s . . . you know . . . interested in Ceinwyn, do you?”

Maera frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought so. God forgive me, she’s my sister, but Ceinwyn would never have been called attractive. And now, with that scar . . . I’ve worried how she would adjust. I know she thought she would have a hard time finding a husband, no matter what Mother or anyone said to her. Then there’s her disposition. I’d taken to avoiding her, because I didn’t want to listen to her whining and pouting. But things have changed. She seems different. I’ve thought she has drawn inward after what happened, and I know Mother is worried about her.”

The participants in musket practice still hadn’t noticed them. Balwis said something. Ceinwyn laughed, and even from their distance, they could see a flush on the side of her face with the wound. The scar hadn’t matured yet, and its jagged bright pink path was prominent.

“Come, Yozef. Let’s not spy on them.”

“You didn’t answer me. Do you think there’s more here than just musket lessons?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look for a chance to probe Ceinwyn.”

“Should I speak with Balwis about this?”

Maera didn’t answer for several steps as they walked arm in arm back to the house. “No, I’ll talk with Ceinwyn first, and then maybe we’ll know more.”

“Okay, but this reminds me that I need to talk with Balwis about something else. He’s going to be taking on additional responsibilities and will be around less in the future.”

“That may be for the best,” said Maera. “I know he’s loyal to you and has been important for us, but I’m uneasy about him and Ceinwyn.”

They entered the house and walked to the room where Braithe had just finished feeding Aeneas. The wet nurse burped him on her shoulder, her dress slipped to her waist. Yozef had still not fully adjusted to a more nonchalant habit of bare breasts than he was used to. Braithe’s breasts were generous, and he tried not to stare, though he knew no one cared.

“He’s almost asleep, Sen Kolsko. He was hungry, and I’m sure he got his fill.”

Maera had given up trying to get Braithe to use her first name.

“It wouldn’t be proper respect,” Braithe insisted.

Maera let Yozef retrieve Aeneas from Braithe and smiled while watching him try to take the baby without touching a bare breast. He mainly succeeded until Aeneas grabbed a nipple and Yozef had to gently pry him off—while flushing slightly.

They walked to her study, where she took Aeneas and laid him in a cradle with a hemispherical base. The cradle was attached to a pedal by a stiff cord. Yozef had suggested that he’d heard babies were quieter if rocked in two dimensions instead of back and forth. Maera had taken the idea to a woodworker in Caernford, and the cradle was the result. The woodworker had come to Yozef to ask if he should pay a fraction of the profit he was making—word had spread of a new cradle design and one associated with Yozef Kolsko. The woodworker was aware of what had happened to an Abersford soap maker who attempted to cheat Yozef out of his share of new soaps he’d developed.

“Ser,” said Yozef, “I think you’d better talk with my wife about this. She’s more involved, but I don’t think a share is necessary.”

Maera later told Yozef that the man had nervously asked the same question of her, and she gave the same answer.

Yozef looked at the cradle, and Aeneas, briefly woken from the trip, waved his arms and gurgled.

“He should fall back asleep for an hour or so, which will let me work on the latest MIU reports. Then I promised Mother and Mared I’d leave him there while I go into Caernford for the afternoon. They’ll bring him back to Braithe when he gets hungry. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“I think I need to talk with Balwis about that other matter, as long as I’m thinking about it. Then I’ll be at the clan headquarters and will come by the MIU later. Maybe we can return home together.”

With a quick kiss to Maera and a stroke down the soft skin of Aeneas’s leg, he went to the back veranda and waited for Balwis to appear.

He sat, thinking, and realized he didn’t have a clear sense of who exactly Balwis was, outside of the obvious: he was an escaped Preddi, was reliable as a bodyguard, would volunteer for dangerous missions that Yozef suggested, and was a vociferous hater of the Narthani. However, the image of him and Ceinwyn didn’t quite resonate. Yozef wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination or not, but he’d have sworn that when Balwis was instructing Ceinwyn, did his hand linger just a bit on her shoulder and arm?

Fifteen minutes later, Balwis strode quickly around the corner of the house. He saw Yozef, hesitated, tugged on a pants leg, then continued up the veranda side steps.

“Were you looking for me, Yozef?”

It’s hard to tell with Balwis, but I’d almost suspect he’s a little flustered. Either that, or he has saddle itch. “Yes, have a seat. Denes tells me your platoon of Preddi escapees is one of the best of our entire forces. Mulron says the same and that your men work at training after other units are exhausted.”

“They’re motivated,” growled Balwis. “They’ve seen firsthand what the Narthani are and what they do, as have I. We all have debts to pay.”

“As long as all of you keep your heads. There’s no place in our plans to fight the Narthani for men or leaders who let emotions rule over cold logical decisions, no matter what the perceived debt they want to force on the Narthani.”

“I admit it’s not always easy,” said Balwis, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped together.

“Easy is not a word any of us should ever consider using for what faces us. We can’t afford to make mistakes that we can avoid. What about the men of your platoon? Do you see any potential leaders there? Men who can make such decisions devoid of personal hatred?”

Balwis sat back. “Some, but not all. Of the four squads, three of the squad leaders I chose to begin with are working out fine. The fourth one I replaced after only a week when I recognized I’d made a mistake, and he was too hot-headed. His replacement had a cooler temperament and was a fine fighter, but after a month both of us agreed leading a squad wasn’t working. I believe I’m satisfied with the third man I’ve put in that position.”

“Do you think any of the squad leaders are candidates to lead platoons of their own?”

Balwis flushed. “Does that mean you’re going to take them away from me, and I’ll have to work with new squad leaders, after all the time I’ve spent with my platoon?”

“Let me ask you a question, Balwis. We need leaders at every level. If one or more of your squad leaders is capable of being a good platoon leader, should we leave them where they are and put less capable people as platoon leaders, or should we promote them, let them lead a platoon, and have you train new squad leaders?”

Balwis smoldered for a moment, then ground out between his teeth, “You know it’s irritating as hell when you use logic and guilt on people, don’t you?”

“I frankly don’t give a shit how irritating I might be. Answer the question. Is your convenience more important than the Caedelli preparing its men the best we can to face the Narthani?”

“All right, all right. Just tell me the ones you’re going to take away. Can I at least pick existing men to fill their positions, or are you going to foist on me men I don’t know?”

“Oh, there will be times when I’ll foist men on you, but not today. No, you can keep all your men. But the squad leaders will be promoted to platoon leaders, and you should think about which other men can be squad leaders.”

“What—?” Balwis furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? How can there be five platoon leaders in a platoon?”

Yozef smiled. “Because you’re going to command a company of four platoons. We have more than enough escaped Preddi and ex-slaves to fill the ranks. That includes many from those rescued on Denes’s raid across the Preddi border.”

“A company!” Balwis blurted. “Who says I want to command a company? I’m happy with a platoon.”

“Unfortunately, what you’re happy with is irrelevant. I would be happy staying in Abersford with my shops and getting the university going. All of us would be happy to see the Narthani decide the Caedellium weather is too mild and they go home to their deserts, heat, and wind. A child worries about what would make him happy, but a man does what is necessary.”

Yozef stared at Balwis, who glowered back to no avail. He tried another tactic. “But how can I help guard you and your family if I’m training and working with an entire company?”

“As much as I appreciate and trust you to protect me and my family, we all have to move on. You might still accompany me on specific occasions, but there will be two new guards, one to replace you and one to replace Wyfor. He’s also getting more responsibilities, although in his case it’s spending time training men to be trainers. Even if Wyfor is the best at hand-to-hand fighting, he can’t train thousands of men. He’ll be training groups of twenty to thirty for a month, and then they’ll go out to train others. Depending on how much time the Narthani give us, I hope most Caedelli fighting men will have a chance to learn some basics. Of course, some already can take care of themselves, but Wyfor and those he trains will concentrate on men who need the most training.”

Balwis had quit fuming. “Who will take our places?” he asked plaintively.

“Toowin Kales is one of the new men. He is Wyfor’s nephew and was one of the original Abersford dragoons. He saw action at Moreland City and has been trained by Wyfor ever since he returned to Caedellium. Wyfor also said he would make a good sparring partner for me, because we’re closer in ability than I am to Wyfor.”

“I know Toowin. He’s good,” said Balwis grudgingly. “Who’s the other new guard?”

“I believe you know him. Synton Ethlore.”

Balwis grunted. Synton was one of the three men accompanying Balwis and Wyfor on the strike at the Memas Erdelin, the Narthani commanding Eywell Province. Synton’s reputation was nearly as disreputable as Wyfor’s.

“They’re both good,” Balwis admitted. “But I still say I don’t know anything about commanding a company.”

“You didn’t know anything about commanding a platoon, either. But that has worked out well, by any measure. It comes to me that the same will happen with a company. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you reading the On War summary I wrote for Hetman Keelan. I’ll bet you have a copy somewhere on your person right now.”

Balwis didn’t respond, thereby confirming Yozef’s suspicion.

“In fact, I bet you have it memorized.”

Again, no confirmation or denial.

“Both Denes and Mulron have told me you’ve asked them questions about it. Why haven’t you come to me?”

“Because I was afraid that what would happen is exactly this. You’d put me in command of more men. It’s one thing to risk myself, but it’s hard enough feeling responsible for a platoon, and now you want me to lead a company!”

“That’s the same problem I have, Balwis. The hetmen ask me for advice, and I have to give what I can, even though I fear making mistakes and getting people killed.”

Balwis’s face softened. “How do you do it, Yozef? It’s must be far worse for you. Even with a company, I’ll only worry about less than two hundred men. How do you worry about tens of thousands?”

For the first time, it was Yozef’s face that showed emotion: resignation. “As Culich says, we do the best we can and hope God and other people forgive our mistakes and the mistakes aren’t too bad. What else is there to do?

“However, let’s leave what we don’t want to do and what we fear and get back to what will be done. I’m confident you’ll do your best, and be assured you aren’t the only man facing the same problems. I’m afraid I won’t be more help than what I wrote in On War, but I’ll be talking with the Fuomi. Their army officer, Kivalian, is experienced in fighting the Narthani on land. I intend to work with him to see if he can provide more training than I can on how to command units in battle. I foresee our men in leadership positions gathering in groups of twenty to work with Kivalian for a month. Much as we’re doing with Wyfor, those men will then pass it on to men they command. Again, if the Narthani give us enough time, I hope all our leaders, at least at the platoon level and higher, will have some level of training. You’ll be in the first group. It won’t be anywhere near enough, and real-life experience in battles will be the ultimate training, but it’s the best we can do.”

They talked for another twenty minutes. When Balwis left, Yozef felt satisfied the man had accepted the inevitable. He’ll do fine, Yozef thought. Or at least do as well as could be expected under these circumstances. As much as he doubts his ability and qualifications, I have no reason to tell him he isn’t nearly pessimistic enough. I don’t dare tell him that in a couple of months, he might be commanding a battalion. After that, we’ll see.

Maneuvers

Within three sixdays of Yozef and Rintala’s meeting, the two partners in the agreement fulfilled their commitments. A Fuomi sloop was disarmed and its 18-pounders turned over to the Caedelli, along with 30-pounders from transports, along with powder and shot. The sloop sailed for Fuomon with enough ether for a thousand operations, samples of kerosene and lanterns, soaps, papers, details of preparation, and a selection of medical treatment improvements generated by Yozef’s knowledge and Caedelli medicant experience.

Furthering their end of the bargain, another hundred Fuomi came from their Mittack base, some men to train Caedelli in the Fuomi cannon, other men to first observe and then offer advice in unit maneuvering. The Fuomi concluded that the latter wasn’t as important as anticipated, as they watched a two-thousand-man Caedelli regiment practice large unit movement of their dragoons and artillery. Rintala, Kivalian, and Saisannin stood on a hundred-foot bluff on one side of the valley where the maneuvers were taking place.

Saisannin broached what all three were thinking as they watched the islanders’ company-size units perform coordinated movement with other companies and with artillery batteries.

“I know I’m not military, but the Caedelli look awfully professional.”

“No,” said Kivalian, “I think you’re seeing correctly, and I have to say I’m more than a little surprised. I was skeptical at first about the Caedelli having any chance against a real Narthani army, but after sitting in on their planning sessions, how they’ve committed to the redoubts, and now seeing their maneuvers—I’m not as sure of my pessimism. Not that they don’t have a lot of room for improvement, but given where they started from, it’s very impressive. It’s in coordination and maneuvering that they’re weakest, but Kolsko seems to understand this and hopes to avoid certain situations to minimize that weakness.

“You know that in a sixday, I’ll start the first group of unit leaders on abbreviated training in tactics, unit coordination, and a hundred things they should learn over the course of a year or more, though this session will only be four sixdays, less than a month. After that, I’ll go to Orosz City to do the same and then, time permitting, conduct more such sessions at different sites around the island.”

“Are the other sites settled yet?” asked Rintala.

“I have a suggested list prepared by Hetman Keelan’s adviser Pedr Kennrick, but nothing is final.”

“In that case,” said Rintala, “try to do the farthest ones first, so you won’t be too far away if more Narthani show up and we have to depart quickly. I’d hate to leave you, but I’d have to, if you couldn’t get back in time. That’s why I’ve insisted most of the men we have working with them stay in Caernford. That’s as far away from the base camp as I want, and even that makes me nervous.”

“I understand you have to consider all the men first, so don’t worry about me. I don’t intend on being left, although I admit part of me wants to see how the islanders fare against this new Narthani army.”

“Just don’t get carried away, Reimo, or you’ll end up dead or living the rest your life in some Caedellium mountain cave,” cautioned Eina. “Once the Narthani take the island, there’s nothing Fuomon can do to take it back, it’s too far away. If anyone, it would have to be the Iraquiniks.

“Do what you think you can to help teach their leaders, but keep a fast horse handy. Speaking of your advising them, what do you expect to accomplish in so short a time with each group?”

Kivalian grunted. “I had an interesting conversation with Kolsko on this very subject. Or I should say we had a conversation through his wife, who translated. Kolsko cautioned me against trying to create a Fuomi army but to stick to general tactics, organization, leadership, unit cohesion, mutual support, elements of city fighting and trench warfare, and any topic that would be consistent in any army. He specifically said not to mention anything about Fuomon doctrine on initiative—when and under what conditions commanders go beyond or ignore orders. He doesn’t want the Caedelli to get confused trying to use lessons they haven’t absorbed and have no experience in implementing, and he’s right. He may be inexperienced, but he still seems to have an intuitive grasp of interrelationships and the ability to step back and look at a total picture, instead of focusing on something right in front of him.

“He also asked me to do an evaluation of every man in each group. He’ll have his own reports from islanders, but he wants me to point out any men who I don’t believe should be commanding men in battle. He says that some of the men will be from important families, including sons of hetmen, but he intends to remove from command positions any who are obviously unqualified. I didn’t ask, but I wonder what that means for his stature with the hetmen, if he has to tell them their sons won’t be allowed to lead.”

“Kolsko. And we’re back to him,” said Rintala. “Do either of you have any further thoughts on him?”

Kivalian snorted. “I think we’d be best off kidnapping him and taking him back to Fuomon, in place of all the information on processes he’s given us. I don’t doubt there’s far more than we know of now.”

Saisannin laughed. “While I agree with the sentiment, Reimo, it would hardly foster his cooperation. And how would you do it? Every time we’ve met with him, he’s got those four guards nearby. By all the Gods, I can’t imagine four more dangerous-looking men. One is huge, the small one gives the impression of a coiled spring with a knife on the end, and the other two would fit stereotypic arena fighters from Fuomon’s history.”

“I’ve noticed a change in the group members and asked about it,” said Kivalian. “Two of them have moved on to other positions, though the replacements appear similarly impressive. Then there’s Kolsko himself. Evidently, he’s also known to be dangerous. I got the story from his guard who speaks Narthani. When the Narthani tried to assassinate the Keelan hetman, Yozef and two of his regular four guards killed three or more times their number, with Kolsko getting four or five of the kills.”

“So who is this Kolsko, and where does he really come from?” posed Rintala.

“Well, I don’t believe for a moment the simple details he’s given the Caedelli about a people called Amerikans living far from here. It may work here, because the island has been relatively isolated, but I’ve never heard of any such land called Amerika.”

“I share Reimo’s skepticism,” said Saisannin. “Neither have I ever heard of Amerika, and before we left our encampment at the islanders’ East Head Point, I had Commodore Kyllo ask his captains if they or any of their senior officers had ever heard the name. None had. Granted, Anyar is big, but surely all these officers who have spent so many years sailing and listening to other sailors would have heard of Kolsko’s homeland. The fact that they hadn’t suggests he’s lying about his origin.”

“I tend to agree,” said Rintala, “but, as you say, the world is wide. We can’t completely count out his pronunciation being regional to his homeland and that there’s another more widely known name or pronunciation. And what about this Amerika being a land in the Great Ocean? It covers half the world, and there are not many commonly used shipping routes because of the distance from Landolin west to Krinolin and Drilmar. I wouldn’t suggest that our knowledge of the world is complete enough to rule out Amerika’s existence.”

“Possibly,” said Saisannin, though her tone emphasized her skepticism. “But wherever he’s from, there’s no doubt it’s a source of knowledge unknown to Fuomon or any other realm we have regular contact with. You may not be aware, but Latva Hinko, the surgeon who’s traveling with us, has been doing more than just providing medical aid for us and evaluating the state of Caedelli medicine. Although he’s a fine surgeon, he’s also an accomplished mathematician and could probably teach at Fuomon’s better higher schools. He tells me that as excited as he is about the medical innovations this Kolsko has introduced, it may be dwarfed by mathematics. Hinko has cultivated a young Keelan man who manages Kolsko’s finances, as well as a bank Kolsko started. His name is Cadwulf Beynom, and he’s also a mathematician. Hinko says he’s spent many hours discussing mathematics with Beynom and tells me that Kolsko has introduced whole new areas of mathematics that Hinko doesn’t believe are known anywhere on Anyar. That’s in addition to an expansion of several known fields of mathematics.”

“I thought the islanders were keeping us from learning too much about Kolsko’s innovations, at least until we gave them something in return?” asked Kivalian.

Saisannin shook her head. “Mathematics seems to be somewhat the exception. Supposedly, Beynom said that he asked Kolsko about this and was told it was acceptable to share a few topics but not everything. Why that exception with limitations, I don’t know, although I assume because they’re holding back parts of the mathematics for bargaining.”

“Mysteries,” stated Rintala. “There’s so much going on with this isolated island. The Narthani and their intentions for the island. And Kolsko, who’s the main factor in whether the Caedelli can save their clans. Eina, it’s almost too close to the rumors you’ve heard—that God has intervened to help them by sending Kolsko. I’d be tempted to believe it myself, if I were a devout person.”

The three stopped speaking as a Keelan man on horseback rode up to where they were watching practice maneuvers.

“Colonel Vegga says they will run the maneuver one more time today, and he asks whether you would join him at his flag to give him any observations you had from watching.”

Saisannin translated, and Rintala answered. “Tell Colonel Vegga we’ll be along shortly.”

The man nodded, wheeled his horse, and rode away.

“They didn’t look too bad,” said Kivalian, referring to the maneuvers. “Granted, they stick to simple movements, but the improvement is impressive, especially the speed at which they deploy their horse artillery. Part of the improvement is how hard they work. Our own men would be complaining vociferously after a couple of hours, but I’ve seen Caedelli practice like this all day and seem even more dedicated at the end of the day than when they began—at least, as much as I understand from what I’ve picked up of their language.”

“I think knowing the consequences, for themselves and their people, if they don’t improve is a powerful motivator,” said Saisannin. “But speaking of language and translating, what about the training sessions you’re about to start with their military leaders? Kolsko’s wife isn’t going to translate all the time, is she?”

“No, one of the men in the first group speaks fluent Narthani. In however many subsequent groups there’s time for, another Narthani speaker is supposed to be included in each group.” Kivalian shook his head. “If that isn’t a strange thing. We’ll be trying to help the islanders kill Narthani, and to do it we give the lessons using the Narthani language.”

“Yes, ironic,” said Saisannin.

“Do they have a chance?” Saisannin directed at Rintala.

The Fuomi commander pondered the question, keeping his eyes on four batteries of Caedelli 6-pounder horse artillery practice setting up their cannon in support of two dragoon companies furiously digging in at their positions. It was the tenth time, at least, that the same units had practiced this maneuver, and each time they seemed to get a little faster. I don’t know if our own men could do it any faster, he thought to himself. Most of them haven’t done any of this in actual battle conditions, but from the obvious level of commitment by the Caedelli, I doubt if their performance falls off any when they get under Narthani counterfire.

“A chance?” he said thoughtfully. “When we first came, I would have said not a chance in the world. A month ago, I would have said it unlikely but possible. But now . . . given the latest numbers on the cannon production, the quite innovative tactics they plan on using, the willingness to give up all their territory to focus on the Narthani army, and now seeing these first large-scale maneuvers . . . a chance . . . yes . . . I think they have a chance. Not that I would bet on them, you understand, but even if they lose in the end, it’s going to be a near thing, and the Narthani are going to be in a fight like they have never imagined.

“That will come as quite a shock to the Narthani. I expect the new commander will assume he can force the Caedelli into major field battles. He will reasonably assume that the Battle of Moreland City had the correct strategy, and it was only the Eywellese who caused the defeat. He will think similar mistakes won’t happen again, and he will have many times more men to overwhelm the islanders. I wonder when it will finally occur to them that the Caedelli have no intention of taking part in major field engagements but intend to nibble them to death until they find conditions to favor themselves over the Narthani.”

Saisannin frowned. “I’ve read some of the reports but have only attended a few of the meetings—many less than the two of you. Tell me again exactly what the Caedelli plan to do when a large Narthani army comes calling.”

“It’s all quite simple in principle and surprisingly sophisticated at the same time. Yozef Kolsko has managed to convince the islanders to avoid any large field battles. That is, if it works out, the islanders will not directly engage or attempt to impede the Narthani army. They will harass and carry out ambushes where possible but will repeatedly withdraw in front of the Narthani, keeping contact, though not allowing a major battle. With their greater mobility, because all of their men will be mounted, the Narthani will be unable to close with them, unless the islanders decide to allow it. At the same time, the population will withdraw into their redoubts—there are eight or ten of them, I forget the exact number. The Narthani will be unable to mount a serious assault on a redoubt and fend off the mobile islander forces at the same time.”

Rintala paused again to watch the latest maneuver practice on the plain below them.

Saisannin cupped her chin in her hand as she considered Rintala’s words. “I see how that keeps the Narthani from defeating the islanders in a battle, but it allows the Narthani to lay waste to the land. At some point, there has to be a direct confrontation.”

“That’s the final part of the strategy,” said Kivalian.

“Yes,” confirmed Rintala, “and that’s the part that is ‘up in the air,’ as Kolsko says. At some point, the islanders hope to pull the Narthani far enough away from their supply lines to cut them off, at the same time picking a place where the Narthani will have to attack a selected islander position.”

“Where do they intend to do that?” asked a perplexed Saisannin.

“That’s the question,” said Kivalian. “They don’t know. Kolsko has convinced them that the exact place will have to be determined by how the Narthani respond and whether they can be lured to follow the main islander force.”

“Is that feasible?” asked a dubious Saisannin.

“It’s not something I would want to count on,” answered Kivalian, “but I’m starting to hesitate to bet against the islanders.”

“Nor I,” agreed Rintala, who was formulating a course his subordinates would vociferously contest.

CHAPTER 18: GATHERING OF THE CLAN

On a clear day, Yozef left home early to accompany Mulron Luwis to observe a new dragoon regiment. Maera brought Aeneas and Braithe to Keelan Manor to leave them while she worked at the MIU in Caernford. Her mother and sisters would have a chance to play with the baby.

“Maera, before you go, your father wants to see you,” said Breda Keelan. “He’s in his study.”

When she knocked and entered, Culich Keelan sat at his desk, writing. He glanced at her with an unreadable expression.

“Maera, I have something for you to look at. Something important. Tell me if you have any wording changes.”

She took the single sheet. Handwriting covered only a third of the page. As she read, her eyes widened, and her heart rate shot up.

Be it known, a Gathering of the Clan is called for Godsday, the second sixday of the month of Himilton, at mid-day in the Grand Hall of the Keelans. The Narthani threat to the lives and freedom of the people of Keelan requires all clan members to understand both the severity of the threat and what will be required of every clan member. District boyermen will ensure one representative of each family attends the Gathering. May God grant us strength, courage, and resolve.

Culich Keelan, Hetman, Clan Keelan

Maera looked up from the sheet of paper. “So it’s coming. I know you said it was, but seeing the call somehow makes it all the more real. Maybe part of me hoped something would happen and things could go back the way they were. Something to assuage all my fears.”

“We all have fears, my dear. I know the people of Keelan are aware of the danger, but I feel it’s time to bind us all together even more strongly. I’m hoping the gathering will do that. Although the boyermen and I have tried to keep the people apprised of events, I believe every clan member deserves to know all the truth of what we face. Now, we will take actions that require the total support of every clan member, and this is the best way to do that.”

She handed the sheet back. “How many do you think will come?”

“Too many for the hall to hold everyone. Pedr and I discussed moving the gathering outside, so all could hear directly at the same time, or having two sessions, but we decided this was best. There’s no natural site nearby where sound would be contained with a depression where the people could sit or stand on its slope. As for two sessions, those in the second session would have already heard from those exiting from the first.”

“I’m afraid I have to disagree with the decision, Father. I think every clan member who comes deserves to hear it directly from you. There’s also a safety issue. If there’s only a single session, I assume the hall will be packed as tight as possible. What if something happens and the hall needs to be emptied quickly or people become sick or overcome with the press of the crowd? There would be no way to get out of the building. I can also envision people wanting to show support by cheering, raising hands and arms, clapping, or I don’t know what. Being packed too tight will inhibit their responses.”

“Hmmm . . . maybe I’ll reconsider when we get better estimates. I’ll talk to Pedr and Breda.”

By the next day, it was decided—the hall would be limited to five thousand at a time, with the number of sessions determined by how many clanspeople committed to attend. Boyermen would give firm estimates to Caernford a sixday before the gathering.

Yozef was not pleased. “Hell, Maera, doesn’t your father realize how much effort we’ll lose in preparing for the Narthani because of this gathering? Tens of thousands of Keelanders will stop training, making cannons and ammunition, storing food, and God knows everything else. It’s going to be a near enough thing to survive what’s to come. It’s possible a sixday’s worth of production could be critical.” He slapped a hand on the table where they sat.

“But Yozef, consider that the gathering has the potential to urge those people producing the cannon to work all that much harder, thereby more than making up for time lost due to the gathering. You’ve warned us about how difficult the times will be. Isn’t it necessary that every clan member be as steadfast as possible to endure what we fear? I’m sure both of these factors are part of Father’s reasoning in calling the gathering, in addition to his belief in fully sharing the dangers with every clan member.”

Yozef sighed. “I understand, Maera, and you and your father might be right. You might also be wrong. I just don’t know the answer. However, it’s done, so I have to accept it and move on and hope the benefits your father believes in outweigh the costs.”

During the following days, Yozef consoled himself that he didn’t have to witness the loss of work, because the workers in and around Caernford wouldn’t have to travel to attend the gathering. He did his best not to imagine halted production in Abersford or any of the other towns and villages, training sites for Keelan men, and the clan redoubt being prepared in the Dillagon Mountains. The Fuomi had returned to Caernford and asked whether Yozef wanted to delay starting the first group of Keelan leaders who would go through the crash course to be taught by Kivalian, the Fuomi second-in-command and troop leader. Yozef insisted they begin as soon as possible, with only a two-day break for the gathering. The first group included Balwis, Sixwith, Kildorn, Denes, and Mulron Luwis. When that group was finished, Kildorn, the Oroszian major who had been with Denes on the raid into Preddi, would accompany Kivalian to Orosz City and help with the next group, which would include Hetman Stent and several of his clansmen slated for unit leadership. Denes and Mulron would attempt to repeat the lessons for men from Gwillamer, Mittack, and Hewell, who would come to Caernford.

Both Yozef’s and Maera’s workdays were dawn to dusk and sometimes longer. Many days they saw each other only when collapsing into bed, neither with the energy for, or interest in, bedroom activities other than sleep. They each tried to spend at least a few minutes each day with Aeneas—especially Maera. Yozef didn’t think the baby knew or cared at this point in his life, as long as he had women to feed, change, and hold him. Even so, he recognized Maera’s guilt about what she thought she needed to do and what she thought she was supposed to do for Aeneas.

Although Yozef’s main enterprises continued in full operation, other activities in Caernford turned more and more toward preparing for the influx of the gathering. By a sixday before the start of the gathering, boyermen estimates from all eleven districts indicated twelve thousand Keelanders from outside Caernford intended to come. The numbers were greater than Pedr and Culich had estimated, and they had to decide whether to limit the number of Caernford citizens attending the sessions. The final estimate from Caernford and surroundings was six thousand.

They didn’t apply any restrictions. There would be as many sessions as necessary. To account for more people showing up than estimated, they decided to increase the number allowed per session to six thousand and had carpenters erect a balcony around the back of the octagonal hall—where another thousand clanspeople could stand. They canvassed homes and businesses for any that could house attendees. They set up encampment sites around the outskirts of the city. They arranged for temporary kitchens and food distribution for those who came without bringing their own food. They set aside hay and grain for thousands of new horses arriving. They prepared and had ready wagons with water barrels. Medicants set up several MASH sites, because, with this many people, injuries, heart attacks, and births undoubtedly would occur.

On the morning of Godsday, the second sixday of the month of Himilton, when the sun rose over the eastern hills, Caernford was already bustling. Smoke from hundreds of campfires surrounding the city mixed with smoke from chimneys. Sounds from thousands of additional people and horses joined those of a city rousing itself earlier than normal, for this was not a usual Godsday. The abbot shortened the traditional cathedral service on this day to an hour, starting at seven bells—7:00 a.m., Yozef reminded himself when he heard the bells calling people to service. Each service would last half an hour and be given consecutively until eleven bells—to allow as many Keelanders as wanted to attend service before the gathering.

They allotted attendance in each gathering session by districts. Those Keelanders not from Caernford would go first to allow them to return home soonest. At exactly twelve bells, the doors to the Great Hall of the Keelans opened, and the thousands waiting outside poured in. Women made up about a third of the people, but no children under the age of ten were included.

On the central dais waited Hetman Keelan, Pedr Kennrick, Vortig Luwis, all eleven boyermen, Abbot Walkot of St. Tomo’s Abbey, and a scholastic brother of Clan Keelan history.

Yozef had been offered a seat on the dais but deferred, to stand on the balcony facing the speakers. “I want to better see the people’s reaction,” he told Maera, and they stood surrounded by all six of their past and current bodyguards—keeping any person from being able to touch them. The three Fuomi leaders and the Landoliner, Rhanjur Gaya, stood beside the Kolskos.

When the last of those selected for the first session crossed the main door threshold, a gong sounded, and Abbot Walkot led a prayer for God’s grace and a plea for each person’s strength.

Culich rose and spoke. “Fellow clanspeople, it has been one hundred and sixty-three years since the last Gathering of the Clan was called, apart from the yearly gathering. That it has been such a long time since Keelan hetmen called a special gathering tells you how serious a situation the clan now faces. You all know the threat the Narthani are to the free peoples of Caedellium, and I know your boyermen have tried to keep you informed of events. However, the time has come where we face our biggest challenge, one that requires the clan to put every person, every resource, into fighting the Narthani, at the same time securing those who are not directly fighting.”

Culich then called on the scholastics to give a brief history of Clan Keelan and the All-Clan Conclaves. After he finished, Culich summarized what was known of the history of the Narthani on Caedellium and what would be the fate of them all, should the Narthani win. Most Keelanders already knew much of what was said up to that point, then Culich segued into the main steps that would follow: primary fighting men had to spend most of their time with their units; every other citizen must prepare to move to the Dillagon redoubt on short notice; all prices would be frozen; and there could be no hoarding. Too many people had attended to allow for questions, but Culich encouraged anyone listening who had questions to approach his or her boyerman and local leaders.

Yozef didn’t know whether the relative silence of the thousands was a good or bad sign. His answer came at the end of the session. Culich took a sheet of paper from Pedr Kennrick. It was the text of Yozef’s short speech to the hetmen at Orosz City.

Yozef momentarily cringed as Culich began reading the address cobbled together from famous Earth writings and speeches. He hadn’t originally expected the audience to go beyond the conclave attendees, and as Culich read, Yozef caught a few wording changes the hetman had inserted.

The recendering was interrupted by vocalizations: grunts, growls, amens, hisses, shouts of defiance, calls for God’s grace, and sounds deafening.

“Now, a dark cloud threatens this island.” Growls reverberated throughout the hall. “An evil force gathers itself to destroy all that you cherish—your freedom, your lives, and your history.” Hisses. “A great war has come to Caedellium to test whether the people can survive.

“The world has known little of events here on Caedellium, and what we say here today will not long be remembered. But what we might accomplish in turning back this evil could be remembered forever throughout Anyar, where other people fear and resist being consumed and forgotten.

“Before us lies a great task, one that will require the full measure of devotion from every person. It will involve the greatest battles ever seen on Caedellium, battles to dwarf even the one at Moreland City. What can each of you offer, what can I offer, what can any man or woman of Caedellium offer to this struggle? I tell you simply it is to offer every measure of blood, sweat, toil, and tears.”

Shouts of defiance precluded Culich from continuing. He let the tumult go on for two minutes before raising his hands to ask for silence.

“Let there be no pretending the way forward is not hard. There will be no victory without cost. There may be times when we will fight when there seems no hope of victory, because it is better to perish than live as slaves. There will be hard times ahead, many months of terrible ordeals, and many will die. Too many. But if we are successful, they will not have died in vain, and they will live forever in the existence of a free people, under God’s grace, who would not let themselves perish from Anyar, no matter the cost.”

This time, more shouts of defiance mingled with calls for God’s help.

“What is our purpose? I say to you it is to wage war. War against a monstrous evil.”

Hisses and curses rang against the marble walls. As Culich paused, he realized the crowding was fortuitous to inhibit spitting.

“What is our goal? Victory. Victory at all cost, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. And how shall we obtain this victory? It is simple. If necessary, we shall fight them on the plains of Moreland and Orosz, in the mountains of Bultecki and Vandinke, along the shores of Swavebroke and Bevans, in the forests of Gwillamer and Farkesh. We shall never surrender.”

Ten minutes passed before Culich could continue. Yozef had to restrain himself from clasping his hands over his ears. The heavy stone blocks of the walls vibrated, and he momentarily feared the windows might shatter.

When Culich finally raised his hands, the noise subsided as he resumed reading.

“Today, on the second day, third sixday, month of Keforon, in the four hundred and fifteenth year of the settlement of Caedellium, a day which will live in fame, the free clans of Caedellium have committed to a great crusade. When we are victorious, and it comes to Yozef Kolsko that victory is within our grasp if we are steadfast, then this day will be remembered each year as Freedom Day. Those who live to old age will remember this day and each year will show his scars and share the tales of what happened. He will tell his sons and grandsons of the first Freedom Day, when the clans came together as brothers and sisters. For everyone who fights will be my brother or sister, no matter how vile they may be. And people everywhere on Anyar will hear the tales of how a small island beat back a great empire and will in their hearts wish that they could have been here. They will wonder if they could have measured up to the men and women of Caedellium, and your courage will give heart to those still resisting this evil.”

He stopped and looked around the room, taking time to make it appear as if he were looking each clansperson, then concluded.

“Therefore, let us brace ourselves for the great task ahead, knowing that for a thousand years, throughout Anyar, people will say of Caedellium, ‘This was their finest hour.’”

Culich made no effort to quiet the response. Only when Abbot Walkot struck the gong a dozen times and those nearest the main doors began filing out did the decibel level lower enough for Yozef to hear Carnigan.

“The Fuomi leader wants to talk to you.”

Yozef nodded, and Carnigan shifted enough to let Rintala squeeze through the guard cordon.

“An impressive display of clan unity,” said the Fuomi. “I hope it lasts and is enough.”

“You’re not the only one,” Yozef replied.

Rhanjur Gaya left with the attendees of the first session. Yozef, Maera, and their guards remained standing on the balcony through all the sessions. Though he grew tired of standing, if he had been instrumental in influencing the islanders to risk their lives, he wanted to fully witness the level of commitment of at least this one clan. The Fuomi left after a second session showed the same level of support as the first session. Maera’s arm stayed linked to Yozef’s during the entire four hours.

CHAPTER 19: RELATIONSHIPS

The Kolsko Daycare

“You’re staying home all day today?” asked Yozef, surprised. On most days, Maera spent half to a full day in Caernford at MIU, at clan headquarters, or researching in the St. Tomo’s library.

“Reese has taken Braithe to see the medicants about a toothache, and I suspect they will find it’s a cavity they’ll have to drill and fill. When she gets back, she’ll rest quietly most of the day, so I told Braithe the other women and I would look after all the children. Another wet nurse will take care of the feedings until Braithe can resume.

“Which reminds me—Braithe commented the other day that she thought Aeneas was the healthiest baby she knows of: never sick, so energetic, so good-natured. I know how the first came about. You convinced me why neither you nor I get sick, but what about the other two? Does this gift from you to me and then, we believe, to Aeneas, have other effects?”

“Other effects—” Yozef said. Both he and Maera had watched Aeneas for any sign of illness. None had occurred. But did the nano-elements have other effects? Yozef’s mitochondrial genome had been altered by the Watchers to give him more efficient energy production—to compensate for the higher gravity of Anyar. However, he shouldn’t have passed on the modification to Aeneas, because mitochondria were descended from the mother. So if Aeneas were more energetic than most babies, was it only chance, or were the nano-elements involved? And good-natured? Aeneas did seem to smile and laugh a lot, but Yozef had a cousin on Earth who did the same. He didn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know, Maera. I wouldn’t think it’s all related, but we can be grateful he’s the way he is.”

At the moment, Yozef couldn’t hear the children. The four of them were in Gwyned’s cottage, which served as a daycare for the three who could walk: Islan, Morwena, and Dwyna—daughters, respectively, of Braithe, Gwyned, and dead Mirramel. Aeneas wasn’t walking, but he’d taken to crawling with enthusiasm the last sixday.

“Gwyned and Ana are with the children now,” said Maera, “and I’ll take a turn helping, especially with Aeneas. Braithe is starting to wean him now that he’s eating smashed solids.”

“We could get more help with watching the children,” said Yozef.

“Then I’d spend even less time with Aeneas. I feel guilty enough as it is. So, no, we’ll handle them today. I can always walk to Keelan Manor, and Mother is more than willing to watch Aeneas. I could work there.”

“I haven’t asked recently, but is there any word about Mirramel’s family to see if they would take Dwyna?”

Maera sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t want to give Dwyna to the ones I’ve located. One cousin already has so many children, Dwyna would be lost among them, and the husband bothered me by how he spoke to the whole family. Then there was an aunt, but she’s too old and in poor health to care for a young child. The other option is to find a good, unrelated family willing to take Dwyna.”

“I wonder if we should make a decision soon. Am I misreading, or is Gwyned becoming attached to Dwyna?” asked Yozef.

“No, you’re right, and maybe that isn’t the worst thing for the child. It would be better if Gwyned were married, but she has a place here with us as long as she wants. I confess I’ve hesitated to talk with Gwyned about her and Dwyna’s future for fear of pushing her to make a commitment she’s not ready for.”

“Well, there’s no immediate rush, and who knows what will happen in the next year? Speaking of the Narthani, I need to be off to Caernford. Yawnfol wants me to see the latest carronades that have finished cooling, and Kivalian has suggested that I watch the lessons he’s giving the first leadership group, to see if what he’s doing matches my talk with him.”

Mutual Confessions

Although Ceinwyn and Maera had lived in the same home most of their lives, neither had felt close to the other the last few years. Not that they deliberately avoided each other, but neither made efforts to interact. Thus, it was unusual to find them sitting together on a large tree swing a hundred yards behind Keelan Manor.

Maera hadn’t known what to make of Yozef’s comment the first time she and he had sat together and swung while they talked. He’d commented that they needed to have a smithy works under this “spreading chestnut tree.”

Maera’s morning passed as she alternated half an hour of editing a white paper draft and helping tend children. She fed Aeneas a mash of phila fruit and cooked cracked wheat, then took him outside for sun and air. He liked to swing and fell asleep within minutes, as Maera knew he would. She laid him on the swing’s cushion and continued swinging while she reviewed her notes on the Fuomi language and lessons from Eina Saisannin on subtleties not found in the one Fuomi language book she had. The language formed tenses different from Caedelli, agglutinating syllables to root verbs, instead of short endings and axillary words in Caedelli. As she worked on memorizing how to form the perfect conditional tense, a movement caused her to look up. Her sister Ceinwyn stood six feet away.

“Hello, Maera,” said Ceinwyn softly. “Could I sit with you?”

Surprised, Maera only nodded. Ceinwyn rarely made any approach to her older sister. Maera scooted toward Aeneas to make room, and Ceinwyn sat next to her on the bench. Aeneas half-opened his eyes until Maera began slowly swinging again.

“Maera, I know we haven’t been close, but that’s my fault. I just wanted you to know that I do love you as a sister and to say I’m sorry for how I’ve acted the last years.”

Maera could not have been more astounded if Ceinwyn had turned into a murvor and flown away. Seconds passed while she groped for how to respond. “Uh . . . Ceinwyn . . . I guess I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s all right. I just wanted to say this and get it out.” Ceinwyn started to stand up.

“No, wait,” said Maera, putting a hand on her sister’s forearm. Ceinwyn sat back on the swing.

“Ceinwyn . . . why did we grow so far apart? I remember us playing together, taking turns holding Mared, and me helping you with your lessons. When it all changed, I’ve thought maybe we were just two people who don’t get along. Some people are like that. For no obvious reasons, two persons grate on each other.”

“Oh, Maera, I think it started when I began to envy you.”

“Envy me! Why in God’s grace would you be envious of me?”

Ceinwyn sighed in frustration. “Good God, Maera. Are you oblivious? You’re smart, beautiful, and so sure of yourself. I’m not smart or beautiful, and I’m never confident like you are.”

“I . . . ” Once again, Maera didn’t know what to say.

“That’s just the way things are, Maera. It’s not your fault. God simply made us different, and I’ve been weak to put blame on you for only being who you are. I think it got worse when I started worrying about finding a husband who would want me. And then, when you didn’t marry at an age people thought you would, I started to despair that if Maera Keelan couldn’t find a husband, then what chance did I have?”

Ceinwyn paused, and Maera sat frozen, recalling the previous years and how she might have inadvertently affected Ceinwyn’s view of her.

“I’ve known since I was ten years old that I wouldn’t be attractive like my sisters,” said Ceinwyn.

Maera knew her sister’s words were accurate but wished it didn’t matter. Ceinwyn had inherited more of her father’s looks, including a generous nose and a prominent forehead. In contrast, the other three sisters resembled their mother. Maera didn’t think of herself as attractive, though her thinking had moderated since her husband asserted otherwise, but Anid would have grown to be a stunning woman, and Mared likely wasn’t far behind. For the first time, Maera honestly put herself in Ceinwyn’s place and could see how resentment might have developed. She also wondered, again for the first time, whether her efforts at helping Ceinwyn with her studies might have made things worse, because her own studying had come so easily.

Maera couldn’t lie. Ceinwyn knew the truth, and truth was what she needed. “But sister, a person isn’t just how they look.”

“That’s what Abbot Walkot told me. I spoke with him yesterday. I’ve been thinking that . . . this,” Ceinwyn said, touching the scar on her face, “was God’s punishment for how I’ve behaved and how I’ve only thought of myself.”

“Oh, Ceinwyn, God isn’t cruel, nor does he punish us for petty transgressions.”

“I’m not sure the abbot believes that. Although he helped me understand that the attack wasn’t caused by God, he couldn’t rule out that the blow that did this,” she touched the scar again, “was touched by God not to kill me, but to give me a chance to change. I don’t know if he’s right, but in the last month, I’ve done more thinking about who I was and who I want to be the rest of my life. I know that this,” she touched the scar again, this time unconsciously tracing it from her jaw up above the side of the eye and back behind her ear, “makes my previous worry about appearance so trivial, as if now anyone would remember how I looked before.”

“Does this have anything to do with how you’ve been wearing your hair?” asked Maera. She suddenly realized that she’d noticed something different about her sister the last sixday but hadn’t been able to put a finger on it.

“My hair,” stated Ceinwyn, smiling. “Yes. After the bandages came off, I kept it combed over the side of my face as much as possible to hide how I looked. It was Balwis who scolded me for doing that.”

“Balwis?”

“He was showing me how to shoot a musket, and my hair kept getting in the way of looking down the barrel. When I told him I needed my hair the way it was, he said, ‘Tie the God-damned hair back so you can see what you’re shooting at. This way, you might be more danger to your own people than the Narthani!’”

Ceinwyn laughed, for the first time Maera could remember since when?

“Then he said, ‘Let everyone see it and know you got it fighting the Narthani. It’s a badge of honor and shows how brave you are.’

“‘Me?’ I said. ‘Brave?’ But it got me thinking that as long as I have the scar, to hide it is the same as hiding myself from the world and unworthy of a hetman’s daughter. I was so worried about not finding a husband, and now, with the scar, it’s likely even as a hetman’s daughter I won’t be appealing as a wife. The scar is not going away, and I have to learn to live with it.”

Maera frowned. “Well, I don’t know if I agree with Abbot Walkot, but I definitely agree with Balwis. He’s not my favorite person, but in this, he and I agree. You were brave when it counted. You were injured defending our family from the killers. You didn’t have time to decide what to do, you just acted, and I’m proud to call you my sister.”

Ceinwyn’s eyes filled, and a single tear trickled down to the edge of the scar and followed its course down her face. The two sisters didn’t speak again for several minutes but held each other in a tight embrace. They relaxed only when Aeneas complained about the cessation of swinging.

Two Solitudes

Her reconciliation with Ceinwyn hovered around Maera’s consciousness. She made a point to pay more attention to those around her—after chastising herself for not picking up on Ceinwyn’s changing moods and actions since the attack. Gwyned became her first target in searching for clues. Anarynd’s friend and fellow escapee from the Narthani had seemed to have periodic grumpy moods that Maera passed off as merely part of Gwyned’s personality. Then it occurred to her that the moods seemed too often associated with Carnigan’s presence or absence.

As was Maera’s preference, she moved to direct questions. “Gwyned, is there something about Carnigan that bothers you? He seems fond of Morwena.”

“The big oaf doesn’t seem to realize Morwena has a mother!” groused Gwyned.

Maera’s brain made connections. “Well, I’ll be,” Maera said. “You like Carnigan and can’t get him to pay attention to you?”

Gwyned reddened but gave Maera a defiant look. “So what if I do? Can’t I get interested in a man?”

“Of course you can. It’s just a surprise, because I don’t think of Carnigan as an eligible man. There’s no reason for that, except I hadn’t ever heard about him being involved with a woman.”

“I don’t know if he has or not,” said Gwyned, “but he’s unattached, which makes him eligible. I appreciate you and Yozef letting me and Morwena stay here, but I don’t see that as permanent. I always expected to be married and have a family, though how I started a family is not what I imagined.” Bitterness coated the last words. Morwena’s father was Gwyned’s slavemaster.

“Gwyned, you know you can stay as long as you want. You’ve become a member of our family, and I think of you as a friend. If you’re interested in Carnigan in that way, maybe you should just tell him.”

An impressive repertoire of curses erupted from Gwyned’s snarling mouth. “Don’t you think I’ve tried hinting up and down?! He’s not stupid, but he can be dense when he wants to be. And I know what’s on your mind—why Carnigan?” She paused and looked away. “After what happened to me, with a Narthani daughter, and with more men than women, my chances of finding a man I’d want to marry are slim, if not Carnigan. And no, he’s not some kind of consolation man I’d only be settling for. I admit that it would be a comfort to have a man around to protect me and Morwena. I can’t imagine any man who I’d feel safer with than Carnigan, being who he is. Despite how he looks and acts at times, he’s a kind and gentle man. Something of a gentle giant. You’ve seen how he looks after Morwena, and she adores him in return. Am I madly in love with him? Maybe not, but I believe that could come.”

Maera switched from confidante to authority. “Gwyned, here’s what we’ll do.” By her tone, Maera was asserting, not asking. “You give it some thought about telling Carnigan how you feel. If not, I’ll tell him.”

Maera’s Idea

Maera felt bleary-eyed after several hours of reading reports, answering communications, and writing MIU summaries for the War Council. Her attention kept wandering to the reconnection with Ceinwyn and her talk with Gwyned about Carnigan. She used to get sharp pains in her neck and shoulders before Yozef showed her how to change her posture when working long hours. He also had a desk and a chair specifically made for her height and arm reach. At least the kerosene lanterns solved the light problem. Trying to do this much paperwork by candle or whale-oil lamps would have been worse.

She stretched her neck and arms as she walked from her study. The house was dark and quiet. Yozef had gone off to one of his shops—something about “signal rockets” and needing to test them at night. Anarynd tended to Aeneas. The wet nurse, Braithe, had given Aeneas his last breast-feeding of the day and had retired to the staff cottage, where she, her daughter Islan, and her husband, Gowlin Reese, one of the permanent family guards, lived.

Maera’s breasts had quit aching after she stopped breast-feeding Aeneas, though her pangs of guilt remained at not being a full-time mother to him. She knew in her heart that she truly loved the baby. She loved holding him, nursing him, and even changing him. Yet she acknowledged that her willingness to take him out in public and show him off to visitors was partly due to her urge to display her “accomplishment.” Look what I did. Maera Keelan, now Maera Kolsko-Keelan. You wondered if I ever would be a normal woman or if I ever would produce an heir to Keelan, which my responsibilities dictated. Look at this! She smiled at the image of herself as proud mother.

Yes, she was a mother and wanted to be a mother, but she just had so much to do! The preparations to face the next Narthani attack were intense. There were nowhere near enough hours in any day to do all that needed doing. She felt overwhelmed at times and couldn’t understand how Yozef handled even greater demands on his time. More and more, he had come to depend on her help. As she had for her father, she screened correspondence for him, prioritized it, and, where possible, answered in his place or drafted answers for his approval signature. She also reviewed the reams of intelligence reports that had accumulated, looking for insights from Yozef’s suggestions or her own knowledge of Caedellium and her intuition.

In her introspection, she was honest. As intense and stressful as the demands were on her time to help prepare for Narthani, she loved it. For the first time in her life, she knew that others recognized her for her contributions to a grand effort. Yes, she served as Yozef’s assistant, but so did a dozen others, whatever their titles. She didn’t know if others saw what she did. What Yozef called his “general staff” consisted of a grouping never seen before on Caedellium. A dozen people who planned for action carried out by all the clans of Caedellium and whose mission amounted to nothing less than the salvation of the entire island and people. This dozen included hetmen, senior advisers to hetmen, and men who had had no preeminent role before now. The development had been gradual, but as planning continued and the feeling of the Narthani threat intensified, more and more decisions flowed through Yozef. She wondered if even her father recognized that, effectively, Yozef was making most major decisions and directed where efforts would go.

She was part of that general staff. Yozef called Culich, her, and Owill Brell the staff’s Intelligence members—the “G-3s.” Her problem was how to fit every role into each single day—a task she knew was impossible.

She paused in the central hall. It was quiet. No, not quite quiet. Faint squeaking sounds came from the veranda in front of the house. It was warm this time of year. She walked to the front entrance and through the multiple layers of curtain that Yozef had designed to let in air while keeping most flying creatures out. As she stopped just outside the doorway, still with one hand holding back curtain folds, she could see Anarynd rocking, softly humming as she looked down at the sleeping Aeneas. Maera’s heart melted. It was a classic scene of mother and child—except Aeneas was not Anarynd’s.

As the rocking continued, Maera started to step onto the veranda, then stopped. Tears slowly coursed down Anarynd’s cheeks and fell as droplets to a circle of wetness on her blouse. Anarynd had not noticed Maera. She looked at Aeneas with a longing that tore at Maera. Whether from their lengthy friendship, by empathy, or just by supposition, Maera knew what was in Anarynd’s mind. Holding a baby of her own. Sitting on her own porch. Having a husband and a family. Having a normal life. Anarynd was thinking maybe none of these would happen for her.

Maera quietly backed into the house, letting the door curtains settle into place. If she had gone to Anarynd at that moment, what would she have said? Everything is going to be all right? What happened to you makes no difference? We’ll come through the Narthani threat? You’ll have a fine family someday?”

Maera’s thoughts had been jolted from her own apprehension at balancing her life to Anarynd’s future. Maera couldn’t conceive of Anarynd living anywhere but near her. Not now. Not when Anarynd needed all the support possible. Not when Maera needed her friend near. Not when there was someone in the house she felt totally secure about leaving to care for Aeneas.

The answer—possibly, answers might have been more accurate—congealed in her mind so casually, it was as if some outside force had planted it there. A path to a future. So simple . . . and so difficult.

The idea was so unexpected, she needed time to mull it over and gently probe the opinions of the other parties. After two sixdays, the pitfalls of carrying out the vision still seemed fewer than the benefits she saw. She first approached Yozef about it.

It was a fifthday. They would all be going into Caernford the next morning for Godsday service at St. Tomo’s. Yozef had decided to work on his journals that afternoon. His schedule had made it so difficult for him to reserve an hour a day that he tried to sporadically grab a few hours to write in his journals in his native “English.” He had steadfastly declined to teach Maera English, saying there were other, more important demands on their time. He had returned to their home for midday meal. Maera arranged for Anarynd to take Aeneas to Gwyned’s cottage, along with the other children. She wanted to talk with him alone, and she had no idea how he would respond. If she understood him, he would be surprised, give arguments against it, listen to her counter-arguments, and then say . . . what? She had no idea.

They were halfway through the plate of cold sliced meat and cheese, bread, and cold roasted vegetables. Maera had also opened a bottle of a plum wine Yozef favored. Normally, they didn’t consume alcohol until evening meal, but today he didn’t seem to notice the change in routine.

“Yozef,” Maera began. “I’ve been thinking about Ana.”

“Anarynd? Is she all right?”

“Oh, nothing physically wrong with her. She’s gotten much better once she started looking in on the other women she came with. Then there’s her help with Aeneas and coming to feel she’s part of the household.”

“I think it’s not just her. We all feel closer after the attack,” said Yozef. “I certainly agree it’s been good to have her here when we both need to travel. I know Braithe and Gwyned are reliable, but they’ve got their own children.”

Maera nodded, her brown hair bouncing around her shoulders. “Also, it’s not just for when we both travel. Even when we’re here, both of us are so busy. I’m not criticizing either of us—it’s just the way it is and all that’s happening and all that might happen. Having Ana here has been a tremendous help. Of course, she’s my oldest and dearest friend. I didn’t realize how much I regret not seeing her regularly until these last months. I find myself starting to dread the thought of her leaving.”

Yozef looked surprised. “Is she thinking of leaving?”

“No,” said Maera, “she hasn’t said anything about leaving us, but we have to understand that her present situation can’t last forever.”

“Where would she go? Of course, we could help support her. Normally, a woman alone and without family support would be in a difficult position. Is she thinking about marrying someone?”

Maera shook her head slowly. “She doesn’t think she will ever marry. I think she’s wrong, but after what happened to her, and then being rejected by her family, it’s a wound that’s difficult to heal. If they had taken proper care of her, it might be different, and she would still be in Moreland. You know, she was betrothed before being taken, and that family also rejected her.”

Yozef’s face clouded. “Assholes.”

Maera smiled. Yozef’s translations of some of his people’s curses were . . . earthy. He had told her he was surprised by the Caedelli expletives being relatively dainty for a people so close to the earth and otherwise unabashed.

“Yes, they were assholes, and things are different here in Keelan. Father would say the entire Moreland Clan are assholes, with their prickly natures and self-righteous attitudes. Under normal circumstances, once Ana spent more time here, she would have found a decent man to marry. A problem is that the surplus of women over men already makes that more difficult and, like it or not, we will certainly lose more men before this is all over with the Narthani.”

“Surely, Anarynd will find a suitable husband, if she wants to. She’s attractive and a lively person once she relaxes. And she’s from a prominent family in Moreland, even if they’re assholes.”

“I expect there will be a problem with her meeting such men, if they exist and are not already married.”

“Well, there’s always the multiple marriage option,” said Yozef. “At least, that would expand the possibilities. Of course, that may only be a variation on the basic problem, in this case, of finding the right couple. Realistically, a wife will be hesitant to bring Anarynd into the household.”

“Yes. There would have to be some way to know the two women would be able to live together with the husband.”

Yozef ears pricked up. He recognized a tone in Maera’s voice that showed she was going someplace with this conversation. Where is she going?

“Put yourself in the place of a man looking for a wife. What would attract him to Ana? What do you see as her qualities?” Maera asked as innocently as she could.

“As I said, obviously attractive. Lively when she’s at ease. It took some time for her to relax, and don’t think I didn’t notice her withdrawal from me and other men at first, though most of that seems to have faded. I think I can see now that laughter used to come easily to her. I can also see the two of you teasing the boys and the men, or Anarynd anyway—not in a cruel way, just good-natured. I think she’s smarter than on first impression, although no candidate for scholastics. Most impressive is a core of strength that I doubt either she or others would have suspected was there, from your descriptions of her as a good-hearted but somewhat flighty girl and young woman. Think of what has happened to her, and yet she not only survived but led the escape with the other women, killed a Narthani to do it, and has looked after the other women. And something else. Some might think it an act of desperation, to leave her family and clan, but it can also be seen as an act of courage. Looking at it from that perspective, she made a leap of faith to look for a better life elsewhere—willing to give up on one life and jump off a cliff in the hope for something better.”

Maera was surprised but shouldn’t have been. She had no idea Yozef had thought much about Ana, except as the friend of his wife. Obviously, he had great respect for her. Encouraging, she thought.

“Of course, if she does find a husband, she would move. I would miss her and her help with Aeneas. And let’s be honest, Yozef, the house would be less cheerful. I know I have good qualities, but reveling in creating a homey atmosphere is not one of them.”

“She might still live nearby.”

“Or far away. In either case, things would change here.”

Maera took real and figurative deep breaths and leaped. She set down her fork, looked seriously at her husband, and spoke firmly.

“Yozef. I’ve been thinking carefully for several sixdays. We have talked about many problems and issues that might seem unrelated, but they have a single solution.”

“What problems and issues?”

“All the ones I’ve just been talking about,” she said in exasperation.

Yozef looked blank—his mind tried to recall the last few minutes of conversation. “I don’t see the connections . . .” he finally said.

She gave up trying to be subtle.

“Anarynd doesn’t think she will ever have a good marriage and family. She and I are best friends, closer to each other than we are to our own sisters. Both Ana and I want to stay as near to each other as possible. You and I need someone we trust to look after our home and Aeneas and maybe more children in the future, when we travel and work. Children need a good mother around all the time, and I admit that even under more normal times, I’m not completely the mothering type. With my duties in resisting the Narthani, I will have less time. Also, while I believe you mean well and will be a good father, you will have so many demands on you that you’ll struggle to spend time with the children, even if we survive the Narthani.”

She took a deep breath. “The solution is obvious.”

Obvious to Maera, perhaps, but Yozef was just getting a glimmer. Maera recognized it.

“Yes. The obvious solution is for you to marry Ana. We marry Ana.”

It was the first time she had ever seen Yozef dumbfounded.

“M . . . marry . . . Anarynd?”

Yozef had put down his utensils and stared at his wife. She waited patiently, now that her plan was out in the open. She waited almost two minutes while Yozef cogitated on whether he had heard correctly and then searched for something to say as his mind wandered back to the ground. In his mind’s confusion, he remembered watching a few episodes of the TV series Big Love, where every episode seemed to give reasons why three wives wasn’t a good idea. Then he remembered a line from the comedian Richard Lewis who commented about the TV show and the concept of more than one wife. “Are you fucking insane?” Lewis had offered. Not to mention the creepy family in the TV reality show Sister Wives.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

Maera didn’t speak, waiting for Yozef to continue. It took several moments.

“I . . . must admit this is not something I would ever have expected. I hope you don’t think I’m not happy with you as my wife.”

Maera dismissed the question with a hand wave.

“It’s a logical solution to several problems.”

“Logical, perhaps, but with several flaws.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” said Yozef, recovering from the initial surprise, “for one thing, what if I don’t want a second wife? What if the one wife I have is all I want?”

As much as Maera felt a warm glow at the comment, she was in full planning-logic mode.

“I realize I’ve suddenly hit you with a new idea, but you can think about it. Just because it would never have occurred to you doesn’t mean you might not change your mind after some consideration. People in our position have responsibilities beyond what they might want. This would be a responsible decision. It also would encourage other Caedelli to be more accepting of multiple wives. You already encouraged Bronwyn to marry her sister’s husband, and you’ve commented to me and others that the relative shortage of men will only get worse with fighting the Narthani and that the extra women joining existing marriages is one solution. Are you now going to say that what is good for others is not for Yozef Kolsko?”

Yozef shook his head. “Even if I were so inclined, it adds complications. It’s difficult enough for one man and one woman to be married. Add a second woman, and the complications can increase enormously. There is an old language, spoken by a people far from here.” China’s a long way from here, he rationalized. “This language uses different symbols for each word. Some words are made by combining other symbols. The symbol for ‘trouble’ is the symbol for house, inside of which are two small symbols that mean woman—two women in a single house equals trouble.” Yozef remembered reading there was controversy whether such a symbol and meaning existed on Earth, but it was too appropriate for the moment, and Maera wouldn’t know the difference.

“I’ve never heard of this ‘China,’” said Maera, “but we have a similar saying, although it’s about the husband’s wife and mother living in the same house. I know there is a potential for problems, but Ana and I are so close, I don’t believe the problems would be so difficult to make the expanded marriage unworkable.”

“What about Anarynd? What does she think about this idea?”

“I haven’t spoken of it with her, but I believe she would seriously consider it. She has told me several times she’s happy I found a good husband and that I’m so pleased with my marriage. While you do not fit what she would otherwise have imagined as a potential husband, now that she has been around you these months, I think she has great respect for you. Let’s be honest. She’s not going to get a better offer of marriage, and being with us permanently might be the best thing for her.”

All very analytical, thought Yozef. Logical, but where’s the emotion? For that matter, where was the emotion for me and Maera at first? Neither of us used the word love to the other until after Aeneas was born. I’m not complaining, but our marriage was, in many respects, a rational one. She needed a husband she could respect, and I needed a wife to solidify my position here. We got along well together—probably better than either of us with anyone of the opposite sex we were going to meet—and all that has worked well. Now that we’ve both shared our love for the other, why would we want to add a complication?

“I’m not looking for a decision right now. Just that you think about it,” prompted Maera.

Having nothing else to say, Yozef agreed. “Yes. I need to think about this, but I’ll be honest, it’s not something I’m inclined to do.”

“Good,” said a pleased Maera. “I think I’ll have some more of those vegetables. Please pass me the plate.”

Considering Maera’s Proposal

Yozef didn’t see Anarynd until the next evening. He had been thinking about what Maera proposed, in between all the ongoing demands on his time. He almost felt annoyed at Maera for bringing this up, now that there was so much to do. Obviously, Maera believed in the idea, but Yozef didn’t—seeing it as more complications and obligations in his life than he needed or wanted. Nevertheless, he had told Maera he would consider it.

When he did see Anarynd again, it was in a different light. He realized he had come to take her for granted as part of the household. That evening he paid more attention—observing her more than usual. The opportunity was complicated—or simplified, depending on one’s view—by there being two couples eating with them that evening. As usual, when around people whom she was less familiar with, Anarynd was quiet at first, but by the time they finished the soup she had relaxed. Anarynd clearly bestowed a cheerier cast over the meal. Not that Maera was dour—she always tried to convey congenial treatment of others—but it was Anarynd who chatted effortlessly with anyone on any topic and could draw out even reticent speakers. As he watched Anarynd interact, for the first time Yozef thought that the household would be less warm without her. But was that enough reason to consider Maera’s proposal?

It was another several days before Yozef felt sure of his own basic preferences. Strictly in terms of his own feelings, he did not favor the idea. In contrast, he could not dismiss Maera’s arguments, and those that related to demands on Maera’s time were compelling—at least, until the Narthani threat receded. He already felt uncomfortable with how little time he spent with young Aeneas, not to mention Aragorn, whom he had not seen for half a year. Since he had children, he felt responsible for being a father—or at least in Aragorn’s case that he should be a regular part of the child’s life. Yet that hadn’t happened, and he feared it would only get worse in the future. Likewise, he saw Maera’s time with Aeneas constrained by what others needed her for. It might seem cold and unfair to Aeneas, but her contributions to the Caedelli people as a whole outweighed the baby’s needs.

He concluded that they, he and Maera, arguably needed Anarynd. But would bringing her into the marriage be a solution for them or for her? What was fair for Anarynd, or were her needs not that relevant either, if a greater need trumped them?

Yozef didn’t know the answers. When Maera finally pressed him on his thoughts, he didn’t say no, but neither did he say he was in favor. A necessary question, and one that let him put off taking a firm stand, was how Anarynd would respond to such a proposal. In retrospect, he realized that his answer to Maera gave her the impression he was inclined, if Anarynd was interested.

Several evenings later, Maera brought Anarynd into the discussion.

CHAPTER 20: GOOD IDEA OR NOT?

Three?

Maera gave Yozef an enigmatic smile as the three of them sat at the smaller dining table. Anarynd obviously felt nervous—fiddling with a cloth napkin and quieter than usual. Yozef suspected that Maera had spoken to Anarynd about the “solution” to so many problems—as Maera conceived of them. The two women, rather than the staff Maera had hired and trained, would serve tonight’s meal: a type of meat stuffed dumpling in beef gravy, steamed mixed vegetables, and the ubiquitous heavy bread and butter. Maera also brought out two flasks of a same Mittack wine that Yozef favored. Yozef had praised before but didn’t realize Maera had obtained any. He would find out later that Hetman Mittack had given her a supply, along with a promise for future replenishments.

They ate quietly, Maera still with her fixed smile. Anarynd slowly relaxed and cast occasional looks at the others. Yozef hesitated to broach the subject, so Maera jumped in.

“Yozef. Ana and I have been talking about the future. Neither of us wants to ever be away from the other again. We think the best way to ensure that is for Ana to join our marriage.”

Well, crap, Yozef thought. Just beat around the bush, why don’t you!

Anarynd had not looked up from the table as Maera spoke. There was silence for several moments . . . then Anarynd glanced quickly at Yozef. She immediately dropped her gaze, her hands in her lap.

I’m supposed to say something here? Duh! But what?

Yozef’s silence brought forth a frown from Maera. He translated the look as, “Well, say something, you dolt!”

“Uh . . . an interesting possibility. You say you’ve already discussed this between the two of you?”

“Yes,” said Maera with a roll of the eyes.

“And you, Anarynd?” Yozef prompted.

She nodded, still looking forward and down.

“What do you think of this idea, Anarynd?” asked Yozef.

Anarynd’s arms were moving in such a way that he thought she might be wringing her hands. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. She swallowed several times, then looked up, first at Maera and then at Yozef.

“I would like that. Very much.”

Yozef had thought his and Maera’s courtship had been on the rational side, but it made this round look gooey and love-struck. He wasn’t committed, as yet, no matter what Maera thought and planned. He had no intention of marrying Anarynd, if she wasn’t more enthusiastic than this.

Maybe it’s Maera? Has Maera been pressuring her into something Anarynd doesn’t want or isn’t sure about?

“This is a major step, Anarynd—to bring you into Maera’s and my marriage. It would need to be something that you want.”

Anarynd’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked frantically back and forth between her two potential marriage partners.

“Oh, yes. Maera. Yozef. I would want this so much. It would be as if God had reached down and blessed me. I have nowhere to go. No family. Just Maera, and now Aeneas . . . and, of course, you, Yozef. I can’t imagine going anywhere else. To stay here and be part of your family is something I want more than anything.”

Anarynd stopped and looked longingly at Yozef.

“Oh, Yozef, I promise I will be a good wife.”

Well, shit. Sounds like more of desperation rather than fondness, Yozef thought. No. That’s not fair. She loves Maera, and the way she dotes on Aeneas, she loves him, too. I might be the odd one out here. She probably is desperate. This might be the best of all places for her, given her circumstances and what’s to come with the Narthani. Besides, it’s not like Maera’s arguments aren’t valid about how helpful it will be to have Anarynd formally part of the household. Just having her live with us indefinitely would leave her without a formal role in society, whereas the wife of Yozef Kolsko and the co-wife of Maera would be as solid a standing as she could obtain.

He would never have considered this possibility by himself, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have acted on it. The potential to affect his and Maera’s relationship, not to mention Hetman Keelan, would have blocked any serious thoughts. Still, just because it was Maera’s idea and the two of them were so close didn’t mean there was no potential for major problems. It was one of those things that might sound plausible in theory but became complicated in practice.

In other words . . . I’m not sure if this is a good idea or if I want it, thought Yozef.

The two women watched Yozef closely. Anarynd began to look distressed that Yozef would decline the offer, and Maera started to suspect that he would back out from what she had assumed they had agreed on.

Yozef continued to look from one woman to the other. I suppose this is no more a risk than anything else that’s happened to me the last couple of years. I pray I’m not overly optimistic, but it can’t be harder than being dumped on Anyar or involved in a war with the Narthani . . . can it?

“Anarynd, Maera and I would be happy to have you join our marriage.”

Both women let out gasps, jumped to their feet, and embraced each other. He couldn’t hear their exact words but didn’t need to.

What am I, a sideshow here? thought the bemused husband and husband-to-be.

Several minutes passed while Yozef sat and the two women hugged and murmured. Then Maera relaxed the embrace and, with an arm around Anarynd’s waist, guided her toward Yozef. He rose from his chair.

Maera was smiling.

“Yozef, I think it appropriate for you to kiss the wife-to-be.”

Anarynd blushed as Maera gently nudged her in Yozef’s direction. He had never touched Anarynd even casually. He put out his hands to her upper arms and held them there. She flinched when he first touched her arms. He then drew her to him and lightly kissed her. She flinched again but closed her eyes and returned the kiss, lightly.

Not exacting overriding passion on either side here, he thought, but this needs to go slow.

Yozef then reached over with his left arm and drew Maera to them both. He kissed Maera, more firmly than he had Anarynd, then Anarynd lightly again, and the three of them folded into a joint hug.

Abbot Beynom Interviews

The next day, Maera reported that she had spoken with Abbot Beynom to grant permission for the marriage. Sistian and Diera Beynom were both in Caernford “temporarily”: Diera organizing MASH units and contributing to planning medicant needs for the Dillagon redoubt, and Sistian advising Culich Keelan. Sistian’s first task when Culich asked him to come to Caernford was to consider the issue of multiple wives, something that was not forbidden by the Word, but neither explicitly approved. The custom was more common in a few of the northern clans but was rare elsewhere on Caedellium and only in unusual circumstances and when approved by local theophists and authorities. The disaster for the Moreland clan at the Battle of Moreland City had created nearly a thousand widows, and that clan’s theophists had declared multiple marriages allowable to provide for widows and children.

Everyone expected that future fighting would create more widows. Culich wanted a clear position for Clan Keelan and had asked Sistian to talk with other Keelan abbots and theophists and recommend a policy. Sistian met with Maera only three days after giving a written report to Culich.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, Maera,” said Sistian. “I gave permission at Abersford for Bronwyn Linton to marry into her sister’s family, and there were two requests for such permissions after Moreland City.”

“I remember Diera telling me about one case,” said Maera. “A smithy killed in the fighting, and his widow marrying a couple whose husband worked at the smithy shop.”

“Yes. Bellton Nolswyn was his name. He and his wife, Elwela, were close friends with the worker and wife, and they all thought it would best work if they joined. I wasn’t enthused but saw no reason not to approve. The Word takes no position on multiple marriages, as long as children are cared for and all the adults genuinely approve.

“But each case is different,” said Sistian. “I wonder how this one came about, since Anarynd is not a widow, and there are no children of hers to consider how they will be cared for after her husband died.”

“It was my idea,” said Maera. “With all the reasons why both Yozef and I are frequently called away from home, I felt we needed a permanent caretaker for Aeneas more than people we’d employed or nearby families. Who knows where we will be? We’ve already moved from Abersford to Caernford, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we move again, possibly to Orosz City, since that’s where the main resistance to the Narthani will inevitably form.”

“Move to Orosz City?” said the abbot, surprised. “I haven’t heard anything like this from Yozef or Culich.”

“No one has spoken about it, but Orosz City is more in the center of Caedellium. At some point, Yozef and our best fighting men will have to be there to respond to Narthani moves. The city is in the center of the island, and here in Caernford we’re too far from the northern clans. Knowing how Yozef resisted our move to Caernford, I haven’t mentioned this to him, but I believe he’ll come to the decision on his own or be convinced when the time comes.”

“That may well be, but is it a strong enough argument for the marriage?” said Sistian, who continued without waiting for a response. “Nevertheless, these are not normal times. I can sense you believe this is a rational decision, but not everything can be decided by logic alone, especially relations among people. Do you understand that this would change the relations among the three of you?”

“I love Yozef, and I love Ana. Not in the same way, of course. I love Yozef as my husband and the father of Aeneas. I love Ana as a sister, possibly even more than a sister—more like a soul mate. I know things will change, but I have faith that we will deal with any changes.”

Beynom Quarters, St. Tomo’s Abbey

“How did the three interviews go, Sistian?” asked Diera Beynom, sitting across from the desk where her husband wrote.

“I’m not sure how I feel,” said Sistian. “Oh, I didn’t hear anything that would make me not approve of the wedding, given the times we’re in. You know I have grave reservations about multiple marriages, but given that I’ve advised Culich that Keelan theophists should be more lenient in evaluating such cases, there doesn’t seem to be a reason to hesitate with these three. Even so, I have concerns. Maera was very logical and methodical in her reasons why the marriage would benefit all three of them. However, I worry she has too much faith in their individual relationships, and I wonder if she’s fully conscious of how her own feelings might change once the marriage takes place. Sharing a husband with another woman is bound to evoke complicated emotions, even if the woman is as close to her as Anarynd and the husband is Yozef Kolsko.

“Of the three, she seemed the most assured. I believe Anarynd wants the marriage. It’s tragic her family acted as they did, and the uncertainty she must have about her future probably contributes to her seeing Maera and Yozef as a refuge from the past and a solution to an uncertain future.”

“And Yozef?” asked Diera. “There are men who might think having more than one wife desirable until they have to live with it.”

“Interestingly, I believe Yozef is the least convinced. He said his original people do not approve of multiple wives, and he stated his own concerns about the dynamics of such arrangements. However, and it may seem like a contradiction, but I believe his worry about his own role is encouraging. He talked about how he would have to work not to favor Maera over Anarynd. He clearly loves Maera, while—at the moment, anyway—he admits to only respect and concern for Anarynd. He worries she’ll feel left out by his stronger feelings for Maera. I didn’t tell him, but Anarynd told me she doesn’t expect Yozef to love her like he does Maera, only that he comes to have affection for her.”

“Well,” said Diera, “it’s not as if many marriages of one man and one woman are even based on that much thought and mutual concern. Many happen without either man or woman understanding what’s in store with a marriage and children—as happens when either love or lust is thought the only requirement. Then there are marriages also undertaken for practical reasons, such as a woman needing to be supported, a man needing a wife, or a father or family pushing a marriage for whatever reason. So you’ve given consent?”

“Yes, and I pray it works for all three of them.”

Wedding

Yozef had been surprised at the timing of his and Maera’s wedding. From the time Culich gave permission until the wedding was only a few sixdays. Caedelli custom saw no reason for excessive delay once a decision was made. Thus, the wedding of Anarynd Moreland to Yozef and Maera Kolsko took place only a sixday later. A minor obstacle was that Culich Keelan was not pleased. However, a full-frontal campaign by Maera, along with the support of her mother, albeit not enthusiastic, brought Culich around in less than a day. Not that he had veto power; he had already approved the Keelan theophist edict allowing such marriages, and, hetman or not, he had no veto power over clan members’ personal lives, even if it involved a daughter.

The ceremony itself was the antithesis of Maera and Yozef’s. Instead of scores of family members, hundreds of other guests, and elaborate settings as befit the eldest daughter of the Keelan hetman, this ceremony took place in back of their home. They stood under an arbor with only fifteen witnesses, in addition to Abbot Sistian Beynom, who performed the formal words and benedictions: Maera’s mother, father, and two living sisters; Carnigan; Gwyned; Filtin and his wife, Nerlin; Wyfor and Teena Kales; Diera and Cadwulf Beynom; Balwis; and Braithe and Gowlin Reese.

They held the ceremony at mid-afternoon. Anarynd wore a light green gown, a nod to Yozef’s preference for green and a match to Anarynd’s coloring. Maera also wore green but a darker shade—one that complemented her skin tone and that she knew to be Yozef’s favorite color on her.

Anarynd stood facing Yozef and Maera. Is this the right thing to do? she wondered. When Maera first suggested it, it seemed an answer to my prayers, but is it? Oh, I realize I don’t know Yozef that well, but I knew the man I was betrothed to even less. I’d only met him twice, while I’ve lived around Yozef for months. And what about me? Do I want a man—any man—to touch me that way again after Erdelin? I remember looking forward to sharing myself with a husband, but that was a naïve girl’s thinking, not knowing what it meant.

Yozef is a good man, but can I be a good wife? And what about Maera? As much as we love each other, is this going to change that love? There’s still time to back out, to say I’ve changed my mind or need more time. But then what?

Anarynd said nothing.

Yozef faced Anarynd with Maera at his side. Is this the right thing to do? he thought. I’ve never been enthused about this, but I let Maera convince me it was rational. That was all well and good in theory, but now? If I’m so doubtful, I should have done something before or, better yet, quashed the idea, no matter how much Maera pushed it. I suppose I could back out, but can I? Does Anarynd really want this, and if she does, what would it do to her, if I now changed my mind? What have I let myself in for?

The abbot is talking, saying . . . something . . . it must be the ceremony words. If I’m going to stop this, I need to say something right now.

Yozef said nothing.

Maera stood to Yozef’s side, facing Anarynd. There was no Caedelli custom of how a first wife would fit into a second wedding ceremony, but Maera had stated that she needed to be standing with them to show her support of adding another wife to their family.

Is this the right thing to do? Maera asked herself for the umpteenth time. It seemed like such a brilliant idea when it first occurred to me, but what about now? As much as Ana means to me, how am I really going to feel about sharing my home and my husband with her? All of the arguments, pro and con, raced through her mind again—and with no more clear resolution than they had during the last two days.

Is this really the best thing for Ana? How about Yozef? He has acquiesced, but I’ve gotten no sense he’s enthusiastic—so is this fair for either him or Ana? And what about me?

Is there still time to stop this? Could I just speak out now before the abbot says the final words? How would that look? Maybe I could pretend to faint, and then when the three of us are alone, I could try to convince them to call off the wedding. The abbot—he’s about to say the words! I need to say something now.

Maera said nothing.

The ceremony had lasted only a few minutes. Once the abbot’s words sealed the marriage, the group retired to the dining room of the house for an unhurried meal. There was none of the boisterousness of Yozef’s first marriage on Anyar, but, if anything, the mood had more of a quiet warmth. All of the guests had strong connections to Maera and Yozef, and many had been present at the attack at Maera’s birthday dinner—an evening that had forged bonds as strong as decades-long associations. The Reeses were not as close to the Kolskos, but because they lived on the grounds, Yozef and Maera agreed it was proper to invite the family guard and Aeneas’s wet nurse.

During the last Anyar months, Yozef had come to take Anarynd’s presence for granted but had noted her personal appearance as an attractive young woman only once the shadows in her face subsided. That had changed in the last few days. Despite his last-minute reservations, which he hadn’t acted on, he couldn’t help but notice her attributes when she appeared for the ceremony: long blonde hair cascading down her back; bright blue eyes under full lashes; complexion lighter than the average Caedelli, close to Yozef’s own; a waist that flared to hips; and below her dress’s neckline, two generous swells that swayed, unsupported, as she walked. During the two-hour meal, he sat between Anarynd and Maera and found himself self-consciously drawn to look at Anarynd. He noted the smooth skin of her hands and forearms as she passed food and gestured while talking, her hair swirling if she turned her head quickly. A chance glance down her dress led to surreptitious attempts to repeat the view—to his embarrassment. Each time, he turned in a hasty swivel to the guests or Maera.

At sundown, the guests politely bid their leave, along with congratulations, and the three members of the household marriage were left alone on the veranda. Aeneas would spend the night with Braithe.

Yozef wasn’t sure how to proceed. Once again, Maera assisted.

“I will straighten up the dining area for tomorrow. The two of you can retire to Anarynd’s rooms.”

Anarynd had slept in a guest bedroom, but when the marriage was agreed to, the two women had managed to bring in workers to convert an adjoining bedroom into a sitting room—all within four days. The suite had been festooned with flowers for the wedding day, and the scents from the flowers permeated the house.

Maera gave them both a hug, turned, and went into the house. Yozef took Anarynd’s hand, and they walked into her suite. Her hand was damp and cold. It had only been a sixday since Yozef and Anarynd had first touched, and now it was their wedding night.

They entered her bedroom, and he released her hand and closed the door. When he turned back to her, she was already undoing the bowed ties on the front of her dress. That answered his confusion about how they would start, along with anticipatory stirrings in his groin.

Maera busied herself cleaning up after the meal—putting food away into the cool cellar, which had an “ice box.” Yozef had introduced it as a luxury for themselves, but now it had caught on with other houses in Caernford. The small ice-house business he had started brought blocks of ice from the eastern Keelan mountains and stored them in a triple-walled building insulated with straw between the walls. This was the first year of operation, and from the degree of melting, there should be ice all year round, if people were willing and able to pay for it.

Maera finished cleaning the dishes and putting the linens into the laundry room—all tasks the staff would normally have done. It gave her hands and body something to do and helped divert her mind from images of elsewhere in the house. When she couldn’t pretend that anything else needed doing, she went to their?  . . . her?  . . . room, dressed for bed, and lay under the covers for more than an hour before sleep claimed her.

Yozef lay next to a sleeping Anarynd, both of them unclothed. The experience felt odd, as had all of his first such encounters with Anyar women. She had been stiff at first, trembling the first time he stroked her, then lying unmoving as he started. Only when he was about to stop did she tell him not to, and she put her arms around him. After that, it went quickly. She sighed and said, “There, we are husband and wife.” When he moved off her, she turned to her side, facing away, and said, “Goodnight, Yozef.” He lay looking at her back for several minutes, wondering what she was thinking and not knowing what he should feel. Lingering guilt that he had been unfaithful to Maera, even if it was her idea? Had Anarynd truly wanted this, or did she feel coerced, even if not deliberately, by Maera? Was this a good idea, and would it work? As had happened too many times since he’d come to Anyar, Yozef fell asleep pondering too many questions he wondered whether he would ever have answers to.

Maera woke at first light. As she roused from sleep, she turned in the bed toward Yozef . . . who wasn’t there. The realization jolted her fully awake.

He’s in Ana’s bed!

A surge of jealousy and anger washed over her, then receded as she sighed. She knew this was the way it would be, but knowing and knowing were not always the same. She rose to check on Aeneas in his cradle. Braithe must have brought him in during the night after feeding and changing him, without waking Maera. The wet nurse was supposed to keep the baby all night, but either she brought him to Maera by mistake, or she understood that Maera might need to hold the baby the morning after the marriage. Either way, Maera felt grateful. This morning, Aeneas was already awake and amusing himself with mobiles of animals and shapes. He cooed as she picked him up. She checked whether he needed to be changed—he did.

Then she donned a robe and slippers, carried the baby into the kitchen, and sat him in the “high chair” Yozef had had made. She lit the stove, then retrieved a portion of wheat porridge cooked the previous day from the ice box in the cellar. After she warmed the food and fed Aeneas, his eyes drooped, and she put him in the kitchen cradle. Several cradles were distributed around the house. Yozef had said he saw no reason to bother moving one or two cradles; just put one in each room the baby was likely to be in.

The staff had been given the day off to lessen awkward moments on the first full day of the newly altered married life. As Maera washed and cut up fruit, a pot of kava staying warm on the stove, Anarynd padded into the kitchen, wearing her own robe and slippers.

The two women looked at each other, each wondering what to say. Then, as they so often did when reading each other’s mind and mood, both of them spontaneously broke into rueful laughter, walked together, and hugged briefly.

“Oh, Maera . . . this feels . . . odd, or I don’t know what.”

“Ana, Ana . . . I’ve been wondering what to say this morning and still don’t know, but at least we laughed.”

They hugged again, and then Maera went back to the fruit, with Anarynd helping. It kept them busy, but the pile of fruit slices had well exceeded any needed for their morning meal when Maera spoke again.

“I suppose I should ask how it went for you last night.”

“It was . . . all right. I was nervous about everything. Certainly, it was nothing like my images of my wedding night. At least, there was none of the nervous virgin about it.” She said the last words with deep bitterness and sadness.

Maera didn’t speak, just put a comforting hand on Anarynd’s arm.

“No . . . I’m really all right. Yozef was gentle. He offered that we could wait for . . . you know . . . if I wasn’t ready. I was tempted but didn’t know what would change with time. I’m not sure Yozef was all that eager for it, but nature took care of any of his hesitation once we were in bed.

“Afterward, I lay awake for several hours, pretending to be asleep. Once it was done, I thought about many things. Yes, those months with the Narthani, but mainly being here. You, Yozef, Aeneas, but most of all the future. I also felt . . . I guess good is the only way I can describe it, or maybe at peace would be closer. I feel like I have a place—something I wasn’t sure would ever happen. I only have one worry. Will things change between you and me? Oh, Maera, I pray it won’t. That would be heartbreaking.”

“Ana, I pray for the same. I can’t say for certain how I feel right now. This is strange and new for me, too, but I would never hold anything against you.”

“And Maera, I know how much Yozef loves you, and you, him. I don’t see that changing, and I won’t be jealous, because I know he’ll always feel more for you than for me.”

Another hug, this one tighter than before, was accompanied by two sets of tears. When Yozef walked down the hall ten minutes later, his wondering about how his two wives were getting along was assuaged by voices and laughter from the kitchen. He found the two women feeding newly awakened Aeneas crushed fruit—a good half of which found its way into his little mouth.

The expanded Kolsko family resumed a routine not all that different from before the marriage, with three notable exceptions. Anarynd’s slow opening up after her ordeal accelerated, and her status in the household went from beloved guest to member. The third difference was the establishment of two main bedroom suites, instead of one. Unspoken but understood was that this would signal no difference in the status of each wife. He solved the question of where to store his own clothes by simply dividing them in half and buying new ones. He’d briefly considered having a separate bedroom for himself but discarded the idea for two reasons: it might contribute to a sense of remoteness among them, and he liked sleeping next to a warm body, even though it would take him several months to feel as natural with Anarynd as with Maera.

In sleeping arrangements and everything else he could stay conscious of, he made an effort to indicate no preference—no first and second wives, just wives. Yozef also initially resisted Maera’s suggestion for a regular “alternating nights” arrangement, until Anarynd assured him it didn’t mean he was obliged to perform every night. To Yozef’s embarrassment, the point was settled and the schedule set. As the months passed, they settled into a pattern where he alternated between their rooms, along with occasionally sleeping on a cot in his office if he worked into the night. For different reasons, the routine satisfied all three of them.

CHAPTER 21: NARTHANI PREPARE

Colonel Erkan Ketin

The sun beat down from its mid-day height. With the usual breezes absent, the men working were soaked in sweat. Boys with buckets hustled to men calling for water. Dust rose from horse-drawn wagons of timbers and men digging.

“Coming along well, Erkan,” stated Akuyun.

Colonel Erkan Ketin grunted. The commander of the Preddi Province—and Akuyun’s engineering expert—wasn’t fooled. “Easy for you to say, Okan. You’re not around as much as I am, and you don’t have to listen to the complaints about why we’re spending so much effort preparing to be attacked by the islanders when so many more men are on the way. The griping has trickled down to officers lower than captain, and I can just imagine what our noncommissioned officers have to put up with and tamp down with the common troops. I even have to say I have some sympathy.”

Akuyun was annoyed that one of his subordinates, and an officer he respected, doubted the wisdom of his superior’s orders. However, Akuyun expected honest opinions and advice, and disagreements—as long as orders were obeyed—allowed men to appreciate that their views were heard.

“Frankly, Erkan, I hope all the complaints are justified and the efforts you and the men have put into this work turns out to be a waste of time. On the other hand, if it’s not—”

“Oh, I understand. If it turns out to be necessary, then we’re in a world of shit, and this work might save our lives.”

Ketin had waved his hand at the ongoing work. A ten-foot-high wooden wall encircled Preddi City, with a three-foot-deep, six-foot-wide ditch three feet from the wall. The men had piled dirt from the ditch against the wall, providing protection from musket fire and the ability to absorb cannon fire aimed at the wall’s base. At fifty-yard intervals, they’d cut away the wall and the dirt to allow positions for cannon that could provide grazing fire on flat land cleared out to five hundred yards. At five-hundred-yard intervals along the wall stood a rock-and-masonry bastion twenty feet high with positions for cannon to fire both straight out from the wall and along the wall to suppress breaches.

General Akuyun looked at the wall running to the east, then disappearing as it curved northeast. This last section of the wall ran eight miles from the northeast point on the shore of the Gulf of Witlow, westward, then south, then east to the southeast, to end where they stood facing the gulf south of Preddi City. When this section was finished, Akuyun would be satisfied they had done all they could. Not that this line of fortifications would stop a determined assault, but it would surely slow it down and drain the attackers. They would still have to cross another half mile of cleared ground before they got to the city’s main fortifications.

“It also keeps the men busy and in good physical condition,” said Akuyun. “If we’re not carrying out offensive actions against the islanders and not letting the men help build infrastructure, they’ll sit and think too much.”

“We’ll have to find something else for them to do,” said Ketin, “because we should finish this final section in the next two sixdays—one sixday to complete the wall and another sixday to tidy up details along the whole length.”

“I’m hoping that won’t be a problem, Erkan. The new corps should be here sometime within the next month or two. Once you’re finished with the wall, you’ll move on to complete the encampment area to hold the tens of thousands of men under Marshal Gullar’s command.”

Ketin had already laid out the general design for a bivouac area for the coming army. Preliminary staking of the encampment was in place, and production of tents and lumber for crude barracks for officers was ongoing. Once they’d completed the outer fortifications of the city, Ketin’s engineers and workers would concentrate on the encampment, completing buildings, tent rows, latrines, and a single-layer fortification ditch and berm. No one, not even Akuyun in his urge to account for all possibilities, foresaw a Narthani corps having to sit and repel an islander attack. This would surely be an offensive force.

“I’ll leave you to it, Erkan. I have other sites to visit before getting back to the most important task—endless paperwork. Right now, Major Torvik is expecting me.”

Horses

Fifteen minutes later, Akuyun and his twenty-man escort topped a rise and looked down into a valley covered with grazing horses, corrals, and a cluster of barns and smithies. They trotted down the slope to a building flying a major’s banner. Torvik had been alerted to their approach and met them before they reached the buildings, reining in his horse and saluting from the saddle.

“Welcome to the cavalry staging station, General.”

“Thank you, Major. I see, hear, and smell you’re well on the way to gathering the horses the new units will need.”

Torvik laughed. “Yes, five thousand horses do fill a valley with noise and smell. The ones you saw grazing haven’t been processed yet—that’s about four thousand. I’m setting up another staging area ten miles from here. We need spacing so as not to overgraze. At both sites, we’ll check the horses’ general health as soon as they arrive. The first thousand have been sorted according to how we evaluate they’ll be best used, cavalry or pulling wagons and artillery. For both, we confirm they’re ready to be used or, if not completely broken in yet, proceed with that phase. Once that’s complete, they’re shod or reshod and kept in corrals or staked out. Those are a mile from here in the next valley. I don’t like to mix the two groups.”

“How do you evaluate progress for readying the full twenty thousand by the time our new friends arrive?”

“I can’t guarantee we’ll have all the horses processed, but we’ll be close. My men have identified approximately twenty-four thousand available horses, including about half of the total coming from the Selfcell and Eywell clans. They’re angry we requisited so many of their horses, but they complied. Ten thousand are already gathered or on their way. I know the order you received stated ten thousand cavalry, but my experience is that such estimates are always too low. Then there are the horses for wagons and artillery. We’re aiming for thirty thousand horses, or nearly so, when the new men arrive. Of course, the numbers have to be consistent with the horses required for Brigadier Zulfa’s men and Administrator Tuzere’s civilian use.”

Akuyun appreciated Torvik’s candor. Any officer serving with Akuyun soon learned, if he didn’t already know, that the general didn’t tolerate inaccurate reports. Not that he was altogether pleased Torvik didn’t report more horses processed at this point, but he sensed the major had a handle on the task, and the initiative to plan on extra horses stood him in good stead with the mission commander.

“All right, Major, I don’t think I need to see any more. I only wanted to view how it was progressing. I’ve read your reports, but occasionally seeing for myself is recommended. Thousands of horses on paper isn’t as real as in person—seeing, hearing, and smelling, as I said before. However, now it’s back to headquarters for me.”

Admiral Morfred Kalcan

“Great Narth, Okan!” exclaimed Kalcan as he crossed the threshold of Akuyun’s office. “I could smell horses before I opened the door. What have you been doing with the smelly, stupid beasts?” Kalcan’s antipathy toward horses was well known.

“Visiting Major Torvik’s mount mustering camp,” Akuyun replied ruefully. “Even though I only spent a few minutes there, that many thousands of horses in a sheltered valley accumulate quite an atmosphere.”

“How’s it coming along? Will Torvik have all the horses ready?”

“He says they’ll be close. I wish he’d be more optimistic, but he’s honest, and I believe doing the best they can. My worry, as is Zulfa’s and Tuzere’s, is we’ll end up stripping all three provinces of every horse. On paper, there are enough horses for Gullar, our own men, and the civilians, but just barely.”

“I’m just glad they aren’t my responsibility.”

The current commander of Narthani naval forces around Caedellium had only one new task from what had been his responsibilities since arriving at the island. It was a task he had worked on quietly for the last three months, ever since General Akuyun told him to keep the activity level subdued enough to delay word spreading.

“Well, Morfred,” said Akuyun once Kalcan had sat in a chair opposite his commander’s desk, “how are things on Klinwyn Island?”

“It’s slow going, since you want to keep it as low key as possible. There’s only so many men I can arrange to be pulled from ship or shore duty before they’re noticed. As it is, I have seventy of my men and two hundred slaves working to clear land, make serviceable roads, build solid storage structures, and construct crude shelters. If we ever need the island for an emergency refuge for women and children, it will take a hell of a lot more work if the numbers go over four or five thousand.”

Akuyun looked grim. “I imagine under that scenario we’ll have plenty more labor available. Naturally, I hope all your men’s efforts are unneeded.”

“As do I,” said Kalcan. “I imagine I’m in the same situation as Ketin and his fortifications of Preddi City, although the difference is that my task is smaller than his, and mine is behind the scenes.”

“Let’s keep it that way as long as we can. I’ve told Zulfa what I asked you to do but not the other officers.”

“What about when Gullar arrives?” asked Kalcan. “Will you inform him of our plans for Klinwyn Island?”

“I don’t think so, Morfred. Why bring up an issue that might never matter? If we’re ever going to need the emergency refuge, it should be before the new army arrives. Afterward, what we prepared on Klinwyn won’t matter.”

Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa

Akuyun’s troop commander was attending his final meeting of the day. They sat at a small table near the window of Akuyun’s office, overlooking the Preddi City harbor. The last of the afternoon’s sun had moved behind the headquarters’ corner, reducing glare on the glass and giving a clear view of the sun’s rays highlighting wave tops and ships’ spars with occasional glitter from reflections off metal parts on ship and shore.

“Okan, I think it’s time to start pulling back our garrisons in Selfcell and Eywell,” asserted Zulfa, using his commander’s first name while they were alone. “Jurna has the feeling the clans are about to do something. Something we won’t like.”

Major Jomzik Jurna had assumed command of the Narthani troops in Eywell Province after the previous commander, Colonel Memas Erdelin, was killed in a daring nighttime assault on his villa in Hanslow, the Eywell capital. Jurna, now Brevet Colonel Jurna by Akuyun’s authority, had assumed command and had impressed Akuyun enough that he now considered Jurna next in command order after Zulfa, though he hadn’t yet seen the necessity to inform the other two colonels, Ketin and Metan, of his decision.

“Any specifics from Jurna or just intuition?” asked Akuyun.

“Jurna reports clan patrols are getting larger and more aggressive. Instead of simply pushing back our own patrols, the clans have taken to pursing our men farther into Eywell and Selfcell territory. He also says that in talking to his patrol leaders, the clansmen are acting more organized. More like small military units, instead of simply a clump of men on horseback. I know, it’s thin evidence, but I’ve come to think Jurna has good instincts, so I don’t discount his impression.

“We’ve talked about this before, but I think it may be time to start not only drawing our own men back toward Preddi, but also the Selfcellese and Eywellese. Selfcell is the easiest. Their capital, Sellmor, is in the southern part of the province and not far from Preddi. Since northern Selfcell is less populated, it wouldn’t take that much effort for them to pull the ten thousand or so clanspeople south toward Sellmor.

“Eywell is another story. Their population is concentrated in the province’s north, which makes them more vulnerable to being cut off by a major clan invasion. I also don’t know how they would respond if we told them to abandon their north. The other problem is, where would they go? If we’re going to count on Eywell horsemen as auxiliaries for the new army, we have to provide for the men’s families. That means concentrating their population around Neath, the only city of any size in southern Eywell, and even that is not sufficient, meaning we’d have to bring many of them into Preddi territory.”

Akuyun’s lips pursed as he contemplated actions he’d hoped to delay longer. “It would be a tricky dance, Aivacs. If the clans realize what we’re doing, they could attack while the withdrawal is underway, catching our men and clan allies in exposed conditions. Take too long, and we risk Jurna being right, and the clans attack before we act.” He held up a hand to forestall Zulfa’s counter. “But, as all too often, we have to decide on the least bad option. It’s been a year since I’ve been outside Preddi Province, but I think for this it’s best if I personally give the ‘orders’ to the Selfcell and Eywell hetmen. I’m not worried about Eywell. We put the new hetman in place, and the clan is too weakened to refuse. I am worried about Selfcell. They’ve always been the less enthused about the alliance, so I think it’s best if I meet with Roblyn Langor myself. I’ll combine giving the order to evacuate northern Selfcell with promises to assist in the move and provide support for the increased population of southern Selfcell.”

“It might help if we move more of the Selfcell garrison north until the evacuation is complete,” said Zulfa. “That should give the Selfcellese more of a sense of security and prevent clan raids from harassing the move.”

Akuyun drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I dislike moving our men north, if we think a clan attack could cut them off. Go ahead and write up details of what we’ve discussed, and I’ll look it over and take time to think about the ramifications. I won’t alert the two hetmen of my visit yet, but if we’re going to do this, it should be in the next month.”

Akuyun Villa, Preddi City

“How did the meetings on preparation go today, Okan?” asked Rabia Akuyun.

Her husband’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a laugh. “Now, my dear, is that really the question you want to ask?”

She sighed. “Well, I am interested, but I confess I would have worked up to asking if you’d seen Orem.”

Their thirteen-year-old son had started his fourth day as a water-carrier to men working on the outer defensive wall. The boy had slipped back into disrespectful behavior and ignoring his studies after being reprimanded by his father several times in the last two years. His parents had agreed it was time for him to learn what it was like to exist at different levels of Narthani society. The Narthani didn’t follow this older practice as much as in the past, which involved spending short periods of time at a variety of tasks. It wasn’t a universal custom among the Narthani, but both Okan’s and Rabia’s families believed it developed a stronger character and gave adolescents humbling experiences as they moved toward adulthood.

“Yes, I saw him when I met with Ketin. I think I was successful in pretending I didn’t notice him. However, I’m sure he saw me. Unless I’m mistaken, when he saw me, he picked up his pace from walking to refill his buckets to running when the buckets were empty and shuffling as fast as he could when they were full.”

“Is that good or bad? Was he slacking before?”

“I’d say not,” said Okan. “At first, he was working at the pace of the other boys I saw, so I think it was a matter of working harder to impress me.”

“I might be seeing a difference here at home, too. After the first day, he barely dragged himself into his room and collapsed into bed, yet managed not to snarl at his sister on the way. His sulking also seems less frequent, though it might be wishful thinking.”

“No, I think you’re right. Is he in his room now?”

“Last I knew, yes,” said Rabia. “When he got home, he was obviously tired but went straight there to clean up and then began working on his studies.”

Okan gave his wife a hug. “Maybe it’s time to give him a touch of encouragement. I’ll go speak with him and say how well the fortifications are going, how every little task is important, and casually mention I saw him working hard.”

“Good. Let me know how he takes it. And before you go up, I do want to know if the meetings went well.”

“They went as well as I could reasonably expect. Naturally, I always want things to progress faster than they do, but everything considered, all is going well. The last of the fortifications are almost complete, and preparing horses for the new army is progressing. Kalcan says the Klinwyn Island work is slow, but given that he’s keeping it quiet, that’s understandable. More problematical is what to do about the Selfcellese and Eywellese. Colonel Jurna is convinced the clans are working up to making a move, what exactly we don’t know. What it means is we’re thinking harder about getting the two clans to start moving their people closer to Preddi to avoid being isolated and us losing the support of their fighting men. Zulfa is keeping an eye on the situation, but if the new army doesn’t arrive in a few sixdays, it may force us to act.”

“I’m sure you’ll act when the time is best. For now, go see Orem, then clean up. Evening meal will be ready when you come down.”

CHAPTER 22: DECISIONS

Caernford

Yozef had returned home late the previous evening after a lengthy meeting at the Keelan Clan headquarters in Caernford, where a decision had been made. He would give his wives—he still had trouble forming the plural—the news over morning meal that he’d be leaving for at least two sixdays. The three of them sat near one another at the large dining room table—Yozef wanted to add an extension to the kitchen and call it their “breakfast” nook. He’d had to explain the word breakfast meant “morning meal” in English, and he didn’t think “morning meal nook” quite sounded right. Anarynd held Aeneas, while Maera smashed his scrambled duck eggs that Serys, their cook, had prepared for all of them.

“Ah-hum . . . when I met with Culich last night, we decided another trip to Orosz City is necessary. The War Council needs to meet to confirm when the clans will try to isolate Selfcell and Eywell from the Narthani. We plan on leaving in two days.”

“How long would you be gone, Yozef?” asked Anarynd.

“The trip to and from Orosz City and the meeting will probably be five or six days, but the surveyors’ search for potential battle sites has yielded enough candidates that after the meeting, Denes, Mulron, and I will go with hetmen Stent, Orosz, and Farkesh to examine five sites in the northwest part of Caedellium. Culich won’t accompany us, even though he’s the fourth member of the council. It’ll be horseback travel, and his leg won’t allow him to ride that much. However, there will be several Keelanders in the party.”

“Is anyone from the MIU going?” asked Maera. “It should be Gartherid Kennrick, since he’s organized the surveys and already visited the sites.”

“I was worried about him, but he doesn’t seem to have problems horseback riding with his peg leg. Maybe because he’s younger than Culich or just the difference in their bodies, but he must have ridden a thousand miles or more the last month. We’ve also decided to invite the three Fuomi leaders to come with us to inspect potential battle sites and attend meetings. That’s if they’re interested.”

“If the Fuomi are going, then so should I,” asserted Maera. “You’ll need me to assess the Fuomi responses to what they hear. I can take better notes of the meetings and discussions than anyone else.”

Yozef hesitated in responding, then said, “I thought of that, but I know you’ve already been concerned about not spending enough time with Aeneas.”

Maera glanced sideways toward Anarynd, holding the baby.

Anarynd noticed the look. “You should go, Maera, if you think it’s important. One reason I agreed to the marriage was so I could help free your time to help against the Narthani. There’s nothing essential I can do, but you’re different. Ever since I got to Caernford, I’ve seen how important you are, including when you help Yozef.”

Neither Maera nor Yozef argued with Anarynd. Maera was important, and there were things far more crucial to the clans’ efforts than anything Anarynd could contribute. Maera didn’t say it aloud, but this situation illustrated one advantage of bringing Anarynd into the marriage.

“Oh, Ana,” said Maera, “I don’t want you to feel as if I’m taking advantage of you by leaving you with Aeneas.”

“Pooh,” sniffed Anarynd. “I love the little dear, and Braithe will do much of the caregiving. Then there’s Gwyned and your family. More important, while you’re gone, I’ll be the head of the Kolsko household. Not that I expect anything drastic to happen, but it will make me feel more like a significant partner in this marriage.”

Yozef put a hand on Maera’s forearm to forestall further discussion. Anarynd’s right. This is one reason we married her. And there’s no way around it, she is the minor member of the triad, which either must have been apparent to her right from the start or will be eventually. This is a step to make her feel that she’s important.

“There, it’s settled,” said Yozef, addressing Anarynd. “Maera will come with me to Orosz City. We’ll decide there if she’ll accompany us to visit the potential battlefields. Anarynd, Maera and I will tell all the staff today that you will be household head while we’re gone.”

As soon as they were alone, Maera told Yozef, “You should spend the next two nights with Anarynd, since I’ll be with you on the trip.” Yozef didn’t have a quick response, which was fortuitous, because Maera didn’t wait for one and continued speaking. “I’ll get my coat, and we need to be on our way into Caernford. I’m sure there’re numerous details to work out before we leave.”

Two days later, with the sun a hand’s breadth above the eastern hill, three carriages and Balwis’s dragoon company left Caernford heading north. Yozef wanted Balwis to be involved in the planning for the attack to cut out the two Narthani allied clans, and he wanted to see Balwis’s newly formed company in action more than he’d had the opportunity to observe previously. Unfortunately for the Preddi escapee, Yozef envisioned Balwis’s company of Preddi and ex-slaves expanding to a battalion within the next month or two. His strident complaints against more responsibility would go for naught.

The Fuomi’s response to the invitation to return again to Orosz City was mixed: Kivalian was eager to hear more of the clans’ plans and hadn’t wanted to return to Caernford after the conclave, Saisannin had recently confessed to Maera she thought it was time for their mission to return to East Head Point and depart Caedellium, and Rintala was unexpectedly nonchalant at the prospect of moving again deeper into Caedellium.

Rhanjur Gaya, the Landoliner, was a last-minute addition to the party. Yozef hadn’t known his interest until he showed up, packed for the trip. Yozef couldn’t think of a good reason not to allow him, so said nothing.

Although the occupants of the carriage at any one time varied, depending on shifting discussions, they started with Yozef, Maera, and Culich in one carriage; Mulron, Denes, and Gartherid Kennrick in a second; and the three Fuomi plus Gaya in the third.

Yozef’s riding skills had improved, but his trust in horses was still limited to the three he owned. Seabiscuit had retired, so Mr. Ed and Man o’War were tied to the Kolsko carriage. He rode each for an hour a day during the two-day trip to Orosz City.

Eina Saisannin said she was not a good-enough horsewoman and would remain in Orosz City to wait for Rintala and Kivalian, who would accompany the inspections. Maera said she would be more useful spending the time to learn more about Fuomon from Eina and practice her Fuomi, and she stated that she would not go to inspect battlefield sites either.

Orosz City

The War Council met in the conclave building. Besides the four members and Yozef, hetmen of the Adris, Bultecki, and Hewell clans attended because of their proximity to Orosz. Less anticipated was the attendance of hetmen from Skouks and Swavebroke, sons of former hetmen killed recently by the Narthani and who fervently supported action. Another twenty-four men consisted of advisers of attending hetmen or representatives of clans whose hetmen were not present. The War Council would allow questions from anyone attending, but only when asked for.

Orosz, the titular leader of the council, attended only to formalize the proceedings. He called the council into session with the traditional gong used during clan conclaves.

“We have previously agreed that when the time is right, the free clans will remove the Selfcell and Eywell clans as allies of the Narthani. The subject today is to decide whether the time has come and the clans’ preparations have progressed enough to be successful.”

During the next half hour, the council members gave reports on their areas of responsibility: Keelan, on intelligence; Orosz, on logistics; and Farkesh, on personnel. Stent, for operations, went last and provided the crux of the meeting.

“The basic plan is as proposed by Yozef, with details still being finalized,” said Stent. He pulled a cloth off a blackboard showing a white chalk drawing of a map of Caedellium and two large red chalk arrows. “Two forces will invade Eywell using roughly the same routes we followed in the thousand-man raids. Our purpose then was to warn the Narthani we could attack their territories if they used their navy to strike a coastal clan, as they did Swavebroke. We will call our two forces simply the Northern Force and the Southern Force.

“Before I continue with details, note that on Yozef’s suggestion, and given that these will be the largest forces we have yet put into action, the commanders will be given what Yozef calls ‘brevet’ ranks only for this action. This means that men will be assigned ranks based on the number of men they command. For example, during our previous raid toward Hanslow, I commanded just over a thousand men, and my rank for the action was colonel. According to the ranks we have agreed to use, one to three thousand men require a leader rank of colonel, and eight to twelve thousand, a leader rank of brigadier. Thus, for the proposed action to isolate the Narthani inside Preddi Province, I will command the Northern Force with the rank of brigadier. Similarly, other men will be given brevet ranks to command. Since these ranks are temporary, it’s also a trial to judge all our performances. Consistent with Yozef’s On War principles, any man who, in our general judgment, does not perform well will not be given as high a command again. This includes hetmen and their families. I publicly acknowledge this principle, and I will accede to the will of the rest of the War Council if I do not command well enough.

“As it happens, I have two relatives who will command regiments as brevet colonels—a younger brother and an uncle. Both have been apprised of the conditions of their brevet ranks, and both will concur, although I admit my uncle needed some extensive ‘discussions’ to convince him.

“The Northern Force will have eleven one-thousand-man regiments with a colonel. These are smaller regiments than we might have in the future, but the northern clans aren’t as far along with experience in working together as are the southern clans. We also don’t yet have mixed-clan regiments I trust to fight efficiently. In the raid I commanded, we saw too much confusion, including a Moreland company commander who withdrew his men without my approval, thereby threatening the position of a flanking company from a different clan. We’ve agreed to keep the regiments for the current action composed only of men from single clans but with strict instructions from their hetmen to follow my orders, no matter what they are. I anticipate problems, but I’ll have to deal with them as they occur.

“The Southern Force will be commanded by Denes Vegga. As with myself, he’ll have the brevet rank of brigadier, and like myself, he has never have commanded this large a force. Yozef correctly points out that neither Brigadier Vegga nor I should be in command, given our lack of experience, and so on, down through the ranks. However, given that we have no one with such experience, we have no other options.”

“We should all realize that the action we’re planning has two major objectives,” Yozef pointed out. “One is to stop the Selfcell and Eywell clans from helping the Narthani. That’s an important objective, but just as important is that this is a practice for when we eventually face the larger Narthani army. We will have to maneuver forces of this size and larger against that army, and the current action will likely be our only opportunity to gain experience in coordination before the real fighting begins.”

“As Yozef says,” said Stent, “this action to cut out the two clans is as much training as anything else. It’s not to engage the Narthani in battle, although if they unexpectedly send a major force into Selfcell and Eywell against us, we’ll reassess at that time. None of us think that will happen. We believe the most they will do is use existing fortifications and other positions within Preddi Province should we force the issue, which we won’t. We don’t want to become stuck in a serious engagement when we don’t know when their reinforcements will arrive or where they might land. We want them to land in Preddi City, so we know where they are and that they’re concentrated in that location. We don’t want them to find us fighting the existing Narthani and have them land somewhere else on the island.”

Stent turned to the blackboard and pointed to the northern arrow. “My force will cross the Moreland/Eywell border twenty miles from Hanslow, their capital. We intend to move fast enough to prevent any Narthani or Eywell fighting men not already inside the city’s defenses to reach there before we surround the city. We won’t attempt to take the city by force but will bypass and continue pushing hard southwest, with the goal of reaching the coast south of Sellmor, the Selfcell capital. If we move fast enough, the Selfcellese won’t be able to withdraw into Preddi Province before we cut them off. In theory, we could find ourselves caught between Selfcell forces and the Narthani to our south, but they will be occupied by Brigadier Vegga.

“As for the Eywellese, we will brush aside any attempt to stop our movement toward Selfcell. We estimate no more than two thousand Eywell fighting men from Hanslow south to their southern coast. The rest will be contained within Hanslow and several towns in the north. To hold those in place, another five thousand men will stay encamped near Hanslow. They will not be part of the Northern Force and will consist of less organized units from Skouks and Swavebroke. Both of these clans wanted some role after what the Narthani did in killing their hetmen and burning Shullick, the Swavebroke capital.”

Stent motioned to Vegga. “Brigadier Vegga will describe the Southern Force and field objective.”

Denes and Stent exchanged places standing at the blackboard.

“The Southern Force will have a different organization, due to more experience in mixed-clan units. We will have four regiments of twenty-five hundred men each. They will be commanded by brevet colonels, three of whom have previous experience in command, though with fewer men. The four will be Arst Sixwith and Poul Kildorn, who were battalion commanders on our raid to the borders of Preddi; Mulron Luwis, who commanded the support base for that same raid; and Lordum Hewell. Sixwith and Luwis are Keelanders; Kildorn, an Oroszian; and Lordum Hewell is obviously a Hewellian. Hewell has the least experience, but we have enough confidence in him to give him a regiment—at least for now. His men will be mainly from his own clan, but he has agreed to be removed from command, if I decide to replace him. The other three regiments will be mixed clans down to the company level, with a few mixed-clan platoons.

“The primary goal of the Southern Force will be to fix the Narthani in their strongest positions in and around Preddi City, so they can’t come to Selfcell and Eywell’s aid—mainly Selfcell, because, as Brigadier Stent noted, their population is concentrated in the south of the province, compared to Eywell’s in the north. While we don’t believe the Narthani will take risks to defend Selfcell’s population, the proximity could tempt them, and we don’t plan to engage in major field battles—unless circumstances change our evaluations.

“Our secondary objective is to support the Northern Force, if necessary, once the two forces are within tactical contact in northern Preddi Province and southern Selfcell.”

When Vegga finished, Orosz called for questions. There were few, considering the magnitude of the plan and the largest action the clans had ever taken together, but all of the attending islanders had already been briefed on details. This meeting was to settle any final issues and would result in the formal decision of the War Council. After half an hour, when questions slackened, Rintala, the Fuomi commander, raised his hand. The foreign observers had been silent until then.

“Hetmen Orosz,” asked Rintala, as translated by Eina Saisannin, “we’ve heard the general objectives. Assuming you are successful in blocking the other two clans from supporting the Narthani, what are your intentions for those clans? Are you thinking to permanently occupy those provinces to prevent them from rejoining the Narthani?”

Orosz shook his head. “No, our goal is to prevent the Selfcellese and Eywellese fighting men from helping the Narthani. After that goal is achieved, the clanspeople will be left to themselves, since we assume those men too old to fight and the women and children will either be cared for by themselves or the Narthani. We would prefer the Narthani to spend resources on them, but that’s out of our control. The men of those clans who fight will be killed or captured. No man of an age and a condition to fight will be left behind. Seriously injured will be left for their families or the Narthani to care for, as long as they are unable to fight for at least many months. Any other men will be taken to specially prepared prisoner encampments deep in the Vandinke Province mountains and kept there until the fate of Caedellium is determined. As for our intentions for occupying the Selfcell and Eywell provinces, I’ll let Yozef explain.”

Yozef rose and stood in front of the blackboard. He drew an arc from halfway between Sellmor and the Selfcell/Preddi border on the western coast to where the Preddi/Eywell border ended at the shore of the Gulf of Witlow. “We don’t believe the Narthani will venture north or east of this arc until their reinforcements arrive. However, to encourage them to stay inside Preddi and to give us early warning, we will have company-sized units, about a thousand men total, stay along this arc and patrol.”

He pointed to a dot within southern Eywell. “This is the town of Morthmin—about fifteen miles from the center of our patrol arc. This will be the headquarters for our patrols. A semaphore line runs between Hanslow and Preddi City. Any segments that are damaged during our invasion will be repaired. A new semaphore line is being constructed from Moreland City toward the Eywell border. After our invasion, we will complete an active line from Morthmin to Moreland City and thus to the rest of our network. If Hanslow has been taken or surrenders, the line will go through that city. If not, we’ll reroute around Hanslow.

“However, we hope Hanslow falls to us quickly, one way or another, because we want to use the city as the forward staging site for six thousand men. Their purpose is to move forward, join the thousand stationed along the arc, and the seven thousand will maintain contact with any Narthani army that moves out of Preddi Province. They will keep the attention of that army and slow it as much as possible without major engagements. If the Narthani send out enough cavalry forward from their infantry to seriously challenge our men, they will retreat. We don’t expect a large Narthani cavalry force to get too far from their infantry and risk being defeated ‘in detail’ once we mobilize more men. If they do, then we will reconsider an engagement, but only if we feel we have an overwhelming advantage that justifies the risk in eliminating a large portion of their cavalry.

“What we expect is that the Narthani will advance out of Preddi. We can’t predict their route, but while this is happening, the clans will put in motion what all our preparations have been for. The noncombatant populations of all clans will begin moving to the redoubts, and the fighting men will form units and begin movements, depending on Narthani intent.

“If everything works as we plan,” said Yozef, though he thought the word pray but didn’t voice it, “twenty thousand men will join the seven thousand keeping contact with the Narthani. Their task is to suppress whatever patrols and reconnaissance the Narthani send out from their main force. Again, if conditions warrant, we will engage where we have significant numerical and situational advantage, but the primary purpose is to lure the Narthani army into chasing our main force. We want to draw them deeper into Caedellium and away from their supply base.”

Lordum Hewell raised a hand. “I know we’ve gone over this reasoning, but it still feels dangerous to assume the Narthani will do what we want. With as many men as they’ll have, they could use their ships to attack multiple places around Caedellium. It could be thirty thousand in two different places, both supported by their navy. Or they could use a similar reasoning on us as we hope to use on them. They could use thirty thousand men to keep the attention of our mobile fighters, while another thirty thousand attack any of the redoubts. That many would eventually capture a redoubt, and then they’d have tens of thousands of hostages. I’m sure there are other frightful scenarios I haven’t thought of.”

“I understand your concern, Lordum,” said Yozef. “But let’s consider just your two scenarios. They attack at two different places, but what are their objectives? The people will be gone. They could occupy towns and cities, even burn them, but their goal has to be to destroy the clans’ fighting ability. At some point, they still have to engage us in battles.

“In your second case, they might create the very battlefield conditions we hope to get them to, even if not at sites we’ve selected. The redoubts are strong enough to serve as the anvil—where they attack strong defenses. Not all of you have seen the main Keelan redoubt in the Dillagon Mountains. Trust me, it’s nearly impregnable by direct assault—the ways into the redoubt valleys are so narrow that even a few hundred men can hold against thousands. They would have to go over the mountains, a daunting task that would take months for them to succeed. All the while, we could attack their rear and supplies with our mobile forces. And, depending on their disposition, we could block their retreat, and they could find themselves between two formidable barriers—exactly the situation we hope to lure them to.

“No matter what they might do, eventually they have to pursue our main force and destroy it. Which brings us to the most difficult thing we must do—keep contact with their army with enough men and enough fighting so they continue advancing as we withdraw, until we draw them into one of the prepared battlefields we’ve selected. Which battlefield we end up at, we don’t know—too many variables are involved. The important thing is that we engage enough so they don’t realize our intent but don’t engage so much as to be drawn into major battles where they use their experience and numbers to destroy us.”

Yozef could see from the faces that not all of the listeners felt satisfied with the plans they’d heard. The least convinced were those not present the first time the War Council met. Those who had interacted before had heard all of the arguments and accepted that the plans remained their best chance. Either that, or they had become resigned to the implementation, no matter their personal opinions.

After everyone had heard the summaries and rationales, they used the rest of the day to go over details, but no major changes happened. Whatever the chances to save the clans, the War Council’s decision for the overall strategy and tactics was final.

CHAPTER 23: BATTLEFIELD CANDIDATES

The next day, the party to inspect potential battle sites left Orosz City: Yozef, Mulron, Denes, Gartherid Kennrick and four surveyors, Balwis and one of his platoons as escorts, Hetman Stent with three of his advisors and twenty guards, Owill Brell, and two of the Fuomi—Rintala and Kivalian. The rest of the War Council, advisers, other clan representatives, Maera, and Eina Saisannin remained in Orosz City to continue discussions on logistics, personnel, and intelligence.

Everyone in the party traveled on horseback—much of the terrain they would traverse had no roads and in some places not even trails. There were 83 men in the party, including eight horse handlers, local guides, cooks, and 116 horses carrying riders, supplies, and extra mounts. Yozef took both Mr. Ed and Man o’ War.

The first site was thirty miles due east of Orosz City at a pass flanked by sheer cliffs. Yozef took one look and eliminated the site, because it didn’t have enough room for the Narthani to maneuver. He was afraid they either wouldn’t follow the clansmen into the pass or would be so strung out for miles that the clans couldn’t trap enough Narthani to be decisive. They camped five miles on the other side of the pass and continued the next morning to the site Yozef had already seen after the conclave. He was even more intrigued than on his first visit. By now, Stent had had the area surveyed more closely and had brought in construction leaders to evaluate the potential for draining most of the lake at one end of the valley and damming streams that fed into the valley.

At the foot of the valley, they stopped at the edge of the lake. There, what Yozef believed was a medial moraine left by retreating glaciers had deposited gravel and rocks in a raised berm across what was now the middle of the lake.

“My people tell me it should be no problem blasting at this end of the lake to drain it,” Stent said. “The existing channel is over a solid rock shelf you can’t see from here, so the Narthani wouldn’t notice our work. We can include a gate that can be closed whenever we want the lake to refill.

“It’s harder to dam the water that comes into the valley. The large stream, the one running the length of the valley, is more difficult. My people think they can set off charges in the cliffs above the stream and drop enough rock to create a porous dam. Water will still seep through, so the stream will continue, just at a low level. The danger is that the blockage gets breached by the pressure of water rising behind the dam. However, they think it will hold for two to four months—they won’t predict further than that.

“The smaller of the two streams, the one coming in from the western side of the valley, is similar, but there they have more confidence, because they plan on lowering the gorge cliffs at four or five places and forming a series of small lakes. It makes resuming the water flow more complex, but they think that once the first two blocks are breached, it won’t take as much to breach the lower dams, since the water roaring down from the upper breaches will help break through.”

“Sounds good,” said Yozef, “or at least as good as we can expect. Let’s continue and look at the other end of the valley to make better assessments of how the terminal moraine there can be fortified.”

Stent smiled. “Since we’re supposed to be picking three to five sites to prepare as a trap, and since this one looks so promising, I’ve gone ahead and started working on it. Holes have already been drilled into rock faces above both streams in preparation for inserting charges, and the gate and channel below the lake have been started. You’ll also see progress at the other end of the valley.”

Yozef slapped Stent on the back, to the frowns of the three Stent officers. “Outstanding, Welman. “I think you’re right about this site. We may not find a better spot. Besides its features, it isn’t too far from flatter, more open land and it’s not yet into the higher peaks. We don’t want to make it too hard for the Narthani to pursue our force.”

They rode two abreast along the medial moraine dividing the lake, then off the moraine as it turned to the gorge on the left side of the valley and onto flat land. After two miles, they reached the terminal moraine, where the valley narrowed to five hundred yards. The fifty-foot-high moraine stretched across the valley from wall to wall, with the larger of the valley’s two streams flowing through a gap at the east end of the moraine.

“We haven’t started fortifying this end yet,” said Stent, “although we’re bringing in timbers and the cloth bags for Yozef’s sandbag idea.”

Yozef had arranged a demonstration of using sandbags in fortification to form vertical walls. He had a vague memory of two fellow gamesters talking about sandbags’ first known use somewhere around 1880 on Earth.

“If it’s decided this will be one of our possible battle sites,” said Stent, “I’ll have five hundred men here working in a sixday.”

“I like the setup,” said Yozef. “The entrance to the valley is wide at the lake. If we can drain much of it and it dries enough, I can envision the Narthani chasing us into the valley. Once all or most of their army is in the valley, we close the lake outlet and breach the stream blockages. Water will rush down the valley, recreating the lake. There’s no problem with the smaller stream, but the larger one that cuts through the terminal moraine will have to have a solid channel built through the gap, so the water doesn’t wash away the moraine we’re standing on. This end of the valley should only take a few thousand men to stop any attack, since the frontage for the attack is so narrow. One thing you’ll have to do is hack a road up behind the moraine so our men the Narthani are pursuing can get out of the valley and circle behind the Narthani. They’ll be needed to defend the other end, and they won’t all fit here behind the moraine.

“You’ll also have to have cannon batteries covering the stream cutting through the moraine, but I don’t see how the Narthani can fight through the current. The Narthani would also have to fight their way up this 45-degree slope in the face of cannon, musket, and catapults and mortars, if we have them working in time, and we’ll be tossing explosive charges and napalm over the moraine and into the attackers. It’ll be impossible.

“Still, with that many men, they would try to find ways up the slopes of the valley sides, but the going would be so slow, a few hundred muskets would pick them off. The weakness in the plan is the entrance to the valley. If the reflooding doesn’t work, they’ll just retreat. So the only scenario where this site will work is if the flooding is successful, and we can put enough forces on the other side of the lake.”

“The reflooding doesn’t have to be complete,” said Stent. “Under normal conditions, the water is only one to three feet deep, but even half a foot will slow them down, and they won’t be able to bring their cannon into range easily through the water and mud. I foresee two thousand men manning fortifications at this end of valley, with another three thousand in reserve and as replacements for casualties. Another one to two thousand men will defend the tops of each valley side, and fifteen thousand men will block the other end beyond the lake or mud flat or whatever it turns into.”

“If you could hold them for even a day,” said Denes, “another ten to thirty thousand men could be here from the rest of Caedellium. The valley would turn into their graveyard.”

Yozef slapped his riding gloves against a pants leg. “Okay, Welman, let’s assume this is to be one of the selected sites, and you start full-scale preparation. Particularly important is to drain the lake so the ground dries enough to be ridden and marched on. We have other sites to inspect, but as soon as we’re done here, let’s get a larger team of surveyors in and create maps of the valley and the surrounding five to ten miles, as detailed as possible. They’re also to produce reports about what’s on the terrain: what kind of trees and how tall; what’s the brush and grass like; are there springs coming down the valley walls? No detail is too small.

“I’d also suggest widening the path down the medial moraine. We don’t want the Narthani to get suspicious, so let’s turn it into a better road. You should be able to simply flatten the top of the moraine and use the gravel, rock, and dirt to widen it.”

The two Fuomi hadn’t offered comments on the Caedelli conversations, nor had their input been solicited. Both men noticed the omission.

“I would have thought they’d ask us our opinion of this site and this plan of theirs for trapping a Narthani army,” whispered Kivalian to Rintala, when they were temporarily out of the clansmen’s hearing range.

“I get the impression some of them are waiting for Kolsko to ask us, or maybe Stent,” replied Rintala. “I suspect they would rather not have our input where the others can hear us.”

Kivalian turned sharply to look at Rintala’s face. “Huh?”

“Think about it, Reimo. What is your opinion of their basic plan to lure an entire Narthani army into a trap where they can be destroyed?”

The other Fuomi thought for a moment. “I guess I see your point, Jaako. If this is what their leadership has committed to, no matter our opinion, they wouldn’t want outsiders publicly saying it won’t work. Oh, it’s a clever-sounding plan, but there are too many unknowns. There’s no way to know exactly what the Narthani intentions are. They might be satisfied with only controlling part of the island. A few bad defeats in the field or taking a couple of these redoubts might convince the clans to cede a large part of the island to a permanent Narthani presence in exchange for promised peace—not that I’d trust the Narthani as far as I could throw one of those balmoth beasts found on the island.

“And if they want all of the island, who’s to say how they’ll go about it? Kolsko argues the new army will move to the interior and try to destroy the clans’ forces, but they could as well use their navy to destroy everything within a hundred miles of the coasts and eventually wear down the islanders’ ability or desire to resist.

“Then, to top it all, even if the clans succeed in getting the Narthani army into one of these traps, the worst I’d expect, from the Narthani view, is taking high casualties before they win. Look at this one site we’re at. Draining the lake? Damming streams and releasing the water with just the right timing? Repelling a professional army with inexperienced and relatively unorganized forces? No, far too many unknowns.”

Satisfied with the plan, the clan inspection party continued north out of the valley. The next potential site was also in Stent Province, near a four-corners area where the Stent, Vandinke, Pewitt, and Swavebroke provinces met. They had ridden only three miles out of the valley when Stent slowed his horse to come alongside Mr. Ed.

“Yozef, last time we were here and heading back to Orosz City, you mentioned an interest in Flagorn Eggs. We’ll be passing one of the two in Stent Province in about eight more miles. It’s only two miles off the road we’re on. Do you want to stop?”

Shit! I forgot what Stent said last time. It’s hardly a priority, but if we’re that close . . .

“Yes, Welman, thank you for remembering my interest. If the egg is in a reasonably accessible place, I’d like to have it dug up and shipped to Caernford where I can study it.”

“Uh . . . that won’t be possible,” said Stent. “My great-grandfather gave the nearby village property rights over the small piece of land where the egg rests. The villagers saw it as a point of local pride and income. It’s only twenty miles from our capital, Clitwyth, and the villagers charge a small fee for anyone wanting to see the egg. They also sell trinkets of artwork, such as miniature Flagorn Egg replicas.”

“Well . . . we can still examine it, and you said there was another egg in Stent Province.”

“Yes,” said Stent. “As I told you before, the other egg is on an islet off the Stent coast. It’s hard enough to get to that it’s only occasionally visited.”

“What about my getting that one to study?” asked Yozef.

“No, it’s still a point of pride for my clanspeople. But maybe we can say that you are borrowing it and will return it to Stent once you finish studying it. Now that I think of it, maybe when you return it, I’ll have it exhibited in Clitwyth. That way, more people can see it.”

Well, thought Yozef, if it is a device of some kind and I figure out a way to take it apart, Stent might not be pleased. Although I suspect the egg will remain uncracked, no matter how long I study it with the tools I have available.

The tourist trap turned out to be pathetic, even compared to the chintzy ones Yozef had seen on Earth. Three worn booths held handcrafted models of Flagorn Eggs carved from various rocks and woods, in addition to animal figurines, cheap jewelry, clothing, and dried fruits and meats. Stent shooed away several hawkers of goods, and they went straight to their objective set into a rock shelf a half-mile above the village. As far as Yozef could tell, the egg was identical to the one he’d seen in Hewell Province. It was egg-shaped, with the narrow end of the egg pointed up and the lower one-third apparently inside the rock, about three feet high, smoother than polished marble, and a dark blue color.

Yozef’s curiosity satisfied, they moved on quickly and spent that night in Clitwyth, then pushed on to the next potential battle site. Within an hour of viewing the terrain from a hilltop, Yozef and the others rejected the site as an option. The following day they reached the fourth candidate site and this time took half a day before deciding to eliminate it from the list.

Their next stop was on the northwest coast of Farkesh Province at a site Yozef thought had as much potential as the second Stent Province candidate.

They sat on their horses and looked north along the Farkesh coast. “Denes, Mulron, doesn’t this remind you of Dornfeld?” asked Yozef.

“Similar, yes,” said Denes.

“Maybe a little more room between the cliffs to the ocean and mountains,” said Mulron. “At Dornfeld, it was about two miles, while this looks like three miles. Cliffs are not as tall here, but at Dornfeld the waves broke right against the cliff walls. Here, there are enough rocks out a couple of hundred yards that ships couldn’t get closer. They’d have to use longboats, and the rocks and surf would play havoc.”

“It’s too bad Dornfeld can’t be a candidate,” said Denes. “The ravine dividing the town would be a perfect anvil to trap the Narthani against. Unfortunately, from what I saw when we stayed in Dornfeld and raided into Eywell, there’s no good place there to close the trap behind a Narthani army.”

“The shallow cascades we’re looking at might serve to block a retreat,” said Yozef, referring to the forty-foot-wide rush of whitewater over rocks they faced. A single one-lane bridge crossed the water, which appeared no more than one to two feet deep.

“Wouldn’t they be leery of putting their whole army across this one bridge?” worried Mulron.

“We would have to avoid giving any impression we wanted them across to the other side,” said Yozef. “We’d have to appear to fight to stop them from crossing and then burn the bridge when we withdrew. They have to have engineering units, so I imagine they could throw up several bridges in a day or two. The water isn’t that much of a barrier, as long as no one is shooting at them.”

“It would have to be a strong-enough fight to convince them we only reluctantly retreated,” said Stent, “and could cost us hundreds of lives.”

“I know it’s a hard thing to decide,” said Yozef, “but we all have to come to terms with knowing that no matter what we do, there are going to be lives lost. If we were to pick this spot as one of our battlefield candidates and managed to lure the Narthani into a trap and then destroyed them, it would be worth it, even with thousands of our dead.”

All the faces within hearing appeared solemn, but no one voiced disagreement with Yozef’s evaluation.

Stent turned in his saddle to look behind them in the direction they had come, then back at the low cascade. “This would be a good position to pen them in.” The water had eroded a channel through rocky ground. On both sides, a ten-percent slope rose to the flat plain between mountains and cliffs. “Once they cross this water, if we dig in at the top of the slope on this side, they’d have to cross the cascade under cannon and musket fire and come upslope against us. They’d have God’s own damnation trying to, unless they suppressed our cannon fire.”

“Something they might be able to do,” said Yozef. “We’re assuming they won’t bring cannon larger than 12-pounders on a campaign, but right now that makes us even. We have the three original long-12-pounders and could consider casting more. They have a farther range. Better yet would be the 30-pounders from the Fuomi. We should also consider casting a few larger cannon ourselves. They’d be too heavy for fast maneuvers, but maybe we could build special wagons to transport them.” He thought he remembered photos of U.S. armored units in Desert Storm, the first Iraq war, where tanks were transported by large trucks to launch points for attacks, the rationale being less wear on the tanks’ tracks and gears and more fuel efficient. “I imagine it would take a large wagon pulled by ten or more horses to transport a 30-pounder, but if we could bring in a half-dozen well protected 30-pounders, we might be able to prevent the Narthani from bringing their cannon within range.

“Gartherid, how does the other end of this site look?” asked Yozef. Pedr Kennrick’s son had personally visited this site and helped on its first survey.

“The land is still flat, but six miles from here is a small stream that’s cut deep into a section of sandy ground. The ravine it’s created is about twenty feet deep and thirty feet across. When it gets near the cliffs, the ground is harder and the stream bed less than five feet wide. If the only information the Narthani have is what they see from ships, then the stream bed doesn’t look like much of an obstacle. We’d have to provide extra fortifications and defenses that last two hundred yards, but the bigger section of the ravine would be almost impossible to assault across until you reach where the land rises sharply to the mountains. There, too, would require work to make it as defensible as behind the ravine.

“The biggest problem I see is that there are several places where the Narthani might be able to force their way into the mountains, so we’d need to survey more closely to be sure they remained trapped between here and the other end with the ravine.”

They crossed the bridge over the rushing, shallow stream and followed the road along the coast. As Gartherid and the maps had described, the land ran flat for three to four miles between the cliff edges to where the land rose quickly a half mile from slopes too steep for an army to climb over. Three times they turned off the road to investigate potential escape routes into the mountains. Two turned into dead-end canyons within a third of a mile, and the other potential route narrowed to less than twenty yards.

“I think this could be blocked and defended to prevent any sizable force from escaping, but I’d want to look closer,” said Stent. “For one thing, we could throw Yozef’s grenades, mortar bombs, and napalm down on them. The route is narrow, there’s limited shelter, and there’s no room to bring more than a hundred men at a time into a fight.”

When they reached the ravine described by Gartherid, all of the men agreed that with extensive-enough fortifications, this end of the trap would be impregnable.

Yozef had the most reservations. “I see three problems. One is that there is enough space that a large Narthani army could stay in the middle and out of range of our cannon from either end. Then they could let their navy work on a way to resupply, even with the rock, surf, and ships. Hell, if they had enough time, they might be able to dig and blow a road down to the water and build a causeway to where their men and cannon could be taken aboard ships.”

“Even if that happened, at some point the remaining Narthani would be vulnerable to us attacking them,” said Mulron.

“No,” said Balwis, “before there were few enough of them to tempt us to attack, most would have escaped, and we would have to lose too many men attacking strong positions the Narthani would certainly have had time to prepare. That would turn the whole plan around—us attacking defensive positions, instead of them doing it.”

“The second problem I see,” said Yozef, “is that with enough time they could find, or force, a route into the mountains to bypass our two blockades. The mountain slopes here are not as steep as the ones in the moraine site in Stent Province. The effort would cost them dearly, but most of the army might escape.”

“Then we would be back to the original status,” said Denes. “They would still have to try to force battles, but they would have been weakened here.”

“I don’t see these two issues as critical,” said Stent. “At worst, we wouldn’t have lost many men ourselves, and they might be weakened. And as you said, Yozef, these are only possibilities. What’s your third doubt about this site?”

“It’s the opposite side of the island from Preddi, where we expect them to launch the next invasion from. We would have to get them to push us across the entire breadth of the island. To keep them focused on us, we would have to take casualties the entire way.

“Also, I suppose there is a final reservation. If this didn’t work in our favor, our forces would be constrained in maneuvering options by the more rugged terrain, and the Narthani might stop chasing us. They might also try to use their ships to land more men behind us to cut us off, instead of we, them. Ideally, the battle will be too far from the coast for their navy to be a factor. We’d have to carefully consider the worst scenarios before deciding whether this will be one of our final battlefield options.”

“Then, Yozef, you don’t believe this is a good candidate site?” asked Gartherid.

“No, I think it’s the second-best one we’ve seen so far. I’m just pointing out issues we need to study further before deciding to put the effort into preparing this site.”

“I take it, then, you believe this site is a reasonable candidate?” Stent asked Yozef.

“I do, but what do the rest of you think?”

The Caedelli leaders all agreed, with different degrees of enthusiasm. The Fuomi continued to be reticent to give opinions, but Yozef figured he’d pressure them to speak up once he had them alone.

“I’d like to hear what our two Fuomi traveling companions think of this site or, for that matter, anything,” Balwis said in Caedelli, unaware of Yozef’s thinking, then he turned to the Fuomi and asked his question in Narthani.

Kivalian glanced at his commander, not sure how honest he should be. Rintala answered for them both. “I think it qualifies for the criteria Ser Kolsko has laid out, with the same qualifications. As with any military operation, the uncertainties multiply once enemies are in contact.”

Tactful, thought Yozef. I need to divert Balwis and the others before the Fuomi are forced to admit we’re all out of our goddam minds.

“What our new Fuomi friends observe reminds me of sayings I read. One is that no battle plan survives the first shot. That simply means we must plan for as many contingencies as possible and make detailed plans for all of them.” Yozef’s second saying that came to mind was the “fog of war” quote of Clausewitz, but he decided not to use that one. It would only foster more uncertainty about any plan they came up with.

They followed the same road to a sixth potential battlefield farther north into Farkesh. Yozef was already convinced it was too far north, too distant from other clans, and the land too rough and constraining for clan forces to use their mobility. They stopped at the final site of their inspection only to eat a midday meal and then continued. Instead of retracing their steps, Yozef wanted to see more of the island he hadn’t seen before, and they continued along the north side of Caedellium, stopping for nights in the capitals of Farkesh and Skouks provinces. They continued along the northern coast until just past the Skouks/Pawell border and turned south into Adris Province over flat to gently rolling terrain. Halfway from the coast to Adris City, they came onto the top of a three-hundred-foot escarpment that ran west to east as far as they could see.

“This is the only place like this on Caedellium,” said Klyngo Adris. The hetman had returned home after the inspection party departed Orosz City. He then had ridden to meet them and escort them to Adris City, when he got a semaphore message from Skouks Province on their location and expected crossing into Adris Province. “It runs from the Holdorn Mountains west to the Aklacs Mountains in Pawell Province, about thirty-six miles. Originally, there was only one way down on horseback, right where we stand. My great-great-grandfather had two more roads cut into the slope—one twelve miles west and another fifteen miles east.”

“How steep are the roads?” asked Balwis. “I’d imagine wagons have a hard time with the grade up and danger from runaway wagons on the way down.”

“You’re right. The first roads were too steep and were cut only partway up when they realized it wouldn’t work. They then recut the lower part and continued to the top. They also improved the road we’re on. All three roads take a mile to cover the three hundred feet.”

Yozef did a quick mental calculation. That’s about a six-percent grade. Doable, but it must limit the size of wagons and loads.

Klyngo Adris read his mind. “Of course, even then there were limits. Commonly, multiple wagons and teams are used to keep the loads manageable. Sometimes a load will be redistributed to an empty wagon. I don’t know if you noticed, but a mile back we passed a ranch with several wagons lined up near the side of the house. Someone with a load too large to get safely down the grade will pay the rancher to bring an empty wagon to put off some of the load. At the bottom is another source of wagons. I’m not sure what the owner does most of the time, but he’ll help bring loads up if he’s paid.”

“You certainly have a great view from here.” Yozef estimated they could see at least ten miles, with farm fields beginning about a mile from the escarpment. He could make out several villages, with one structure he suspected was a small abbey.

“Not here,” said Hetman Adris, “but a mile east there’s a promontory another five hundred feet high, where, from the top and if the air is clear, you can just make out waters of the Gulf of Normot and the tallest buildings in Adris City.”

“Will we make it to Adris City by nightfall?” asked Yozef.

“We will if we start down now,” said Adris. “It’s about twenty miles, so a moderate pace should get us there about sundown. I’d be pleased, Yozef, if you could stay a day so we could show you the city and give us a chance to talk. I wasn’t able to come to the meeting in Orosz City, so I’d like to know more details on what decisions were made.”

Yozef sympathized with Hetman Adris wanting to know more about decisions he would be obliged to acknowledge, but Yozef wanted to get back to Orosz City. Unfortunately, he didn’t see a graceful way to ignore the request.

“Klyngo, I’m afraid we can’t stay another whole day. I’m sure you understand how much has to be done as soon as possible. We can ride together the rest of the way to Adris City, and I’ll tell you what I know from the meeting and how our inspection has gone this last sixday. Then we can continue at evening meal, and I’d be pleased to meet with you for morning meal and answer any more questions. After that, we need to be off back to Caernford.”

Adris was mollified, and in the next two hours the two men kept up a moving consultation until they reached within sight of Adris City. The hetman then rode ahead to be sure accommodations were ready for the party of clan leaders and their escorts, with the agreement to have a man come for Yozef at first light to lead him to the hetman’s home.

CHAPTER 24: ISOLATE PREDDI

Orosz City

The War Council reconvened after noon the day after the battlefield inspection party returned to Orosz City. New attendees were hetmen or heirs of every other clan except Moreland, which continued to be represented by Abbot Abelard Elsworth of the Abbey of St. Worlan’s in Moreland City until internal clan politics determined the next hetman.

Tomis Orosz struck the ceremonial gong. “The Caedellium War Council is now in session. All attending should be clear that the four members of the council and Yozef Kolsko have already decided on a course of action. All other attendees can ask questions or give comments, but you are here to witness and give input, not to make decisions.” Not all hetmen gracefully accepted the proviso, but even the more disgruntled, such as Hetman Vandinke, had agreed to comply.

“There is only one item on the agenda,” said Orosz. “After the War Council meeting finishes, we will hear a summary of the group that left Orosz City to inspect potential battlefields in west and north Caedellium.

During the last sixday, discussions have continued among three members of the War Council and advisers. Hetman Stent and Yozef Kolsko were apprised of the results of these discussions last evening after they returned, and a short council session was held last night. The topic we address today is to announce and discuss a firm date for our effort to cut off the two clans allied with the Narthani. The War Council has already decided on a plan for how to accomplish this.

“As you remember, or for those not in the last meeting, two clan forces will cross into Eywell. The Northern Force, led by Hetman Stent, will cross near Hanslow, bypass the city, and move rapidly to reach the sea south of Sellmor, the Selfcell capital, thereby cutting them off from Preddi Province. The Southern Force, commanded by Denes Vegga, will cross into southern Eywell from Keelan and move directly along the coast to threaten Preddi City and link up with the Northern Force to finish isolating both the Selfcell and the Eywell clan.

“Although we had decided on the action, timing had been left undetermined. That is the topic today, and I will call on Culich Keelan and the leader of our Intelligence Department to explain the proposed timetable.”

Culich walked to the same blackboard they’d used earlier, showing a drawing of Caedellium with arrows indicating the planned advance lines of the Southern and Northern forces.

He glanced at the map, then turned back to his audience with a smile. “I’ll start by saying that nothing focuses our attention like having a looming deadline. Most of us, myself included, find we do our best work and are most productive when we have no choice. Having said that, I anticipate that all of us here, and thousands more throughout Caedellium, are about to experience peak productivity. We propose that the action to cut off Selfcell and Eywell commence two sixdays from today.”

Culich’s pronouncement was followed by a range of responses, depending on the individual: shock, groans, cries of disbelief, shouts of approval, and utterances of an unidentifiable nature. Despite his entreaty for non–War Council members not to participate, Orosz decided to allow limited comments and questions.

“Two sixdays!” exclaimed Cirwyn Gwillamer. “How is that enough time to gather all the men and supplies?”

“Yes!” acclaimed Lordum Hewell. The young Hewell hetman would lead one of the four Southern Force regiments. Yozef worried about his enthusiasm for killing Narthani. His younger brother and wife had been killed by a Narthani assassin who mistook the brother for the hetman. He was the least experienced of the Southern Force’s four regimental commanders. Although none of them could realistically be considered qualified, Hewell was a fervent student of Yozef’s On War, and Reimo Kivalian had reported that the Hewell hetman was one of the best students in the Fuomi’s crash course on military leadership and tactics.

Hetman Skouks first groaned, then said, “I’ll have to get an encoded message off to home as soon as we finish here. Our one complete regiment isn’t fully trained yet, but they’ll have to finish on the way to join Hetmen Stent.”

Orosz let the initial responses and subsequent hubbub continue for only a minute before striking the gong three times to quell the more vociferous attendees. “We’ll let Hetman Culich continue with the rationales for this decision. There will be opportunity later for questions, comments, and reasons why this timetable is impractical.”

“Thank you, Tomis,” said Culich, who then addressed the audience. “There are two primary reasons for launching the invasion so soon. One is that we don’t know when the Narthani reinforcements will arrive. If we were to take more time—say, one or two months—for all we know the Narthani by then might have too many men for us to stop Selfcell and Eywell from supporting them. In other words, if we’re going to do this, it has to be before the new Narthani arrive.

“The second primary reason is surprise. Even though we’ve done our best to seal the borders, we can’t be sure that Narthani patrols aren’t slipping into our territory or that spies still aren’t sending messages to ships off the coastal provinces. Once we start gathering men and moving to the Eywell border, word of this is bound to reach the enemy. For this plan to work best, our invasion needs to be as much of a surprise as possible.”

Several men motioned or spoke to get attention. Culich was about to say something when his eye caught Yozef signaling and tapping his chest with his fist, which Culich interpreted as wanting to speak.

“Yozef, would you like to elaborate?”

“Yes, Culich, if I may.” Yozef rose and stood in front of the blackboard. “There will always be a conflict between preparation and action. If you think of it, you can imagine a commander able to think of an endless list of reasons why his unit could be better prepared. More training. More ammunition. Better and more horses. Cannon need repairing. A sickness has impaired too many of the men. The enemy has done something to make the commander question the absolute accuracy of intelligence information. The weather isn’t perfect. On and on. At some point, a commander has to make the decision to act.”

Yozef was thinking of the United States’ Civil War history and how General George McClellan was a masterful organizer and trainer of Union forces but could never pull the trigger once engaged with the rebels, being more interested in not losing than in winning.

“That’s not to say none of these factors is important,” Yozef continued. “They all are important. The commander—or commanders, if it’s a group decision—are ultimately left with the responsibility to decide on the totality of factors that justifies action. That is what the War Council has done. In their judgment, the summation of reasons to delay acting to isolate Selfcell and Eywell is insufficient to take the risk that the larger Narthani army arrives before we act, nor do those reasons justify taking longer to act and risk losing the element of surprise.”

Harmon Swavebroke rose from his seat. He had been hetman only since his father had died with three hundred other Swavebroke men. They had fought a rearguard action inside Shullick, the clan capital, to delay the Narthani, while most of the city’s population fled inland. The Narthani burned ninety percent of the buildings within five miles of the city center, and the homeless clanspeople were still being quartered in towns, villages, and tent encampments or already on the way or preparing to leave for a redoubt in the Farkesh Province mountains. The previous hetman, Margol Swavebroke, had dithered in making better preparations to defend Shullick from sea attack or to begin a clan redoubt. Several of his boyermen, including the boyerman for Shullick, had resisted wasting coin on defenses or a redoubt that might never be needed. The new Swavebroke hetman, with the support of all the clan’s boyermen, had decreed that there would be no effort to rebuild Shullick until the Narthani were expelled from the island or all killed. Feren Bakalacs, the Farkesh hetman, had offered to shelter as many Swavebrokers as could make trip to the Farkesh redoubt.

“Yozef, pardon,” said Harmon. “I understand the reasoning, though the uncertainties fill me with worry, but shouldn’t we consider the possibility that no matter the arguments, what if not all the men are in place and organized well enough to launch the invasion? Could there be at least a short delay until everything is put in place?”

Yozef had hoped for the question or something close to it.

“The problem is the same as I’ve already said. There will always be reasons why everything is not in place. One more company is a day away. A battalion is three days away. A hundred extra horses are delayed because of a rainstorm that made a river too high to risk pushing the horses across. Orders or understandings got confused, and an Adris regiment went to the Northern Force muster site instead of the Southern one, as was planned. Again, on and on. A delay or even cancelation can always be an option, but that is only the decision of the commander or commanders and only for compelling reasons. Each unit of the operation has to act as if there is no option to delay. If we allow that, then inevitably unit and clan leaders will find reasons to justify why they don’t put out the maximum effort to be where they are supposed to be at the time they’re supposed to be there.

“Then there is a final point, one that was mentioned in the previous War Council session. We are so inexperienced in large-scale warfare that we have to have some minimal idea of what mobilization problems will happen once the new Narthani army arrives and they launch whatever action they choose to finish conquering Caedellium. For example, in what we are currently planning, what if Orosz—I’m only using your clan, Tomis, as an example, not because I think this will happen—doesn’t get a regiment to the northern muster point in time to join in the invasion? What if a Keelan regiment doesn’t bring any 12-pounder ammunition? What if Nyvaks refuses to send whatever men and supplies they were assigned to send? We’ll have little enough time and experience, and this might be the only chance we have to identify major problems such as I’ve mentioned.

“It’s also been noted that commanders all the way from Brigadiers Vegga and Stent down to squad leaders will be evaluated, and those who perform badly, for whatever reason, will be replaced before the next action.”

Adris sat down, satisfied his question had been answered, even if he didn’t completely agree with what he’d heard.

Balwis followed with a question, then Hetman Skouks, Hetman Vandinke, men whose names Yozef didn’t remember, and others for the next two hours. They adjourned for midday meal, set up under trees a hundred yards from the conclave building. Pairs and small groups carried on conversations about what they’d heard that day, as well as about more innocuous personal matters. Hetman Orosz kept an eye on the meal’s progress, and when everyone seemed finished, he stood and announced it was time to resume inside.

All of those attending the meeting took seats. The mood was subdued, compared to the animation before the morning session started. Yozef glanced around at the room. People’s faces had mainly looked shocked when, at the last conclave, they first heard news of another, larger Narthani army coming to Caedellium. The same faces appeared exuberant when he gave his short speech, cribbed from famous Earth speeches. Now, the faces exuded resolve. A decision had been made. Actions to be carried out were known. Prices to be paid were unknown but accepted.

The afternoon council session lasted fifteen minutes.

Tomis Orosz struck the gong. “The War Council session will resume. Hetman Stent will summarize the council’s decision.”

Welman Stent went to the blackboard, picked up a wooden pointer, and faced the listeners. “Two sixdays from today, on the fourth day, second sixday, month of Makothon, the free clans of Caedellium will launch an attack on Narthani-controlled territory with the objective of isolating the Selfcell and Eywell clans from Narthani control.” Stent turned to the blackboard and pointed. “A Northern Force will be composed of eleven regiments of a thousand men from eight clans. This force will muster and then launch from Lanwith, a Moreland town near the Eywell border. Another six regiments will be known as the Northern Reserve and will also gather at Lanwith. On the designated day, both groups will push hard toward Hanslow, the Eywell capital and only twenty miles from the border. The Northern force will push by Hanslow but not stop to besiege the city. It should be large enough to brush aside any Narthani and Eywell forces outside Hanslow. The Northern Reserve will encamp two miles south of Hanslow and within sight of the city’s walls. They have two purposes. One is to discourage enemy forces in Hanslow from following and harassing the Northern Force. The second purpose is to serve as a reserve, in case the Northern Force runs into more trouble than we anticipate and needs assistance in withdrawing. This reserve is composed of regiments not as organized and trained as in the Northern Force, and it will not just sit but will use the time to continue training, which will include both regiment-sized maneuvers and live-firing exercises. That should also keep anyone in Hanslow guessing at our intentions for the city.

“The Northern Force of eleven regiments will strike southwest to reach the sea fifteen to twenty miles south of Sellmor, the Selfcell capital. The combination of our seventeen thousand men both threatening Hanslow and moving through the center of Eywell Province should prevent any significant threat in the force’s rear.”

Stent moved the pointer to the small piece of Keelan on the Gulf of Witlow. “The Southern Force will muster at the town of Dornfeld on the Keelan/Gwillamer border, twenty miles from Eywell. It will be composed of four regiments of twenty-five hundred men each and five regiments of one thousand. As with the Northern Reserve, these smaller regiments are less trained. Three smaller regiments will encamp at the same position used in the raid into Preddi after the Narthani attacks on Swavebroke and three hetmen. They will secure a defensible position for the Southern Force to retreat to, if necessary. As with the Northern Reserve, they will use the time to train in maneuvers.

“The rest of the Southern Force, twelve thousand men, will push west along the southern Eywell coast on the same route used on the raid. Their objective is to threaten Preddi City and discourage the Narthani from helping Selfcell. The force will approach Preddi City as close as it can without engaging in major battles. However, if small-enough Narthani units or vulnerable-enough positions are encountered, the force will consider attacks, if it’s consistent with blocking major Narthani moves north and northwest of Preddi City.

“In contrast to the Northern Force, which will move as quickly as possible and bypass towns, the Southern Force will attempt to capture two towns, Neath in southwest Eywell and Ponth in northeast Preddi. Whether or not the two towns can be captured, the remaining two small regiments will occupy or invest those towns to keep them inactive. The four larger regiments, ten thousand men, will threaten Preddi City and provide support to the Northern Force’s left flank of their advance. The Southern Force’s dealing with these towns will slow the force, so we hope the two forces will arrive at the Preddi border at about the same time.”

Stent set down the pointer and faced the listeners. “Assuming we’ve severed contact between the Narthani in Preddi Province and the Selfcell and Eywell clans, we will leave a screen of units to make the Narthani uncertain of our objectives, and we will move on Sellmor. The city has no significant Narthani fortifications, as far as escapees have reported, only the original city walls. We also have reason to believe the Selfcell hetman will not attempt to fight our combined forces. Assuming that to be the case, we will compel both the Selfcell and the Eywell clan to evacuate all their fighting men and weapons north and west to territory we control. We intend to force evacuation only of fighting men. Depending on how things proceed, they will be disarmed and kept in encampments in the Vandinke Mountains, thus achieving our objective of stopping men from these two clans from supporting the new Narthani army.

“As Yozef has warned us, again and again and again . . .” Stent paused to let a tension-releasing edge of humor pass through the group. It had become a point of amusement or annoyance, depending on the recipient, that Yozef reminded them over and over about the “fog of war” and the need to adjust plans according to circumstances. “ . . . this outline is subject to change at the discretion of myself and Brigadier Vegga. The initial separation of our two forces will place them out of regular contact until they near the Preddi border. As soon as possible, the two forces will keep up an exchange of information by riders on their positions and intents on an hourly basis.

“There we have it. We have tried to plan for most contingencies, but ultimately it will be the decisions of our leaders and the courage of our men that determine success. I will add that while individual units from single clans may fly their clan banners, mine and Brigadier Vegga’s headquarters and the forces as a whole will fly the green-and-white flag of Caedellium.” Stent pointed to the wall in the back of the room and the four-foot by six-foot green flag with a central large star, surrounded by eighteen smaller stars. “May God grant us strength and courage.”

To Home

The War Council meeting formally ended. For the next two hours, Yozef listened as commanders, hetmen, and advisers talked details about what each needed to do, discussed who they would be in contact with, and voiced frustrations that they didn’t know how they would accomplish everything they needed to do. Yozef answered questions, shook hands, gave words of wisdom (he hoped), and struggled not to show his fear that, once again, he’d started something he had no business doing.

Finally, a brief report on battlefield candidates was given and discussed before all delegations dispersed.

Two hours of sunlight remained when trains of horses and wagons left Orosz City, all parties wanting to reach home as fast as possible—they had too much to do to wait for the next morning.

Orosz City was still in view behind them when Maera questioned her husband’s silence. She thought, mistakenly, that he was once again obsessing over his lack of qualifications.

“No, Maera. Oh, I guess there’s some of that, but we had to come to Orosz City to attend the War Council. Orosz City will always be the logical meeting site, since it’s centrally located for the four council members. It’s impractical to hold meetings in any of the other three members’ provinces, because of the distances some hetmen would have to travel. It will only become more apparent that Orosz City has to be the center of planning. Look at us . . . or me, anyway. How many times have I already made the trip from Caernford to Orosz City? And imagine once the Narthani make their next move on the clans.”

She knew where he was heading; she had already done the same reasoning. “You think you need to be in Orosz City full time, at least until the Narthani threat is settled?”

“I’m afraid so. Damn! I moved from Abersford to Caernford, and now I’m thinking I need to be in Orosz City—and not just me. The entire MIU needs to move, which means you, too, both for the intelligence work you contribute to and because I need your help.”

Maera sighed and put a hand over Yozef’s. “If we have to, we have to. I hate the thought, but necessity must rule. When do you think we should make the move?”

“Not until the Selfcell/Eywell campaign is over,” said Yozef. “The Southern Force is launched from Keelan with Denes commanding, so I assume we’ll be engaged in preparations.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope you won’t be going with Denes,” Maera said with resignation.

“I’m afraid so. I don’t know what I will contribute. By now, enough men have training that they don’t need me looking over their shoulders. I won’t be commanding anyone, but I feel I can’t send this many men into danger while I stay behind—especially when so much of the plan is from me.”

They camped outside a village once darkness forced a halt. The next day, as the train reached forks in the road, parties to each clan took the routes toward their provinces. First, the Hewellians left them when the train turned south toward Moreland. Then, the few Morelanders left south of Moreland City. Two days later, Gwillamer left twenty miles north of Caernford, and Mittack went all the way to Caernford before continuing to their province.

When Yozef and Maera arrived home an hour after sunset, word had preceded them, and a hot bath awaited them. Once clean and dressed in fresh clothes, they ate evening meal with Anarynd. Yozef was half asleep when he stumbled into a bedroom and fell asleep still dressed on top of the covers.

He woke with morning light coming through the bedroom windows and felt stirrings next to him. He was undressed, but he didn’t remember taking off his clothes the previous night. He turned to look at Maera and found his face enmeshed in blonde hair.

“What . . . ?” he started to ask before his mind realized the answer. Anarynd. I didn’t know which bedroom I crashed in last night, but I see there’s no doubt whose bed I’m in. Two wives. How strange that sounds and somehow wrong, but I’d better get used to it.

The mattress moved, and a hand slid around to his stomach, and a warm body snuggled next to his. A soft, naked body.

“I was wondering when you would wake up. I’ve been lying here the last hour. Another few minutes and I would have given up. You can hurry,” she said, tugging at him. “Maera will be waiting at morning meal.”

Sixteen minutes later, the bed shifted as Yozef stood and reached for a robe. Anarynd waited a moment before following suit. There had been no foreplay, and she had focused only on her husband. She liked having him inside her and giving him pleasure. So different from her adolescent experiences or the months with Erdelin, when she tried to shut her mind off from the physical sensations. So different when she wanted Yozef above and inside her.

CHAPTER 25: LAUNCH

At first light, on the morning of the fourth day, the second sixday, the month of Makothon, 31,546 Caedelli men and 313 women left encampments at Lanwith in Moreland Province and Dornfeld in Keelan Province. The women were part of the medical, supply, and intelligence units. Diera Beynom was in charge of all MASH units in the Southern Force and would accompany the force everywhere it went. Maera Kolsko-Keelan would remain at the retreat encampment in the mesa and ravine country east of Wrexton, the Eywell town destroyed in the earlier raid.

“I don’t like it that both of you are going into danger,” Anarynd wailed. Yozef and Maera had been back from Orosz City only six days, and both had spent most of their time in Caernford participating in the whirlwind of preparations.

Maera embraced her friend and wife. Yozef had visibly winced and mumbled something about “tee-vee,” whatever that was, the first time he heard Maera use the term sister-wife. It had gained wider usage now that several more multiple marriages had taken place after “Yozef Kolsko” had shown it was acceptable. The two women were wrapped together when Maera frowned at Yozef and, with a jerk of her head, indicated he was expected to join in.

He put his arms around them both. “Now, Anarynd, we’ll be fine. Maera will only go partway and won’t be near any fighting. I’ll be in the middle of thousands of armed men and probably won’t even hear gunfire, much less take part.”

Anarynd glared at him. “As if I’m to believe you. Maera has told me about those other times when you were not supposed to be near the fighting and how you got involved anyway.”

Well, hell. Now I’m going to have two of them nagging at me, thought Yozef, unkindly. It’s not as if I planned anything like that at Moreland City and at the raid Denes led. I only went a couple of miles ahead of the encampment to help set up a forward defensive position for Denes. And once the Narthani stopped chasing Denes, and I got sent back like a naughty schoolboy.

“I’m sure Yozef won’t do anything like that this time, Ana,” said Maera, adding a glare of her own. “You can be sure I’ll remind him when I stay at the retreat camp.”

“Be sure and tell Carnigan and Wyfor to watch out for him,” Anarynd told Maera.

“Don’t worry, I will,” said Maera. Although that didn’t help the other times either, she thought, and I . . . we shouldn’t nag at him. He only does what’s necessary, and he’s braver than he thinks. I have to be honest and know that I wouldn’t want him to be any different.

They left Anarynd holding Aeneas on the front veranda. Yozef noticed Gwyned say something to Carnigan, who replied and patted Morwena’s head before climbing up to drive the wagon of supplies Yozef and Maera would ride in to Dornfeld. Man o’ War was tied to the back of the wagon. Yozef had considered also taking Mr. Ed but had decided that he needed to get comfortable with other horses if Man o’ War needed a rest. He couldn’t always count on having ones he knew and trusted at hand.

They passed Keelan Manor and made an obligatory stop. Breda, Ceinwyn, and Mared made efforts to bravely see off their daughter or sister, and her husband, and mainly succeeded. The stop lasted only five minutes, and they were off again, bypassing the center of Caernford to meet up with units and wagons from nearby parts of Keelan. A Mittack train had passed the previous day, as evidenced by manure piles from thousands of horses being ridden or pulling wagons.

Although all the Mittack units had traveled together, given that they came from the opposite side of Keelan, the Keelan units took the shortest route from their origin. Thus, half of the Keelan contribution to the Southern Force was already at Dornfeld when the Caernford party arrived.

The launch point encampment was on the Keelan side of what had been Dornfeld, a unique town on Caedellium for originally spanning both sides of the Gwillamer/Keelan border. A single bridge over a ravine connected the two sides. Through the ravine rushed a large stream to a waterfall into the sea not far away. The first time Yozef came to Dornfeld, Culich Keelan had requested Yozef accompany him to meet with the Gwillamer hetman after Eywell riders had been seen in greater numbers than usual near the Keelan/Eywell border twenty miles north. At the time, Culich was formally considering the idea of a stranger to Caedellium marrying his eldest daughter. He took along the suitor so he could interrogate him further and see if the man had anything useful to contribute when they met with Hetman Gwillamer. Yozef had impressed Culich with insightful comments, which had solidified his decision to grant permission for the marriage. Yet he acknowledged to himself that against the united front of Maera and his wife, Breda, he wasn’t likely to disapprove.

On Yozef’s second time at Dornfeld, he saw the results of a suggestion he’d made on the first visit. Keelan had taken down every building on their side and reassembled them on the Gwillamer side of the ravine, then cleared the land to provide no cover if the Eywellese or the Narthani attempted to invade by the coastal route.

On this, Yozef’s third time to Dornfeld, when the Keelan party topped a rise and Yozef saw Dornfeld for the third time, the difference astounded him. Now, tents, horses, and wagons of the Southern Force covered the cleared land north of the existing town of Dornfeld.

Yozef and Maera slept that night in a room provided by Hetman Gwillamer in a private home.

“I know I’ll enjoy the bed,” he told Maera, “but I’ll feel guilty when the other Keelan men sleep on the ground tonight.”

“You’ve told me and others enough times that leaders need to be as rested and alert as possible. You may not be commanding a unit, but we all need you to be at your best to give advice and notice things others might not. As for me, I have no problem accepting the occasional prerogative of station. So hush and go meet with Denes and the others. I’ll be with the MIU members for about an hour to see if we’re organized. We might not be in the forefront, but we’ll evaluate all the reports that come to us and relay them to Father. I think he’s finally accepted that with his age and missing part of a leg, he’ll never lead in the field again, but he and the rest of the War Council need to be kept updated.

“I’ll take Carnigan with me and have him fetch you when I settle us in our room. I’ll not have you staying up all night looking at maps you’ve already memorized or getting pulled into drinking too much so that you have a hangover tomorrow.”

“A hangover?”

“Oh, all right. You think you don’t get bad hangovers—something to do with why you heal so fast, but I’m still going to see you asleep early. I don’t know how much you’ll get in the next sixday or more. It’ll be different for me, because I’ll be at the retreat encampment.”

An hour and a quarter later, Carnigan pulled Yozef away from a cluster of men huddled around a large map spread on a table.

“Thanks, Carnigan,” said Yozef. “They’re going over the same information for the tenth time. We’re all nervous about this, so I don’t blame them, but I hadn’t thought of a good reason to get away. Your announcing Maera Kolsko-Keelan expected me shortly was accepted, at least by the Keelanders.”

“I hope I acted nervous enough. I figured if they saw me worried that I’d get in trouble with Maera, it would be better than for you to seem intimidated by your wife.”

The thought that anything would intimidate Carnigan didn’t compute for Yozef. “Well, you could have begged me to put in a good word for you with my wife—just to be sure she didn’t thrash you if we were late.”

“Yeah, well, maybe instead I could just pick you up and carry you off over my shoulder.” Carnigan slapped Yozef on the back, almost causing him to stumble because he didn’t expect it. Yozef had learned to read the signs and avoid most of his big friend’s gestures of camaraderie, but this time he’d been absorbed in coming up with a witty repartee.

Selfcell

Roblyn Langor, hetman of the Selfcell clan, awoke well before dawn and walked out to a balcony to stare at the starry sky. He felt hopeful, exhilarated, and fearful. Yet he was tired. Even six solid hours of sleep weren’t enough. Not after the previous months. When he returned from the meeting with Stent and the strange man named Kolsko, he watched carefully for two sixdays to see whether any hint of the meeting had reached the Narthani—but nothing indicated that it had.

Karvan Sewell had returned from the Stent border after meeting for several days with his contacts in Stent Province. The elderly former tutor and now adviser to Hetman Selfcell learned that Kolsko, whom people more commonly called Yozef, played a key part in clan resistance and had married into the Keelan Clan—though Kolsko’s origins remained murky.

Langor had also worried that Sewell’s absence would have been noticed by the Narthani officers and officials who were constantly around. They needn’t have worried. While the excuse for Langor’s two-day absence had raised moderate suspicions that required some creativity to assuage, the elderly tutor Sewell was beneath their attention.

Langor and Sewell spent several hours going over both the meeting with Stent and Kolsko and information gathered by Sewell. Whoever Kolsko was and wherever he came from, his words had burned into Langor’s thoughts.

Langor had done as careful a dance as he dared the last few years. He knew the Narthani were not pleased with his clan’s commitment to their cause, but he had not given the hated invaders enough reason, as yet, to crush Selfcell as they had the Preddi. Langor admitted—initially only to himself—that he had been a fool to think his clan might be able to accommodate the Narthani enough that they would allow his clan to exist into the future. He had finally reached the conclusion that his clan would have no such future. While Selfcell might not suffer the dramatic repercussions that Preddi had, the end would be the same: the Selfcell Clan would disappear into dusty details in the history of the Narthon Empire. Just another of the many peoples absorbed.

This realization left him in despair for a month. Yet quiet discussions with Sewell drew him out enough to be alert to possibilities. Then had come the meeting. It had not provided salvation but had at least opened a small window—left slightly ajar by Kolsko. While Stent gave Langor no encouragement, Kolsko did. He suggested that although Selfcell might have to pay a high price, the Narthani could become vulnerable at some time, and action by Selfcell might sway the tide against them. If Selfcell took a chance at that point, then there was hope. Kolsko’s words had a vague promise but also an equal threat, though it wasn’t direct. Eywell had been banished. A clan had not been banished in more than a century, but should the clans prevail, Eywell would never be accepted back as a clan. The fact that Selfcell had not been similarly banned gave Langor a sliver of hope.

Yozef had also said Langor himself would need to decide when such a redeeming action presented itself. Seeking more advice, Sewell had availed himself of several one-on-one talks at the Selfcell/Stent border with a man whose true name he never learned but who said to call him Owill. The not uncommon first name in eastern Caedellium matched the man’s Adrisian accent. Sewell passed on to Langor some of Owill’s suggestions on developing information useful to the free clans.

Langor had been so focused on his own clan, he had not paid much attention to the Narthani top commanders as individuals. That changed. Within a month of the meeting in Stent Province, Langor developed an extensive network of spies. Some were Selfcellese and others, strategically placed Narthani slaves working near the Narthani colonel Metan, who oversaw Selfcell, and several third-layer commanders in Preddi. Sewell gave Owill the information the spies had gathered.

The new network of informants was how word of a new Narthani army came to Langor. A stable slave had overheard Metan say to a subordinate, “When they come, things will change.” A Selfcell merchant returning from Preddi City reported on fortifications around the city but, more interesting, had noted that south of the city, a large tract of land was being cleared, buildings constructed, tent material stacked high, and extensive stakes driven into the ground, as if demarcating future construction. The Narthani had brought thousands of horses to an area west of Preddi City. Langor and Sewell put the pieces together: the Narthani expected reinforcements. Large numbers of reinforcements.

The Narthani withdrawal from Moreland after the indecisive battle had shocked Langor. He had seen what the Narthani did to the Preddi Clan, and the Narthani had made sure Langor witnessed demonstrations of massed muskets and cannon. Then rumors came that the other clans had raided into Eywell and even into the edge of Preddi Province, possessed cannon of their own, and had returned to their own territories unscathed. None of those events matched Langor’s original assessment that the Narthani were invulnerable.

The final element fell into place when General Akuyun ordered Langor to prepare two plans to give to the Narthani overseer of Selfcell, Colonel Metan: one describing how all Selfcell fighting men, their horses, and supplies could be mustered in a single sixday; and the second, how many of the same men could be assembled into groups of what size within one day.

Langor had quietly met individually with twelve of his most trusted leaders: two of his brothers, a cousin, an uncle, five of his ten boyermen, and three of his leaders of the Selfcell cavalry organized by the Narthani. These men already knew something of Langor’s thinking, though not his contact with the other clans. Late one night, in a dimly lit cellar reached by a narrow tunnel from Langor’s Narthani-observed manor, the Selfcell hetman and Sewell laid it all out to these twelve men.

“Sers,” said Langor, his face somber in the candlelight, “I’ve spoken to each of you about what the Narthani have tried to keep from us. In addition to the battle near Moreland City, where we mainly watched and hardly fired a shot, I’ve learned that the other clans have successfully raided up to the Preddi border.” Langor went on to relate details about Preddi City’s fortifications, the building of what might be a large encampment, the gathering and training of thousands of horses for no obvious immediate purpose, and Colonel Metan’s sudden order for Selfcell mustering plans. “What none of you have known, until now, is that I’ve been in contact with the other clans.”

Exclamations, heavy sighs, and grunts followed their hetman’s announcement.

“I was told that the other clans have expelled Eywell but not Selfcell . . . yet. It was also stated, or hinted at, depending on how I interpreted it, that Selfcell might be accepted back by the other clans, but only if we earn their forgiveness.”

“Earn?” blurted Eflyn Langor, Roblyn’s youngest brother. “What does that mean?”

“It was unspecified, but I believe it means the clans are planning an attack on the Narthani. I have had some other information to support this belief. Karvan Sewell has carried several messages back and forth from the Stent border. He’s given the clans information on Narthani commanders and what we’ve gathered about Narthani activity inside Preddi. While I’m sure they also wanted information on the Narthani troops inside Selfcell, so far we haven’t revealed that kind of information because we can’t be sure of the clans’ intentions against Selfcell, no matter what was conveyed at the meeting in Stent. While the clans haven’t passed anything of consequence to us, Karvan has made surreptitious observations and managed to pick up bits of information from overheard conversations.

“When Karvan and I put everything together, we suspect more Narthani soldiers are coming to Caedellium and that the clans intend to attack before that happens.

“You all also know my current thinking about the future of our clan. When we—and I assign myself primary responsibility for the decision—agreed to an alliance with the Narthani, it was out of desperation. We couldn’t have stood alone against the Narthani when the other clans refused to take action. I made the alliance in hopes of saving a future for Selfcell. I now believe that while that decision was understandable, my hope was futile. We’ve all lived with the Narthani long enough and heard many stories of what’s happened to other peoples they absorbed to know that by our great-grandchildren’s time, Selfcell will be lost even as a memory and our descendants will be or on the way to being Narthani.”

“I told you this day would come,” said his cousin, who never missed an opportunity to state he had always been opposed to the deal they thought the clan had with the Narthani.

“As you always remind us, cousin. And as I always reply, what choice do you think we had?”

The cousin relaxed. “I know, Roblyn, I know. It just eats at me.”

“As it does all of us. But now the question is, what do we do next?”

At those words, most of the men perked up. Their hetman had said the words as if there were options.

“I believe we are coming quickly to a point of no return, where our actions cannot be undone and will determine the fate of our people.”

Langor took the irreversible step. “I have received a message given to Karvan Sewell at the Stent border. It consists of only three words. ‘It is time.’”

He paused while the men absorbed the words and ran through the options of what they meant.

“I believe the message means clan action is imminent. What they plan is unknown, but I think it means a time will come, very shortly, when we have to make a quick decision to either accept our fate with the Narthani or take a risk and act against them. This will likely be our only opportunity to rejoin the clans and save a future for Selfcell as a distinctive people.

“We have to be honest with ourselves. No matter how reluctantly we cooperated with the Narthani these last years, we did do it. You all know we have done as little harm to other clans, particularly Stent, as we could, but still, we did do harm. Both in property destroyed and lives taken. I can tell you that Hetman Stent is not the forgiving type. Yet he is willing to do so, but only if Selfcell pays a price. I believe, as your hetman, with fervent prayers to a Merciful God, and with a belief that we are at a point of final opportunity, that the time has come to pay that price.

“Another important consideration is, what if the Narthani are eventually defeated, what future does Selfcell have if the other clans turn on us? It has happened before in Caedellium history. I’m not worried about my own safety, but only God knows what terrible vengeance the other clans might exact on our people?”

“Roblyn,” said the hetman’s other brother, “I have to assume you want to cast our fate with the other clans and against the Narthani.”

The room was silent. In the yellow candlelight, all of the men could see Langor nod. Each man delved into his own feelings, evaluating consequences and the depth of his own commitment to what might come.

Finally, Langor spoke again. “I’ve asked Harlyn Bolton to give us an update on Narthani soldiers in Selfcell and the numbers of our own fighting men. Harlyn.”

A grizzled man with bulging shoulders and visible scars cleared his throat. “For several years, there have been two thousand Narthani soldiers in Selfcell. A thousand in Sellmor and another thousand at Wynmor in north-central Selfcell. I’ve had men keeping an eye on their movements and numbers. The Narthani seem to have been slowly reducing the number the last few months. I don’t know if they think we’re too dense to notice, but the Wynmor garrison is down to not more than five hundred men, and the one in Sellmor is eight hundred. The Narthani have tried to hide the reduction by shuffling men back and forth to patrols and small stations near the borders, but even they must realize we either know what’s happening now or soon will.

“As for our own numbers, we have about thirty-five hundred men who we would consider our main fighters and another thousand we could call on, if necessary. The Narthani have ordered us to carry out extensive patrols along our border with Stent—that accounts for five hundred of our men stationed in the north. We have always been told to keep five hundred men mustered near Sellmor for whatever purpose the Narthani may require, but we’ve secretly increased that number gradually over the last few months to eight hundred. Another thousand men are within a day from Sellmor.”

Bolton nodded to his hetman to signal the end of his summary.

“So,” said Langor, “here’s how I see things. I believe the Narthani expect more soldiers, probably many more, from the size of the encampment being laid out and the number of horses gathered. I also think the clans know this and are about to do something. Exactly what, I don’t know. It could be to attack Selfcell and Eywell to eliminate us as allies of the Narthani, or it could be to try to destroy the Narthani base at Preddi City before more arrive.”

Langor looked around in the dim light at the shadowed faces.

“Let us not misunderstand. If the Narthani prevail, the results for Selfcell will be catastrophic. The only thing we have to decide is whether we want to condemn ourselves to a slow death at the whims of the Narthani or take the risk of being killed immediately. You all know what happened to Preddi. There is our choice, as I see it.”

Langor had already spoken to the senior boyerman, a well-respected older man, who took his cue.

“Better to die standing now than my children and grandchildren to slowly die groveling at the Narthani feet, even if years away!”

The other men echoed the declaration, and Langor wondered whether he had just saved his clan or doomed it.

CHAPTER 26: TO THE SEA

Hanslow, Eywell Province

Colonel Jomzik Jurna handed his horse’s reins to a soldier outside the Narthani’s Hanslow headquarters. His residence lay a few minutes’ walk away. After he assumed command of Eywell Province, he’d moved closer to his new office, and even then, he wanted his mount ready at hand—just in case. What contingency he felt he needed to be ready for, he couldn’t articulate. The same sense of preparedness permeated the Narthani’s Hanslow garrison ever since Jurna filled Erdelin’s place. Jurna would soon find out the reason for his concern.

He entered the building’s main door, held open by a guard. The door hadn’t finished closing when he heard hoofbeats and a yell. He whirled to see a rider pull up his horse twenty feet away, jump off without securing his mount to a post, and run toward the stairs. Two guards blocked his way with crossed muskets.

“Colonel Jurna!” shouted the rider, looking over the musket barrels. “Urgent message from the forward semaphore station!”

“Let him through,” ordered Jurna. His gut tightened with a premonition, at the same time that his mind noted he still felt unfamiliar with his recent raise in rank from major.

Seconds later, he cursed aloud, rushed into the outer orderly room, and began shouting. Startled men received hurried commands to alert senior officers in the city to get to the headquarters NOW! Other men went to horses to give the same order to commanders of units or facilities near Hanslow. The orderly room had almost emptied before Jurna’s second in command could hear the uproar and race downstairs from the second floor.

“Colonel! What’s happened?”

“Remember that contingency we prepared for but didn’t know if we were wasting time or not? Well—we weren’t. The hidden semaphore station reports clan movement hard into Eywell. Lots of clansmen—many thousands, plus scores of cannon and wagons.”

Jurna briefly congratulated himself on having a semaphore line extended toward Parthmal near the Moreland border. The town had been burned by the earlier clan raid, but Jurna had predicted that in the event of a serious invasion and not just a raid, the clans would use the same route and an early warning could be critical. A hundred-foot rock outcropping concealed the most forward semaphore station in otherwise flat farm country. The station was not visible from three sides, with the fourth side in sight of the next station five miles toward Hanslow. The news meant the Eywell capital was in danger of being isolated or captured. Even if Hanslow were not the clans’ main objective, they wouldn’t want Jurna’s men to be a threat to the clans’ rear as they bypassed the city.

“I’ve sent the alert to prepare to withdraw toward Preddi,” said Jurna to the major. “Get the headquarters’ staff ready to leave. If confirmation messages come from the forward station or those closer, we need to be ready to be on the move instantly.”

An hour and twenty minutes later, Jurna sat on his horse outside Hanslow’s southwest main wall and watched the last Narthani soldiers leave the city, some of them still looking for their units’ position. Jurna hoped they were the last. Any Narthani left in the city would have to catch up with them. The forward semaphore station had sent a second message confirming a large clan force, then fell silent. A junior officer stationed at the next station messaged an estimate of eight thousand or more islanders moving fast and that he was abandoning the station.

“All right,” said Jurna to his staff, who surrounded him on their own horses, “let flags and trumpets signal to move out as fast as the wagons can go. Stragglers of any kind will be left behind.”

He had no intention that his command would be isolated from the main Narthani base in Preddi Province. General Akuyun had given him no specific instructions but left it to his discretion to judge when his position in northern Eywell became untenable. He had told his subordinates to plan for every single Narthani soldier and noncombatant to evacuate. However, he would be satisfied if ninety percent managed to muster before they left. He had no accurate count, but his eye told him at least 650 of his seven hundred men still stationed in Hanslow were assembled, along with fifty to seventy noncombatants. Any Eywellese wanting to follow will have to keep up.

No one was to have brought any baggage. Jurna’s personal possessions at this moment consisted of the clothes he wore. This would be a dash over the forty-nine miles to the Preddi border and, if necessary to reach safety, the forty-seven miles farther to Preddi City and the main Narthani-fortified position.

Preddi City

General Okan Akuyun’s office door burst open without a knock. That alone would have either angered the commander of all Narthani forces on and around Caedellium for its lack of decorum or elicited gut-tightening over what might be going wrong this time. The two options settled immediately on the latter when he saw the intruder: Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa, waving a sheet of paper.

“Just came in as I passed the semaphore station! It’s from Jurna in Hanslow. A large clan force crossed into Eywell and is moving fast with cannon and wagons. He’s ordered a withdrawal and is headed this way as fast as they can move. He’s also ordered the Eywell garrison in Morthmin to do the same and not wait for him.”

“Let’s see the message,” said Akuyun with as much aplomb as he could project. He read quickly, reached behind him, and pulled several cords that summoned men from elsewhere in the building. When he looked back to his troop commander, he couldn’t hide the grim set to his face.

“Jurna estimates eight thousand or more. Those numbers, along with the cannon and wagons, means it’s not a quick raid like last time. The clans have something serious in mind. I assume Jurna will have rear guards and scouts keeping track of the islanders. We’ll know more when they get to Hanslow. If they bypass it, that’ll mean they’re headed our way.”

Akuyun rose and walked to the large Caedellium map on the wall. Zulfa joined him, as did Akuyun’s top aide, Major Perem Saljurk, and several other officers. Akuyun hadn’t noticed before, but Colonel Ketin, the commander of Narthani troops within Preddi Province and the mission’s chief engineer, had arrived.

As soon as a soldier with pen, ink, and paper rushed into the office, Akuyun barked out a message.

“This is to go to Metan in Sellmor.”

To Colonel Memas Metan

From General Okan Akuyun

Alert. Large clan force moving into Eywell.

Jurna retreating. Advise you secure Sellmor.

More to follow.

He’d no sooner finished dictating than Ketin asked, “Is Nuthrat in Sellmor? He was inspecting the northern garrison in Wynmor.”

“Narth damn it!” exclaimed Akuyun. He’d forgotten. “Perem! When is he due back in Sellmor?”

“I have to check the schedules to be sure, but I believe he planned to arrive back in Sellmor this evening,” Saljurk answered. “If he keeps to that schedule, he should be somewhere on the road between Wynmor and Sellmor, likely well short of halfway at the moment.”

Akuyun cursed again, abandoning his attempt at unflappability. He turned to the soldier-scribe. “Add to the message to send riders to meet Colonel Metan. Whoever is in current command at Sellmor is to be on alert for evacuation. Off with you, now.”

The scribe ran from the room.

“This will not sit well with either the Eywellese or the Selfcellese,” said Zulfa. “I know it’s necessary, but they’ll look at it as being abandoned.”

“There’s no helping it with the Eywellese,” said Ketin. “Their population is centered too much farther north than Selfcell. I’m afraid we’ll have to consider the Eywellese lost. Even if this clan invasion later withdraws, the Eywellese will never forget we abandoned them, and we could never count on their cooperation again. Hopefully, the Selfcellese won’t notice what will so far only be a heightened alert. It’s still possible for us to stand down and pretend we hadn’t prepared to withdraw our forces back to Preddi.”

“What about here in Preddi?” asked Ketin.

“Again,” said Akuyun, “we’ll know more within a few hours. If the clans are hot on Jurna’s tail, we’ll have to order all our people into defenses.”

Hanslow

“It’s confirmed,” Stent told the gathering of his regiment commanders. A light rain had fallen the previous night, suppressing dust from a dragoon regiment moving smartly down the main road and heading south-southwest a hundred yards from where the men stood under a tree. “The Narthani fled south. We figured surprise was lost when our forward scouts came across the first semaphore station. The materials were new enough that the Narthani obviously built it after our raid.”

“Well, that simplifies our worry about leaving the Narthani in our rear,” said the Swavebroke regiment commander. “What about the Eywellese? Did their fighting men head south as well?”

“Unknown as yet,” Stent replied. “All we know is the city gates are closed, and armed men appear to be on the walls. We’ll know more shortly. A man flying the truce flag came out and gave our men the message that an Eywell boyerman wants to talk. I sent a message back that I’ll meet him outside of musket and cannon range, not far from here. For now, keep your men moving. The regiments assigned to keep an eye on Hanslow are to assume that’s still their assignment, so move to your preplanned positions.”

Two Eywellese men, watched carefully by ten armed dragoons, waited for Stent. He dismounted, gave his reins to a nephew serving as an aide, and walked up to the two men. The younger one holding the truce flag was clearly scared, while the older man appeared calm.

“You claim to be an Eywell boyerman?”

“I’m Verlan Kollar, boyerman of Hanslow and the surrounding villages.”

“Why isn’t Hetman Eywell here instead of you? I’m Hetman Stent and should deal with your hetman.”

“I agree, but to do that, you’ll have to ride swiftly toward Preddi,” said Kollar, bitterness all but dripping from his words. “The Narthani didn’t even bother to tell him what was happening—just pulled out within an hour. Our noble hetman, his relatives, and a dozen or more families scrambled to follow. I imagine they won’t be the only ones to flee once word spreads that the Narthani have abandoned Eywell.”

“Why didn’t you run, too?” snarled Stent.

“I’m the boyerman of the people in this city. It’s my duty to do what I can to help them any way I can for what is to come. I’m not naïve enough to think the other clans will forgive what Eywell has done.”

Stent grunted. As much as he felt like drawing a pistol and shooting any Eywell leader, he had to respect the old man for his sense of honor to his people.

“May I ask what kind of help you think you give your clan of traitors to Caedellium?” asked Stent, his voice hinting at his own preferences for Eywell’s future.

“None of the common people had any voice in Eywell allying with the Narthani. Even leaders like myself who opposed Brandor Eywell’s decision were overruled and forced to deal with the circumstances we found ourselves in. If I’d refused to cooperate, the hetman would simply have replaced me with someone more compliant. It may be a stain on my honor, but I choose to do what I can for my people. I would ask you to show the people of Hanslow a degree of mercy. If I don’t believe that’s possible, the city will fight, and even with overwhelming numbers, it would cost you dearly to take the city with its walls.”

“And if we choose to take the city, what about yourself? Do you think I’d let you return to lead the fight?”

“Whether I return or not is irrelevant. Those I left in command were told my life was forfeited when I came to this meeting.”

Stent looked deeply at the white-haired man. He’s serious, Stent thought. Much as I despise the entire clan, I have to grant him the respect due his courage and loyalty to his people. And I have to admit he’s right that the common people didn’t make the original decision, even if some of them became enthusiastic supporters when they thought the tide was in their favor. Hundreds, maybe a few thousand, of the Eywellese have already fled across the borders to get away from the Narthani. There have to be many thousands more who couldn’t flee or hadn’t worked up the courage.

“Here are my three conditions,” said Stent. “They are not negotiable. First, you will open the city gates, and all armed men will come outside and lay down their weapons. I don’t doubt you’ll try to pretend some men left in the city are not fighting men, but the numbers had better satisfy us that most such men have left the city.

“Second, other people will bring out all other weapons. The city is to be disarmed.

“Third, our men will enter the city and carry out a search. Any armed resistance will be dealt with harshly. Any building found to contain a firearm will be destroyed and the residents converted to slave status to eventually be sold off Caedellium.

“In return, if those conditions are met, the city and its population will not be harmed.”

Kollar’s expression conveyed relief, but the man had understandable doubts. “If I surrender the city, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take. Not that you have any choice.”

“Actually, I do have a choice. The Narthani have left, but they might be back. Rumors are that more Narthani troops are on their way here, and they might take back Hanslow and subjugate all of Caedellium. Maybe Hanslow can hold out long enough for that to happen. If more Narthani come, I wonder if the clans would want to expend effort and lives worrying about a single city when there are more important enemies to worry about.”

“Maybe the Narthani will not take back Hanslow,” said Stent. “It will be isolated for an unknown length of time. I guarantee you that if the clans have to take the city by arms, it will not go well for its citizens, and I swear the entire city will be burned to the ground.

“And even if more Narthani come, don’t assume the clans won’t prevail. You’ve seen what is passing down this road.” Stent’s hand motion indicated an Orosz regiment just finishing passing and a Pewitt regiment hard on their heels. “The Narthani are in for an unpleasant surprise, no matter what happens.”

“What of my family and others? What about the future of the Eywell clan?”

“That will be up to an All-Clan Conclave. I would be untruthful if I said there aren’t those who would see retribution for Eywell’s actions, but I believe there would be a degree of mercy, although I can’t predict who it might be applied to.

“Enough talk. I’ll get on my horse. Once I’m in my saddle, your time for a decision is up.” Stent motioned to his aide to bring his horse.

Kollar stood straight. “At least, I can pray for my people to the real God instead of that abominable Narth. I accept your conditions, Hetman. If you allow me to leave, you should see the Eywell flags come down from Hanslow’s walls within half an hour.”

“See that it happens,” said Stent. “Be off with you.”

Kollar and the man carrying the parley flag turned and walked toward the city gate.

“Colonel,” said Stent to the colonel in charge of the regiments assigned to keep Hanslow isolated, “I’m off to Selfcell. I think Kollar means what he said he’ll do, but keep an eye out. If they do surrender the city, collect all the firearms their fighting men bring out and then let a couple of hundred men search the city for any more that were kept hidden. If the number of fighting men they send out seems a reasonable number, don’t try to decide if more are in the city, but send the others back to Orosz under guard. There should be enough wagons in the city to transport them.”

“Kollar isn’t going to be happy about that. I didn’t hear you tell him the men were going to be sent on to mountain prison camps.”

“Fuck ’em,” said Stent. “They’ll be alive, which is more than many will deserve, and what are they going to do about it once disarmed and under guard?”

Preddi City

“Not much doubt now,” said Brigadier Zulfa, skimming the latest semaphore message from Jurna. “Not that I thought this would just be another raid, although a larger one.”

“No,” said Akuyun, “Jurna says the clans are three or four hours behind him in numbers he now estimates at ten to twelve thousand. Either they hope to catch him, or their objective is to use the same route to Preddi as Jurna. Either possibility has the same result—they’re headed this way.”

Akuyun looked at Tuzere, the civilian administrator, and Erkan Ketin, the Preddi Province military commander. “You know what to do. We planned for this, though we hoped it wouldn’t happen. Move all civilians to the defensible sites they’re been assigned to. Get as many of them inside the Preddi City defenses as possible. We don’t know the clans’ ultimate intentions, but if they do plan attacking into Preddi Province, we can’t delay getting our civilians moving.”

Tuzere shook his head. “I still have trouble believing we’ve come to this. I admit I had hopes the Eywell attack was only to take Hanslow. Great Narth! To hope we essentially lost all of Eywell was the best case I could see! No, you’re right, General. They’re coming here. No doubt, not after word from Wrexton.”

A picket platoon had been stationed within sight of the ruins of the Eywell town of Wrexton in the southeast corner of Eywell Province. In their previous raid from Keelan to the Preddi border, the clans had burned the town, though they let the inhabitants leave, walking with whatever they could carry. The platoon had orders to report any new clan incursions and keep contact. An hour before the latest semaphore message from Jurna, a rider had reached Ponth in the northeast of Preddi. He had all but killed his horse to bring word that a large clan force, many thousands of men on horseback, accompanied by cannon and wagons, had emerged out of the rough country farther east and was heading fast along the coast—a similar clan force to the one coming from the north-northeast, as reported by Jurna.

“I hope you can hold them north of Ponth, General,” said Tuzere. “I’ll have thousands of civilians gathered in defensive positions in towns with only their own militia and few cannon to protect them, and that’s not to mention another ten to twenty thousand scattered throughout the province who’ll just have to hide locally, because they’re too remote to reach the gathering sites.”

Akuyun didn’t read Tuzere’s comment as a criticism of withdrawing the troops toward Preddi City. He recognized the danger as well as Tuzere. “That’s the only viable option, Nizam. We have to have a strong-enough force here to give us options. If we’d kept our men scattered, we’d have been completely tied to the fortifications. This way, there will be options, even if ones we don’t like. However, as soon as the situation is clearer, we can move more people into Preddi City.”

“We also need to alert the Ponth battalion to be ready to move back here,” said Zulfa. “All the nearby civilians were already on the move to Preddi City, so the battalion should be able to travel quickly if necessary.”

“I think we should get them moving and collect any civilians still between Ponth and Preddi City,” said Akuyun. “Ketin, get another semaphore message to Sellmor. I hope Metan has shown up. They’re to pull our forces into Sellmor. They should be able to hold out there. Reiterate in the message that the navy will support them with supplies and gunfire within range of the shore. Metan, or whoever is in command, knows we can always withdraw them by sea if they get cut off from Preddi. Also, have Metan tell Hetman Selfcell to concentrate their fighting men at Sellmor, along with as many civilians as they choose to evacuate there. It’s Eywell I’m most concerned about. With their losses at Moreland City and now losing the capital, I’m afraid they’re likely lost to us. I’d hoped to hold the province as a buffer between Preddi and the other clans.”

“I’ll get my ships moving toward Sellmor as soon as I leave here,” said Admiral Kalcan. “A freighter already loaded with cured meats and grain will sail within two hours once we round up enough crew, and two frigates will accompany her. That should be enough to mollify initial Selfcell jitters. Sellmor is close enough that I could get the rest of our ships there quickly, if need be.”

“Good,” said Akuyun, “that should stabilize the Selfcell situation until we know more of the clans’ intentions for Preddi. If their two armies, forces, or whatever we call them keep to the roads they’re on, they should meet up near the Eywell/Preddi border.”

Sellmor, Selfcell Clan Capital

“Thank you, Captain. Tell Colonel Metan I understand what we are to do,” said Roblyn Langor.

Without an acknowledgment, the Narthani officer smirked, then turned and walked out of Langor’s office.

Harlyn Bolton spat to one side as soon as the office door closed. “Stinkin’ Narthani! Even minimal courtesy and respect are too much for them.”

“Ah, Harlyn,” said Karvan Sewell, “you should have thanked the captain. I doubt he realizes it, but he’s delivered a far more important message than the one he spoke of.”

“The Narthani think they might be in trouble from the clans,” said Langor. “If they’re planning to pull their men into Sellmor’s defenses, it’s because they fear the clans might get right to these walls with enough men to be a genuine threat. Think of it! As far as we are from territory not controlled by the Narthani, those bastards fear clan forces. That means the clans aren’t far away. Since there’s been no word from Wynmor in northern Selfcell, that means the threat is coming through Eywell. The Narthani haven’t given us details, but we know the clans raided around Hanslow, and a second raid got all the way from Keelan to the Preddi border. The clans pulled back that time, but the orders to Metan must mean the clans are moving again, possibly over the same routes and in enough force this time not to be considered a mere raid but an attempt to go farther.”

“But we can’t know exactly what’s happening, Roblyn,” said Bolton.

“No,” agreed Langor, “but something is happening. You know what the Kolsko fellow said when I met with Stent. ‘There will come a time . . .’ Kolsko said, when our turning on the Narthani could reinstate us with the other clans. He acknowledged it might involve great risk for our clans, but that was a price we had to pay.”

Langor turned to Sewell. “Karvan?”

“After the meeting, I’ve maintained regular contact with persons in Stent Province, one of whom I believe is connected to high levels of authority, I assume to Hetman Stent or this Kolsko, whatever position he has with the clans. We’ve passed on information, as demanded at the meeting you had. However, most of the communication coming to us was innocuous—more confirming the communication ability than anything of substance. However, we’ve gotten a short message that just arrived here in Sellmor. It must have been in transit at least four days from its origin. It was only three words. ‘It is time.’”

“That’s it?” asked Bolton.

“I believe that was more than enough,” said Langor. “Karvan and I believe it’s a message from the clans that our one chance to redeem ourselves with the other clans and hopefully contribute to the Narthani’s downfall on Caedellium is now. They want us to do something. What is obviously not specified, but when combined with the orders from Metan, I believe it means we need to do whatever we can to move against the Narthani.”

“Easily said,” muttered Bolton. “We don’t have enough men to attack the Narthani garrison here in Sellmor, and even if we had three times their number, I wouldn’t want to fight them in an open field battle—not with their cannon, their experience in that type of fighting, and their discipline. We saw what they did to the Morelanders, and even when the clans surprised them, the Narthani recovered and stayed in control of themselves.”

“We need to decide, and soon,” said Langor. “What could we do to hurt them without crippling ourselves?”

Bolton rose and walked to a wall map of Sellmor. He looked at the map for several minutes, then grunted and turned back to the other two men. “They’ve billeted most of their men outside Sellmor’s main walls. Inside is what they consider their Selfcell headquarters buildings. I doubt more than a hundred Narthani are usually there at any one time. We could close the gates, man the defenses, and prevent the men from their enclave from getting into the city without a serious attack. With the men the Narthani ordered us to have ready for whatever they wanted to use us for, plus another five to seven hundred fighting men living in or near Selfcell, there’s no way they could get into the city before another thousand of our men got here. At that point, they wouldn’t have enough men to breach our defenses. It was stupid of them to put their enclave outside the main walls.”

“What would the price be if it didn’t go as you say?” asked Sewell.

“It could be bad,” said Bolton. “If we are to do this, I suggest we send a couple hundred men to destroy their armory. It’s at the edge of their enclave. We would only try to hold it long enough to set it afire and then get out. The price to our men would likely be high, but with their main powder stores gone, that would eliminate their option to retake the city. Even better, when the fire reaches the powder stores, the explosion could destroy or damage their cannon stored in the adjacent building.”

“How long would it take to set this in motion?” asked Langor.

“It has to be quick,” said Bolton. “Word of something happening would get to the Narthani as soon as we move. The men standing ready would have to carry the initial burden. Two hundred to attack the Narthani armory and the other men manning the  walls. Within an hour, I can have hundreds more men here. Although we didn’t anticipate this exact proposal, we did organize enough to mobilize quickly in an emergency. I think this qualifies.”

Langor and Sewell both stood beside Bolton, all three looking at the city’s map. After a minute, Langor and the other two men faced one another.

“It’s my ultimate decision,” said Langor, “but I want your best opinion.”

“From everything I’ve seen and heard, and from thinking of just such a decision,” Sewell said, “I believe this is the time to act, even with the terrible risks.”

“I don’t like it,” said Bolton. “Too many unknowns. You know I’ll follow whatever decision you make, Roblyn, and I thank God I don’t have to make it.”

“I will make it, Harlyn, and it’s your task to advise me. So, what would you say?”

“I advise you to take the gamble as possibly the only chance our clan has to survive, and God have mercy on us all.”

Southern Force

The clans’ Southern Force crossed into Eywell fifty-two miles from the Preddi border. They moved out of the mesa/ravine country and the burned Wrexton before they reached any obstacle to their advance, six hours after launching. A bridge over a stream had been burned beyond usage. However, less than a quarter-mile north, the stream was wide enough and its banks short enough that it took two hours’ hand labor by three hundred men before wagons and cannon crossed.

“Good thing we brought along wagons with shovels, picks, axes, and timbers,” said Yozef. “Good thinking, Denes.”

The force leader only nodded. “There will be several more streams like this, but none of them should be any more difficult. The only river in Eywell to empty into the Gulf of Witlow is the Arnen. It would be a major problem for us, except there’s no bridge needed there. It widens out to no more than a foot deep as it flows over a solid rock shelf. On the earlier raid, we hardly slowed crossing it. We didn’t have many wagons going west, though we had more on the way back—holding the people we freed from the slave camp. There were all types and sizes of wagons, and none had a problem with the crossing.”

“We tried to account for delays like the brief one we just had,” said Yozef, “so we should be able to keep to our timetable estimate, unless the Narthani decide to come out to meet us, which I doubt. Nevertheless, don’t forget that anything can happen, and a good commander is never surprised by something he didn’t think could possibly happen.”

Carnigan snorted from atop his Percheron-like horse that followed behind Yozef and Denes. “Unless he’s lost his memory entirely, how could anyone forget what you keep nagging him about?”

“Did you hear something, Denes, or was it just one of the horses farting?” said Yozef.

“I decline to give an opinion,” said Denes, “being too absorbed with command to partake in churlishness.”

“Hah,” Carnigan said from behind them. “That’s not what I remember from the last time we drank together in Caernford’s Snarling Graeko pub.”

“Maybe if we raise our voices, we won’t be disturbed by lesser creatures,” said Yozef, only to be answered by a loud snort.

“So far, the weather is holding,” said Denes, changing the subject. “That’s one less worry. We’d never move the heavier wagons or the cannon fast enough with muddy roads.”

Two hours later and two-thirds of the way to the Preddi border, the command group sat on their horses when a rider was stopped by guards.

“Brigadier Vegga!” interrupted Dene’s guard commander. “A message rider from Colonel Hewell’s regiment. He came up behind us. Says it’s an urgent message you need to get. His horse was about done in, and the colonel sent him on with the packet.”

Denes took a sealed packet from a man he didn’t recognize, slit open the paper, and read. “It’s a message originally from Hetman Stent while he was at Hanslow. The Narthani abandoned Hanslow and are headed back to Preddi. Stent estimates about seven hundred Narthani, two hundred Eywell fighting men, and noncombatants of unknown number.”

Yozef pulled a map out of a saddlebag and spread it on the ground. Denes and Yozef dismounted to examine it.

“If Stent kept to his timetable, he sent the message about six hours ago. It had to go by horse to Moreland City, then by semaphore to Dornfeld, and then horse again to us. In six hours, the Narthani could be well on their way to Preddi. They and we would be about the same distance to Preddi, assuming we both keep on the roads we’re on.”

“I know we’re not supposed to engage in battle,” said Denes, “but isn’t this a chance to whittle down the Narthani’s strength? We could catch them between us and Stent’s men following them. According to your On War, when you have overwhelming numbers, you should attack.”

“Yes,” said Yozef, “but we have to keep our main objective in mind and not be distracted.”

“Part of our objective has already been reached,” said Denes. “The message also says that Hanslow surrendered without a fight once the Narthani left. Most of the Eywell fighting men in the city are prisoners and the city disarmed. I think we can consider the Eywellese to no longer be a factor. That leaves Selfcell. If we could block the Hanslow Narthani from reaching Preddi City, it shouldn’t interfere with our keeping the Preddi City Narthani occupied and inside their fortifications, especially if we can engage the Hanslow force far enough away from Preddi City.”

Both men were quiet as they looked at the map. Yozef pointed to a city in the southeast border of Eywell and Preddi provinces. “We were already planning to divert slightly to Neath to be sure there weren’t Narthani troops in our rear. That’s why we brought along the smaller, less trained regiments—to serve as town garrisons in our rear.”

“We could push two regiments on past Neath into Preddi north of Ponth and try to block the Hanslow Narthani,” said Denes. “If Stent’s numbers are close, we would outnumber them four or five to one. Stent must only be a few hours behind them, and we could catch them between us.”

Yozef was ambivalent. “It will divide our force, which is not recommended—unless it works.” He remembered Lee and Jackson at Chancellorsville dividing against a larger Union army in the U.S. Civil War. But that was Lee and Jackson, not Yozef Kolsko and Denes Vegga. “On the other hand, you’ve enough men that you should be able to keep the Narthani within Preddi worried while you also deal with those coming from Hanslow. I don’t know what the Narthani mind-set is when faced with a much larger enemy force. Will they fight to the death or surrender if they see it’s hopeless? Sorry, Denes, too many unknowns and too little experience.”

“I’m inclined to at least block them and hold them in place until Stent catches up,” said Denes.

“In that case,” said Yozef, “a single regiment might be sufficient, as long as they only try to block or slow them down and not get into a major fight.”

“All right,” said Denes, “here’s what we’ll do. Sixwith’s regiment is responsible for having companies screen our left flank. I’ll detach his regiment to ride hard to cut the Hanslow-Preddi road. We don’t have maps detailed enough to know if he can find a place where the Narthani can’t bypass him, but I’ll tell him to do the best they can.”

“He’ll have to leave his feed wagons. They’d slow him down too much,” cautioned Yozef. Each regiment had grain wagons, because the force had to move too fast to allow grazing.

“He’ll have to push the horses,” said Denes. “They can rest once in position. I’ll have the wagons, along with guards, follow him. They should catch up within two hours.”

Yozef didn’t like separating a regiment from the rest of their force, nor did he like the idea of wagons and guards being exposed to attack without support nearby, but he reminded himself they couldn’t avoid risks.

“I agree, Denes,” Yozef said. “Get them moving. Sixwith will take the same route to Neath already planned for the entire force. He’ll just bypass it, and we’ll be a couple of hours behind. It gives Neath more warning than we wanted. That’s a trade-off we’ll have to accept. However, while we don’t expect a Narthani force to still be in Neath, if Sixwith gets there and finds out different, he should give up going to block the Hanslow-Preddi road and wait for the rest of us to catch up.”

Metan’s Command Position Outside Sellmor

Three buildings in the Narthani Selfcell enclave still smoldered two hours after the clansmen attacked. Smoke continued to billow and cloak the ground for hundreds of yards around where the buildings once stood. A forty-foot gap in the six-foot stone wall surrounding the enclave gave a view to the main part of Sellmor and its fifteen-foot main wall. Selfcellese and Narthani bodies littered the ground from the gap to the remains of the Narthani armory, a storage building, and a barracks.

Colonel Metan choked on the smoke and blew his nose on a cloth. Twin wads of soot on the cloth matched his mood.

“No, Major, I don’t think attacking is our best option. I’m sure Langor has more men on the way, and we don’t yet have naval support. I had already sent riders to Wynmor for the garrison there to move to a coastal village and wait for news communicated by ship. Even without that, it would take the garrison two days to get here to reinforce an effort to retake Selfcell, and then what? Our purpose was never to be an occupying or conquering force, but only to remind the Selfcellese who was in charge and keep them from cozying back with the other clans. Obviously, that purpose has failed, and based on the orders from General Akuyun, the other clans are moving strongly to take Eywell and threaten Preddi. This Selfcell act might even be part of that action.

“At this point, our purpose is to get back to Preddi to concentrate our forces. The Wynmor garrison is on its own. Hopefully, the main clan attacks are in the direction of Preddi, and our men in Wynmor will be evacuated by ship. Our decision has to be whether to follow the main roads and the semaphore line east back to Preddi or hug the coast southwest. If we follow the semaphore line, we could maintain contact with headquarters, as long as the semaphore is operational. However, if we run into major clan forces, we could find ourselves isolated. If we hug the coast, the navy can support us and embark us if we run into trouble or if Akuyun wants us back at Preddi City sooner.”

“Do you honestly think we could be cut off from Preddi City by the clans, Colonel?”

“Since the original orders were to move into Sellmor’s main defenses, then we have to assume Akuyun thought that was a possibility. Even if he thought it unlikely, he considered it possible enough to take extreme precautions—and that’s what it would be, because it signaled clearly to the Selfcellese that our control of the situation was shaky.”

Metan motioned to the rest of his staff for their attention. “We will move as quickly as we can to take the coast route. Send a semaphore message to Preddi City, telling Akuyun our intention and request naval support. We should see ships offshore of us within five hours.”

“What about our people inside Sellmor?” asked an aide.

“I’m afraid anyone inside the city is beyond our help.” Metan had gotten an estimate of seventy-six Narthani soldiers at the province headquarters. They were certainly dead or prisoners. Neither could anything be done for Narthani traders or civilian administrators caught by the rebellion. Fortunately, Akuyun had mandated months earlier that any families stay in Preddi City.

“Men, we take only weapons, water, food, and what can be carried without slowing us down. I want the men moving on the road southwest within an hour.”

CHAPTER 27: CHANGING OBJECTIVES

Outskirts of Neath, Southwest Eywell Province

Denes, Yozef, aides, and guards trotted their horses in front of the three regiments once forward scouts brought word of Sixwith’s regiment blocking the Hanslow/Preddi road south of Neath. Two dragoon companies followed, while the rest of the three regiments took a break and fed and watered their horses at a stream. The scouts led the way and came to Sixwith’s pickets only four miles farther on. They passed the first company forming a defensive line, then came within sight of several more companies with horses staked and men sitting or sleeping on the ground.

“Our men and horses are tired enough,” said Yozef. “These must be near collapse. We’ve covered nearly sixty miles since we left the launch camp.”

“It’s more the horses than the men,” said Denes. “Even though there are several hours of light left, we’ll have to camp for the night and continue at first light tomorrow. It’ll give the Narthani a chance to respond, but we don’t want the horses exhausted if we run into a fight.”

Yozef didn’t voice his worry about giving the Narthani reaction time. He knew Denes was right, and he suppressed his own urge to forge ahead. They continued and found the regiment’s flags a hundred yards from the Hanslow/Preddi road and Colonel Sixwith waiting.

“Good to see you, Brigadier. Is the rest of the force following you?”

“I’m letting them rest and care for the horses. I see you’ve already done the same for yours.”

“Yes,” said Sixwith. “I pushed them hard to get here, though maybe it wasn’t necessary. We didn’t run into any opposition—only an occasional sighting of single or small clusters of Narthani riders.”

“What about Neath?” asked Yozef. “Any information if the town is defended?”

“We don’t think there are any Narthani soldiers left,” Sixwith replied. “We met with the town’s mayor half an hour ago. He blustered that there are hundreds of Narthani and more hundreds of Eywellese ready to fight to the death if we try to take the city, but none of us saw any Narthani soldiers. The town’s defensive positions are nothing we couldn’t overwhelm quickly. The question is whether it’s worth the time and cost. I’d say no.”

“I agree,” said Denes, who glanced over to see Yozef nodding.

“One other thing,” said Sixwith. “Although the mayor wasn’t interested in giving any information, not every Eywellese is the same. Several farmers’ families we questioned said that hundreds of Narthani passed through here about three hours ago. They didn’t stop at Neath and were in a hurry.”

“Morthmin,” said Yozef. “I bet it was the Morthmin garrison. I doubt they would have waited for the Hanslow Narthani to reach Morthmin and then all of them risk being cut off.”

Denes looked in both directions on the Hanslow/Preddi road. “If true, that means the Hanslow garrison is caught between us and Stent. I know our objective is isolating both Eywell and Selfcell, but the Eywell part is already accomplished. It’s tempting to capture or kill the Hanslow Narthani.”

It is tempting, thought Yozef. Stent estimated around seven hundred Narthani and upwards of two hundred Eywellese fighting men heading this way. We talked about this before. We’d greatly outnumber them, but who knows if the Narthani are prone to surrender in hopeless situations or would fight to the death? We just don’t know that many details or their culture and psyche. Still, is this an opportunity to reduce the numbers of existing Narthani or a temptation to lose more than we’d gain? He didn’t know the answer but saw a way to give the Hanslow Narthani a chance to get into an untenable position.

“Although we’d like to stop them,” said Yozef, “we have to keep to the objective of isolating Selfcell. Unfortunately, we don’t know what’s happening there. If the Narthani commander ordered the Eywell garrisons to retreat to Preddi, did he do the same with Selfcell? I suspect he’d tell those at Sellmor to stay inside the city’s defenses, because their navy could support them and potentially evacuate them by sea. For Wynmor, they could be doing the same, heading to Sellmor or even moving to the coast, where ships could support them. However, from what we know, Wynmor doesn’t have a semaphore line, so they might not know what’s happening farther south. I don’t think the Wynmor garrison should be a factor in our decisions.”

Denes stroked his short beard. “If we’re going to try to stop the Hanslow garrison, then Stent will have to stay on their tail. That diverts him from his objective of isolating Selfcell. What we could do is leave one regiment here to continue blocking the road to Preddi and wait for Stent to catch them from behind. Our other three regiments would continue to the sea south of Sellmor.”

“That’s a complete change in our original plan for the Southern Force,” said Major Kildorn. “We were to block the Preddi Narthani from action, and it was our Northern Force that would push on to the sea.”

Denes didn’t look pleased to have to make a major decision. “Yozef’s On War says no plan is inviolate, depending on developing circumstances. The original plan envisioned both the Northern and Southern forces getting to the Preddi border about the same time, but clearly Stent has been delayed.”

“I suspect we didn’t factor in enough time spent having to deal with both Hanslow and Morthmin,” said Yozef. “Neath is the first major pause we’ve had since leaving Keelan. However, Denes is right about a commander having to use judgment, no matter what the original plan. The problem is you never have complete information, like in this case. I’m sorry, Denes, but I can’t advise what’s best in this specific situation.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Denes. “No offense, Yozef, but we’ve gotten so accustomed to you pulling a solution out of the air that it’s disconcerting when it doesn’t happen. I wish falling back on my own judgment gave me more confidence. Oh well, if it’s up to me, I have to do the best I can and hope for God’s guidance.”

None of the other men had any more advice to give than did Yozef, who worried about that lack. Jesus, as much as I appreciate Denes being willing to make a hard decision, I’d have wanted the other leaders to chip in something. I’m afraid Denes is right. They’ve gotten too used to looking to me. In this case, I wonder how many of them thought, “If Yozef Kolsko has no advice, who am I to give any?”

Denes might not have wanted to make a decision, but neither was he indecisive.

“All right, here’s what we’ll do. I’d already sent a scout party north to make contact with Stent to find out where they are and how close they are to the Hanslow Narthani. I’ll send another party north with the message that we will leave one regiment here to attempt to stop or slow those Stent is chasing. That will be you, Colonel Sixwith. Our other three regiments will push on to cut off Selfcell.”

Denes called to an aide. “Pull out the campaign map.” Seconds later, Denes squatted and used a finger to point. “We’ll aim for a point halfway between Sellmor and the Selfcell/Preddi border. If the Narthani Selfcell garrison stayed in the city, we’ll block them from retreating by land back to Preddi, although their ships could take them on. On the other hand, if they are pulling back into Preddi, they might already be south of where we’ll reach the sea. Either way, we’ll have achieved the objective of cutting off Selfcell.

“Major Sixwith,” said Denes, addressing the Keelan major, “continue blocking this road and wait to see what comes to you. I suggest scouts north along the road to find out exactly where the Hanslow Narthani are. Send riders after me with any news. With even minimal defenses, I doubt the Narthani will try to go straight through you but will attempt to bypass. I leave it to your discretion how to respond, except for the same caution. Don’t try a direct attack on deployed Narthani formations.

“Luwis, Kildorn, Hewell,” Denes continued, addressing the other three regiment commanders. “We’ll continue at a slower pace for another two hours and then dry camp someplace with some natural defenses. A third of the men will take turns staying alert, and we’ll be on the move again at first light.”

“What if Hetman Stent sticks to the original plan?” asked Mulron Luwis, commander of the fourth Southern Force regiment. “He would end up following us to the sea. Would he leave Sixwith’s regiment here, and what about the part of the plan to threaten Preddi to the south?”

“I think Hetman Stent is smart enough to recognize Denes’s reasoning and be willing to change his objectives,” said Yozef. “However, I’ll send along a message that I supported Denes’s decision, and I’ll suggest Stent move on to Ponth inside Preddi. That would serve the original plan of the Southern Force in focusing the attention on the main Narthani position at Preddi City.”

Yozef’s statement seemed to mollify any remaining reservations. He was unaware that his two-sentence statement subtly implied he was in overall command of the two independently operating forces. He supported Denes’s decision as if he were in the position of a commander supporting a subordinate, and his suggestion to Stent could be taken as an order.

Metan

The sun sank behind the eastern hills, and the brightest stars had just made their appearance when a rider found Metan in the gathering darkness. “Colonel, forward scouts report that Swythton is only three miles farther.”

Metan’s shoulders released their tension at the news. He felt thankful for the dim light so his men couldn’t see how worried he had been. “Get to the company commanders to pick up the pace,” he said to the aides behind him. “I know everyone’s tired, but if we hurry, we’ll be inside the Swythton defenses before total darkness.”

The original Preddi town now had five thousand inhabitants—mainly Narthani citizens and slaves, with perhaps a thousand Preddi who had not been killed or enslaved and shipped off Caedellium. The normal population of thirty-five hundred had increased from surrounding villages sending women and children into the town’s defenses. Two hundred Narthani soldiers were stationed at the town, and Metan knew that, with the addition of his men, they could hold out against any clan attack until relieved by land or sea.

Roblyn Langor, Sellmor

“I suppose it could have been worse,” Hetman Roblyn Langor said to Karvan Sewell. His tone of voice betrayed the words.

“The final count seems to be fifty-eight dead,” said Sewell. “The Narthani either took their dead with them or buried them where we haven’t found them yet. Our wounded are being cared for by medicants in the city, while theirs are traveling south. If they weren’t Narthani, I’d pray for God’s mercy.”

“Roblyn,” said Sewell, eyeing his hetman and friend’s bleary, shadowed eyes, “I don’t think you’ve slept the last thirty-six hours. You don’t do us any good to get too exhausted.”

“Just a few more minutes and then I’ll sleep a few hours. However long I sleep, wake me as soon as there’s any news. We’re blind. All we know is that the Narthani in Selfcell have fled back to Preddi, and the clans are doing something, but what!?”

“Maybe by the time you rest, the men you sent east will have found out more and have sent back reports.” Langor had ordered two hundred men to ride hard east to make contact with anyone—Narthani or clans—and gather information on what was happening.

Denes

The men banked the last campfires. Yozef estimated they had only made another five miles before Denes decided the road west wasn’t good enough to continue in darkness. Using the remaining light, they camped inside the bend of a stream, providing water and minimal protection on three sides. Carnigan tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped.

“Get some sleep,” growled Carnigan. “What the damnation good are you to us if you can’t think straight?”

“Is that any way to show respect to a Septarsh?” Yozef quipped. He had given up trying to quash the rumors and had begun to worry he was using the rumors too often that God whispered to him. Carnigan had taken on the task of saving Yozef from himself.

“I answer to someone higher than a Septarsh,” Carnigan growled, then spoiled the effect by laughing. “I have strict instructions from Maera to see that you don’t do anything stupid—like think you’re too important to sleep.”

“You’re right,” said Yozef. “I just can’t help but worry, not knowing what’s happening. Where’s Stent? Where are the Hanslow Narthani? Will the Narthani send their army out of Preddi City, despite my prediction they wouldn’t? Will my agreeing to change the operational plan so radically cause too much confusion?”

“Maybe you should also worry about it being too dark, or if it rains tomorrow, that will be your fault, too. How about the murvor that shit on Man o’ War’s ass? Shouldn’t you have foreseen that?”

“All right, all right!” Yozef conceded. “I surrender. I’m a ‘worry-wort’ and will lie down.”

Carnigan grunted his “there you go again” grunt. “Whatever worry-wort means, it better be ‘Yozef Kolsko is about to get some sleep before drastic action is taken.’”

Yozef lay down where Wyfor Kales had spread a blanket. He was asleep within seconds and didn’t see Carnigan lie down next to him on one side. Wyfor and Gowlin Reese completed a triangle around Yozef. If any danger appeared, it would have to go through one of them before reaching their charge.

Stent

Welman Stent didn’t have to be cajoled to know he needed rest. Still, it took half an hour before he could relax enough to drift off. If he had ever had a more stressful and frustrating day, he couldn’t remember when. Despite planning, the Northern Force was two hours late launching from Moreland Province. He hadn’t concerned himself with the support units that would follow the eleven regiments forming the spearhead of their advance. However, coordination with eleven regiment commanders from eight different clans had been worse than he feared—and his fears had been impressive.

An hour after the planned launch, one of two Moreland regiments was still breaking camp and had shown no sign of forming up. Stent hadn’t hesitated. He vociferously removed the Moreland colonel from command, had him led away to be escorted back to Moreland City in disgrace, and promoted a Moreland major who seemed to share some of Stent’s disgust. In anticipation of trouble with the Morelanders, Stent had placed their bivouac area surrounded by other units. He could hear grumbling from Morelander men about their commander being removed, but the replacing major’s quick grasp of command had settled things within minutes. Still, this action, among others, made them two hours late in launching.

Heaped onto the frustration of a late start, the Northern Force had taken longer than planned to bypass Hanslow and Morthmin. The only bright spot was that once the force was underway, its movement was faster than he’d expected. Yet thoughts about coordinating the regiments’ action, should they encounter a large-enough Narthani force to be dangerous, kept his stomach churning all day.

An hour before sunset, forward scouts had reported back, having made visual contact with what they believed were the retreating Hanslow Narthani’s rear units pushing along wagons. Stent had kept his men moving for an hour after total darkness, before they stopped for fear of running into the Narthani and chaos reigning.

Stent wouldn’t find out until morning light that the Narthani had left the Hanslow/Preddi road within minutes of Jurna finding out Stent’s scouts had come on their rear. Jurna turned due west, and his men were now encamped six miles west of Stent, instead of south. The Northern Force would move south the next morning for an hour before scouts and the lack of fresh horse droppings proved that they didn’t know where Jurna was.

Jurna

“I want us moving by first light tomorrow morning,” Jurna told his senior officers. “I’m hoping we gained some time on the damned clansmen chasing us. If we move early enough, it may take them time to realize we changed direction, and we can turn south again by mid-morning. We’ll send riders to Preddi City to let General Akuyun know our intent. I don’t know if he’ll send anything to meet us, but he might do something to keep the clans’ attention until we get to Preddi City.”

Akuyun, Preddi City

It was midnight when General Okan Akuyun reached his villa. His wife, Rabia, lay awake, waiting for him. Although she hadn’t heard any specific news from her husband, vibrations of events elsewhere had traveled among the families of high military and civilian officers and officials. She needed only one look at her husband to imagine how tense his day had been.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten, so I laid out food on the table as soon as I heard the horses. Come sit, eat, and have a glass of wine.”

Okan followed his wife into the dining area and sat at a table set with cold meats and bread. She poured wine into his glass, then her own.

“How bad is it, Okan?”

He didn’t answer until he wolfed down a mouthful of food, followed by a long drink of the deep red wine. “I don’t actually know the details. All that’s known is that the clans have moved in force into Eywell from two points. One near Hanslow and a second along the coast from Keelan. The same two routes they used on the previous raids. Jurna ordered the Morthmin garrison to retreat to Preddi. They arrived with no problems, but Jurna’s men from Hanslow have been chased all day. Fortunately, Jurna got them going before my order came. He sent updates on his progress as he destroyed the semaphore stations behind him. The last report was that he thought the clans were five or six miles behind him.”

Rabia’s left hand flew to her throat at the news of the clans’ attacks. “Will they make it back here? Then what? Do you think the clans intend to attack Preddi City?”

“I hope Jurna gets to safety, though there are too many unknowns to be sure. I’ve ordered two more battalions to Ponth at first light tomorrow. With the battalion already there, they will wait for Jurna and support him if necessary, as long as it doesn’t result in their being cut off from Preddi City. Then, when Jurna arrives, they’re all to withdraw back here.

“That’s not all the bad news. I also ordered Metan to pull his men into the Sellmor fortifications to await news of exactly what are the clans’ intentions. I had figured there was no need to abandon Selfcell—not yet, anyway. Then news came that the Selfcellese had revolted and blocked Metan from entering the main defensive positions. Something of a fight ensued, and Metan decided the losses and time to retake the city, along with unknowns of what this major clan move meant, made it best to also withdraw. We didn’t have ships stationed at Sellmor, so Metan sent his plan via both semaphore and riders. He moved down the coast toward Swythton. We got several messages he flashed to a sloop. They should be in Swythton by now.

“Metan also said he’d ordered the Wynmor garrison to head for the coast and dig in, waiting for ships to embark them. So it looks like most of our people in Selfcell got out, except for those killed in the Sellmor fighting, but there’s no ignoring that Selfcell is lost to us—at least, for the time being.”

“What about here in Preddi?” asked Rabia.

“I still doubt the clans will attack us directly. I worry more about major raids once we’ve pulled into defenses everywhere in the province. Even if they do, I think we can hold out until Marshal Gullar arrives. When he does, it will be a very different situation from the one I assume he expects.”

CHAPTER 28: CHASE

Balwis

“Major Kellerwin,” said Colonel Sixwith, “I want you to take your battalion and picket out to the west, in case the Narthani try to slip around us. Report back if you make contact, but don’t fight them until the rest of us get to you. Don’t get your farthest men more than ten miles west.”

“Captain Preddi,” said Major Kellerwin, a Gwillamese officer in the mixed-clan regiment, “we’re moving west a few miles to keep the Narthani from getting around the regiment unnoticed. Your company will lead. When I stop, you continue west another two miles as our left flank position. We’re not to engage the Narthani until the rest of the regiment gets to us. Any questions?”

Balwis shrugged and went back to his men. He hadn’t yet taken to using the formal rankings and saw no reason to waste words of acknowledgment until he had actual questions or objections. His mood hadn’t improved from the previous day, when he learned he might not set foot in his home province. Yozef and then Denes had made it clear they didn’t want a company composed largely of Preddi who had fled the Narthani destruction of their clan to lose discipline. They were to avoid being in a vanguard into Preddi territory, if possible.

Jurna

Jomzik Jurna’s senses tried to reach out, as if the effort would magically let him see through hills, forests, and miles to locate the clans’ forces. He had pushed his men westward for an hour that morning, then turned south toward Preddi. Still no contact with any islanders. The road they first used was the main route from Preddi City to Sellmor. Then they turned south onto a less-well-maintained track, and the wagons were slowed by more ruts. Already that morning, one wagon had broken an axle, and a second wagon was lost when it slid down an embankment after straying too close to the edge. The passengers of both, some of them injured, were transferred to other wagons already overloaded. Jurna considered whether he should abandon the slower wagons and have the passengers ride double with his cavalry when a commotion got his attention. Several riders galloped parallel to the column and toward his group. They reined in when they reached him.

“Colonel Jurna,” said a young officer whose name Jurna couldn’t remember, “we’ve found signs a large force has crossed our line of march. They’re heading due west toward Selfcell. From the freshness of horse droppings, we think no more than an hour ago.”

“Heading east, you say?”

“Yes, Colonel, and lots of them, if the amount of droppings is any indication. Mainly horses and moving in three columns, one on the road and two alongside a few hundred yards away.”

“Narth grant us wisdom!” Jurna exclaimed. “It can’t be the clansmen who’ve been chasing us. There’s no way they could have gotten farther on the road last night and then crossed in front of us this morning. This must be a second clan force. If they’ve already passed, we may have had Narth’s good fortune.” Jurna turned to a cluster of couriers and picked out four of them to get word to his main subordinates. “We’ll pick up the pace and not rest for the next hour. With more fortune, we’ll be beyond their reach and into safer territory.”

Balwis

Balwis had ordered a halt when he estimated his company was a little more than two miles from the rest of the battalion. He surveyed the terrain and decided the rolling hills didn’t give enough line of sight to make holding the company in one position practical—they couldn’t see more than a quarter mile in any direction.

“Let’s do this,” he told his platoon leaders. “From here, we’ll put a platoon on the reverse side of consecutive hills going west. That will let us cover another mile and a half and still let the platoons be in visual contact with one another. Each platoon will send a picket forward north to the next hill. I’ll stay here with the company headquarters platoon. If you spot any Narthani, send word back here if it’s only a few of them, but get all your asses back here if you see large numbers of them.”

Thirty minutes later, Balwis had just estimated that the last platoon to the west was in position when Synton Ethlore rode his lathered horse to within ten feet of where Balwis sat on a tree stump. Ethlore had been with Balwis on the Erdelin strike and had taken Balwis’s place as a Kolsko bodyguard. When he learned of the campaign to cut out the two clans allied with the Narthani, he had asked for temporary relief from guard duty. “Ser Kolsko, you don’t need me when you’re surrounded by thousands of armed clansmen. I’ll ask you to let me join Balwis’s men as a scout. I’ll be more valuable there than standing around.”

Yozef had agreed, and Ethlore was part of the platoon assigned to the west-most position in their screen.

“Balwis!” Ethlore cried, in his excitement forgetting rank and protocol. “We didn’t even get off our horses when we spotted a fuckin’ long column of Narthani cavalry, followed by wagons carrying infantry. The rest of the platoon is behind me, in addition to the other platoons. There’re all moving back to join up here, like you told them to.”

“Were they coming or going, Synton?” blurted Balwis.

“The lead elements were still a quarter mile off, but by now they’re passing where we were to watch and are continuing toward Preddi. They were moving out smartly.”

Balwis erupted in a thirty-second stream of curses before slapping himself on the chest to focus. “Well, isn’t this a fine piece of shit? We’re only supposed to spot them approaching, not watching their asses disappear into the distance. The idea was to have time to get more men to block them. That’s not going to happen now. By the time Sixwith can get here with the rest of the regiment, they might be too far away to catch. What a pisser. They must have also crossed Vegga’s path. Yozef talks about the ‘fog of war,’ but this is more like fog in a goddamned swamp.”

Balwis stomped back and forth for a minute. “All right. Get all the platoon leaders here yesterday.” He turned to the headquarters platoon officer. “Get the men up and ready to move.”

Fifteen minutes later, he addressed the four platoon leaders. “Sixwith sent us out here expecting to be in position before the Narthani arrive. Obviously, that plan is for shit. I only see two options. Either we kiss off stopping these Narthani, or we try to get ahead of them and slow them down until more of our people show up. I’ve sent riders east to Sixwith and west to Vegga to let them know we’ll be doing the second option.”

“Synton,” Balwis called out to Ethlore, who stood behind the platoon leaders, “did they have flanking or forward screens?”

“Not to the side where we were, nor forward, as far as I could see. The terrain is such that flankers couldn’t move as fast as the main column, so I suspect they’re trying to move as fast as the wagons allow.”

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll ride south parallel to the road they’re on and try to get a couple of miles ahead of them. We’ll push about ten miles and then turn west to find the road and a place to dig in. We don’t know if they have scouts out, so it’s best to be as quiet as possible. This means no goddamn talking or yelling.”

Vegga

Denes Vegga stared at Eflyn Langor and tried to digest what he’d just been told. He glanced aside to see Yozef smiling. “What’s so amusing?” snarled Denes. “Ten minutes ago, I had a clear idea what we’re doing, but now I don’t know what the hell’s happening.”

Hetman Langor’s younger brother and two hundred armed men were waiting on the opposite bank of a stream when the forward scouts of the Southern Force searched for the easiest crossing. Under a truce flag, Eflyn Langor claimed Selfcell had revolted against the Narthani, and the Narthani Sellmor garrison had withdrawn south along the coast. If the Selfcell envoy was telling the truth, the Southern Force’s mission was moot; Selfcell was no longer a Narthani ally, and the objective would change based on how to deal with the new situation. The second consequence would be that the Narthani’s Sellmor garrison would no longer be a potential target. They were almost certainly at the Preddi town of Swythton, behind defenses and in position for naval help. Both of those circumstances depended on whether they believed the Selfcell hetman’s brother.

Denes pulled Yozef, Mulron, and Lordum Hewell aside. “What do you think? Is he telling the truth?”

“I met Eflyn at a conclave eight years ago,” said Lordum. “We shared an evening in an Orosz City pub. Although I got bleary after a few ales, my memory of him is that I liked him, and he seemed honest. We shared opinions about other clans and leaders, and he even laughed at his brother, whom he thought was too serious. I had the same opinion of my father, but that was before I became hetman and found out what being hetman meant.”

“I’m inclined to believe him,” said Yozef, “though there’s no way to be certain without going to Sellmor. Normally, I’d advise changing direction from reaching the sea south of Sellmor to going directly to the city. Of course, that was before the rider from Balwis.”

The force’s leaders had been discussing how to respond to the news that what they assumed to be the men from the Narthani’s Hanslow garrison had crossed south between the Southern Force’s three regiments aimed at Sellmor and the fourth regiment blocking the Hanslow/Preddi road.

“We have to decide,” said Mulron. “Both going forward and stopping to deal with the Hanslow Narthani are time critical. The Selfcellese could be bluffing to stop or slow us while they bring more people into Sellmor and keep improving their defenses. If it’s the Narthani Balwis reports, every minute they’re getting farther away.”

Denes grimaced, then slapped a thigh with his gloves. “We’ll keep to the original objective. As appealing as it is to kill Narthani, we’re here to separate the Selfcellese and Eywellese from the Narthani. Sixwith and Balwis will have to handle the Hanslow Narthani, if at all. We’ll send riders back to Sixwith to follow Balwis and then join Stent when the Northern Force arrives. If it turns out Eflyn Langor tells the truth, I’m sure Yozef needs to talk with their hetman about what comes next.”

Jurna

“How did they get in front of us, Colonel?” asked a harried captain.

“How in Narth’s name do I know?” Jurna snarled. “Maybe they spontaneously jumped out of the ground. What’s important is that our route south is blocked, and we don’t know what might be coming up behind us.” He raised his telescope and again surveyed the logs and the low dirt berm across the road four hundred yards ahead. “Looks like horse artillery on the east side of the road. Men are still working to dig them in, so the damned clansmen haven’t been here long. We can’t be sure, but I’d estimate a company of them.”

“No easy way around them?” Jurna asked the commander of the lead company.

“Not that my scouts have seen,” the captain replied. “They’re still looking, but do we have time to wait?”

“No, we don’t.” Jurna turned to an artillery officer. “Lieutenant, bring up a 12-pounder battery as fast as possible. We’ll see if they intend on trying to hold out, even if out-gunned.”

Balwis

“Shit!” Balwis exclaimed to no one in particular. “I was hoping they’d sit and think a little longer. Whoever’s in charge over there is not one to delay decisions. They’re bringing up 12-pounders. I can see at least three . . . no . . . four, wait, five of them. Once they have them in action, they’ll pound our 6-pounders to pieces and us with them.” He turned to the ex-Preddi slave now commanding the company’s three cannon. “Give their cannon four solid shots as fast as you can, and then hook up and pull back. The rest of you get your platoons mounted and ready to move.”

Jurna

The three flashes of light and unmistakable whistle of cannon balls in flight made half of the men around Jurna drop to the ground, but the Narthani colonel never flinched. He knew from experience that if he could hear whistles of cannon balls, they were going elsewhere than where he stood. They were faster than sound, so hearing them meant they weren’t coming straight at him. He was right. He watched as the balls tore through brush, small trees, and one unlucky cannoneer, whose head disappeared.

Jurna had issued orders and now could only watch his 12-pounder crews’ frantic efforts to unlimber their guns, turn them into position, and begin suppressing the clans’ smaller cannon.

A second and third volley from the clansmen sheared more brush and struck one 12-pounder, tearing off a wheel and sending the barrel spinning into two crewmen. Jurna dispassionately assessed that the men were injured but not killed. He looked again with his telescope. “They’re bringing up horses. I think they’ll fire one more round and then pull out.” He wanted to yell at his artillery officer to hurry and fire before the clans moved their guns, but he restrained himself. He knew his men were working as fast as they could. After all, they knew they were the targets of the clan’s cannon.

Balwis

From five hundred yards away, Balwis saw the Narthani pulling apart the makeshift roadblock. He’d had one of his 6-pounders fire a single grapeshot cluster when the Narthani first began pulling logs off the berm. It slowed them only a minute before they were back at work. The terrain had opened up two hundred more yards to his rear, and he was afraid that once the Narthani cleared the road and moved a half mile, they’d be able to use their greater numbers to bring up their 12-pounders while sending cavalry to encircle his company.

“Time to leave!” he shouted. “We’ll move south along this road about a mile, then go west a mile and wait to see if they’re still interested in us or keep heading south.”

Jurna

“Look at them,” said Jurna, referring to clan riders he could see with his telescope sitting on a hilltop a mile to his east. “Staying out of cannon range and waiting to see if we go after them or not. There’ll be another day. We have to keep moving.”

CHAPTER 29: STALEMATE

Clan Encampment, 15 Miles West of Preddi City

“We have to decide if we’re doing any good here or need to pull back,” Stent said to the gathering of senior Northern and Southern Force officers and Yozef. A full sixday after the two-pronged launch into Eywell, the campaign had settled into a stalemate. The Narthani soldiers, once ensconced within fortifications, had not ventured out. Questioning Narthani civilians, freed slaves, and their few captured soldiers gave the clans a clear picture of the Narthani dispositions: all military personnel were within three sites: nine thousand in Preddi City; nine hundred in Swythton on the west coast of Preddi Province; and 1,100 total in two towns in central and southern Preddi.

“You’re right,” said Yozef bitterly, “though it galls me that we have them in as good a position as we could have hoped for in our original plan. Unfortunately, we learned from the Fuomi about the new army on its way. We could have taken the isolated groups at the smaller towns and focused on the reduced number in Preddi City. There might even have been some surrenders with no or minimal fighting. Even without them surrendering, we could almost certainly have taken Preddi City. We would have suffered major losses, but Caedellium would have been free of them. Now, knowing what’s coming, we can’t afford losses to eliminate the current Narthani when six or seven times their number are coming.”

“Whatever we do, it needs to be soon,” said Denes. “In another sixday, we’ll be totally dependent on foraging for food. We’re already stretching the supplies we brought with us. I admit I didn’t fully appreciate Yozef’s warning that this logistics is just as important as men and weapons.”

Yozef didn’t respond but took a few moments to continue the self-chastising that had been ongoing for the last four days. At least, Denes had the excuse that his people had no real experience or no history of campaigns with this many men, he thought. What’s my excuse? I suppose we could have brought more supplies and fewer fighting men, but we didn’t know what we’d run into.

“One way to ease the problem is to send back men we don’t need,” said Stent. “We figured we’d need several thousand each to watch Eywell and Selfcell while we decided how to handle them. I think Eywell is too disorganized to be a threat. The Narthani and their tool of a new hetman abandoning the clan have severed any remaining loyalties—not that there seemed to be much to begin with.

“As for Selfcell . . . ” Stent eyed the Selfcell hetman. Roblyn Langor had joined the gathering, along with eight hundred of his men. Welman Stent remained leery of the clan that had raided into his province, but he acknowledged that he believed the Selfcell hetman had tried to do as little as possible to satisfy the Narthani that Selfcell was not rebellious. Still, Stent clanspeople had died, and property was destroyed.

Langor jumped in before Stent could say more. “My clan is willing to help with the supply problem. We’re the closest source of food. The Narthani halted all grain and cured meat shipments, and we have stockpiles in Sellmor and several towns. I could have the first wagonloads here in three days.”

“Thank you for the offer, Hetman,” said Yozef, “but Selfcell may need every bit of that food for your own people. You don’t know all of the clans’ plans and might not be given access to all that information for some time, given your history with the Narthani. Stent, Hewell, and I can speak with you more about this later. For the moment, our focus is the immediate future.”

What Yozef didn’t say was that the lack of Narthani resistance to the clans’ movement outside the Preddi cities presented its own problems. As Denes had said, the clan forces couldn’t stay inside Preddi indefinitely. The status of Selfcell and Eywell territories had been discussed by the War Council and the MIU, though no formal decisions had been made. Now, the complete withdrawal of the Narthani and the revolt of Selfcell made decisions more urgent. However, the issue for the moment was how long to remain in Preddi Province and to what purpose.

“What actions are taken with regard to Selfcell and Eywell can be discussed later. Right now, what purposes might be served by remaining in Preddi Province?” Yozef asked. “In addition to logistics issues, we can’t afford to be sitting where we are when the new Narthani army arrives. So why remain? I see two reasons. The first is to ravage as much of the province as quickly as we can without lingering to attack fortified defenses. However, I’ll argue that destroying the province’s infrastructure isn’t worth the time and effort. The future of Caedellium won’t be determined by which buildings and bridges are standing.

“On the other hand, we know that the Narthani didn’t have time—or plans, for that matter—to get all of their people into defensive positions. We’ve ignored any civilians we came across, but I’m suggesting we use our numbers to quickly sweep through Preddi Province and collect Narthani men and free any slaves we find. The slaves would be distributed to clans and the Narthani civilians kept as potential hostages. Hetman Stent can confirm that the War Council discussed the issue of hostages and decided it wasn’t worth the effort at this time. However, things have changed. When we decided against keeping hostages, we hadn’t factored in Selfcell revolting. It was assumed they would be considered hostile or neutral in what is to come. That has changed. Now, the Narthani might regard Selfcell as traitors, and we can’t know what reprisals they might take. We all know what happened to the Preddi Clan.”

Yozef faced Roblyn Langor. “I’m sorry to say, Hetman Selfcell, that the clans can’t commit their men to defend Selfcell Province. You will later learn more about why this is. However, if we have enough Narthani civilians as hostages, we might be able to use them to ensure the safety of your clanspeople who might come under Narthani control again before the fate of Caedellium is settled.”

“How long would you estimate sweeping the province would take?” asked Stent.

“With the number of men we have, we should be able to detach half of our dragoons to sweep all of Preddi and be at the border in . . . what? Four days?”

“At the latest,” said Denes. “Remember, a good portion of the populated part of Preddi is north of us. We can sweep through there on the way out. All we need to do now is continue sealing off Preddi City and the towns they’ve gathered people in.”

“Adding more mouths to feed will make the supply problem worse,” cautioned Mulron Luwis.

“No,” said Denes, “it probably won’t change anything. As soon as we round up groups—say, a couple of hundred—we’ll start them back to free clan territory and not hold them here. They’ll be accompanied by some of our men and horses, which we won’t have to feed anymore.”

“Only men?” Stent asked.

“The men would be of potential assistance to the Narthani, while the women and children would have to be cared for, which would take up some of their resources,” said Yozef. “From what we hear from escapees, the Narthani care for their own. It’s everyone else they don’t see as worthy of worrying about.”

“If we do this, how many do we collect?” asked Denes.

“Let’s try for a thousand and settle for however many we can round up,” answered Yozef.

They spent the next hour working out details. Hetman Selfcell was assigned to use the men he brought to the main encampment to sweep west to Swythton on the coast. Yozef made that suggestion, figuring it got the Selfcellese out of Welman’s sight—it would take more time and events for the Stent hetman to trust the Selfcellese. In addition, if there was any possibility of the Selfcellese turning again, it put them away from the clans’ forces.

Stent’s Northern Force would remain to threaten Preddi City and ensure that the Narthani were not tempted into forays beyond the defenses. Denes would remain at the current encampment site with two of his four regiments, those of Kildorn and Mulron Luwis. Hewell’s regiment would sweep southeast and Sixwith’s southwest, both to be back at the encampment site in three days.

Yozef, Stent, Hewell, and Selfcell remained after the other men left for assignments and duties. A small wooden table and chairs had been appropriated from somewhere.

“Hetman Selfcell,” said Yozef, “please be assured we understand the difficulty in taking the steps you did. None of us need pretend your clan can expect every other clan to easily welcome you back with open arms, but your actions have started the process. Still, we need to proceed with incorporating your people into the clans’ plans. The first thing you need to know is that an All-Clan Conclave empowered a War Council of four hetmen with the responsibility to make decisions on fighting the Narthani. Hetman Stent is one of the four members, along with hetmen Keelan, Farkesh, and Orosz. I’m an adviser to the council and have a vote on decisions only when the four members are split.”

Langor frowned. “This War Council—how are its decisions enforced? There can’t be an All-Clan Conclave every time a decision is needed.”

“I’ll let hetmen Stent and Hewell answer,” said Yozef.

“It’s probably best to come from me,” said Hewell, “since I’m not on the War Council. The conclave voted and ruled that there will be no more All-Clan Conclaves until the Narthani are gone from Caedellium. The decisions of the War Council are binding on all clans.”

Langor relaxed his shoulders and sat back in his chair. “That’s a surprise. I would have doubted enough clans would have agreed. I’ll admit I’m ambivalent. Giving up authority of my clan is not something that sits easily with me, nor will it with many of my clanspeople. On the other hand, there’s a sense of relief, because I couldn’t imagine fighting the Narthani by committee. The obvious question is, what role will Selfcell play in what might come?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to accept that not everything the clans intend will be known to you yet,” said Yozef. “However, there are a few steps you need to take immediately, and we will help where we can. First, when the new Narthani army arrives, you need to move as many of your clanspeople as you can to somewhere difficult for the Narthani to get at them. Every clan is doing this, and we’re calling them redoubts. They aren’t intended to be havens longer than a few months, but you would have to prepare a site with shelter, water, and food. You know the terrain of your province better than any of us, so you’ll have to select a site.”

“I thought the purpose of the hostages was to prevent the Narthani from retaliating against my people,” protested Langor.

“Yes, but do you want to trust that will happen?”

“I may be able to help,” said Welman Stent, addressing Langor. His tone conveyed willingness but not enthusiasm. “Stent will help relocate Selfcellese in your northern districts to redoubts in Stent or other provinces.”

“Thank you, Welman,” said Yozef. “That helps.” He turned again to Langor. “Most of those you send to redoubts will be women, children, and elderly, unable to help against the Narthani. Naturally, you will need enough fighting men to provide protection. We’ll require you to estimate how many Selfcellese fighting men will be available to join against the Narthani. We’re developing more formal military units and tactics than you’re familiar with. Although you might not have time to fully merge your men into the overall effort, Selfcell will likely have assignments that require scouting and patrolling. Please be sure you understand this. It may change in time. However, for now, your men may be under the orders of commanders from other clans. Perhaps not at the level of ten to twenty men, but certainly anything that involves hundreds to thousands.”

Langor sighed. “All of this will be hard to tell my clanspeople.”

“We know, but it’s your task to make them understand. I will say to you what was said to the Nyvaks hetman when he threatened to ignore War Council decisions. No clan will be allowed not to follow orders. Any such refusal or delay will be compelled by force. Nyvaks seems to have believed the threat and has caused no significant problems. In the case of Selfcell, your history with the Narthani should tell you the clans’ tolerance will be exceedingly short.”

Four days later, the last of both the Northern and the Southern Force crossed the Eywell/Preddi border, heading, respectively, to Moreland and Keelan. The sweep for Narthani men to hold as hostages proved more difficult than anticipated. Wagons with 643 Narthani men were rounded up—well short of the one thousand target. The Narthani were less successful, or less concerned, about slaves, and over 2,800 were found and freed—more than anticipated, which required confiscating hundreds of wagons and horse teams.

The sweep had also found few horses or cattle—the Narthani had successfully sequestered most of those within their defenses or hidden them in places the clan units didn’t have time to search for.

Before leaving, Stent and Yozef agreed that the existing semaphore line between Hanslow and Preddi City would be repaired to within twenty miles of the Preddi border—the withdrawing Hanslow garrison had burned several of the stations. Stent estimated it would take a few sixdays to have the line operational. It would take longer to extend the line from Hanslow to Moreland City and there connect to all the clans. More difficult yet was Selfcell’s situation. The only existing line was between Sellmor and Preddi City. The first thought was to re-route to connect to the end of the Hanslow line, but the proximity to the border meant that Selfcell could be too easily isolated by cutting the line. Langor solved the problem by committing to build a line north from Sellmor to Clitwyth, the Stent capital. Langor couldn’t guarantee when the line north would be completed, but he asserted they would do the best they could. Stent countered by saying his clan would start on the Clitwyth end and build the line to the Stent/Selfcell border.

With the construction of the Selfcell/Stent line and repair/extension of the second line to Moreland City, along with plans to station dragoons along the Preddi border, the clans intended a fifty- to eighty-mile buffer zone to warn of any new Narthani invasion by land from Preddi Province.

CHAPTER 30: TEMPORARILY HOME

Home Again

Yozef felt almost let down on the trip back to Keelan territory. Fighting had been minimal, and the main objective, eliminating the Eywell and Selfcell clans from remaining Narthani allies, had been easier than any of the scenarios discussed. Eywell capitulated without a fight once the Narthani abandoned them—except for about two hundred men and their families who feared retaliation for their commitment to the Narthani. No one expected Selfcell’s revolt. Now the War Council would reincorporate the clan into the resistance, though the council still needed to work out the details.

Instead of taking time to feel satisfaction at the results, Yozef shifted his attention to what was coming next—the new Narthani army and preparations—and spent most of the return trip thinking, planning, making notes, and trying to suppress pessimism.

They reached Caernford at mid-afternoon, and he endured three hours of debriefing with Culich, Vortig Luwis, Pedr Kennrick, Owill Brell, and Sistian Beynom. Denes reported details of the mission and hurried off as soon as he could. He planned to bring his wife and family to Caernford from Abersford. Yozef gave a shorter report, supporting Denes’s decisions and offering comments on his observations. When they finished, Culich told him Maera waited for him at their home. Maera and the MIU had returned from Wrexton when the clan forces began their withdrawal from Preddi.

The sun was two fingers above the eastern peaks when he rode Man o’ War along the lane to their second house in Caernford. It had deliberately been designed not to resemble the first house—where Anid, Mirramel, Norlin, and two guards had died in the Narthani assassination attempt. The first house had been mainly wood. The new one had stone outer walls and enough stone inner walls to serve as fire breaks. There were three entrances, each recessed in a garden alcove. Acceding to Wyfor Kale’s recommendation, weapons cabinets were scattered throughout the house, and every staff member was required to be able to handle musket, pistol, and hatchets as the blade of choice for the untrained.

Yozef had been prepared for resistance to all of the precautions, but none were voiced. All members of the Kolsko household had either been present at the attack or knew every detail. Yozef felt only moderately surprised when on the day of the first musket practice, Breda, Ceinwyn, and Mared Keelan showed up, along with every member of the hetman’s household not already familiar with weapons.

He had been gone three sixdays when he arrived home. Word of his imminent arrival traveled ahead of him, and Maera was waiting at the lane’s entrance.

Although his horsemanship had improved markedly, Yozef’s aching butt and stiff legs betrayed him in his hurry to dismount—not that an observer would have noticed, because he and Maera fell into each other’s arms as soon as his first foot hit the ground.

“I know the reports said that everything went better than expected and you were safe,” said Maera, “but I only truly believe it when I have my arms around you.”

Yozef kissed her, and they walked arm in arm to the house. Anarynd waited on the veranda. Aeneas crawled around her feet, and she shifted her weight in rhythm to whatever game the baby thought they were playing.

For a moment, when Yozef embraced Maera, he’d forgotten about Anarynd. A pang of guilt washed over him. He’d agreed to the marriage and tried to treat Anarynd and Maera equally, but in moments such as these, it was Maera who remained the focus of his feelings. Maera seemed to read his mind, for when they neared the veranda stairs, both she and he opened their free arms toward Anarynd, who scooped up Aeneas and raced down the stairs to join a hug—with protesting Aeneas pressed in the middle.

After a moment, Maera spoke first. “A bath is waiting, Yozef. Clean up, and we’ll eat. You’ll tell us everything that happened.”

Yozef waited three days to confirm the thinking he’d done on the return trip, then reluctantly brought up the decision he’d made. His first instinct was to talk with Maera first, but he resisted the impulse as part of his effort not to make apparent distinctions between Maera and Anarynd in family matters. He felt confident Maera would agree since they had already discussed the topic, though he worried how Anarynd would respond after only recently settling into her new life.

He had been unusually quiet during morning meal. It was only the three of them—Braithe had taken Aeneas for changing and feeding.

“What is it, Yozef?” Maera prodded. “Something’s on your mind.”

Anarynd looked between the two—a piece of biscuit halfway from her plate to her mouth. What did Maera mean?

Yozef stopped spreading Nerlin Filtin’s muddleton berry jam on his own biscuit and set down his biscuit and knife. “Yes, there is something we need to discuss. It’s been on my mind since I got back. I haven’t brought it up since I wanted to be sure of my own thinking. To be honest, it’s something I’m not pleased about, though I think it’s necessary. As I said, I just got back, yet I’ll need to go to Orosz City again the next sixday for a War Council meeting.”

“Then I assume Father will be going, too,” said Maera.

“Yes, neither of us has any choice. I don’t imagine Culich is looking forward to the trip and being away any more than I am, possibly even less so, because he has his clanspeople to be concerned with. But that’s not what I want to talk about. I’ve had to make too many trips to Orosz City, and it will only get worse. We probably only have a few months, at best, before the new Narthani army arrives. Then, assuming they need time to organize and recover from the voyage, a month or two later we can expect the next major moves against the clans. With so much to do, and with Caernford in the south of the island, I could expect to spend most of my time in Orosz City, traveling back and forth, or travelling elsewhere on Caedellium. In addition, the Fuomi leaders are staying in Orosz City. I think they’re going to be important, and I need to be nearer to them.”

Maera spoke as soon as the last syllable was out of Yozef’s mouth. “You think you need to be living in Orosz City.”

“Orosz City?” exclaimed Anarynd, a hint of alarm in her tone.

“Only until the crisis with the Narthani is resolved,” said Yozef.

“Yozef is right, Ana,” said Maera. “Orosz City is more centrally located. That’s already where the War Council meets. It’s the logical location for them, because Hetman Orosz is already there, and the capitals of the other three hetmen are about the same distance from Orosz City. Also, when the Narthani start their next attempt to conquer the island, clan resistance and coordination will have to be geographically centralized.”

“B-But . . . ” Anarynd said, “ . . . then you should go, too, Maera. You’re important in planning and helping Yozef.”

“More than just me,” said Maera. “The rest of the MIU should move, too, those who aren’t already in Orosz City. The MIU needs to coordinate intelligence and support the War Council, and from Orosz City the MIU can better collate and evaluate reports from all over the island.”

Thank you, God, if you exist, for Maera, Yozef thought.

“Thank you, Maera, and you’re right. The entire MIU needs to be in Orosz City, and I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“Well, then,” said Anarynd, “that means all of us will be going.”

Yozef stared. He had wondered how Anarynd would receive the news. “Uh . . . I had thought you would stay here with Aeneas,” said Yozef, “and then go with the other Keelanders to the Dillagon redoubt when the time came.”

Anarynd pursed her lips and laid both hands firmly on the table in front of her. “I’m a wife of Yozef Kolsko, and if Maera is going, then so should I.”

Oh shit, Yozef thought, does she take my being pleased at Maera agreeing to move as favoring her?

Maera jumped in. “Of course, Ana is coming, too.”

“Well . . . ” Yozef mumbled. “I’d thought of Anarynd and Aeneas, Gwyned and Morwena, and Dwyna all being safe in the Keelan redoubt, where I wouldn’t worry about them.”

“Would we really be safer in the redoubt than with you in Orosz City?” asked Anarynd, her tone leaving no doubt about her level of irritation at the suggestion of being separated from the rest of the family.

Maera leaned over and laid a hand on Anarynd’s. “Yozef means well, Ana. He’s thinking you and Aeneas would be safer in the redoubt, but he’d miss you both.” Maera gave Yozef a pointed look.

“Of course, Anarynd,” he said. “I only thought I’d worry less about the two of you.”

“Ana’s question is pertinent, Yozef. Oh, I understand the logic of the redoubts, but if the Narthani win, even the redoubts would eventually fall. Moreover, Orosz City itself is a redoubt, and if what you’ve said and the reports I’ve read are true, it may be one of the strongest, what with strengthening its walls and with the mountains protecting two sides. I think both of us will be able to do our work better if we have Ana and Aeneas with us. I think the entire Kolsko household should make the move. With Aeneas going, then there’s no question Braithe and Gowlin Reese will move as well. Carnigan and Wyfor would go, so Gwyned, Morwena, and Dwyna will, too.”

It was settled. Yozef went from wondering how to explain why he needed to move to Orosz City to the entire Kolsko household moving. The details Yozef left to Maera, Anarynd, and Gwyned. He had a month’s worth of work to do in the next sixday.

Drill

Yozef marveled that although the Caedelli were relatively unsophisticated and the leadership of some clans cantankerous, once they set their minds to complete a task, they were relentless. The original cadre of dragoons trained in Abersford and Caernford had spread their experience and training routine throughout Keelan, then to the other four members of the Five-Clan Alliance, along with Stent and Orosz, and by now, basic training continued in all of the free clans. Feren Bakalacs, the Farkesh hetman, had taken to this role as War Council member focusing on personal training—the “gee-2,” in Yozef’s terminology. Bakalacs had also taken staffing suggestions to heart, and his top aides were all from other clans: Pawell, Swavebroke, and Gwillamer.

The completed campaign against Eywell and Selfcell had confirmed problems with single-clan regiments. In addition to the Moreland regiment commander who had been removed from command, Stent demoted two other commanders of the eleven regiments he’d had in the Northern Force. All three decisions caused problems with the respective clans, but Bakalacs and the rest of the War Council supported Stent.

In a similar manner, several of the eleven regiment commanders did the same with leaders down to the platoon level. Most clans were adjusting to the new ways of thinking, but Nyvaks, Vandinke, and Pawell continued to be problematic with regard to personnel—as they were in most areas.

The MIU assisted the War Council in establishing a rating system for unit readiness, meaning as ready as was realistic in the existing circumstances and having enough training to be considered operational. Within a sixday of the end of the Eywell/Selfcell campaign, approximately 24,000 men served in “operational” units. Another 14,000 were in units rated as needing more training and/or reorganization of units, replacement of officers, or both. Another 27,000 men were identified as able to fight and slated for training to whatever level they could attain, and depending on the time left.

Bakalacs, to the surprise of everyone, took to Yozef’s suggestion that capable available women also needed to be trained to fight—at least, as a last-ditch reserve or for duties where they could relieve men to join front-line units. As detailed reports and evaluations about the operations of all regiments circulated among clans, uncertainty and, in some cases, resistance to unit organization faded. A few minor adjustments were made, but the War Council settled on platoons of twenty-five men, companies of one hundred, battalions of four hundred, and operational regiments of two thousand. On Yozef’s advice, no permanent units larger than regiments were formalized. He thought it hard enough to keep regiments organized, and actions requiring more than a regiment would involve ad hoc combinations of regiments, although potential leaders of up to divisional sizes were identified and given an appropriate rank. Thus, Denes Vegga, while in direct command of a regiment, retained the rank of brigadier, as did Welman Stent. In case still larger combinations of regiments were needed, leaders, such as Vegga and Stent, would brevet to the rank of general.

Problems lingered with identifying leaders based on ability. Prominent families slowly and, in many cases, grudgingly accepted the new way of thinking. However, the War Council wielded the authority given it by the All-Clan Conclave, and in two cases, a letter from Yozef Kolsko helped facilitate cooperation when he wrote to recalcitrant hetmen that “it had come to him” that God might not be pleased with a clan’s progress and cooperation. The latter tactic was judiciously used with hetmen known to be devout.

Most Caedelli found the concept of drill one of the hardest lessons. They initially considered it meaningless to spend hours doing the same simple tasks over and over: riding, marching, digging, or whatever else the officers deemed relevant. Yet its primary purpose was to teach them to automatically obey orders and to work as a team.

Once the men got into dragoon units of company size or larger, training included weapon coordination. Yozef stressed that they focus on three scenarios for fighting, one using their mobility and a combination of dragoons and 6-pounder horse artillery. Most of the men were already acceptable horsemen. The inexperienced riders engaged in intense practice for hours a day until they became adequate. One tactic that they practiced hard was riding as a unit, dismounting as a unit, deploying artillery, firing at an enemy, and then reversing the procedure and moving on to do it again. The goal? Being able to quickly set up, hit a Narthani force, and withdraw before the Narthani could counterattack in force.

A second tactic was the classic cavalry charge, if opportunity and need arose—a scenario Yozef prayed they would seldom have to use.

The final basic tactic amounted to acting more like infantry. The unit would ride to a position, dismount, and picket the horses, then take up pick and shovel to dig positions. Of the three tactics, the men hated digging the most, particularly when repeated four times or more on the same day.

They’ll learn, thought Yozef, the first time they see how many lives it saves.

CHAPTER 31: BATTLEFIELDS AND COMMANDS

Keelan Battlefield Candidate

Yozef took time for one shorter trip before heading to Orosz City and the War Council meeting. The MIU had come up with only three potential battlefield sites that matched his stringent criteria for a place where the clans could trap a Narthani army and oblige them to attack strong clan defensive positions. He had already visited two of the sites—the one in the Stent Province glacial valley and the site along the Farkesh coast cliffs. They had taken to referring to them as the Glacier and Coast sites. The third site, the one he hadn’t seen yet for himself, was nearby—only twenty-five miles north-northeast of Caernford and near the Hewell Province border.

Gartherid Kennrick’s surveyors had already extensively studied the site. Yozef had read their reports and maps, but he needed to see the site for himself. Yozef and Denes accompanied Gartherid, three surveyors, and guards left Caernford at first light and arrived at a gap in a one thousand-foot ridgeline at mid-day. The geological feature that put the site on the candidate list reminded Yozef of a college roommate’s description of the terrain north of the roommate’s hometown, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, at the foot of the Allegheny Mountains. The Susquehanna River flowed through a series of gaps in parallel ridgelines. The roommate had tried to explain to Yozef, back when he was Joseph Colsco, the theories about how the river had cut the gaps. The proposed theories talked of different rock layers, fractures, and floodwaters, but it had sounded to Joseph as if the experts had no clue.

The site in Keelan didn’t match the Alleghenies, but there was evidence of glaciers around the higher peaks and several ridgelines at lower elevations. Two ridges were six miles apart at their widest but merged at two ends of an ovaloid valley thirteen miles along its long axis. Yozef theorized that glacial melt had formed a lake that broke through the first ridgeline. The water poured into the valley, filling it until it, too, broke through the second ridgeline. The glaciers were long gone, and only a modest stream now flowed through the two gaps slightly off-center a third of the way from the western end of the valley. The southern gap was two miles wide and the northern gap only a third of a mile wide. Both gaps were flat, with deep alluvial soil.

They rode the six miles to the northern, narrower gap.

“No problem setting up fortifications here,” said Denes, “but the other two sites are further along in building. If we add this, we’d have to get going quickly.”

Yozef nodded. “Since it’s near Hewell and Mittack, we could have Keelan, Mittack, and Hewell working on it and maybe workers from other clans.”

“My worry is the other end,” said Gartherid. “That’s why we didn’t push this site earlier.”

“You were right to worry,” said Denes. “There’s no natural features to help block a Narthani army from exiting the valley through that gap. The Coast Site has the cliffs, ravines, and water. Glacier has that terminal moraine and shallow lake. Here, there’s nothing but flat land back across the first gap. Then there’s the ridges. The slopes aren’t as steep as the other two sites. They would be hard to cross, especially for the horses, wagons, and cannon of a Narthani army, but not impossible. If they did manage to get even infantry across, our blocking force could find itself attacked from both directions.”

“No site is going to be perfect,” said Yozef. “The main problem I see here is how to block the Narthani from forcing their way through any fortifications we throw up. There couldn’t be any in place when the Narthani pass through the wider gap the first time. Nothing to warn them. Then, once they’re inside, we’d have to dig and build before they realized our intent. Even if our men could hold off any smaller attacks until their main formations attack, I don’t see how we’d have more than one day, possibly less, to build and dig enough to withstand a determined attempt to break out of the trap. Then we’d be back where we were, and they’d be alerted to our intentions.”

Gartherid’s face turned downcast. “So you think this site isn’t worth considering. I’m sorry you and Brigadier Vegga made the trip.”

Yozef slapped Gartherid on the back. “No, the site is interesting. I’m just laying out the main problems. Let’s head back to the wider gap, take in some other views, and discuss the possibilities.”

Forty minutes later, they stood on the bank of the small stream flowing through the two-mile gap.

“Let’s state the problem,” said Yozef. “We lure the Narthani to chase us through this gap and into the valley. Maybe a few miles inside, we deploy as if intending to stand and fight—to encourage them to move all their forces and deploy to fight a battle. As soon as we think all or most of them are in the valley and focused on our force they’re pursuing, we close this gap behind the Narthani with men and cannon forward enough to allow building hurried defenses.”

“As soon as their men report we’re behind them, won’t they turn on us and we wouldn’t have time to prepare anything?” protested Denes.

“That’s the key,” said Yozef. “They’d need to be far enough into the valley and occupied enough to give us time. One way would be for our people facing the Narthani to engage them enough to hold their attention.”

“Despite all your warnings about not getting into a field engagement with them?” asked Gartherid.

Yozef grimaced. “It might be a price we have to pay. If it costs a thousand men to close the trap and we rid the island of the Narthani, wouldn’t it be worth the price?”

“This ‘warfare’ is a hard thing, Yozef,” said Denes. “Just like you warned us. As much as I hate to say it, even if it cost five thousand men, it would be justified, if it gave us victory and saved the clans.”

It might cost more, Yozef thought, but I don’t see a reason to spread worst-case scenarios.

“But time?” said Gartherid. “Say they’re in the valley. How do we build enough fortifications across two mile before they turn on us?”

Yozef shrugged. “No one said it would be easy. We’d have to have mountains of pre-positioned supplies. Depending on the final design, it could include tools, timbers, sandbags to be filled, mines, and . . . hell, I don’t know what else off the top of my head.” He stopped speaking and looked into the distance, then his voice took on a “talking to himself” tone.

“Let’s see . . . digging on a massive scale quickly would be involved . . . I wonder . . . ”

Denes and Gartherid looked at each other and shrugged. Both were accustomed to Yozef drifting away when thinking or hearing whispers, depending on how much credence the listener gave to rumors.

“Moving earth . . . that’s a key,” Yozef mumbled. He knelt and used a knife to dig past grass. “The soil is loose. Sediment left from however these gaps formed. I’ll bet it’s deep, too. A grader, one of those big machines you see on highway projects on Earth, could make a hell of a ditch in this soil in a day. Of course, I don’t have a grader.”

He didn’t notice he’d used the words Earth and grader mixed in with Caedelli. However, it didn’t matter. Denes and Gartherid had no reference frame on which to hang two strange words, and strange words whose meaning Yozef never explained were not unusual for anyone spending extended time around him.

“No graders, but they have horse-drawn plows, and those are soil-movers. We’d just need to scale up.” Yozef remembered old photos of large farm machinery drawn by twenty to forty horses or mules before mechanization. A flash from his sporadic enhanced memory pulled up a photo and a caption of a thirty-horse team able to plow twenty-five acres per day and another story of big teams the pioneers needed the first time they plowed the deep root mats that existed on United States’ Great Plains grassland. “Maybe we can make our own graders,” he muttered. “With enough large teams pulling metal blades, they could dig a pretty impressive trench in a day.”

He became aware of the other men watching and waiting for him to come back from wherever he’d drifted off to. “Large teams of horses could pull a metal blade that cuts into the soil. The blade would be slanted to push the scraped-up soil to the side of the trench, where it would be used to form a berm. I don’t know the exact shape and size of the blade, so experimenting should begin immediately.”

Gartherid Kennrick furiously scratched notes, using quill, ink, and paper he’d pulled out of a satchel. When Yozef paused, Gartherid blurted, “Does this mean you’ll be adding this site to the final list?”

“Uh . . . I don’t . . . Denes, what do you think?”

“I don’t like it. The other two sites have far more potential. There are too many problems with this one, the main one of which is buying enough time to build defensive positions that could stop a determined attack by such a large Narthani army. We’d have to accept that we’d be working while a large number of our men fended off initial Narthani attacks, and then everyone would fall back behind whatever defenses we’d finished when the Narthani pressure became too great. We’d have no way to know the state of the defenses before we needed them. Even if that worked, they might be able to get enough men over the ridges to attack us from the rear.”

“So you don’t believe in this site?” asked Yozef.

Denes shook his head. “Just because I hate it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can to prepare it. There’s no site being prepared in southern Caedellium. What if circumstances require us to draw them in this direction? We’d have no place to make a stand with the requirements you’ve presented.

“There’s also the practicality of being this far south. The people who would work preparing this site are too far from the Coast and Glacier sites to help there, so we wouldn’t lose their time and effort, if this site doesn’t work. This site is also relatively near major Keelan towns that could support the work. Amurth is only sixteen miles away, Tyndal twenty-seven miles, and Rummeln twenty-nine miles. None of them are critical for other production.”

“All right,” said Yozef, “let’s make this the third site, subject to some further thinking and planning over the next few days. We need to make a decision on our recommendation before the next War Council meeting. We leave in a few days. Gartherid, when we get back to Caernford, you and the others at MIU will need to prepare a detailed estimation of what we would need to turn where we stand into a third battlefield site. Let’s continue calling it the ‘Gap Site.’”

Caernford, Balwis Preddi

“Sit down, Balwis,” said Yozef. He had come back the previous day from visiting the Gap Site and had used the return trip to make a decision about his previous bodyguard. The man was not quite a friend, but Yozef had begun to like Balwis.

“Before we start, I’ve been curious about something. You don’t have to answer, because it’s only to satisfy my own curiosity, but why do you go by the last name of Preddi? When I first met you, you said it was the name you chose.”

“My family name was Hollerwin,” said Balwis. “Before I escaped, I saw how the Narthani were well on their way to obliterating the existence of the Preddi Clan. So many were killed or shipped off Caedellium, and so many of those remaining were cowed into submission. I could foresee that the clan would vanish even from memory by the next generation. I wasn’t oblivious to the stupidity of our hetman or so many other leaders in allowing the Narthani to become too powerful to stop, but it was still my clan. The people were only badly served by their leaders. When I escaped, I guess I thought that calling myself ‘Preddi’ was a bit of defiance. Now, it seems childish, but I’d just cause confusion if I changed back, which I’ll do if . . . once we drive the Narthani away.

“I also obsessed about doing something to bedevil the damned Narthani, and I didn’t want to use my family name and take the chance of causing problems for those relatives still in Preddi.” Balwis sighed. “I know. Grandiose ideas, but I was so angry, any little bit of defiance helped, no matter how small.”

Yozef felt gratified. What Balwis revealed matched what Yozef had observed in the man—anger that had shown signs of easing in the last months. Not that Balwis didn’t project anger much of the time, but it appeared more focused.

He had “ordered” Balwis to see him at the Keelan Clan headquarters in Caernford—not asked or requested, as was his usual format. He wanted to see if the man would be annoyed at the tone of the summons and take his time. Yozef could envision Balwis thinking, Let him wait on me. But Balwis reported exactly on time, though he slouched into the room and flopped into an unoffered chair.

Yozef sat behind a desk, papers spread out, quill in hand. “I have a report that when you were involved in sweeping Preddi territory south of Preddi City, you attacked a Narthani patrol, even though your assignment was to avoid direct fights, if possible.”

“It was only fifty or so of them and a hundred of us. It was too good an opportunity to kill some Narthani, and I took it. So what?”

Yozef sat back in his chair and put down the quill.

“So what is that you lost six men killed and ten wounded out of your hundred men.”

“We killed twenty-nine Narthani.”

Yozef’s calm demeanor vanished.

“I don’t give a God-damn graeko’s ass how many Narthani you killed!” Yozef shouted. “You were to only observe the Narthani and gather slaves you could free and capture civilian men. You got sixteen of your hundred men killed or wounded!”

Balwis was shocked—something of a novelty for him. He had never heard Yozef shout like this. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever seen Yozef as furious as he now appeared to be. The initial shock turned quickly to anger as Balwis’s face reddened.

“Me and my men are out there ready to die to kill Narthani and not sitting here where it’s safe!” he shouted back.

“Your damn duty is to follow assignments so that we can end up killing all the Narthani, not satisfying your idiotic compulsion to kill Narthani even if your own men die. You are the leader, Balwis, which means you are responsible for each and every one of their lives. If we’re going to be victorious, it requires everyone to do what’s best for all of Caedellium and the men you command. Your own urges are not only dangerous to your men, but dangerous to other units and the entire campaign. You were given command of a hundred men. All reports are they have turned into a fine fighting unit, but if you can’t control yourself, then you will command no one.

“And try to remember, your task is not to die or get your men killed fighting for Caedellium. As George C. Scott would say, your task is to lead your men well enough that the Narthani die for Narthon.”

It was only later that Balwis wondered who George C. Scott was.

Yozef’s voice had been loud enough that the staff in the next room heard every word.

Balwis was so angry he couldn’t speak, but a sliver of sense finally kept his mouth shut, and Yozef continued.

“You are now dismissed from here. I don’t want to see you again this day. You come back tomorrow and convince me that you are worthy of leading a company of men dependent on you.”

Balwis stomped out of the office, walked straight past his horse, and walked a mile to where his company was encamped. His fury ebbed as he contemplated that they might remove him from command. They had been together for nearly five months, first as a platoon and then expanding into a company. The “chain-of-command” organization had taken some time for everyone to become accustomed to, but the troops gradually came to understand the need to have clarity of action during the confusion of combat. Several minor skirmishes with the Eywellese had solidified their feelings as a unit, and Balwis knew they were among the most respected of the newly formed companies. The frustration at not killing any Narthani had gotten the best of him when they spied the patrol. As he considered the fight, his own actions and feelings, and the lessons Yozef and the Fuomi were trying to drum into the islanders, Balwis’s anger subsided.

The main reason he reconsidered his own acts was how Yozef had chewed him out. That wasn’t like Yozef—unless what the often-infuriating man said was true. Balwis spent several hours pacing hard away from their camp. The next morning, he stood waiting for Yozef at the building’s main door. Yozef only said, “Follow me,” in his normal voice. Once both had taken a seat, Yozef looked at him directly.

“Have you considered what we talked about yesterday?”

“I have considered what you said to me. I don’t remember saying much myself.”

“And what is your conclusion?”

“When I ordered the attack on the Narthani patrol, I was selfish and thought only of how I felt and not beyond that. I also think I understand why you yelled at me for not following the assignment, and you are right. If every man, every leader, only does what he wants to at that moment, we probably can’t defeat the Narthani. I also think I can accept your argument that to kill all the Narthani, we have to be disciplined.”

“What of the lives of your men?”

“I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t consider the men as much as I should have. Not only do their lives depend on my decisions, but for us to kill the most Narthani will require conserving our lives as carefully as possible.

“I will also say—and this isn’t meant as an excuse, only an observation—that I’m not qualified to lead a company of men in this type of warfare. I have too little experience, even if I swear I’ll do better to, as you say in your On War, think rationally, instead of emotionally. I’ll understand if you put me back as a platoon commander, where I feel I’m more qualified.”

Yozef sat back in his chair and smiled. “Think on this, Balwis. None of us are qualified to do what we’re doing. I’m not qualified to plan a campaign to drive the Narthani off Caedellium. Denes and Hetman Stent are not qualified to be brigadiers leading ten thousand men. Owill Brell is not qualified to lead the MIU. I doubt if many of our majors, captains, and on down the ranks are qualified for what we’re asking of them. It’s the necessity that drives all of this. We simply have no choice, and everyone has to do the best they can.”

Balwis nodded. “I agree with you. All I can do is promise to do the best I can from here on.”

“Does this mean you think you are a man who can be trusted to both value the lives of his men and carry out assignments as assigned in the future?”

“Yes,” said Balwis firmly. “I give you my word on this.”

“In that case, you are no longer Captain Preddi, leading a mixed company of Preddi clansmen and escaped Narthani slaves.”

Balwis felt crushed, but before he could appeal, Yozef continued.

“You are now Major Balwis, commander of a mixed battalion of Preddi and escaped slaves. Your platoon leaders are promoted to company captains, and you and your captains may choose platoon and squad leaders for four companies. The men to fill the ranks will start joining you within a sixday. Some have been living with other clans, and I understand that many are slaves we liberated and are eager to fight. You are to train and prepare for dangerous and important assignments that can only be given to a strong battalion with a leader who both values the lives of his men and can carry out assignments as they are given. Are there any questions?”

For once, Balwis had no words on the tip of his tongue. After a few moments, he said almost desperately, “How can you expect me to lead a battalion when we both just agreed I’m not qualified to be a company commander?”

Having far too often the same feelings about himself, Yozef was sympathetic. “We’re expanding our units as fast as we can. This new battalion will be formed, no matter who leads. If you can rationally tell me who is more qualified to lead it, I will reconsider assigning him as its commander.”

Balwis opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mouth closed, then opened again with the same result. After the third time, Yozef spoke with sympathy etched in his words.

“In that case, return to your company and start preparing to receive the additional men. You should also think about what you’ll need to station the battalion in Orosz City, instead of Caernford. Culich, the MIU, and I will be moving there, because we all need to be in a more central location to coordinate the clans’ activities. It would also help you in forming the new battalion, because many of the new men will come from all over the island.”

After Balwis left, Yozef stared at the closed door. He’ll do his best. I just sit here and don’t have to look in the faces of men I send to danger. He’s going from leading a hundred men to four hundred. If what I imagine is coming, in a few months he might find himself commanding a regiment of dragoons consisting of battalions of Preddi, ex-slaves, and who knows what other scattered bits of men. It’ll be a motley crew, and we’ll need someone tough to keep them together as a unit. He’ll have enough trials with a battalion. No point in telling him that about the time he starts thinking he’s getting a handle on it, we might bump him up again and put him right back into feeling lost and unqualified.

CHAPTER 32: PREPARE TO MOVE

The Kolsko family’s decision to move to Orosz City required different preparations than Yozef and Maera’s move to Caernford. Yozef answered Maera’s question about whether they would take any furniture with a firm “no,” to suppress any suggestion their relocation was anything but temporary. They would take clothes, books, and paperwork required by Yozef and Maera and little else. Yozef’s selection of what to take took an hour and Anarynd’s not much longer. She hadn’t had time to accumulate many things since arriving in Caernford. Maera took considerably more time, but once everyone had made a decision, it fell to Anarynd to pack for all of them. Maera spent most of her time at the MIU building, helping prepare the rest of the unit’s move to Orosz City.

Yozef needed to interact with his various projects, particularly the ones reaching fruition. He also intended to transfer projects still in development to Orosz City, if there was a chance of their succeeding in time to be useful. Other projects were shut down until they had more time.

Balloons

Hot-air balloons were one of the first innovations Yozef thought of once he grew earnest about playing a major role in fighting the Narthani. This also turned into a prime example of his giving minimal descriptions to a work crew and leaving it to them to work out the details. In this case, he drew a crude diagram of a gondola hanging under a round, open-bottomed globe, with a large, unshielded lantern burning under the globe. He asserted to the workers that if they built it right, the hot air from the flame would rise into the airtight globe, causing the balloon to float upward. How they could get the cloth airtight for the balloon, how big to make the globe, how to keep the globe’s shape before attempting to make it rise, and how to determine the size and form of the lantern were among the “minor” details he left out after expressing total confidence in the dubious workers.

The Fuomi became the only immediate believers when word spread of this particular project. Although they didn’t have manned balloons, they knew of a custom of one of the members of the Hanseatic League, to Fuomon’s east, in which people sent small prayer paper balloons skyward using candles for lift. Kivalian was gung-ho about the idea.

“Great Gods!” Kivalian exclaimed. “Of course! Why didn’t we think of this? One of these ‘balloons’ of Kolsko could let an army see the dispositions of an enemy miles away, even when the armies aren’t in line of sight of each other. It would be impossible to be surprised by an enemy. In fact, even at night they might be useful, if we could drop flares from a balloon instead of using ground-based rockets.”

“So,” said Yozef to the three Fuomi watching the first demonstration of a one-man hot-air balloon rising a hundred feet into the air, tethered by a rope, “the Narthani don’t have balloons?”

“No,” said Kivalian, “and I’ve never heard or read about them.”

“As useful as they can be, what would happen if you were to use them against the Narthani?” asked Yozef.

Rintala answered the question immediately. “Then the Narthani would know about them, and it would only be a matter of time before they had them too. Either they would figure out how to make balloons themselves or spies would find out how.”

“Which is always a problem when you introduce something new,” said Yozef. “It might give you an advantage the first time, but eventually the enemy would use it against you. The maximum utility might only be the first time you use it. After that, the enemy will adjust their tactics.”

“Then how do you see these balloons being useful against the Narthani?” asked Eina Saisannin.

“You know our basic strategy,” Yozef replied. “We hope to maneuver the Narthani into a situation where they have to attack prepared positions. The first time they saw a balloon is when they would deploy to attack. No matter how we prepare, we need every advantage. With balloons, it would limit their ability to surprise us and would allow us time to respond. For example, if they mass to attack a specific point in a defensive line, the balloons would alert us, and we might have time to concentrate more men at that point. In addition, although I don’t know enough about the Narthani psychol . . . er . . . superstitions and history, the balloons might appear to be magical—or demonic, depending on the individual seeing them for the first time. It might help sow uncertainty among the common Narthani soldiers.”

Rockets

Kivalian’s offhand comment about rocket flares prompted Yozef to later press the Fuomi on whether they knew of the flares’ composition. Kivalian didn’t know but volunteered to check with Saisannin and sent a query to their base camp in Mittack Province. Unfortunately, no one assigned to the mission knew details of flare construction.

Yozef felt disappointed but not deterred. He added three workers to a two-person crew working on rockets and, newly enthused, pulled from his memory the components needed to produce different-colored lights. They were already producing gunpowder using both sodium and potassium nitrate from murvor and bird guano. They only needed to refine the procedure to separate the two nitrates to allow flares of two colors: violet from potassium nitrate and yellow from sodium nitrate. For white light, they had a plentiful supply of calcium oxide left as a by-product from experiments with producing carbon dioxide for food preservation. Even though they had settled on a different procedure, Yozef had requested that the workers save calcium oxide, in case he found a use for it in lighting—which he now had.

Less successful was progress on rockets as weapons. The Fuomi had confirmed that the use of military rockets had been known for several centuries, but they weren’t dependable enough for regular use and were seldom decisive. Yozef had a small crew working on Congreve and Hale rockets, models developed by the British around 1800 and the mid-1800s, respectively. He thought that they would have functional models in another six months. Unfortunately, he didn’t think they had time to develop them, and even if successful, it would take many more months before they had enough rockets and men trained in their use. If the Fuomi estimates were correct, Yozef expected everything to come to a head within four to six months.

Although they wouldn’t have rockets against the Narthani, Yozef had assured the Fuomi that the rockets were feasible and near success. His description of how the clans would use massed rocket barrages against enemy troop formations and field fortifications excited Rintala and Kivalian, who tried, unsuccessfully, to visit Yozef’s rocket crew when he was in Caernford. Yozef intended the keep the details of rockets as a lure to entice more Fuomi help.

Bayonet

One more weapon that excited the Fuomi was the socket bayonet. Kivalian explained how the Fuomi had abandoned pike formations several years previously, and the Narthani had followed suit after a series of defeats at the hands of all-musket Fuomi formations. However, even without pikes, there was an occasional need for a similar weapon for close combat. The Fuomi introduced plug bayonets—twelve- to eighteen-inch narrow blades with a rod handle. When close combat was imminent and Fuomi soldiers had no time to continue reloading, they inserted the rod into the barrel, and the musket and rod became a pike substitute. The development confirmed Yozef’s estimate of Anyar’s technological development matching Earth’s circa 1700.

The plug bayonet had two major problems: it precluded reloading until the soldier removed the plug, and the plug had the awkward habit of sliding out of the barrel if it didn’t fit snugly enough. Problems or not, the Narthani had copied the Fuomi plug bayonet, and freed slaves and captured Narthani confirmed the troops on Caedellium were being issued plug bayonets as they rearmed their pike men with muskets.

Yozef’s innovation was to introduce the socket bayonet where the blade was attached to an offset ring that fit over the barrel and twisted into place, though Yozef couldn’t remember what prevented the bayonet from falling off. The work team of smithies took half a day to figure it out. Yozef’s other contribution was to remember that a triangular blade, and not a flat one, was considered the best shape—something about strength.

Yozef recalled one of the sessions with military gamesters where Ralph something-or-other said he’d read bayonets were not as important as movies might make them out and that bayonets had caused relatively low percentages of casualties compared to firearms. Nevertheless, the bayonet became important in close-quarters combat until firearms improved to where issues were decided before hand-to-hand fighting occurred—a notable exception being trench warfare of World War I, where both sides found that the confined space of trenches made rifles and bayonets less effective than sharpened entrenching tools. Ralph also had exposited how a triangular-shaped bayonet blade made wounds worse by inhibiting closure—a description that had made Joe Colsco queasy.

Once again, the Fuomi were excited, but unfortunately, there was no way to keep the socket bayonet secret. Kivalian needed only one glance to figure it out.

Shelved Projects

Two projects that Yozef shut down before the move from Caernford to Orosz City were percussion caps and gun cotton—the latter more technically named nitrocellulose. Both innovations were in the category of being doable with existing technology but impractical because of Caedellium’s limited industrial base and lack of time. Abandoning percussion caps particularly galled Yozef, because his knowledge of chemistry had let them produce the essential component, mercury fulminate, a substance highly sensitive to shock that could be used in place of flint to ignite gunpowder. They produced the compound by dissolving mercury in nitric acid and adding ethanol to generate mercury fulminate crystals. All three ingredients were available. The clans already used mercury when Yozef arrived on Caedellium, and nitric acid as well, although it had to be distillated to a more concentrated form than locally available. The third ingredient, pure ethanol, was introduced by Yozef using distillation.

Gun cotton remained a trickier proposition. In principle, production was simple: soak cotton in a mixture of sulfuric and nitric acids, wash the cotton extensively to remove any trace of the acids, then dry it. By adjusting acid concentrations, acid ratios, and reaction temperature, they could adjust the amount of nitrification of the cellulose fibers. Although it produced many times the explosive effect of gunpowder, it was also more sensitive to accidental ignition, and the exact procedure for its production needed more time to work out than Yozef believed was available.

Time, Yozef thought as he literally closed the books on the two projects. Just as Napoleon is quoted as saying, “Ask me for anything but time.” If we can just get through these next months, maybe I can help the islanders get to a point where no outside force of any kind can threaten Caedellium again.

A project already closed had been housed in a shop now with locked doors. The project had been started and stopped several times as he agonized over its objectives. Only when he concluded that the technology to produce poison gas didn’t exist on Caedellium did he lock the doors, in a gesture to ease his guilt over even considering phosgene, mustard, and chlorine gases. Internal arguments that such weapons were no worse than napalm didn’t work. Most World War I gas-related deaths were caused by phosgene, a gas produced by passing purified carbon dioxide and chlorine gases over a carbon catalyst. The victim slowly suffocated days later from irreversibly damaged lungs. Not as severe but also affecting the lungs was chlorine, which formed hydrochloric acid in the lungs. Mustard gas, while not as deadly as phosgene, had the most graphic effects, producing horrifying blisters on any exposed tissue.

When he had closed the doors and the books on this potential project, a palpable sense of relief had washed over him.

Going and Staying

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to an evening at the Snarling Graeko Two,” said Yozef to Filtin Fuller as they finished going over Filtin’s new duties as overseer of all of Yozef’s projects and production remaining in Caernford. “I know you’d rather stay closer to the shops, but I need someone I trust to solve problems that arise.”

Fuller shook his head, then laughed. “I feel tired already from the paperwork you must have been doing, but I’ll do my best. I appreciate your trust, although I confess I wish you had someone you trusted more.”

“Serves you right for being so competent.”

“Well, see if you can gather some new stories in the Orosz City pubs,” said Fuller. “I’ll expect to hear them at the next pub evening.”

“You’re too good an audience, Filtin. I’d swear you’d laugh as hard at even terrible stories and jokes.”

The irrepressibly cheerful islander slapped Yozef on the shoulder with his left hand and held out the other for a handclasp.

Yozef’s last stop the day before leaving Caernford for Orosz City was the building that housed the Bank of Abersford headquarters. Every coin owned by Yozef, Culich, and most prominent Keelanders had been sucked into preparations for the Narthani. The coin-based economy had all but vanished with the total commitment of the clan’s people, as it had in most other clans. Nevertheless, Cadwulf Beynom and the bank’s staff attempted to maintain records of as many transactions as possible.

“I know we’ve talked about what might happen if the Narthani threat ends,” said Cadwulf. He had just shown Yozef the latest paper “spreadsheet,” projecting a return to coinage exchange versus the current “just do it” economy. “But I have no idea what will happen.”

“It’s no consolation,” said Yozef, “but if things go badly, neither of us will have to worry about it.”

“You’re right,” said Cadwulf. “It is no consolation. You’re supposed to be optimistic, Yozef. Don’t go around saying that to too many other people. Friends can say such things to each other, but I’m afraid everything has come to the point where the most good you can do is exude confidence.”

“I hope you’re wrong, and I can come up with one brilliant idea after another. However, since you are my chief financial adviser, I suggest you don’t place any long-odds bets that I’ll succeed.”

They laughed and shook hands. Yozef didn’t know when he’d see Cadwulf again.

Move to Orosz City

The move to Orosz City was softened for the Kolsko family, because the entire household was involved. In contrast, the Keelan family was split. Culich, as a member of the War Council, had to be in constant contact with the other council members and needed to be in the center of clan preparations. He accepted that Maera would make the move—both as a key member of the MIU and now as part of the Kolsko family. However, he insisted that his wife, Breda, and two other daughters, Ceinwyn and Mared, remain in Caernford to prepare for taking refuge in the clan’s Dillagon Mountain redoubt when the new Narthani army moved against the clans. He countered protestations by his wife and daughters by the honest and blunt argument that if the worst happened, the Keelan family would not all be in the same place. If one set of family members perished, there would be survivors to live on and remember those who died.

The one exception to Culich’s decision was Ceinwyn. She had physically recovered from the head wound she’d received during the attack at Yozef and Maera’s house, and she had joined a women’s auxiliary unit being formed in Caernford. Culich and Breda had originally acceded to her training as a way to refocus her attention from her scar and into something outside of herself. Privately, they expected that Ceinwyn would tire of the training—given her previous lack of focus for anything outside herself. To their surprise, she became a dedicated convert to women preparing to fight and was soon a squad leader. The woman commander of a Caernford women’s platoon asked Ceinwyn to come with her to Orosz City and help organize similar units there. Ceinwyn had agreed and informed her father of her intention. Breda’s protests came to nothing when Culich grudgingly agreed with Ceinwyn’s arguments that a hetman’s daughter, once part of a women’s unit, couldn’t be seen to give it up for a safer circumstance. And besides, Ceinwyn asserted, she was twenty years old (eighteen Earth years) and considered independent of her family, even if her father was a hetman.

Yozef and Culich left for Orosz City. A sixday later, Ceinwyn and the entire Kolsko household set off in a caravan of wagons, carriages, and horsemen. The last departure was wrenching for the Keelan women. Mared tearfully told her sisters she would look after their mother, and they should do the same for their father and Yozef. Maera and Ceinwyn, riding together in a carriage, looked back one last time as they left Keelan Manor and saw Breda clutching Mared, the youngest daughter’s face buried against her mother’s bosom.

CHAPTER 33: OROSZ CITY AGAIN

When Yozef passed through Orosz City’s main gate, the first thing to catch his eye was a six- by eight-foot flag flying from the second floor of a building a hundred feet from the gate. He found it hard to miss the bright orange background against the gray stone walls. When he got to within thirty feet, he stopped and stared. In the center of the flag stood a beast that at first looked like a bulky gnu antelope with massive shoulders and the head of a large warthog. The animal was posed in profile, with the head turned to face out. Although it resembled a nightmare creature, Yozef felt stunned that he recognized it.

When he first saw a balmoth, the large herbivore that grazed on trees covering the slopes of northern Keelan and southern Hewell provinces, he’d decided it must be an example of parallel evolution, because it was strikingly similar to Paracertheriums of Earth’s Miocene epoch about twenty-three million years ago. Since he assumed most Earth plant and animal species had been transplanted to Anyar roughly five thousand years previously, he kept an eye out for any other example of either parallel evolution or a transplantation that had occurred far earlier. He hadn’t seen another example. Until now.

“Once could be coincidental,” he said aloud in English. “Two is pushing happenstance. That is an Entelodont, or I’m the reincarnation of Elvis.”

Yozef knew the fearsome-looking creature well from a book on prehistoric mammals he had all but memorized when growing through the phase of fascination with extinct animals. During the Miocene, the same epoch as the Paracertheriums, the largest Entelodonts stood seven feet at the shoulder, weighed upward of half a ton, were fast, and were thought to be an apex predator that also scavenged. The superficial resemblance of the head to warthogs led to the nickname “hell-pig,” but Yozef remembered that later analyses placed the extinct line with hippos and cetaceans. With a long snout whose jaw housed a variety of nasty-looking teeth, bony protrusions from the lower jaw, and cloven hooves, an Entelodont was a horror.

“Why in the world would someone put that on a flag?” he wondered aloud.

He was still staring at the image when a voice got his attention.

“Yozef. I just got word that you’ve arrived. What do you think of Rhanjur Gaya’s embassy?”

He turned to find Denes Vegga standing next to him.

“Embassy?”

“Yes, our one and only Landoliner asshole insisted that because he was the only Munjorian on Caedellium and was part of his realm’s diplomatic corps, he should be treated like an ambassador. Hetman Orosz got tired of his complaints and arranged the upper floor of this building as the ‘official’ Kingdom of Munjor embassy. Naturally, that only made him strut around even more than before, especially after hanging that Munjor flag with the merstor on it.”

“A merstor? Is that what that nightmare creature is?”

“Yeah. Supposed to be incredibly vicious and always hungry. The Landoliners have tried to exterminate them for centuries, but they don’t die easy. But enough of Gaya, let me show you what’s changed since you were last here.”

Yozef followed Denes, eager to see progress but also wondering how two animals classic for the Miocene epoch on Earth were living on Anyar, and what did it mean for his assumption the transplantations to Anyar happened five thousand years ago?

War Council

Yozef’s second good look at Orosz City astounded him. When he had been at the city two months previously for the All-Clan Conclave that established the War Council, he had seen scaffolding on the city’s main wall. Hetman Orosz had described his intent to strengthen the city’s defenses, because the city would serve as his clan’s redoubt. A large part of the city was within a cleft in the mountains, with a portion protruding into a farming plain. The ten-foot-high stone wall was anchored on both ends into the mountain slopes. South of the wall, more of the city spilled onto the plain for a quarter-mile.

“You’ll need to clear fields of fire if the city is to be your clan’s redoubt,” Yozef had told Tomis Orosz, “or the Narthani could use structures as cover. Also, as long as you’re improving the wall, consider adding towers at intervals. They could stick out from the wall and provide fire not only straight out but, more important, along the walls to suppress attacks and attempts to plant explosive charges at the base of the walls.”

His advice had been heeded with a vengeance. Most of the city’s structures outside the wall, houses and small shops, had been torn down, and he could see crews of men working on more buildings. More impressive was the scaffolding of three towers, placed at hundred-yard intervals, starting from the northwest end of the main wall. Stakes driven into the ground suggested the positions planned for other towers along the rest of the wall’s length south, then the wall turned ninety degrees east to anchor at a mountainside.

“You’ve been busy, Tomis,” Yozef told Hetman Orosz when they met for evening meal. “We saw you’re clearing fields of fire, and towers are going up. Will the towers be stone like the city’s walls?”

“No,” said Orosz. “My builders plan on using a mixture of your ‘concrete’ and stone. They say the two together are stronger than just concrete, though they worry that it will still fracture and eventually crumble under persistent cannon fire.”

Well, shit, thought Yozef. I didn’t know they were serious about concrete when Orosz asked me how it was produced. I just told the masons working on concrete development in Caernford to send Tomis instructions. It’s a good thing I came before they got too far along.

“I think you’ll have stronger walls with interior reinforcement,” said Yozef. “Iron bars would be best, but using split lengthwise golabar trunks and larger limbs will work.”

“Golab . . . ?” Orosz said, puzzled. “I don’t remember my builders saying anything about this. How do golabar trees and concrete go together to make walls and towers?”

“Oh, the people I told to send you the information must have left that part out.” Okay, I’m lying, but if I’m going to buy into the Septarsh nonsense, I don’t need to give them reason to know I can screw up—too often.

“You build the frame where the concrete will be poured into, but inside the frame you put golabar rails. They should be about an inch-and-a-half to three inches thick, and there can be perpendicular sets. When the concrete hardens, the rails are inside the solid concrete to give it more strength, and it should be more resistant to crumbling. Of course, enough cannon rounds in the same area will eventually punch holes, but it will take longer and be less likely to collapse a wall.”

Yozef had identified the golabar tree grown all over the island as either the ironwood tree of Earth or a close enough locally evolved species with similar characteristics. He knew from readings, including Jared Diamond’s book Collapse, that ironwood trees of New Guinea were probably the first trees to be deliberately cultivated. The tree’s wood was hard and easily split lengthwise, making the tree desirable for the construction of houses, bridges, and fences. Bamboo worked even better at reinforcing, but he hadn’t seen anything similar on Caedellium, which reminded him that his knowledge of Anyar was limited to this one island—bamboo might exist elsewhere on the planet.

“It’s fortunate you got here before we started pouring,” said Orosz. “If, like you say, this reinforcing solves the builders’ concerns, then the Narthani would have to evoke the Evil One to directly breach our defenses. In fact, I had a vision of sorts last sixday when I climbed to the mountain spine southeast of the city. I went there to get a view of our progress. When I thought about the strategy we’ve agreed on, getting the Narthani to chase our men to a battlefield site we’ve prepared, I thought it a shame the Orosz City walls couldn’t serve as the anvil end of the trap. Unfortunately, there’s no way to close off another end to contain them. The land is open and flat leading up to the city from the west and south, then the same all the way to Adris City. The land is only three miles wide between Orosz City and the river along the base of the cliffs on the other side, so we’d have an amazing view of the army’s passing. That’s assuming the Narthani didn’t stop to attack Orosz City.”

“We assume they’ll stay focused on our mobile forces,” said Yozef, “but that’s only an assumption. Of course, it’s not likely the maneuvering we do to lure the Narthani army will pass this way. Orosz City is not on a route to any of the three battle sites we’re preparing.”

The next morning, Yozef’s first activity was deciding on a house large enough for the entire Kolsko household. He didn’t want any of them separated more than necessary. Culich and Ceinwyn Keelan would stay with them. Culich would make one return trip to Keelan directly to the Dillagon redoubt in the mountains of western Keelan, where he would assure himself that his clan’s haven was ready before the Narthani struck again. He would then return to Orosz City without stopping at Caernford.

Tomis Orosz suggested a large house a third of a mile inside the main walls and just before the mountain cleft entrance. Yozef walked to the house as soon as he finished morning meal with the Orosz family. The two-story house had outside balconies on the second floor, a small open courtyard in the center, and more than enough rooms surrounding the courtyard on both floors. The owner of the house guided him on a tour, then refused rent when Yozef inquired on the price.

“None needed,” said the portly man, who reminded Yozef of Peter Lorre. “You and Hetman Keelan are here to help kill those damned Narthani. Consider it my privilege to let you use this house.” The man then paused with a twinkle. “If we all survive this, I’ll be able to sell the house at a much higher price than I otherwise could have gotten. After all, Yozef Kolsko lived here.” The owner laughed and left Yozef shaking his head.

He walked to the Orosz Clan headquarters and stopped at the city’s semaphore office to send a message to Maera that he’d arranged for a house. He’d leave the details of settling in and assigning rooms to Maera and Anarynd.

It was mid-morning when the War Council meeting began. Welman Stent had arrived late the previous night, and Feren Bakalacs was already in the city. The Adris and Bultecki hetmen were not part of the council, but their capitals were the closest to Orosz City, and the two hetmen had traveled to attend the session.

Tomis Orosz called the meeting to begin. “A critical item is to finalize the battle sites we hope to lure the Narthani into. Later, we’ll hear updates on preparations with the three identified sites from the hetmen whose provinces those sites are in, but first I’d like to know if it’s still only those three.”

Owill Brell, as head of the MIU, would have given the status of the surveys, but he had not yet moved to Orosz City—so Yozef rose. “I’m afraid it’s still just those three, and I’ll admit I’m disappointed. I was hoping for about six sites distributed on an arc across the island. As it is, there are two sites in the northwest and one in the southeast, with nothing in the middle of the island.”

“And there are no other sites?” asked Teresz Bultecki. “Are your criteria too stringent? Could we ease the requirements?”

Yozef shook his head. “I believe it would be worse for us than engaging them in a field battle. If we dig ourselves into a defensive position that the Narthani overrun too quickly, we might find large numbers of our men isolated and destroyed in detail.” Over time, he’d explained how “in detail” meant pieces at a time.

“I’m especially disappointed we can’t find a site within Orosz Province. It’s centrally located and one of the likely routes the new Narthani army might use, because the logic would be the same as before—attack the conclave site and push on to Adris and cut the island in half.”

“It’s too bad the terrain doesn’t work for us,” said Klyngo Adris. “I’d hate to sacrifice Adris City, but once they were there, we would have them confined, except for the open route back to Orosz City.”

“Confined?” asked Yozef. “How would they be confined?”

“Well,” said Adris, “the land around Adris City is flat, but the mountain passes north and east are so narrow, it wouldn’t take large forces to block them. There’s also the escarpment between the Holdorn and Aklacs mountains. You remember, Yozef. You passed through there after visiting inspection sites along the north coast.”

Yozef did remember. The three-hundred-foot sheer drop had only three roads along the thirty-six-mile length of the unusual geological feature.

“Yes,” said Yozef, “I remember, but I don’t understand how the Narthani would be confined when their navy could either take them aboard ships or resupply them from the gulf.”

“Well, yes, there is that,” said Adris. “We’d also have to block the Normot Cut.”

“Not an easy task,” stated Orosz. Several other men observing the meeting nodded in agreement.

What am I missing here? Yozef thought. There’s something they know that I don’t?

“Sorry,” said Yozef, “but I don’t understand. What are we talking about?”

“The Gulf of Normot,” said Adris, puzzled that there was something Yozef Kolsko didn’t already know. “It can only be entered through a quarter-mile-wide open water channel. The rest of the thirty-three-mile-wide entrance to the gulf is studded with reefs and rocks. Nothing bigger than a shallow-bottomed skiff or rowboat can get through anywhere but at the Cut.”

Yozef didn’t initially respond, digesting Hetman Adris’s description. After almost a minute, he asked, “And this ‘Cut’ is a channel that allows—what? Large ships through? How large?”

“We used to see an occasional trading ship come to Adris Harbor, though not since the Narthani blockaded the island. We do most of our fishing inside the gulf, but our fishing boats pass easily through the Cut. We’ve seen an occasional Narthani sloop in the gulf, and once what you call a frigate came in briefly and then left.”

“I need to see a map of provinces around Adris!” Yozef blurted out. The men in the room looked around at one another, and several shrugged, especially those more familiar with Kolsko.

Orosz left the room and returned a minute later with a map showing Orosz and Adris provinces, along with portions of adjacent provinces. Yozef looked at the map briefly, then went to a blackboard and drew a rough copy of the clan borders.

“Let me see if I understand correctly. Here’s Orosz City backed up into the mountains. The approaching land from the south and west is flat and wide, except directly in front of the city, where there’s only three miles between the city and the river running along cliffs. Going east, the land broadens out and is flat on past Adris City. However, once at Adris City, the only easy land route out is back past Orosz City. Otherwise, the land is surrounded by mountains with passes supposedly easy to defend, and the long escarpment is probably even easier to defend. The sea route is open, but ships have to pass through a quarter-mile-wide gap in reefs and rocks to get into the gulf.”

Yozef addressed Adris. “Where exactly is this line of reefs and rocks?”

Adris rose, took the chalk from Yozef, and drew a line east to west across the closest pieces of land halfway down the gulf’s length. “The Cut is about forty miles from Adris City.”

“And the passes?” asked Yozef. “How many are there leading to and from central Adris, and exactly how many could be defended to stop a Narthani army?”

“There are four main passes through which roads run to other provinces. There are also a few lesser-used passes, but they either have no roads through them, or the roads are steep and never in good condition.”

Yozef took another few minutes to look at the drawn map and think. When he turned to the waiting men, he apologized. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m now thinking that we may have a fourth potential battle site.”

“Around Adris City?” asked Culich, shaking his head. “I don’t see how we can trap them there. There’s too much room. The open land around Adris City must be ten miles in all directions. Where is the trap?”

“Not at Adris City,” said Yozef. “It’s here.” His finger pointed to the location of Orosz City.

“Here!?” Hetman Orosz spluttered. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll grant that there are major problems with the idea, but here’s how it might go. We lure the Narthani army here. They’ll think we intend to make a stand at Orosz City, because it’s the closest to an island capital that exists. However, we don’t stand; we keep withdrawing toward Adris. Once they’re well past here, we block any patrols, scouts, or other contact back to Preddi Province. We continue withdrawing and pull back into the passes if necessary. The Narthani can’t be taking more than two sixdays of supplies with them. If they get to Adris City, they’ll expect to be resupplied by sea. If they can’t be, they’ll have to either try to cross the mountains or return on the same route past Orosz City, and that’s where we stand to fight.”

“Where is the defensive position they have to attack that’s favorable to us?” asked Culich. His tone didn’t sound doubting as much as expectant—waiting for an explanation he assumed existed.

“From the walls of Orosz City to the river. We would build fortifications to cover the three miles. And I know the next question. How? How are we to build such fortifications over three miles of flat land with no natural terrain advantages? The difference between here and the other three sites is people. Tomis, how many people do you expect to be within the walls on into the mountains through the cleft?”

“Currently, we’re planning on ninety thousand, our own clanspeople and many from Adris, Hewell, Moreland, and Stent. The natural position of the city, with its walls and the mountains, makes this one of the most secure and defendable redoubts.”

“Could you hold more?” asked Yozef.

“More? How many more?”

“You tell me. If you crammed in as many people as possible and had food for them, how many could Orosz City hold?”

Tomis Orosz stroked his beard as he thought. “Well . . . I suppose if the people didn’t mind sleeping wall to wall or maybe outdoors in tents or other shelters, and if we moved enough food . . . maybe double the ninety thousand.”

“So,” said Yozef, “with 180,000 people, that would be at least twenty thousand who could dig. That many people could move a hell of a lot of soil in only a few days. If the Narthani moved on to Adris City, then decided to withdraw back by Orosz City, that would probably take at least a sixday—maybe more if we harassed them and forced them to deploy numerous times. But at even a sixday, imagine twenty thousand people digging for their lives? Think about it. If one person moves three cubic yards of dirt in one day, twelve thousand workers can do more than one hundred thousand cubic yards in three days. We could plan a ditch four feet deep, twelve feet wide, and three miles long. That’s less than thirty thousand cubic yards, so it can be done. And that’s not counting using the graders we’re making for use at the Gap Site. Of course, that means the planning would have to be extensive and everything in place.”

“Still too many ifs,” said Culich, “but I suppose everything we do is full of ifs.”

Yozef held up both hands. “I’m not saying we add Orosz City to the list of battlefields, but it’s worth thinking about. When Owill and Maera get here with the rest of the MIU, we can sit down and go over the possibilities in detail. Tomis, until they get here, it will help if you can tell us exactly how many people the Orosz City redoubt can handle and what would be required.”

“I can do that,” said Orosz, “but we still have the question of the final set of battle sites to be prepared. If I’m hearing correctly, it will be the three already underway and possibly a fourth, if we decide to add Orosz City.” Orosz looked at the other three War Council members and Yozef.

Bakalacs shrugged, Stent grunted, Culich nodded, and only Yozef spoke. “I think we’re in agreement.”

Putting aside the Orosz City issue, the council proceeded to hear updates on preparations at the three definite sites being prepared: Moraine, Coast, and Gap. Then the hetmen overseeing the four areas of responsibility each updated his area: logistics, Orosz; personnel, Farkesh; intelligence, Keelan; and operations, Stent.

After the session, Culich put a hand on Yozef’s arm to stop him from leaving the room. “What do you really think about the idea of adding Orosz City? Was that just talking ‘off the top of your head,’ as you use the expression, or were you serious?”

Yozef laughed. “I’m afraid it was both. We certainly need more sites, and with none in central Caedellium, Orosz City is ideally placed. Yet all your reservations are justified. We won’t know more until we’ve had time to think this through more thoroughly. I still think the Moraine Site is our best chance.”

“The one issue we didn’t talk more about,” said Culich, “was how to prevent the Narthani Navy from getting to Adris City through the Normot Cut. How do you propose to do that?”

“Right. If we can’t do that, then the whole idea falls through, and we’re back to the three sites. As for how to block the Cut, here’s where our new Fuomi friends need to play a role—if they really are our friends.”

CHAPTER 34: RINTALA’S DECISION

Yozef hadn’t seen the Fuomi leaders since he’d returned to Orosz City. They had preceded him by a sixday, and he now sent word asking Rintala to meet with him after evening meal. He and the Fuomi commander had each fulfilled his side of a bargain the two men had reached months earlier. The Fuomi had delivered thirty 30-pounder and sixteen 18-pounder cannon, plus a supply of powder and shot, all cannon and ammunition taken from transport/supply ships and a single sloop which had been dispatched back to Fuomon with Rintala’s report on the mission’s status, his rationale for decisions made to that point, and a recommendation for further assistance to the Caedelli. In addition, a small supply of poppy extract had been given, and Fuomi personnel had been training islanders to handle the naval 30-pounders, teaching elements of unit tactics to groups of clansmen, and providing advice when asked.

In return, the Fuomi were given a supply of both ether and kerosene that the sloop took back to Fuomon, along with detailed instructions on their preparation. Yozef also relaxed any restrictions he’d placed on giving the Fuomi medical and biological knowledge he’d passed on to the islanders.

Now, Yozef wanted more—much more. He had thought long and hard about inducements. He’d requested that Rintala come alone, while a third person at the meeting would be Balwis Preddi, who had come ahead to continue expanding his command to a mixed Preddi/ex-slave battalion based in Orosz Province. Balwis spoke fluent Narthani, as did Rintala, and Balwis would serve as interpreter, with instructions from Yozef that Balwis should give no comments during the meeting. Yozef wanted it to be as if only he and Rintala were in the room. Yozef also emphasized that nothing he translated was to be relayed to anyone without Yozef’s permission. Balwis agreed without making his usual sarcastic comments—leading Yozef to wonder at the changes in Balwis’s demeanor in the previous months. He’d come to trust the man’s discretion more the longer they knew each other.

Yozef opened the small room in the Orosz headquarters and motioned Rintala to follow him in. “Thank you for coming to meet on such short notice, Commander Rintala. Please have a seat.”

They both sat facing each other at a small round table with straight-backed chairs. Balwis sat between them, to Yozef’s right and Rintala’s left. For the next hour, neither man looked at Balwis.

“I’m inclined to get right to the point, Commander,” asserted Yozef. “It saves so much time, and I see no reason to dance around a subject I intend, and you likely suspect, that we would get to eventually.”

“I think you’ll find my people feel the same, Ser Kolsko. It’s interesting that our two peoples share this characteristic. If you haven’t experienced it already, you’ll find not all peoples are the same. The Landoliner who came with us, Rhanjur Gaya, can talk for an hour and not say anything. But then, he calls himself a diplomat, so possibly that’s a common feature of such people. Even Ambassador Saisannin can take too long on occasion, though her months of exposure to sailors and soldiers has moderated that tendency.”

“Then let’s get to why I asked you to meet me, Commander. I hope you feel that we both have fulfilled our sides of the bargain we previously agreed to. Your delivery of the cannon and willingness to advise and train our people in specific areas have been both timely and done with genuine commitment by all your men.”

Rintala smiled. “I’ll answer by saying I also am more than satisfied. The instructions for production of ether and kerosene were extensive enough that Saisannin and our surgeons believe there will no problem establishing production in Fuomon. They also appreciate being allowed to personally take part in several production runs—under the safety supervision of your workers.

“The surgeons are also still somewhat astounded, or stunned, depending on the individual, at their interactions with your medicants. While some of what they were told or shown was not initially well received, they tell me that what they will take back to Fuomon will revolutionize medical treatments. They’ve not yet all come to accept some of what you claim is knowledge about how the human body works, but even the most skeptical are admitting that based on everything else you seem to have introduced here on Caedellium, it’s likely they will come to accept the rest as true.

“Several of our surgeons might also be considered scholastics by Caedelli standards, in studying aspects of the world and the stars. They tell me the new knowledge they’re picking up here is as impressive, though they doubt the Caedelli appreciate it. I suppose you realize all this only deepens our curiosity as to your origin. As I said before, you can’t expect us not to probe for more information.”

“Probe all you want,” said Yozef in a tone conveying confidence that their probing would have little chance of succeeding.

“Oh, we will,” said Rintala. “However, back to why you wanted to meet with me?”

It was Yozef’s turn to smile. “You’ve seen our plans and preparations. I’m certainly impressed by the effort and commitment of the clans, and it would be futile of you yourself to claim otherwise.”

Rintala only nodded.

“So far, we’ve only identified three sites where we believe we can fight a battle against the new Narthani Army and have a reasonable chance to win. I’ll confess I hoped for more options, but I don’t believe any of the other possible sites are an improvement over simply meeting the Narthani in a general field engagement. However, we’ve now identified a fourth site.” Yozef continued with a description of the outline plan for a battle on the plain outside the Orosz City walls. “I hardly need point out one fatal flaw with what we can do, and that’s to prevent the Narthani Navy from sailing into the Normot Gulf. It comes to me that you have the solution to that problem.”

Despite his effort to remain impassive until he heard what Kolsko had to say, Rintala’s irises widened at hearing Yozef’s “go-to” phrase, “it comes to me.” Rintala was aware of the Septarsh rumors. The Fuomi had previous traditions of men with unusual insights, although the belief in influence from an outside power, usually attributed to God or gods, was fading within Fuomon. Fading, but not gone.

“You want me to use our navy to block the Normot Cut.”

“Yes. For now, the Glacier option is the one I favor, but if you could prevent the Narthani from resupplying or reboarding an army from Adris Province, then I’d put the Orosz option on equal footing.”

Rintala sat back in his chair and looked straight at Yozef. “Such an action would be well outside my orders. To even briefly consider such action, I would need to have overwhelming incentives.”

Yes! thought Yozef. I’ve got him! If the answer were absolutely no, he wouldn’t have opened the option. Now, it’s a matter of negotiating.

“Before we continue,” said Yozef, “there’s one more matter to settle, and I’m afraid it’s not optional. Anything that’s said from this point on must be kept confidential. My friend here will be the only other person to know what will be said, and I have absolute confidence in him.”

Balwis twitched slightly at Yozef’s words, and he cast a quick glance, as if to check the accuracy of what he’d heard.

Rintala didn’t indicate whether he’d noticed Balwis’s reaction.

“That’s quite a difficult condition,” said Rintala. “My loyalty to Fuomon may require that I report anything said between us.”

“I understand,” said Yozef, “but the condition remains, even if I sympathize with your dilemma. You may need to decide if what I might say is so important to Fuomon that you are willing to give your word that no details of what I say will be repeated until the day I tell you otherwise—which may be months or a few years away.”

“And how could you be sure I would keep any promise?” asked Rintala.

“Trust is ephemeral. It needs to be felt continually. Once lost, it’s lost forever, and no matter what actions are taken, it can never be the same. I believe I can make you believe that it is in yours and Fuomon’s long-term interests never to endanger my trust. And let’s be honest,” said Yozef. “I could denounce anything you claim I said. No one on Caedellium will take your word over mine. However, it would raise problems I want to avoid.”

Yozef gave Rintala time to consider. After a minute, all the Fuomi said was, “Convince me.”

“I’ll start by noting that there are things you’ve gotten from us that were not covered in our previous agreement, such as manned balloons for observation, several types of mines, and the socket bayonet, to name only a few. Still, I’ll not claim you owe us anything in return, though such an argument could be made. Instead, let me tell you two things you don’t know about and won’t, unless I want you to. First, I can show you how to double your rate of musket fire without changing your muskets. Second, I know of a method of communicating long distance, such as we do now with the semaphore, which I understand is a widely used method. The method I know of would allow a message to go from the two farthest points apart on Caedellium in minutes, instead of hours. From what I see on Anyar maps, this method would allow messages to traverse the entire width of Fuomon in an hour.”

Rintala raised his right eyebrow in skepticism before Yozef finished his second example. “Quite astounding claims, Ser Kolsko. Yet if you knew how to do all this, why haven’t you done it with the Caedelli?”

“Two reasons. Time and what I call ‘infrastructure.’ We don’t have time before the next battles will happen. We’re stuck with what we have . . . for the moment. Assuming we expel the Narthani, the Caedelli will have these things within one year, two at the most. It would come faster with more skilled craftsmen than exist on Caedellium and more support from a larger population, such as in Fuomon.”

Yozef paused and leaned forward with arms on the table. “And consider that if you decline to continue, and we successfully expel the Narthani, then any future transfers of knowledge from Caedellium will come at a much higher price and with much less goodwill.”

Rintala rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, then cast a jaundiced eye at Yozef. “You have put me in a very difficult position, Ser Kolsko. Nevertheless, my people believe someone who has risen to my rank is supposed to be able to make difficult decisions. The best I can do is give my word that nothing I hear will be repeated to anyone on Caedellium or any other realm of Anyar, with the one exception that if something I hear has a direct bearing on, or is a major threat to, Fuomon, then I must have the discretion to tell my superiors, although I would try to emphasize to them to limit its dissemination. Of course, once you start giving us what you’ve promised, secrecy will be moot.”

“Fair enough,” said Yozef. “You’ve already heard the first two innovations. All I will say further is that I can draw you a diagram that your artisans and craftsmen can use, which will result in a method to at least double your rate of musket fire. I’ll add that the same method can be used with rifles to also increase their rate of fire and allow accurate volleys out four hundred yards. I’ll also predict that by using what I’ll show you, the smoothbore musket will be obsolete within five years.

“The second example I’ve already given uses a mechanism called a ‘telegraph.’ It requires using copper wire, which is a clue that I suspect your scholastics could use to figure out long-distance communication within ten years. However, what I can tell you will allow it to be done within a year, if enough resources are put into the effort. It might take another ten years or more, but eventually the same technique can be used to send messages between major land masses.”

Yozef had thought hard about what he planned to reveal next, because it might sound too much like magic—or demonic arts, depending on the listener’s belief system. However, he had a gut feeling he had the Fuomi leader hooked, and Yozef wanted to reel him in.

“I’ll add one more thing. Although I can’t predict how long it would take to develop this one, I know the principles of how to communicate long distance without wire. To be clear, communication could occur between two persons hundreds or thousands of miles apart, as if they stood next to each other.”

Balwis hesitated in translating this and glanced at Yozef with a raised eyebrow. Without looking at Balwis, Yozef nodded toward Rintala. “Translate.”

Balwis did, and the Fuomi commander shook his head. “Now I don’t know if you’re merely testing my credulity or are outrageously lying for some reason.”

“Consider this,” said Yozef. “Why would I lie? How would you have viewed a description of the use and making of ether before you saw it used? The same with kerosene. What about making gunpowder from murvor shit? If you were forced to make a large wager, would you bet against anything I tell you here today? To close this example, I’ll give you my word, just like you gave me yours, that everything I’m telling you is true.

“But let’s move on. I’m feeling expansive, so I’ll give a few more enticements. I also know how to make smokeless gunpowder that is many times more powerful than black powder and whose production can be scaled up far more than can any current method the Fuomi, the Narthani, or the Caedelli know how to do.

“There is a tree here on Caedellium whose sap can be made into a substance that children dry and mold into a ball to play with. I understand that the same or similar trees exist elsewhere on Anyar. I know a way to prevent the sap from being sticky, and it will retain the resilient feature that otherwise is lost after a few hours of repeated impacts. The sap is turned into something called rubber, and it has the ability to be deformed and regain its shape enough to be used as cushioning in wagon seats. More important, and this would take time to work out the details, but this rubber can also be used to make wagon tires that last many times longer than wood and metal wheels and provide a smoother ride, which means a wagon can go faster over rough ground.

“Kivalian tells me you and the Narthani have tried using rockets in place of artillery, but neither of you has been successful in making them efficient enough to rely on. I can solve that problem for you. Imagine a barrage of hundreds, even thousands, of rockets being rained down on a concentration of Narthani troops at a distance of a thousand yards or more.

“I know how to treat iron and steel objects to slow rusting, even if left exposed to the weather for months at a time.

“There is a method to illuminate a battlefield, no matter how dark the night.

“I’ve mentioned increasing the rate of fire from smoothbore muskets. That can be done in a relatively short time, if enough resources are put to it. Longer term, I know three ways to increase your troops’ rate of fire by another three- to ten-fold. It would take two to ten years. I can’t give a better time estimate, because I don’t know any details about craftsmanship in Fuomon, but it can be done.

“Those are enough practical examples. I also have knowledge whose uses even I cannot predict but which I know would revolutionize people’s understanding of the world. My wife, Maera, tells me that Eina Saisannin knows that in my homeland I was a student of what we call chemistry. I’ve used this chemistry in many of the innovations I’ve brought to Caedellium, but the island doesn’t have the people or the environment to utilize even a fraction of what I know. I could share more with Fuomon, and while I can’t predict the exact outcomes, I can guarantee acceleration in the Fuomon economy.

“Similarly, I’m aware of the general state of mathematics as is known throughout Anyar. I can help advance the entire field of mathematics enough that it will make what you currently know seem trivial. If you are not aware of the value of mathematics, I suggest you talk with Saisannin. From Maera, I know that one of your ship’s surgeons is also a mathematician who’s frustrated because he hasn’t been able to learn the more advanced mathematics known here on Caedellium. The same with Rhanjur Gaya, who was a mathematician before becoming a diplomat. I’ll confess I arranged to dangle a few morsels in front of them without their being able to learn more. I can release that block.

“Medical knowledge. Although I wasn’t trained as a medicant or a surgeon, I have knowledge that the Caedelli are not able to utilize yet. Having Fuomon medical people available would probably allow me to introduce much more.

“Speaking of dangling, I think I’ve provided enough temptations. What is all I’ve said worth to Fuomon?”

Yozef awaited Rintala’s response. He saw no need to go into details such as identifying by name processes such as vulcanization and galvanization, increased rates of fire by metal cartridges and percussion caps, breech-loading rifles and cannon, Gatling guns followed by recoil- and gas-operated machine guns, Congreve and Hale rockets, parachute flares, and eventually radio. As much as he hated the thought of introducing so many weapon innovations to Anyar, he and his family, people he cared about, and all of the clans were coming to a precipice, and they needed every speck of help to draw back from an abyss.

Rintala Surprises

The Fuomi commander was nothing if not decisive when presented with enough facts to support his existing inclinations. He had already prepared what he would tell Yozef, even before they’d gone halfway through the list of lures.

“If you deliver all you promise, in exchange, I will agree to deny the Narthani Navy entrance to the Gulf of Normot. Commodore Kyllo will need to examine the Normot Cut, but if it’s as has been described, I imagine he can station three or four frigates on spring anchors and face broadside to the channel. No Narthani warship, no matter what size, could present a broadside while trying to traverse the channel. Even the Narthani’s biggest warship couldn’t survive being pounded by sixty cannon at point-blank range while only being able to respond with its chase guns, because they wouldn’t be able to turn in that narrow a channel. I doubt they’d try to send more than one ship through at once, in hopes that one large ship could get through and clear the blockade.

“I expect Kyllo will want your help in preventing them from trying to get around the blockade via launches and longboats and taking one or more of our frigates by boarding them. Possibly sets of swivel guns could be added to some of your fishing boats, which would provide protection from boarding attempts.”

Yozef didn’t attempt to suppress a deep sigh. He’d believed Rintala could be convinced, but belief wasn’t fact.

“I believe broadsides from four anchored frigates will be enough, although, as I said, Commodore Kyllo will need to assess the situation. If he concurs, then the frigates won’t be using their opposite side cannon. We’ll contribute them to your efforts, along with all the cannon from the fifth frigate and both other sloops. I believe that will make our total contribution a hundred and twenty 30-pounders and forty-eight 18-pounders. You’ll also need our gunners to train your people. I think our gunners may prefer going with their guns, rather than be without them. Let’s say, close to five hundred men. The thousand marines will also be available for specific uses, with Kivalian’s approval. I think we can assume the base camp in your Mittack Province will not be in danger from the clans.”

Yozef was stunned. He had hoped to bring the Fuomi around to providing more assistance. They’d met often enough that he had thought it would take extensive negotiations. He was wrong.

Rintala was smug as he watched Kolsko’s reaction. It was the first such break in the man’s annoying blasé demeanor—as if nothing could surprise him. Rintala sometimes thought he detected a paternalistic attitude toward even the Fuomi. Against the islanders, who were admirable in many ways but less “civilized” than peoples with more outside interactions, Kolsko’s viewpoint was understandable. As it was with the Narthani, whose whole worldview could easily be detested. But Rintala was a typical Fuomi, in that he considered his people the most sophisticated on Anyar or, at worst, one of the most advanced.

“Well . . . ” said Yozef after composing himself again. “I admit, this is a surprise. We appreciate the help you’ve given so far and your recommendation to Fuomon for more assistance, but this . . . ” He paused. “If I might ask, how did this decision come about so quickly?”

“It didn’t just ‘come about.’ While it was not among my initial thoughts, the longer I’ve been on Caedellium, the more I’ve come to believe two things. One is the Narthani have major plans for Caedellium. Certainly not to simply expand their empire here. As we’ve discussed before, I think it likely they hope to use Caedellium to circumvent the current stalemate on Melosia. If there is any chance that is true, anything we can do to thwart them is justified. Second is that I’ve come to believe Caedellium has a plausible chance to succeed. Not a good chance—but a conceivable one. If I commit my people to maximum support, that chance goes up. Nowhere near certainty, but more to one chance in two or three.”

“Is this your decision alone?”

“Essentially. Kivalian will approve. Saisannin will understand but disapprove, as being too far outside our original orders. Kyllo will disapprove vigorously, although in his case worry about his ships may trump everything else. Approve or not, they all will commit to it, once their concerns are listened to and they realize I’ve made a final decision.”

Yozef pulled a sheet of paper out of his satchel, along with pen and ink, and began making notes.

It was something Rintala appreciated about Yozef and fit his own personality. Once a decision was made or a new piece of information known, he moved on to the next stage. In this case, the next stage was moving from ships and the Fuomi base camp ninety 30-pounder and thirty-two 18-pounder cannon, stores of shot and powder, and the men Rintala was committing to where they would be most effective.

“The guns are too heavy for easy movement, but they’ll be crucial in defending static positions,” Yozef mumbled. “We’ve made larger carriages for the cannon you’ve already loaned us. On ship, they fire straight out in broadsides. On land, they need to be able to traverse at least ninety degrees—especially where positions must support adjoining sections of fortifications, and their new carriages will make that easier. I’ll have to arrange construction of more carriages for additional cannon.”

Yozef stopped talking to himself and looked at Rintala. “I guess this means we can consider ourselves true allies against the Narthani. I appreciate the risks you’re taking and hope the time comes when we can move forward as true friends, not just two peoples forced to work together against a common enemy.”

Rintala Bets All of His Chips

The four Fuomi leaders sat at a table in the Orosz City quarters the islanders had given them for their use. The mood was mixed. Rintala was serene—his decision made. As usual, Kivalian appeared slightly amused, while Commodore Kyllo made no effort to hide his anger. Saisannin, resigned, spoke first.

“I’m sorry, Jaako. I understand your reasoning, but I can’t approve. What you intend is so far outside the guidelines for this mission that it’s well beyond the latitude even of the commander on the scene.”

Kyllo was more forceful. “Not only do I not approve, but I protest in the strongest terms. This would be entirely unprecedented. Stripping guns from my ships, planning on trapping four of my frigates inside this Gulf of Normot, and taking a third of the crews leaves my ships seriously endangered and short-handed. In addition, the men onshore will have no naval support and no way off this island when the Narthani defeat the islanders.”

“Ah . . . but that’s the issue, isn’t it?” stated Rintala. “If the Narthani win. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have conceived it, but I believe the islanders have a chance. Certainly, the new Narthani commander is going to get a rude surprise when he takes the field. They think the size of their army will overwhelm the islanders in short order. You’ve seen what the Caedelli have been preparing, and they have a level of commitment that I doubt our own people could achieve. It’s my assessment that while our total contribution might seem small, the scales are balanced enough that our total commitment might tip those scales in the Caedelli’s favor.

“And let’s be honest,” continued Rintala, “there’s never been anything in our initial orders about a naval engagement. If it had occurred, I’m sure you could have beaten them off. We’ve kept ourselves hidden from the Narthani, with our ships staying to the northwest of the island, except when a sloop sneaks in for periodic checks. With the arrival of a new large Narthani force, their naval strength will be so much greater that whether our ships have full cannon and crew is irrelevant. Kyllo, you always insist a Fuomi squadron can out-sail any Narthani one, so those ships that stay outside the Gulf of Normot shouldn’t be in danger. The frigates inside the gulf are a different story, but if what the islanders describe is accurate, the frigates will successfully block the Cut and defend themselves, even with only half their cannon.”

“Possibly. It also means they could be trapped in the Gulf. And you say ‘initial orders,’ as if there were subsequent versions that I am unaware of,” Kyllo said in a grating tone. “They specifically said to avoid any ‘major’ engagements. What you propose is so far beyond those orders, I wonder if you have lost your senses.”

“You may wonder about my senses as much as you like, as long as you obey my orders.” Rintala’s tone was unyielding.

Deep lines etched Kyllo’s face. “I will protest officially when I report back to Fuomon—assuming I and any of my ships make it back.” Kyllo’s wording indicated he would strip his ship of cannon, even if he didn’t agree with Rintala’s arguments. Kyllo would take the remaining ships and station themselves a hundred miles southwest of Caedellium to await the outcome of Rintala’s commitment. If the Narthani won, he would sail back to Fuomon, minus any Fuomi on the island.

Rintala relaxed. “I think all of your ships will manage to evade any unfriendly encounters, Vilho. And without cannon, the original crew size is unnecessary, because there will be fewer gun crew duties.” Rintala had shifted to the naval officer’s first name. They had worked well together on this mission and others previously, and Rintala considered him at least a close colleague, if not a friend.

“I repeat that you always tell me any Fuomi ship can sail rings around any Narthani. With fewer cannon and crew, and no cargo, you should have no problem outrunning anything you encounter at sea. Besides, even if you leave without all your ships’ cannon, if you stay formed as a convoy, no one will have any reason to believe you are with fewer cannon than being fully armed.”

“That sounds logical, but the world is not always logical.” Kyllo’s shoulders slumped. “I know you have considered all this carefully, Jaako, but I hope this isn’t a disaster for us all.”

“As do I, Vilho. As do I.”

“All right, Jaako, I’ll carry out your orders. I’ve trusted you in the past, but I hope you know what you’re doing. I have to say that I will file a notification back in Fuomon on how I objected.”

“I understand, Vilho. Do what you feel is required.”

The Fuomi naval officer sighed. “All this is contingent on our confirming what Kolsko told you about the Normot Gulf being accessible only through a narrow channel. Assuming that’s true, we’ll start off-loading cannon and men at this Adris City. We’ll also need to take on ballast—rock, I assume—to counterweight the four frigates that’ll block the channel. It’ll take four to be sure no Narthani war galleon can force the Cut. The ballast will be needed, since all the frigates’ guns will be with a full broadside on only one side of the ships.”

“Kolsko anticipated you’d worry about that and offered a bit of inducement. Instead of all rock, he’s offered us the islanders’ stockpiles of metal ingots. Mining was not their main industry, but most of their mines kept producing after the Narthani halted all trade. I assume they were hoping trade would eventually begin again, so they have stockpiles of copper, tin, lead, and zinc ingots waiting in warehouses or sitting out in the open air. As much of it as they’ve used in preparations for fighting the Narthani, there’s a lot left, and they’re willing to give us enough to more than pay for the cost of this mission.”

Rintala turned his head to Reimo Kivalian. The troop commander remained silent during Rintala’s statement of his intent and the protests by the other two leaders.

“Nothing to say, Reimo?”

“Oh, I agree with Eina and Vilho that you’re probably crazy, but we’re going to have so much fun.”

Saisannin rolled her eyes, and Kyllo snorted. As fine a troop commander as Kivalian was, and as conscientious as he was known to be for his men, he had a little boy’s joy at making things go bang that seeped out regularly.

“It’s settled then, Commodore. I leave it up to you to determine minimal crews to get the ships safely back to Fuomon. I assume excess gun crews will be prominent in those not needed and will remain on shore.”

Kyllo sighed with at least a trace of humor, now that the die was cast.

“Many of them think their guns are part of their families and will feel naked without them. At least, I won’t have mooning gunners wasting away without their cannon. I also doubt all that many will be unhappy to be left behind, as long as they get a chance to fire at the Narthani.”

Rintala brought the meeting to a close. “I will, of course, be writing a full explanation of my decision to be delivered back in Fuomon. In it, I will absolve all of you in this decision and state that you were obliged to follow my orders.”

Eina Saisannin made a slight gesture by raising one finger of her hand resting on the table. Rintala knew what it meant. He had gotten her perspective on a sensitive topic he now broached.

“There’s one more item. More for Reimo than you, Vilho. It’s this Kolsko man. An important part of my decision to deviate so far from initial orders is due to a meeting I had with him. You all know what we’ve gotten in return for how we’ve helped them so far. In part of an agreement with Kolsko, we are about to start getting more. A lot more. Some of it you will begin to see, but other parts might not become known to you for many years, if at all, as part of my agreement with Kolsko.

“We discussed among ourselves the mystery of where Kolsko comes from. As for myself, I dismiss the Septarsh rumors. Yet that leaves us with the same question. Where in the world is there a people with the knowledge he possesses? Eina’s only candidate is somewhere on Krinolin.” The island-continent was located at the eastern end of the major landmasses found in one hemisphere of Anyar. Long and narrow, it ran perpendicular to the equator that cut through its southern part. The inhabitants had not been part of the struggle against the Narthani and had traditionally restricted access to what the Fuomi believed to be separate and insular realms. Krinolin conducted trade only through three carefully restricted ports.

“We’ve listened to her arguments, but I can’t say I’m convinced,” said Rintala.

“Neither am I,” said Saisannin. “It’s just that I can’t think of any place else so unknown it could have held a people with the knowledge that flows from Kolsko.”

“I still favor one of the islands in the Great Ocean,” said Commodore Kyllo. “There are at least three the size of Caedellium and thirty or more smaller ones that are known to be inhabited. As far as I know, we don’t have a complete listing, because much has not been reported on, particularly the south half. Still . . . like Eina, it’s not something I believe likely, it’s just the only guess I can make.”

“Wherever he’s from, whoever his people are, we can’t let Kolsko fall into Narthani hands. While I can’t yet tell you what he’s promised to give us in return for more help, I can tell you that if what he promised is accurate, it could turn the war in Narthon’s favor before we could respond. It might even lead to total Narthani victory.

“If the clans fail and Kolsko is captured, we have to assume he will give the Narthani what he’s promised me he will give to us. We can’t assume anything else if they force him or use his family to coerce him.

“As distasteful as it is, Reimo, it will fall to you to make provisions that the Narthani don’t take him alive.”

CHAPTER 35: NARTHANI

Narthani Headquarters, Preddi City

“So it’s confirmed?” asked Akuyun. “They’ve withdrawn their main forces?”

Zulfa shrugged. “As far as we know, which isn’t very far. In the month since their invasion, we can only push twenty-man patrols five to ten miles into Eywell or Selfcell territory before they show up in numbers that require our men to retreat back to Preddi. If you want to know more, I’ll need to send more men.”

“It’s tempting,” said Akuyun, “but I have to believe Gullar is arriving soon. If true, then there’s no point risking stirring up the clans. I think we’ll stick with the status quo, as long as they don’t do anything more than they’re doing now.”

“From the standpoint of our civilians, that’s best,” said Tuzere. “The panic that spread at the news of the clans’ raids has now died down as much as I expect it to. We have farmers and ranchers back at production, though their families will remain within Preddi City and other towns with defenses. I decided not to resume mining and have told Colonel Ketin the miners are available for whatever he needs to keep improving fortifications. I’m grateful to Narth that the clans made the mistake of not taking more of our horses. We scattered them where the clans might miss them, and we were able to round most up within two to three days.”

“I was surprised,”said Zulfa. “It was an obvious thing for them to have done and adds to the puzzle of what’s going on with the clans. On one hand, they do something that we might interpret as having tactical sense, and then they make a mistake like this. I sometimes wonder whether it would be better for us if they were either consistently amateurish or professional. The uncertainty of what they’ll do next can be disturbing.”

Akuyun turned to Colonel Jurna. “Jomzik, how are you faring with your mongrel force?”

Colonel Jomzik Jurna had assumed command of the Narthani garrison in Hanslow after the previous commander, Colonel Memas Erdelin, was killed in the daring assassination by Balwis Preddi, Wyfor Kales, and three other men insane enough to make the attempt. Jurna had acted decisively when getting the first news of the Northern Force crossing the Eywell/Moreland border—mainly due to the semaphore extension he’d ordered built toward the border.

The early alert had allowed the entire Hanslow garrison to withdraw south, along with several hundred Eywellese fleeing in fear of their fate once the clans captured Hanslow. Akuyun had been impressed by the decisions Jurna made that resulted in his getting all his men and the families of the prominent Eywellese into safe Preddi territory, despite having to duck and dodge larger clan forces.

Jurna appeared impassive as he answered Akuyun’s question. “With the Eywellese that came with us from Hanslow, those that did the same as the Morthmin garrison withdrew, and of the scattered men we picked up on the way or have drifted in the last sixdays, we have about five hundred Eywellese and forty Selfcellese horsemen. Given everything that’s happened, we can’t depend on them. There are too many who left their clan out of fear for their own skins, rather than any higher loyalty. It’s also likely we have either clan spies or men who will look to defect back to the clans, if given the opportunity. Frankly, I’d rather none of them had come with us. We can’t trust any of them, and our own men never developed good relationships with them. In retrospect, it might have been better to make them feel more integrated into our force structure, although I understand the political reasons for not making it too obvious their clans would be incorporated into the empire as soon as possible.

“Still, 540 riders are still 540 if we use them only for defined and non-critical assignments. Right now, I’m using them in patrols along the border to help ensure no clansmen units slip through for raids. I’ve placed them in groups of a hundred or 120 with fifty of our men in villages along the border, all under the command of officers I’ve judged best able to keep personal opinions to themselves about the Caedelli they’re put in charge of. Each group includes men whose families came with them, and I’ve mandated that the families stay in Preddi City. That way, the loyalty of these men gives us reasonable assurance against serious problems developing.”

Akuyun felt pleased with Jurna since he’d assumed command of the Narthani forces garrisoning Eywell Province. He also shared Jurna’s comment about wishing none of the Eywellese and the Selfcellese had sought refuge from vengeful clansmen. However, when the Narthani finished subjugating the island, those men might be useful in administering the defeated clans. Assessor Hizer said it never hurt to have options, even if he had doubts about their allies’ utility.

Colonel Nuthrat Metan had similarly withdrawn the Sellmor garrison from Selfcell Province, although in his case it was after the Selfcell Clan revolted and closed Sellmor. Metan’s one attempt to regain the city had been repulsed with moderate losses, and he decided, as did Jurna, to withdraw to Preddi.

Akuyun believed both colonels had acted appropriately. Their actions and a dose of Narth’s grace—or luck, as he would believe it—had prevented major losses of men, except for a fifty-man cavalry unit that had run into an aggressive clan commander who attacked, resulting in over half the cavalry unit’s men being killed.

Once the threat ebbed, Akuyun had to decide how to deploy his existing men. He had ordered Metan to use infantry withdrawn from Selfcell to garrison Swythton, a Preddi coastal town near the Selfcell border. Jurna had reinforced the infantry battalions already at Ponth and had orders to plan to withdraw everyone back to Preddi City on short notice. All other cavalry were concentrated at Preddi City, from where they operated mounted patrols of the border and served as a reaction force, should new major clan incursions occur.

Akuyun Villa, Preddi City

“I know it may sound strange, my dear,” Okan Akuyun said to his wife, “but the lack of follow-up by the clans after the attack through Eywell and the revolt of Selfcell last month has me believing the crisis is over and we’ll be secure enough until Gullar arrives.”

Rabia Akuyun shook her dark head, a few silver strands catching candlelight. “If it were anyone else telling me this, Okan, I’d doubt their grip on reality, especially after everything that’s happened.”

Akuyun laughed and leaned over from his chair at the dining table to peck his wife on the cheek. “Thank you for that evaluation of my sanity,” he said sardonically. “My view is based on what hasn’t happened. If the clans intended a siege of Preddi City or the other defended towns or even wider-scale destruction of the countryside, this was their opportunity. I can’t imagine that having withdrawn, they would return with any of those intentions. They had us in as weak a position as we’re going to be, and they did nothing about it.”

“Maybe they didn’t expect how much success they had,” said Rabia, “and they weren’t prepared for a siege—at least, at this time.”

“Possibly,” Akuyun agreed, “although another explanation is that they might know about Gullar. In that case, removing the Eywellese and the Selfcellese was their objective, followed by retiring before risking being caught between us and the new army also makes sense. Then, the question is, how did they know? We suspect the clans have outside advice, though we hadn’t gotten evidence of it before losing most of our agents in clan territory. Whatever is going on, I believe we’re secure. When Gullar arrives, everything will change.”

Rabia didn’t revisit their uncertainty about Okan Akuyun’s role once Marshal Gullar arrived. Her husband would go from being the senior officer on Caedellium to being subordinate to the marshal and of equal rank to a number of generals on Gullar’s staff. Okan’s role would be clear only once Gullar’s orders and plans are known.

Narthani War Galleon Emperor Hartzik, 2,500 Miles Northeast of Caedellium

“Do you still project we’ll make landfall at Caedellium in about another month, Dimir?” asked Marshal Dursun Gullar, commander of the Twenty-Ninth Corps of Narthon. His 68,000 men were crammed into lumbering troop transports, followed by supply ships. Two lines of sixty- to seventy-gun war galleons flanked the slower ships, with the entire fleet preceded and followed by frigates and sloops ranging out twenty miles in all directions.

Gullar already knew the answer to his question, having asked it every day, as if hoping his crew had detected a change in the contrary wind patterns that slowed their progress. He hated sailing, having spent most of his adult life commanding men in campaigns against the Iraquinik Confederation. He wasn’t subject to seasickness; he’d simply never learned to swim in the high deserts of central Narthon, far from the sea and with few lakes or rivers.

He’d had conflicting feelings when his corps was given the Caedellium assignment. Previous indications were that the Twenty-Ninth Corps would be involved in a new campaign in northern Iraquinik. Only when briefed by a representative of the High Command was he told the supposed campaign was a ruse. After being stymied for ten years, the High Command had decided to jump over Iraquinik and conquer the Landolin continent. Once the Narthani accomplished that, the Iraquiniks would face Narthani threats on all sides and be forced to station troops on their west coast, simultaneously weakening their eastern border with Narthon.

The first step in the new strategy was establishing launch and replenishing bases on Caedellium, instead of using Ezarkin, the only Narthani port on this part of Anyar. Using Caedellium as a base would allow moving five complete corps to the island, then using one corps to establish a foothold on Landolin, followed by three more corps, and leaving one corps as a reserve on the island.

“Nothing changed since the last time you asked, Marshal,” replied Admiral Dimir. The two men had similar facial features, often leading to the assumption they were related, which they weren’t. However, people could differentiate their appearance by Dimir’s black hair and far receding hairline, compared to Gullar’s full head of hair, gray on the sides and frosted on top.

Their attire also distinguished them. Gullar had had a respected and successful career, and he routinely wore a chest of medals to attest to his history. In contrast, although Dimir could have worn a similar display, he preferred the plain, deep-blue uniform of the Narthani navy, with only three stars on each shoulder epaulet and the admiral’s cap he wore habitually—his one concession to vanity, to hide his incipient baldness.

“It could even be longer than a month,” said Dimir. “The westerlies keep blowing more against us than they’re supposed to this time of year at this latitude, but that’s the vagaries of the sea. I’ve experienced much worse in the Throat.” Dimir referenced the sea running west to east below the equator and separating the Ganolar and Drilmar continents from those farther north. “And at least the weather warms as we edge farther south.”

“After this, for both the trips to Landolin and back to Ezarkin, we’ll have more favorable winds,” added the Emperor Hartzik’s captain.

“I suppose that’s encouraging,” said Gullar, “though I’ll think about that later. Right now, it’s Caedellium, and Avan is waiting in my cabin. Admiral, if you’ll accompany me.”

The two men left the aftcastle and went to the marshal’s large cabin in the stern of the ship. Gullar let Dimir lead the way because he preferred not to have a naval officer watch his weaving gait. Although the seas were only moderate this day, he still hadn’t mastered the movement.

General Kamil Avan called the other six officers to attention as Dimir and then Gullar entered the cabin. A map of the western continents lay tacked down on a table. The eight men resumed their seats on benches and chairs. This was only the second time Gullar had gathered his immediate subordinates together during the voyage, because most of the men rode on different ships, and gathering them via launches or bosun’s chairs was tricky enough to limit such gatherings.

The last time they had all met was before sailing from Ezarkin and shortly after Gullar had received the mission orders. That first meeting was used by Gullar to relay the orders to the corps’s top commanders, lay out the expected voyage timetable and order of sail, and task the men to review reports from General Akuyun, the current Caedellium commander, and Sadek Hizer, the assessor assigned to Akuyun. Now, Gullar wanted to hear his commanders’ assessment of the reports and their thoughts about their mission.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Gullar, “this will be the last time most of us are within normal talking distance before we reach Caedellium. Let’s have brief status updates on your divisions and the condition of your men.”

For the next hour, Gullar listened to a litany about seasick men; ration status; various attempts to keep the troops as active as possible, given the conditions; and a fleet status summary by Admiral Dimir. The fleet’s chief medical officer gave the final report.

“I’m afraid I have to project that the men’s condition when we arrive will be at the lower end of what we’d hoped for, Marshal. The trip will have been a month longer than planned and with rougher seas. In retrospect, we didn’t bring along as much palmar root extract as we should have.” The medical officer referenced tuberous roots of several related plants whose extracts were a palliative for motion sickness.

“I’ve had to order all ships’ medical officers to restrict use to the more severe cases. By the time we get to Caedellium, we’re going to have thousands of men barely able to walk. It will take sixdays, even a month, to get most of them back in shape for normal duties.”

Gullar grunted his displeasure at the circumstances. “Not your fault. Just do the best you can. Since there’s nothing we can do about it, it’s up to us to deal with the problem. If it delays our mission on Caedellium, so be it. Let’s move on. We won’t make any final action plans until we reach the island and get a full assessment of the current conditions. However, any thoughts from the reports you’ve all read?”

“We had begun to discuss this before you came in, Marshal,” said Avan. “From the brief exchange we had, the consensus seems to be that the information given to General Akuyun was severely lacking.” Avan’s choice of words was a diplomatic way of saying the Narthani Intelligence Service had screwed up. “The appearance of light cannon, a tactical sense unexpected of independent clans, and an apparently more organized resistance than was anticipated all made the possibility of success problematical, at best, for the original force sent to Caedellium—especially in light of the uncertain chance of success or failure, depending on the intelligence reports.

“While a few of us wonder if Akuyun might have recognized the situation earlier and made adjustments, we weren’t there, and several of us have served with Akuyun before and doubt he missed anything obvious.”

“Good enough,” said Gullar. “Let’s spread out a map of Caedellium and review what we’re supposed to know about the island, its clans and terrain, and go over preliminary options. As said before, no final action plans will be decided until we understand the complete situation. Assuming Akuyun still holds the one clan territory and has the two allied adjacent clans, we’ll go from there.”

Chapter 36: Interlude

Kolsko Household, Orosz City

The rest of the Kolsko household arrived at Orosz City a sixday after Yozef. In the intervening days, he’d hired three women to clean the house from top to bottom. It lacked some furniture, but he’d wait for Maera’s and Anarynd’s input.

“Very satisfactory,” Maera declared after a quick walk-through. From that point on, Yozef was out of the picture, and he retired to the Orosz Clan headquarters for meetings and paperwork. By the third day, the house was in sufficient shape for Maera to spend most days setting up and then working as part of the transplanted MIU, now augmented with twenty new staff members selected from eight different clans.

Anarynd and Gwyned organized shopping and cooking duties, in lieu of hiring a cook, because Serys had remained in Caernford. Dinners became larger regular affairs than in Caernford, by the addition of Ceinwyn, Wyfor and Teena Kales, Carnigan, Braithe and Gowlin Reese, Toowin Kales (Wyfor’s nephew), and Synton Ethlore. Not that they all ate together every meal since scheduiles and duties varied.

Toowin had replaced Wyfor as a bodyguard, but with the move to Orosz City, Wyfor had resumed his previous duties, giving the Kolsko household five permanent bodyguards, in addition to any assigned on specific days, especially when Yozef traveled.

“This is more like an inn than a house,” Yozef commented. That evening’s meal had included the entire current household, plus Balwis, Owill Brell, and two other members of the MIU. One of them, Maera’s distant cousin Riona Klofyn, was one of its brighter members but also the most annoying.

“It’s only temporary,” said Anarynd. “Once we drive the Narthani off Caedellium, we’ll go back to our real home in Caernford.”

Yozef took note of Anarynd’s reference to “our real home.” He saw it as encouraging that she identified more and more as a genuine partner in the threesome. No matter what the protestations, all three members of the expanded marriage had felt awkward at first. Unbeknownst to one another, they all thought they had the most reservations and felt the most uncomfortable.

Yozef, by his own admission, was not always the most astute observer of interpersonal relationships. Nevertheless, by the third sixday after the complete Kolsko household had taken up residence in Orosz City, even he could read the signals.

“Maera, am I imagining things, or are Gwyned and Carnigan making efforts to be around each other?”

Maera laughed and hugged her husband. “I was wondering when the great and intelligent Yozef Kolsko would notice. You can’t tell Carnigan, but Gwyned’s had her eye on him for several months now. I’ll admit I suspect part of her interest is looking for a husband to protect her and Morwena. Considering her history, one can hardly criticize her for wanting the most protective man possible, and certainly Carnigan fits that description. As ferocious as he can appear, and I assume he can be, I finally realized you were right when you told me he was one of the kindest men you knew when he’s around people he likes.”

“What does Carnigan think of all this?” asked Yozef.

“As if anyone ever knows exactly what he’s thinking. Maybe it’s time for you, as his friend, to ask him.”

And Yozef did—the next day when he went to inspect a sandbag sack production and storage facility, and Carnigan and Gowlin had bodyguard duty. He waited until Gowlin was out of earshot.

“Carnigan, what’s going on with you and Gwyned?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You know. Gwyned. Anarynd’s friend. Has a daughter named Morwena. Currently lives in the same building as you. That Gwyned. Maera tells me something is going on.”

“Ah . . . well . . . I think she’s eyeing me as a husband. Why, I don’t know, and I haven’t done anything to encourage it.”

“I know you like Morwena, but what about Gwyned? Do you like her? Find her appealing? What?”

“I haven’t thought about marriage and a family. I’m still on probation, and even when I’m released, I don’t know how I’d support a family. Frankly, I didn’t see any reason why a woman would want to marry me. In Gwyned’s case, I wonder if she sees me as a protector, rather than a potential husband.”

“Okay,” said Yozef, “maybe that’s not ideal, but is it really all that bad? Marriages have worked with less a foundation. As for supporting a family, both of you are members of the Kolsko household for as long as you want. I’ve already been paying you both, and I’d have no hesitation to increase it to ensure that you both stay with us. Hell, from what I’ve learned, you Caedelli are relaxed about men and women, so you might not even decide to be married.”

Carnigan turned even redder than his natural ruddy complexion. “I wouldn’t think of bedding with her, unless we were to be married. Not after what she’s been through. To do otherwise would be disrespectful.”

“Carnigan, I think you need to decide what’s best for both of you. You’ve opened up to people the past year, and this could be another step in that direction. Don’t assume you know exactly what Gwyned wants or what is best for her. You’re both mature, so talk with her about it.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Yozef realized that was the exact advice Filtin Fuller had given him when he wondered where his relationship with Bronwyn was headed.

Two sixdays later, Gwyned asked to sit and talk with Maera. She looked nervous, which was unusual for the forthright woman.

“Uh . . . Maera . . . since you act as head of the household in everyday matters, I thought I should talk with you about Carnigan. Unless you object, I would like to ask him to move into my room.”

“Can I assume you’ll be staying in the same bed?” Maera asked drolly.

Gwyned cackled. “Yes, though I’m afraid we’re going to need a bigger one!”

Maera laughed. “I think we can arrange that. Take Anarynd and go searching for one tomorrow. I was wondering when I’d hear more of what was happening. Anarynd noticed Morwena was sleeping in the small sitting room attached to your bedroom, and when I went to retrieve Aeneas from Braithe two days ago, I, and anyone nearby, heard suggestive noises from your room.”

It was Gwyned’s turn to laugh, accompanied by a flush. “I tried to keep it quiet, but sometimes . . . you know, you can’t help it.”

“I take it things are going well that way between you two?”

“Good God, yes, although I think the poor man hadn’t been with a woman in years. The morning after the first night I could hardly walk, and after that I had to limit him to twice a day. He’s . . . uh . . . good sized, and I’m only glad I wasn’t a virgin.”

Maera took a turn blushing and rushed to change the subject before her blunt new friend gave more details. “How is Morwena taking the change in sleeping arrangements?”

“I talked to her about having her own room. I think she understands enough and is proud to have her room. She adores Carnigan and he her, so there’s no problem.”

“You didn’t get any hint about this?” Maera asked a bemused Yozef later that evening.

“Not a clue. The big oaf has never been one to talk about himself, although now that you tell me about him and Gwyned, I look back, and he’s been acting different the last sixday—almost jovial, for Carnigan. I’ll naturally be happy for him if this works out. Do you think it will?”

“None of us can know such things, Yozef. Both of them have had difficult a past, though we don’t know the details of Carnigan’s. If nothing else, it’s a bit of life and happiness to help with whatever happens the next months. Sometimes people grasp at these kinds of moments as a way to deal with fears.”

Yozef considered his next words. He had noticed things he wasn’t sure he should pass on to Maera. They had enough to occupy their thoughts without adding complications they didn’t need.

“Maera, speaking of surprising relationships, is there something going on between Ceinwyn and Balwis?”

Maera tensed, not with surprise, but with confirmation. Yozef had seen signals she had thought she’d imagined. “Merciful God, I think you’re right. I don’t know if I should be worried about my sister. Although we haven’t been close the last few years, things changed after the attack on our house. I attributed her new behavior to the scar she carries. By the time she was eight years old, she was self-conscious of being plain looking. Mother and Father tried to tell her she was pretty, which even at that age she knew wasn’t true. I’ve always suspected that their flattery made things worse—made Ceinwyn think she was more unattractive than she was.

“Mother told me Ceinwyn had worried that she’d never find a husband, even though she’s a hetman’s daughter. I have to admit that the couple of suitors who came calling before the attack were not men I thought she should marry. I thought both of them were only interested in her family connection and not her.”

“I didn’t know if I should tell you, Maera, but Wyfor has seen Ceinwyn leave this house after everyone was thought to be asleep. He followed her one night and lost her not far from where Balwis lives in a room near the main gate.”

Maera quit braiding her hair for sleep and took a deep breath. “I’ve been worried about that. I believe she’s sincere about contributing to the women’s auxiliary units. However, it didn’t pass my attention that her moving to Orosz City kept her near Balwis. I don’t distrust him as much as I used to, but he’s still not a man I’d pair with my sister. What if he’s just using her to advance his own position? Could he have visions of marrying into a hetman’s family, or does he have honest feelings for her? Although I’m ashamed to admit it, despite myself, I don’t see men attracted to her—both because of her plain looks worsened by that terrible scar and because of how I remember her actions in recent years, sullen and bitchy.”

“Should I talk to Balwis?” Yozef asked. “I could also arrange for him to be stationed away from Orosz City, although that would have to wait until the new battalion he commands is considered operational.”

“Part of me wants to say yes to both of your suggestions, Yozef. Another part doesn’t know how either of them would react if we interfere. No matter my concerns, Ceinwyn is considered an adult woman and should be allowed to make up her own mind. No, best you don’t do anything—yet, anyway. I’ll try to find more time to talk with her and draw her out. I haven’t voiced my concern for her well-being as much as I probably should have, so maybe if I can do that, it will lead her to confide what is happening between her and Balwis.”

A half-mile away, on the second floor of a residential building near Orosz City’s main gate, “what is happening” was coming to a conclusion. Balwis’s guttural “uhs” were in sync with Ceinwyn’s higher-pitched “ohs” as his buttocks rose and fell with her bare legs clasped around them and urging him on. His final three thrusts rocked the bed’s frame against the wall—thud, Thud, THUD. They held the final position for half a minute before both sighed and his muscles relaxed, letting more of his weight onto her. When he rose to look at her in the single candle’s light, she reflexively turned her head to hide the scar.

“Hey! None of that, woman!” he admonished, putting a hand on that side of her head and turning her face back toward him. “I’ve told you before not to try to hide it. Look at me. Do I try to hide my scar?”

Her fingers traced the puckered line from the corner of his mouth upward to below an eye and continuing to the eyebrow. He had been lucky the Narthani knife hadn’t cut a half-inch deeper and taken his eye.

“It’s not near as big as mine, and anyway, it’s different for men and women,” she said softly, stroking his check.

“Well, damn to anyone to whom it’s different. Both of us got them fighting the cursed Narthani, so we should both wear them as badges of honor.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at things that way, Balwis. When I first saw myself in a mirror, after the attack and the bandages came off, my first thought was that no man would ever find me desirable.”

Balwis gave a series of gentle thrusts, possible because he remained erect. “I think I’ve answered that doubt.”

Ceinwyn kept him held tight for another minute before she relaxed and let him roll next to her. She felt reassured, to a degree. That he was eager for their coupling, she had no doubt. Whether he felt more or she was only a convenient outlet, she tried not to obsess over. As with many islanders, she focused on the now, to grasp whatever she could of life for as long as possible.

Fortifications

Yozef stood on one of the completed circular bastions protruding from Orosz City’s main wall. Looking outward, he watched hundreds of workers clearing fields by fire by removing the remaining buildings from part of the city not enclosed by walls. Tomis Orosz assured him they would finish within two sixdays, leaving no cover from the base of the wall to the river three miles away. If the Narthani ever chose to assault Orosz City, it would be from totally exposed positions.

Yozef walked three steps and looked down. The bastions extended thirty feet from the original main wall and were intended to provide flanking fire at efforts to breach the walls. Cannon mounts allowed the guns to be fired outward at an approaching enemy or turned ninety degrees to sweep down the length of the walls. An enemy approaching the city would see only the towers protruding ten feet from a wall. As soon as Yozef saw the original scaffolds, he suggested to Hetman Orosz that a second, less formidable wall be built twenty feet in front of the original wall. Enemy troops might breach the first wall, after suffering under bastion fire, only to find themselves facing a second wall.

“I don’t know if we can stop a determined Narthani attack,” said Tomis Orosz while giving Yozef a tour of their progress. “If they do get in, they’ll have paid a price in blood to be remembered forever in Narthani history.”

“It would be a terrible battle for both sides,” agreed Yozef. “I only hope the Narthani give us enough time to finish all the preparations here. I worry it may end up looking great and crumbling under fire, if the concrete hasn’t completely set. Then there’s the other battlefield sites, the redoubts, food storage, ammunition . . . oh, and I don’t know . . . everything else.”

“We do what we can do,” said Orosz, using the general Caedelli “go-to” phrase. Sometimes Yozef took it to heart. Other times he felt exasperated by it.

They turned toward the city and walked down the extension of the allure, the walkway along the inner side of the main wall. If I remember my castle terminology from Dungeons and Dragons, thought Yozef, the original wall would be called the curtain wall, with the allure allowing defenders to move along the wall. I don’t know what we’d call the new outer wall. Maybe a rampart. It doesn’t have a real allure, only a narrow ledge for men and swivel guns. All the cannon will be on the bastions.

When they reached the inner side of the main wall, Orosz pointed to a massive wooden contraption of timbers, thick ropes, and pulleys. It sat on 18-inch-diameter logs. “I know, it’s not elegant. The Fuomi 30-pounders and other cannon can’t be put in place unless we know the Narthani are coming here. We had to build the crane to hold the weight of cannon to be lifted to the allure, then rolled on carriages to their positions in the bastions.”

Yozef had a flash image of a several-ton 30-pounder collapsing the crane and crushing men below as they rushed to get the guns in place before the Narthani arrived. That they couldn’t put the guns in position was due to a general problem. If their plan worked, they wouldn’t know where the Narthani were headed, and the clans didn’t have enough men and cannon for all four battlefield sites. They would have to concentrate everything they had at the one site. Orosz City was the mostly centrally located site and served as the depot for weapons, supplies, tools, empty sandbags, timbers, and everything that would have to be hurriedly transported, which explained why many city streets had cannon carriages and limbers and horseless wagons filled to their load limits, leaving only enough room for citizens on foot or leading horses. They had also converted seldom-used buildings in the city to living space or warehouses for mountains of empty sandbags, tents, blankets, and food. Ammunition and barrels of powder were stored in bunkers built farther into the mountain cleft valley, including where Rhaedri Brison had lived for many years. The revered theophist had moved into Orosz City.

More wagons were ready throughout Caedellium—empty and waiting for the word to load weapons, food, tools, and people to make their way to the hoped-for battlefield.

They didn’t intend all resources to go to each of the four sites. The horse-drawn graders Yozef had asked for were being built in Caernford, with the original intention of being used at the Gap Site. He had walked the three miles from the Orosz City defenses to the river and confirmed the graders would also be useful at the Orosz Site. Before Culich left to return to Caernford, Yozef asked him to have a grader taken to the Gap Site and tested. If it worked, then he would have two of the four planned graders sent to Orosz City. If either the Gap Site or the Orosz Site ended up being the battle site, then they would try to transport the other two graders in time to use them.

Yozef feared making the decision about when to commit to a specific battlefield. Too early, and it might be a false alarm. Too late and they might not get everything in place in time. Once alerted to the clans’ intentions, the Narthani wouldn’t be fooled again.

In Motion

Four sixdays after Yozef moved to Orosz City, none of his ongoing projects needed his input. Everything he could contribute to was already motion, with no time left for projects or planning not destined to come to fruition in the next two months. The observation balloons neared operation. Parachute flares launched via rocket functioned about a third of the time, so he declared them operational and ordered enough produced to account for failures. Not that he wasn’t busy. He watched men training in units, though he had no command. And the meetings. Reasons never seemed to be exhausted for someone or some group needing his attendance at a meeting. In the latter case, he assumed the role of leader more and more often, rather than adviser, despite feelings of inadequacy.

They held another War Council meeting, but Culich couldn’t attend. On his last trip to Caernford, the stump of his leg had become irritated, likely from too much travel. He was delayed in returning to Orosz City and asked that Yozef represent Keelan until he could travel. When the council met, Yozef served as a voting member, in addition to his role as adviser.

Though Yozef didn’t attempt to make every decision, Denes Vegga later told him that Reimo Kivalian, who had attended the council session as the Fuomi observer, said that whenever Yozef did give an opinion, people invariably followed it.

One consequence of his status was that he spent more time at home—as defined temporarily by the large house used by the Kolsko household. He again took up writing in his journals at least an hour a day, something that had been cut back to occasional minutes the previous month. For the past year, he had come to regret not taking more theoretical courses, particularly in chemistry, physics, and biology. That regret vied with mourning his lack of practical knowledge every time he knew something could be done but didn’t know how to do it. On many occasions, he laughed to himself that the next time he got marooned on another planet he’d be sure he was better prepared.

Some days, he ate all three meals at home. Those with whom he ate varied among household members, but he always dined with Maera and Anarynd, except when Maera was too busy at the new MIU facility in Orosz City.

He attended several musical performances, including an expanded version of the musical session he’d contributed four pieces to after the St. Sidryn’s attack. Originally, it had been a service of thanks to God after deliverance from the Buldorian raiders. Yozef’s four selections, with new lyrics, were Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” “Va Pensiero” by Verdi, “O Holy Night,” and the choral movement from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Pernael Horton, a clerk in the original Bank of Abersford, was also the part-time music director for St. Sidryn’s Abbey. Horton had used Yozef’s four pieces and added six traditional Caedelli songs; between the two of them, they had developed the island’s first opera, though no one recognized it as such, and it had no formal title. Horton had corrected those oversights, and the revised version of Abbey’s Deliverance was performed in Orosz City for the first time. The Kolsko household felt obliged to attend and occupied seats in the first row at St. Wyan’s Cathedral. Horton had added dialogue between musical pieces, thereby emphasizing a plot development that started from an idyllic existence, progressed through danger and despair, and ended in triumphal victory and thanks to God. The degree of literary license of the man playing the part of Yozef Kolsko struck him as alternately amusing, embarrassing, and worrisome.

Well, shit. I seem to have forgotten I killed at least ten Buldorians, Yozef thought. And calling on God to save the people and give me strength? Was that before or after I pissed my pants? If this is going to be a staple of the Caedellium operatic repertoire, I need to tell Horton to tone down my role. I might draw on the Septarsh nonsense when I have to, but enough is enough.

Chapter 37: Preparations

Final Visit to Battlefield Sites

A month and a half after visiting the three potential battlefield sites distant from Orosz City, Yozef repeated the trip, this time with a hundred others, including the War Council (still without Culich but with Vortig Luwis this time representing Keelan), seven other hetmen, Denes, Mulron, scores of clansmen with military ranks down to captains, Owill Brell and four other men from the MIU, Rintala and Kivalian, and the Landoliner Rhanjur Gaya, who, to everyone’s surprise who had interacted with him, was a superb horseman. Balwis joked that their party was big enough that they didn’t need escorts, but considering the percentage of the clans’ leadership making the trip, two hundred dragoons and fifty packhorses completed the party.

The first site was “Moraine” in Stent Province. They had improved the original trail into the valley and along the top of the medial moraine, which ran through what been a shallow lake. Now it was a decent road. The Narthani wouldn’t realize that it led nowhere, except to the other end of the valley. The clans had reduced the water in the lake ninety percent by blasting a channel through the rock shelf over which the lake drained. Impressed, Yozef noted that a gate stood ready to close the channel to allow the lake to begin refilling. The supervisor of the site’s preparation, an uncle of Hetman Stent, had arranged a demonstration of lowering the gate into chiseled slots in the drainage opening. He had camouflaged the opening enough that a person would have to hand-inspect the ground before realizing it wasn’t a natural formation.

“We can’t show you the preparation at the gorge to the side of the valley,” said Stent. “Men had to be lowered by ropes down the cliffs to drill and place the charges. We can’t be positive we will drop enough rock to block the stream, but they added enough powder to move a mountain, so it should work. Naturally, we won’t set the charges off until the Narthani seem headed this way, but it should give us time to either try again or eliminate this site as a potential battlefield.”

They continued to the other end of the valley, where the fifty-foot-high, 500-yard-wide terminal moraine spanned between valley walls. They had supplemented the forty-five-degree slope of the moraine by covering it with branches of the grisselthorn bush that Yosef thought were worse than barbed wire. Not only were the two-inch thorns murderous, but the infection they caused made most men reflexively do anything to avoid contact.

Yozef’s first surprise was the concrete channel holding the stream flowing through the gap in the moraine.

“We got concrete production just in time to close this weakness,” said Stent. “We made the sides high enough that along with the downward slope the water should flow swiftly through and shouldn’t affect the integrity of the moraine. I don’t see how the Narthani can attack the gap—the current will be too strong, and we’ll have swivel guns and 6-pounders positioned if they try it.”

Stent smiled. “Wait until you see the top.”

A steep road wound up the other end of the moraine. “We needed an easier way to get tools and materials to the top,” said Stent. “Once the Narthani approach, we’ll tear it down.”

Yozef’s second surprise was a concrete bunker at the midpoint of the moraine. “This is really Hetman Farkesh’s idea. He says he got it from you.”

Yozef couldn’t remember any such conversation.

“He’s putting a solid row of similar structures on the narrow end of the Coast Site. While I don’t think we’ll have time to do that here, we’ll put in as many as possible. We hope to put 30-pounders inside, if they can get here in time from Orosz City. If not, we have enough 12-pounders. If the 30-pounders do arrive in time, the 12-pounders will go into stone and sandbag positions.”

“What about the blockage of the larger stream up beyond the valley? Have you set the charges yet?” asked Yozef, referring to damming the second and larger stream. They planned to release both streams once the Narthani neared the terminal moraine. The flood from two directions would not completely refill the original lake but would create a wetland and mudflat to make assaulting the clan force a daunting proposition while the clan blocked the wider entrance to the valley.

Stent rubbed his nose. “Uh . . . well . . . that part is already underway. One of the charges being set accidently went off and dropped enough rock to form a partial dam. Water backed up and formed a small lake that is now seeping water. My people think it will hold until we’re ready to drop more rock, so in a way, it’s working out.”

“I didn’t see any sign of preparations at the wide end,” said Vortig Luwis.

“You’re not supposed to,” answered Stent. “If the Narthani saw any sign of digging, they might hesitate or even not follow our men into the valley. All the materials we’ll need to throw up fortifications are stored five miles away. When it’s time, we’ll load up wagons and move everything into place. The first few hours will be critical. We hope that by the time the Narthani find out the other end is too difficult to breach, we’ll have dug in enough that, along with the rising water, we’ll be able to stop the Narthani long enough to make that end impregnable.”

“As Hetman Stent says, the first few hours will be critical,” said Yozef. “We should have twenty thousand men here to close the valley and more on the way. If the defenses can hold even one day, enough help will have arrived to stop the Narthani army from escaping.”

They had left the Moraine Site, heading to the next stop at the Coast Site, when Reimo Kivalian pulled his horse next to Man o’ War. “Do you really think this site will work as you envision, Ser Kolsko?”

Yozef snuck a glance at the Fuomi and spoke sotto voce. “Oh, it will work . . . if the two streams are blocked and enough water builds up so that when it’s released, if it refloods enough of the dry lake bed to slow a Narthani attack, if the blockages are breached at the right time, if the Narthani don’t figure out what we intend, if enough of our men are in position soon enough, and if any number of other things don’t go wrong.”

Yozef’s sarcasm displayed his discomfort. The Moraine Site had been the most encouraging until he saw it again. There were too many “ifs” beyond the clans’ control. In contrast, when they inspected the Coast Site, his opinion improved of that option. Feren Bakalacs had energized his clanspeople. The cascade that the clan and Narthani forces would first cross looked the same, as it was supposed to. Bakalacs described stockpiles of timbers, empty sandbags, ammunition, and tools stored in natural caverns only a mile away and hidden by a forest screen. At the other end of the trap, the forward fortifications were formidable, with alternating concrete and sandbag/timber revetments and pillboxes on the other side of a spot where a stream had cut a ravine twenty feet deep. The fortifications covered the entire half-mile distance from the coast to a granite dome protruding from a sheer ridge that ran parallel to the coast. The stream was fed by a waterfall south of the dome, where the water then ran a hundred yards over a sloped rocky shelf before hitting soil and cutting the ravine.

“The inland end of the line was the biggest problem,” said Bakalacs. “The water is shallow, even if swift over the rock. However, to supplement the fortifications, we have a position on top of the dome where men can toss Yozef’s grenades and napalm pots down on Narthani infantry trying to cross. If we can hold them there, I don’t see how they can cross the ravine. There was one existing bridge here, and we’ve added two more to help move material across for these fortifications and to stockpile for the southern end. Once the Narthani are in the trap, we’ll burn all the bridges.”

“What if the Narthani smash through the southern end or find ways through the mountains to the east?” asked Brell. “All the men on this side couldn’t cross to pursue.”

Bakalacs’s face broke into what Yozef later described to Carnigan as a “shit-eatin’” grin.

The Farkesh hetman led them across a bridge and a hundred yards north of the fortifications. Sitting in a depression was a forty-foot wooden bridge wide enough for a wagon. It sat on log rollers, and stacked nearby lay fifty-foot logs from six to eighteen inches in diameter. “I’m assured we can get this mobile bridge across the ravine within an hour. Naturally, that assumes the Narthani aren’t shooting at us. It’d be slow getting thousands of men across, and we couldn’t easy move the 30-pounders, but the bridge will hold lighter cannon and wagons.”

“What about the Narthani finding ways to escape through the mountains?” asked Yozef. “They aren’t steep enough to stop a determined army from crossing.”

“Feren and I have talked about this,” said Stent. “While it’s true these hills and mountains aren’t the same barrier as at the Moraine Site, the terrain and the lack of roads take away the Narthani advantage to maneuver. You’ve warned us enough times not to get into a close-contact battle with the Narthani. But we believe the clans can fight man to man as equals if we take away the Narthani’s ability to maneuver and we restrict the use of their cannon. While it would be bloody, the Narthani would be forced to fight where we know the terrain better. Feren has also prepared a few surprises, should they try that route.”

They’re right, thought Yozef. In a way, the Narthani would find themselves in as bad a position as attacking the two ends of the trap here. I’m sure the Caedelli would make them pay for every foot of ground, and getting out through the forested and rocky hills and mountains would weaken them enough that we might be able to reconsider field engagements.

He looked again at the fortified northern line. Well, this is a reversal. The first time I was here, I liked the Moraine Site better than this one. Now, it’s the opposite. Not that either one would ensure victory. A remaining problem with this site is that it’s the farthest from Preddi. Could we get the Narthani to follow us all the way here?

The party stayed at the Coast Site overnight, then headed to Adris City to meet up with the Fuomi naval commander, Commodore Vilho Kyllo, to look at the Normot Cut. Kyllo had landed at the Fuomi Mittack encampment and rode via carriage to Adris City, not wanting to risk his ships being trapped inside the gulf if Narthani ships appeared at the wrong time.

Kyllo, Rintala, Yozef, and the War Council members sailed the fifty miles from Adris City to the Cut. It was Yozef’s first experience on more water than a lake and in a vessel larger than a canoe. He felt queasy by the time they were five miles out of the harbor.

“Yer lucky, Ser Kolsko,” said the owner of the fishing boat they were using. “It’s a quiet day. Not much wind, and what there is won’t keep us from getting back to Adris City. It ken get exciting when a northwest wind blows down the gulf. Keep your eyes on the horizon. That helps with sickness.”

Yozef followed the fisherman’s advice, and the nausea subsided, though it didn’t disappear. He had a moment of thanking his fortune that the journey to Anyar had been in a spaceship and not over water.

Six hours later, a fisherman standing on the bow called out, “There they are, the Twins.”

Yozef moved to see forward and could just make out a line of jagged rock formations jutting up from the water a mile away. In a direct line to their movement, a gap appeared in the rocks.

“That’s the Twins,” said Klyngo Adris. “Almost exact copies of each other, and they bracket the Cut.”

The two rock formations rose twenty feet high, with sheer sides facing the Cut and sloping away to the other side—as if something had sliced through an island whose space was now the Cut.

“You see more rocks coming out of the water from here to the west side of the Cut,” said Adris. “The other direction you don’t see many rocks, but they’re there—just not many are out of the water. Even shallow-bottomed boats avoid that stretch. The other side is safer, since you can see the rocks, and there aren’t as many lurking below the surface, waiting to tear out the bottom of your boat.”

Anchored around the Twins floated a score of fishing boats and smaller craft, including two large rafts, fifty feet square, a hundred yards inside the Cut from each of the Twins.

“Battery barges, we’re calling them,” said Adris. “Commodore Kyllo is worried the Narthani could send enough launches and long boats around behind his frigates to try to swarm them. Kyllo figures they wouldn’t have more than swivel guns, so we’re building these stationary batteries and putting 6- and 12-pounders in them. They should be able to handle any attempt to bypass the Cut using small craft.”

“The two you see have three-foot wooden bulwarks,” said Kyllo, his words translated by an escaped Preddi who spoke Narthani, as did the Fuomi commodore. “That should stop anything the Narthani can bring to bear on them. Hetman Adris says they will build at least two more in the next month.” Kyllo accompanied his description with a sour look.

Yozef figured a little ego massaging wouldn’t hurt. “Thank you for your help, Commodore. I appreciate this isn’t how you would prefer to use your ships.”

Kyllo only nodded in acknowledgment and glared briefly at Rintala.

Yozef and several others got off onto one of the two floating forts, while Kyllo, Rintala, and Klyngo Adris spent two hours sailing back and forth through the Cut and taking sounds to see where Kyllo could anchor his frigates.

When the Fuomi were satisfied, they all reboarded the fishing boat for the return trip to Adris City. Yozef went below and took a nap, at the advice of the same sailor who told him about focusing on the horizon. They spent the night in the city and left the next morning for the Gap Site between Armurth and Rummeln in northern Keelan Province.

The men and the horses were tired, so they took four short days to reach the site. The narrow water gap now had earth, timber, and sandbag fortifications filling the one-third-mile opening that Yozef believed had been carved by a glacial lake. He visualized it breaking through the ridgeline whose top stood a thousand feet higher. His concern that the Narthani could go up the forested slopes was assuaged by seeing the road built along the length of the ridge tops. Any Narthani movement would be visible, and clan units could move quickly to where the Narthani tried to climb over the ridge.

Still of concern was the larger gap in the two parallel ridges. Nothing could be done before the Narthani passed through. Otherwise, they would be more cautious.

“Then we’re back to the problem we talked about on the last trip—having enough time to construct sufficient defenses to close the trap,” said Denes. “We’ve discussed this in detail in Caernford and Orosz City. We’re forced to face the conclusion that we’d have to engage them in the open to give our people enough time to build defenses across the two-mile gap—at least a full day from when they notice we’ve closed in behind them. The graders you designed, Yozef, will help, because they’ll provide a ditch the Narthani would have to cross and lots of dirt to fill sandbags. But even if we gather ten thousand people working as hard as they can, we simply aren’t certain if the defenses can hold long enough to bring in more men and keep improving the fortifications.

“A lot will depend on how fast the Narthani move and what we have to do to both lure and slow them. If we had more graders here, I’d feel better. Pedr Kennrick says two more are being built. As much as I’d like them both to come here, I suggest they go to Orosz City.”

“I agree,” said Yozef. “We’ll make that the intention, and we’ll hope, again, that we have time to move all the graders to where they’ll be most useful—either here or at Orosz City.”

Fuomi

“Well, we’ve seen all the four candidate battlefields, Reimo. What do you think?” asked Rintala.

“Do I think their plan will work? My brain says no—although my intuition says not to bet against them. It all comes down to the Narthani obliging them by being lured into one of the proposed traps. There’s simply too much that can go wrong, especially if the Narthani do the unexpected. However, if the Narthani do let themselves be led, and if the ferocity of the clanspeople’s defense is as extreme as their energy and ingenuity in preparing the four sites, then it’s going to be something I won’t want to miss.”

“Whatever happens, we’re dancing on the edge here,” said Rintala. “I hate it, but what we’re getting from Kolsko is more important than all our lives. He’s given us enough to justify the change in our mission and the risks. The problem is he’s holding back more to keep us engaged. Eina tells me he got excited when she answered his questions about Fuomon. He was probing about how developed we were in the sciences and engineering. She says he was especially interested in trains and tracks. She got the distinct impression he wanted to be dismissive of our horse teams, as if he knew of another way to pull the cars. Once she probed back, he shut down on the topic. He was also interested in our metalworking and mining, although in that case he did mention knowing ways to improve what we’re doing.

“I’ve already sent a second sloop and one of the transports back to Fuomon with duplicates of what he’s given us so far. That’s to be sure at least one of the ships makes it home. Another set is with Kyllo on his flagship. He has strict orders that should things go badly for us here on the island, his priority is getting back to Fuomon whatever else we can draw out of Kolsko from the time I sent the other ships home. If there’s time and opportunity to reboard as many men as we can who are on the island, he’s to do it, as long as he isn’t caught by a superior Narthani naval force.”

Kivalian didn’t disagree with his commander’s assessments or orders, although he had one other issue to comment on. “I have a couple of men keeping an eye on Kolsko, so we’re aware of where he is at any one time. Once the Narthani move, I can’t guarantee we can keep that close a watch. However, we’ll do the best we can. One other thought was that instead of eliminating him before capture by the Narthani, we would try to take him back to Fuomon, whether willingly or not. Again, if the situation presents itself.”

“If you try it, be careful,” said Rintala. “Those men he travels with are a fearsome group. Eina has told us some of the stories about them, especially the big one and the little, wiry one who’s missing two fingers. Frankly, the only way I could see it working is if the clans lost one or more battles so decisively that their defeat was accomplished or inevitable to everyone. Then, Kolsko might be willing to listen to an offer of refuge for as many of his family and as many clan leaders as we could get off the island.”

Yozef

Eina Saisannin was right. Yozef had been intensely interested in hearing the Fuomi had horse-drawn trains running on wooden tracks with wrought iron covering the wood. He had been surprised at a development sixty to eighty years in advance of circa 1700, which was where he had estimated Anyar technology. Now, he had to consider that his previous estimate was too early. He also remembered that once James Watt invented the steam engine, steam trains followed within decades and spread throughout Britain, Europe, and then the rest of the world.

Surely, he thought, what I know should speed that up even more. It wouldn’t be instantaneous, yet within my lifetime I could see steam-engine trains, and why not cars eventually? Tanks? Could they run on steam, or would they be too bulky? And if that’s just a sample, who knows what else the Fuomi might be able to do, given their infrastructure, that’s impossible or beyond my lifetime here on Caedellium? He needed to consider these ideas at some other time when the Narthani didn’t consume his waking thoughts.

During the next half month, he declared three projects complete—for the moment. The first was the observation hot-air balloon. He hadn’t settled on where to deploy these balloons. Two were operational, after a third one caught fire and crashed, killing one of the two crewmembers. The second man walked away with only bruises.

They distributed three colors of parachute flares to the four battlefield sites and issued a supply to individual regiments.

Finally, the foundry workers showed the first functional, hand-made Minie ball cartridges to Yozef. He tore open a cartridge’s paper, poured the powder onto the ground, and rolled the bullet in his palm. The conical-shaped iron plug had a lead skirting that created a hollow base. This filled with powder as someone easily pushed a bullet down the rifle’s barrel with a ramrod. The bullet’s diameter was smaller than the bore, thereby eliminating a major obstacle to rifle use—having to forcibly jam a round bullet down the rifling grooves. When the powder ignited, the skirt expanded under pressure and engaged the rifling, giving a spiral spin to the bullet that resulted in greater range and accuracy.

Yozef knew the attributes of increased range and accuracy also contributed to worse wounds. A round ball broke bones and tended to leave exit wounds the same size as the entrance. Minie balls, however, shattered bones and deformed enough tissue to leave bigger exit than entrance wounds.

When Minie balls were first introduced, it took Earth’s militaries decades and several wars to adjust their tactics. Sending massed formations of infantry against Minie ball–equipped opponents led to appalling casualty rates, such as in the American Civil War. The Minie ball, along with machine-gunning infantry charges in World War I, exemplified cases of technology running ahead of tactics.

Yozef remembered its history as he examined the Minie ball he held and tried not to think too hard about what he was introducing. He knew it was an inevitable weapon advance and wished someone else were doing the introduction. He tried to console himself that with the few rifle snipers the clan forces would deploy, the Minie ball might go unnoticed.

He sighed, handed the Minie ball to a worker, wiped powder from his hand, and declared Minie balls operational, to be issued to the forty rifle snipers thus far trained and equipped. The accuracy varied with each sniper. Most of the men could hit a man-sized target at four hundred yards, four times the best they could do with smooth-bore muskets. The main problem with rifles was that fouling barrels was worse than with smooth-bores, so they needed to make judicious use of the sniper rifles.

Yozef knew the clans could have decimated the Narthani infantry formation if they’d had enough time and resources to equip every islander with Minie ball cartridges and rifles. He reassured himself, as he had many times, that it was better to produce as much as they knew how and that was already in production than to always go for the next best weapon. If they survived the Narthani, and if they could develop long-term good relations with the Fuomi and possibly other realms, then Yozef would have the time and opportunity to introduce more exotic developments.

Chapter 38: “You Gotta Be Shitting Me”

In the three months since Anarynd had joined the marriage, Yozef had been gone a third of the time. Each time he returned home, he still felt odd entering a house and greeting, and being greeted by, two wives. The sleeping arrangements evolved into alternative nights between wives, except when he was late working in Caernford or simply felt like sleeping alone. Both Maera and Anarynd took coupling for granted whenever it happened. The first month it had seemed like a requirement, but with time they all relaxed, and subtle signals became routine. When it did happen, the coupling had distinct pattern differences. Maera had begun as a dutiful wife fulfilling her husband’s needs, though she seemed to enjoy the intimacy. Only after Aeneas was born and the Fuomi arrived did Yozef feel she enjoyed it as much as he did, judging by the occasional moans and perceptible spasms, followed by relaxation.

Anarynd, conversely, though she also displayed a sense of duty, left no doubt when she was in the mood. On those occasions, the coupling might be evening and morning, and Yozef wondered whether the entire household heard her vocalizations, though he didn’t have the nerve to ask.

Yozef still had not adjusted to the blasé attitude the Caedelli had about the human body and its functioning. Thus he was not prepared for Anarynd sharing a surprise at a meal with only the three of them.

They had just begun to eat the meal the Oroszian maid served them when Anarynd broke the news. “Yozef, Maera, my nipples seem larger and darker.”

Yozef froze, a slice of buttered bread inches from his mouth. He tried to process what he’d heard, and his brain searched for what he was supposed to do with the information.

“I wasn’t sure before,” said Anarynd. “Now I am. I’m pregnant. I’ve missed my bleeding for the second time, and my breasts are tender.”

Yozef’s first coherent thought was, Not another one? His second thought was, You know, I did think I noticed something the other night, and she flinched once when I squeezed a little.

Maera’s first flash was a pang of jealousy that Anarynd would take away her position of having the only child in the family. Her second thought was, Shame on you, Maera Kolsko-Keelan.

Yozef’s third thought was, That was fast. Let’s see . . . He counted days and factored in Anyar women’s thirty-six-day cycle to match the two moons. Wow, it might have happened the wedding night.

Maera’s third thought was that Anarynd deserved to have both her and Yozef appear pleased. “Oh, Ana, how wonderful. Isn’t it, Yozef?” She accompanied the last words with a sharp kick under the table.

“Uh . . . yes, yes, wonderful news, Anarynd,” stuttered a befuddled husband, who rose and joined Maera in a three-sided hug.

When Maera drew back, she gave Ana a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, Ana, we’re going to have so much fun picking out clothes for when you swell, and we’ll have to let your fam . . . our friends know the news.” Maera was about to reference Ana’s family before she caught herself. The only family members Anarynd believed she had were still touching her.

A more pertinent thought came to Yozef. “Anarynd, have you had any of the morning sickness?” Yozef gave Maera a knowing look.

“No!” exclaimed Anarynd, radiant. “I know all women are different, and Maera hardly suffered it at all, so maybe this family is blessed by God.”

Maybe, thought Yozef as Maera gave him a shrug, though my first bet is on the nano-elementss the aliens gave me to recover from the collision. It still bugs me I don’t understand why they would work on a physiological reaction to hormone changes. What’s that got to do with healing wounds or preventing disease? Those are what Harlie told me they were for. As he had many times since he realized he’d passed the nano-elements on through semen, he wondered whether the alien AI that’d interacted with him had told him everything the elements did—or if he should believe the veracity of anything told to him.

Two sixdays later, Anarynd woke from an early afternoon nap and undressed to stand before a full-length mirror in her rooms. She turned side to side. Yes, there’s no doubt. My belly is a little larger. She stroked her abdomen. What a strange twist to life. A year ago, I would never have imagined this. She pushed aside black memories of her capture, months of subjugation to Erdelin, and rejection by her family—as much as she could. So much good had happened since then. Reuniting with Maera and being together permanently. Marrying Yozef. Though it wasn’t the marriage of her naïve dreams, he was the most considerate man she’d ever met, not that she’d met that many. Strange and mysterious, as Maera had written her, although a man of more importance than she’d imagined marrying. She enjoyed the coupling with her husband far more than she had worried about. It was so different with a man she wanted to lie with. Her children would grow up in a wealthy and loving family. Unlike Maera, she didn’t worry excessively about the Narthani. Yozef would do things to save his family and all the clans; of that, she had no doubt. After all, wasn’t he a Septarsh? One blessed and guided by God, no matter how much he denied it?

She dressed and sat in a rocker on a balcony of their Orosz City house. One of her contributions to the house was to buy clay pots of blooming flowers she’d found in a city market. A pot with orange and blue flowers sat on a ledge of the balcony. She heard voices from the lower floor, Maera talking with someone. The banging of iron pots indicated either Gwyned in the kitchen or Morwena actively expressing her fascination with cookware, perhaps both.

Anarynd rocked slowly as the shade and the occasional cool breeze wafting over her almost lulled her back to sleep. She wondered whether they could put in a swing wide enough for someone, such as herself, to lie back and nap. Her reverie stopped when she heard footsteps on the stone paving.

“There you are, Ana,” said Maera as she walked quickly up to Anarynd, puffing slightly, carrying year-old Aeneas on her hip, a combination of worry and surprise on her face. “There are some people here to see you.”

“See me? Who are they?”

“They say, and look the part, that they’re from Moreland.”

Anarynd’s pulse quickened. Moreland? Why would anyone from home come to see me? Especially since her family cast her out after her escape from the Narthani. “Did they give any names or say what they want?”

“Two of them say they’re relatives. An Aunt Glynas and a brother Iwun.”

Aunt Glynas and Iwun! thought Anarynd, shocked. Aunt Glynas had been one of her favorites among many aunts, and she had fond memories of Glynas’s visits to her home. Several times, she had spent a six-day visiting the aunt and her family in the northwest of Moreland. Iwun was a brother a year older than herself. He had been her closest family member, but she remembered bitterly that he had not spoken with her or protested the rest of the family’s treatment of her, nor did he try to stop her from leaving and seeking refuge with Maera.

“The third one is Abbot Abelard of St. Worlan’s Abbey. He says he represents the Moreland Grand Council,” said Maera.

Anarynd blinked several times. Why would the Grand Council have any interest in me? she wondered. In Moreland, although the Moreland family was the hereditary ruler of the clan, the council consisted of boyermen and “wise men” from each district. Their role was to advise the hetman on important issues, approve of major changes in law and customs, and, where necessary and on very rare occasions, rule on conflicting claims of succession for the hetman and the district boyermen.

“I told them to wait in the main room of the house while I asked if you were willing to see them,” said Maera.

“Does Yozef know they’re here?” asked Anarynd.

“No. He’s off with Mulron doing something. The Morelanders just arrived. Do you want to send for him?”

Anarynd thought for a moment, then said, “No. I think he mentioned working with the artisans on more maps he wants designed.” Anarynd took several deep breaths. “I’ll meet with them, but can you stay with me?”

“Of course, Ana,” said Maera and gave Anarynd a tight hug. “And if they are anything except nice to you, I’ll run them off the property with my carriage whip.” Maera wasn’t kidding.

Anarynd smiled slightly. “I doubt that’ll be necessary. It’s just that the last time I spoke with any of my family it was . . . hard.”

“I know, Ana. Remember, I’ll be right here with you.” Arm in arm, they walked across the stone flooring, down the stairway to the lower floor, among the “raised beds” with flowers that Yozef had had built for Anarynd in the central courtyard of the large house, and into the large main room. The three Morelanders sat at the table by the large front “bay” window. No one knew why it was called that, only that Yozef had described he wanted a window that extended from the wall to give more light and that it was called a bay window. People considered the window something of an oddity when Yozef asked for it, but those who sat in the window usually went away wondering how to get one in their homes and how much it would cost. The small table and chairs by the window had become one of Anarynd’s and Maera’s favorite places in the house, and they had spent many an hour there alone or together, either talking about life and the world or just sitting.

When Anarynd first saw the three Morelanders standing at her and Maera’s place, she felt a momentary pang. It passed quickly as they turned to face her. The three people each had a different expression. Aunt Glynas appeared sad, Iwun’s seemed nervous, and the other man’s face was a blank slate with sharp eyes that took her in without emotion, as if he were evaluating something he saw for the first time.

“Hello, Anarynd,” said Glynas. “Thank you for agreeing to see us. I would have understood if you had refused.”

“Do you really understand?” Anarynd asked, nervousness and dread giving way to the deep hurt and disappointment her family had subjected her to. “Really?”

Glynas hesitated, then said, “Maybe I don’t. You’re the only one who knows. I won’t pretend to apologize for the entire family. All I would ask for myself is that you remember that I was not there when you returned. I was away caring for my husband’s sister, who was dying. By the time she passed on and I got back home, you were already gone. I was furious beyond words when I learned what your father and brother had said to you. There were terrible rows between me and many of the family, but I couldn’t change their attitudes. I suppose yelling at them was not the best approach. They can be so infuriating! When I gave up with them, I wrote you several times.” She looked at Anarynd with sad eyes.

Anarynd remembered. She had received several letters from Aunt Glynas after she came to Keelan—and had burned them, unread. She had cried while watching the flames as the paper turned to ash—each time reliving the same thing happening to her family ties.

A flood of memories came to her unbidden. Aunt Glynas making her favorite treats every time they were together. Walking through villages, fields, and woods and along streams. Glynas talking to Anarynd the way her parents never did. Asking about her. What was she doing? How did she feel? Sometimes it seemed as if Glynas and her mother’s other sister, Tilda, were the only ones in the family who saw her, instead of a daughter, a sister, a child, or whatever role they expected of her. Aunt Tilda had disappeared after being taken during the Eywellese raid at Lanwith. Without thinking, Anarynd found herself hugging Glynas and crying. Her aunt’s brief startlement passed, and she returned the hug, mixing her tears with Anarynd’s.

“Oh, Anarynd. I’ve missed you so much!”

They clung to each other for several minutes, neither one speaking again, just holding the other close. Finally, Glynas whispered in her left ear, “Your brother Iwun is here, too. He’s the only other one in the family who spoke up for you, even if it was after you left. He’s been racked with guilt that he didn’t speak up earlier. I told him to write to you or come see you, but he was convinced you would never forgive him. I had to do some major arm twisting and scolding to get him here, he was so afraid to face you.”

Anarynd unwrapped her arms from Glynas and glanced at Iwun. He appeared contrite but stared straight in her eyes. “I’ve come to ask forgiveness, Anarynd. I can think of no good excuse for myself that I did not stand up for you sooner. All the rest of the family said you were disgraced and it would have been better if you had never come back. Even our father, our uncles, and our brother Heilrond. I didn’t know what to think or say, so I did nothing. I was so angry at what they had done to you, I wanted to scream to the heavens . . . my poor Anarynd.” He stopped, choked.

She walked to him, reached out, and held one of his big hands in her two. “I won’t say it didn’t hurt to be rejected by you and the others. In some ways, it hurt more than what happened to me with the Narthani. However, God has destinies for us all.”

Anarynd grasped Iwun’s hand and reached out to Glynas, then held onto their hands as they faced her. “Whatever his plan for us, it’s not always easy to understand.”

She looked at the third visitor. An older man, perhaps in his early sixties. Solid looking, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, and wearing a brown and black cloak. “And you, Ser? I don’t recall if we’ve met before.”

“I don’t believe we have. I am Abelard Elsworth, abbot of the Abbey of St. Worlan.”

St. Worlan’s was one of the most respected centers of theology on Caedellium, though Anarynd remembered Maera saying it was among the more conservative. Why is he here? she wondered.

Elsworth continued, “I am also, for the moment, chosen leader of the Moreland Grand Council.”

Something is afoot here, Maera thought. The abbot of Worlan’s and leader of the Moreland Grand Council didn’t accompany Ana’s relatives for their company, the scenery on the trip, or simply traveling in the same direction—not in these times. They want something of Ana.

Such thoughts had not yet occurred to Ana. “It is an honor to meet you, Abbot Elsworth. Is that the appropriate title, or is there one from the Grand Council? I’m afraid I don’t remember details of how the council members are addressed.”

“Abbot Elsworth is fine. And if I may ask, what is the appropriate address I should use for you?”

Anarynd held the hands of her relatives tighter. “I am Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland. Wife of Yozef Kolsko, co-wife of Maera Kolsko-Keelan,” she said firmly, her blue eyes cold as mid-winter. As forgiving, at least to some degree, as she might be with Glynas and Iwun, she saw the abbot as the representative of the clan and the society that had rejected her.

“Sen Kolsko-Moreland,” he began, his tone of voice changing to convey serious and formal import. “I am here representing the Moreland Grand Council. My task is to speak with you on a matter of gravest importance to all of Moreland. I realize you may not feel kindly toward your home province and clan. These are hard times for Caedellium, and all the clans are undergoing changes beyond anything we would have imagined only a few years ago. I also will not excuse your treatment by your family. Apologies to Glynas and Iwun, but that treatment was by one family and not the entire Moreland Clan. I hope you still feel a connection to your birth clan and its people.”

Anarynd angrily shook her head. “Perhaps it was my own family that rejected me; however, there were other women in the same situation as myself. Some of them accompanied me here to find refuge. A few others killed themselves after surviving the Narthani, dreaming of returning to a home they found no longer existed. Tell me, Ser Elsworth, why should I care about Clan Moreland?”

She had deliberately used his gender address instead of “Abbot.”

“I can give you several reasons. Whether they add up to enough for you to believe you still have a deep connection with Clan Moreland is up to you. Remember that not all of the rescued women were treated as you and some of the others were. I have asked medicants to check on the status of as many of the women as we could find. I will admit, I am ashamed to say, that about one-third of them were rejected by their families, as you were. Another third have managed to resume something of a normal life, though it might not be in the same town as before and perhaps with little or no contact with their families. However, the other third were totally accepted back into their families, and while their experiences will, of course, forever affect them, they seem to have managed to resume most of their previous lives, especially regarding people they knew before. Some who were unmarried have married the same men they had planned or hoped to marry before. Not all, of course. None of us know for sure how a marriage will fare, and only God might know if their previous marriage possibilities would have turned out better.”

The abbot paused, then continued, “The second reason is that Clan Moreland is made up of more than just your immediate family. You have here one relative who wanted to reach out to you and another who came to quickly regret his actions or inactions. I infer from your initial response to Glynas and Iwun that at least some degree of forgiveness is possible. If that is the case within your own family, how can you harbor permanent resentment toward people of Moreland you have never met? And what about all the children of Moreland? Including those born after you came here and those yet to be born. And finally, whatever has happened, you were born into Moreland, and its customs and history will always be part of you.”

Anarynd’s face had relaxed as she listened, although a hint of sadness remained. “Still, Abbot, even if some of your arguments mean something to me, it still doesn’t answer why you are here.”

The abbot smiled, the first genuine sign of cheer from him since he’d started to speak. “Ah, yes, Sen Kolsko-Moreland, now we get to the point, although I’m afraid I will have to digress briefly to explain the purpose of my visit.”

“Well, then,” Anarynd said, “perhaps we should all sit instead of standing as if prepared to escape from the room.” With her smile and gesture, the visitors took seats at the table. Maera continued to stand, moving behind Ana’s chair, as if to remain in a position of support.

The abbot said, “Let me tell you something of what has happened in Moreland the last year. You, of course, know about the Narthani and the terrible fighting. Large sections of Moreland have been devastated, either in Eywellese raids or during the Narthani invasion. I suspect that since your husband has played such a major role in contesting the Narthani, you know much of this—perhaps in some cases with more details than myself. However, less well recognized has been the effect on the general population throughout Moreland. The exact numbers are not widely known, but Moreland has over four thousand dead out of a population of about fifty-five thousand.”

“Blessed God!” exclaimed Anarynd, raising her left hand to her cheek. “I knew there were many deaths. I hadn’t realized it was that bad.”

Elsworth nodded sadly. “As you might expect, the worst was in the western districts bordering Eywell. Entire villages were wiped out—every man, woman, and child. In many cases, some of our people were taken into captivity, as you well know. While some have been recovered, I’m afraid we think many hundreds were shipped off to Narthon as slaves, either before or after the Narthani were driven out of Moreland. The fact is, we will probably never know the exact number or who they were.”

Up until now, Maera had been silent, listening with a sharp ear and waiting for clues to what Elsworth and the Moreland Grand Council wanted with Ana. “Yes, this is terrible,” she said, “but you haven’t gotten to why you are here.”

The abbot looked placidly at Maera. “No, I haven’t. There is one more piece of information. The Moreland dead are not evenly distributed among the population. The men of Moreland paid more than their share of the burden, because they were in the forefront protecting villages and families and during the Battle of Moreland City. Among those men, a disproportionate number were from the leading families. Hetman Moreland and both of his sons, both of his brothers, and all five of their sons.”

“So that’s it!” Maera exclaimed angrily. “What nerve to come to her with this, after what happened.”

“As I urged before, remember that not all the Moreland people were involved in that, and even if they were, we always have responsibilities beyond our immediate feelings.”

Anarynd had been looking between the calm Elsworth and the fuming Maera, a puzzled expression on her face. What were they talking about?

Maera calmed herself and turned to Anarynd. “They’re worried about a dynastic struggle within Moreland for whoever succeeds the current hetman.”

“What does that have to do with me?” asked Anarynd, still confused.

“Tell her the rest, Abbot,” Maera snapped, having divined the purpose of the visit.

“Sen Kolsko-Keelan is correct. There is currently no obvious most direct candidate to eventually become the Moreland hetman. At least five families have claims and another four or five with only slightly inferior positions. Many of these have histories of conflict, both fighting and political maneuvering. There have already been scattered fights between individuals and small groups. The Grand Council is concerned that eventually the struggle could either turn far more violent or at least diminish the authority of, and loyalty to, the eventual hetman. This could be disastrous for the clan. It will be difficult enough and would probably take decades for the clan to recover, even under the best of circumstances. Making the situation worse are the Narthani. Too much of our clan’s attention is being wasted with these internal matters, instead of being focused on the Narthani.”

Elsworth paused, reached into a pouch set on the floor next to him, and drew out a sealed parchment. Holding it in one hand, he addressed Anarynd again. “The current hetman is fifty years old and has no children—he had the throat-swelling disease as a young man. However, he is still young enough and in good enough health that he may lead the clan another twenty years or more. Even so, the succession needs to be settled as soon as possible to avoid intrigues and behind-the-scenes plotting.”

He paused again and raised the folded, sealed parchment alongside his head. “Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland. Your family is one of those with a plausible claim to the hetman succession. Not the strongest or the weakest. A claim can be strengthened by other factors that can be considered as helping the clan. You are the wife of Yozef Kolsko. He is one of the wealthiest men on Caedellium. He is a member of the War Council that has been given responsibility to lead all the clans against the invader. Our representatives to the previous conclaves and War Council meetings report that while technically not a voting member of the council, for all intents and purposes he is its leader. Word has spread of his bravery. Then there are the rumors he is a Septarsh, which explains to many, including clan leaders and many theophists such as myself, how he has come to Caedellium and accomplished so much so soon.” Elsworth leaned forward, rose, and moved to Anarynd’s chair, holding out the parchment to her. The golden-tinged paper-like material was traditionally used by the Moreland Clan for important documents and announcements.

“This is the formal invitation of the Moreland Grand Council, with the unanimous endorsement of the district boyermen, to ask your permission to declare the Moreland line of succession to pass to your sons.”

Anarynd sat frozen, not sure she had heard right. When the silence dragged on for a minute, she began to understand he was serious. The future Moreland hetman to be a son of hers and his descendants? Her family was related to the current ruling family but distant enough that they were seldom involved in formal occasions and had no inklings of ever rising higher in the hierarchy. She slowly reached out her hand toward the parchment, then stopped just short of it and looked at Maera.

“Maera. What should I do?”

Maera looked at Elsworth. “I assume this is merely an invitation and that Anarynd has to consider the offer and give you her answer later?”

“That is correct,” said Elsworth. “I am charged with remaining until I have an answer and to be available to answer any questions.”

Anarynd took the parchment and held it to her belly, as if to show the paper to the unborn child.

“This is all too sudden and confusing. I need time to think and to talk with my husband and Maera.”

Maera decisively took control of the situation and addressed the abbot. “I suggest that we settle you in some quarters. We hope Glynas and Iwun will stay for some time to visit with Anarynd, and you will need to be available for any further discussions. You can refresh yourselves, and we will dine together this evening.”

Maera rang a hand bell for the household majordomo they had hired for their stay in Orosz City. He was a life-long resident of the city, and with so many household members in and out of the house, they had hired him to ease the duties of running what had turned into a transplanted Keelan enclave. Braylon appeared if by magic and led the three visitors off to their quarters.

When they were gone, Maera looked at Anarynd, then burst out laughing.

“Maera! Why are you laughing?” asked Anarynd, startled.

“Oh, Anarynd. This is just too strange to be true. What do you think Yozef’s reaction to this will be?”

“You have gotta be shitting me.”

Maera and Anarynd looked back at Yozef. Neither would have understood the meaning of the Caedelli translation and how defecation related to surprise. His occasional lapse into English had given Maera enough references to pick out a few words, and she’d heard “shitting” before.

Once assured the women weren’t joking, he asked to see the parchment still clutched by Anarynd. He read it slowly, then reread the selected portions several times.

“It’s not just the plain offer,” Yozef said. “It specifies conditions. The eldest son would become the heir only after approval of a council of all eight hetmen and four abbots, by a three-quarters vote. I know of St. Worlan’s, but I haven’t heard of the other abbeys.” He looked up questioningly.

“They’re the most important abbeys in Moreland,” said Anarynd. “I’ve been in three of them—near home, in Moreland City, and when I visited Aunt Glynas.”

Yozef continued reading and summarizing aloud. “If the firstborn is rejected, the next oldest son is considered, and on down the line.” He looked up at Anarynd. “Just how busy producing sons do they expect you to be, Anarynd?”

Anarynd blushed, which, considering her complexion, meant she turned very red. She smiled. “I think it depends largely on how busy you will be, husband.”

It was Yozef’s turn to blush.

Maera laughed. “Oh, Ana, I think we can depend on Yozef doing his best for both of us.”

Yozef hurried back to the parchment before the nonchalant Caedelli view of such matters got too technical.

“We can talk to their abbot. I think we might negotiate details of the selection. It also specifies the heir should spend half the year in Moreland Province until he’s seven years old and then reside there permanently after that. Not going to happen. He would be our child and with his family full time until . . . what do you think, Maera—fifteen years?”

“What do you think, Ana?” asked Maera.

“Think? How do I know what to think? My mind’s buzzing in circles right now. The two of you are discussing something I still don’t understand. Why should I be the mother of the next Moreland hetman?”

Yozef gestured to Maera to explain.

“Anarynd, it’s a rational decision to a possibly intractable problem. While I don’t know all the details, from what the MIU is hearing, the different extended Moreland family factions in the clan are not going to compromise in agreeing on the hetman line of succession. Fortunately, the boyermen do not come from the Moreland family. By the boyermen agreeing on a son of Yozef Kolsko’s, the Moreland factions will know that your son would have the support of most of the hetmen, including those of Orosz, Keelan, Stent, and probably Hewell—the clans surrounding Moreland. None of the individual factions or combinations would dare oppose the Moreland Council’s decision.”

“What should I do, Yozef?”

“Anarynd, it’s mainly your decision. As much as I’m uneasy about putting this responsibility on a child who had no say in the matter, there is a logic to it. The Moreland Clan would settle down and concentrate on the Narthani and recover from what it’s suffered so far.

“Since he would also be my son, I would insist on some changes to the conditions. He would be raised as we see fit, though we would have to give up a degree of control. How do you feel about all this?”

She didn’t answer right away, looking around the room where they sat. Light came through two east windows. She could see a flowerpot on the balcony, the buildings across the street, and the mountains beyond. A blue and green murvor landed on the balcony railing. Four minutes passed. Yozef and Maera glanced at each other while they waited.

“My first thought is not one I’m proud of,” said Anarynd. “The feeling is too much like revenge that my son would be Hetman Moreland, even though I was rejected by my family, as were some of the other women.”

“There’s nothing strange about such feelings,” said Yozef, putting a hand on one of hers. “We all have thoughts and feelings we aren’t proud of, usually when we don’t really mean them or that we discard later. The important part is the ‘later.’ What we think isn’t as important as what we do.

“One thing for certain is that a child of ours would be a better hetman than Gynfor Moreland or his eldest son, Owain, would be. From what you tell us about your father and how many in your family treated you, does it do any good for the Moreland people to continue the hetman line from that family?”

“I’m from that family, Yozef.”

“Yes, but you’re Ana,” said Maera, “a very different person. Neither Yozef nor I would have wanted you in our family if that wasn’t true.”

“Yozef, if I agree, and you do too, would we be able to change some of the things about the Moreland Clan? Some of the ugliness in customs and beliefs? Since I came to Maera, for the first time I learned how other clans view Moreland and how it’s the target of so many nasty jokes. Could we change any of that?”

“I don’t know Anarynd. Such things can be complicated, and people change slowly. However, we could try. Much would fall to you, though I would help where I could, and then so would a son of ours who eventually becomes hetman. Perhaps only in time could major changes happen within the Moreland Clan. Of course, we and our son could influence such chances.”

“All right,” said Anarynd, “as long as the two of you support me and we change the conditions that satisfy all three of us, then I will agree.”

Two days later, Abbot Elsworth left to return to Moreland City. He carried a revised proposal that had been agreed to and signed by Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland and her husband, Yozef Kolsko. The negotiations had been easy; Yozef explained how things would be, Elsworth protested the impossible, and Yozef waited until Elsworth gave in. Although Yozef hadn’t started off intending to be intransigent, he quickly perceived that Elsworth was desperate for them to accept the proposal.

“Things inside Moreland must be worse than we’ve thought,” said Yozef after the first two-hour discussion with Elsworth. “I wonder now if I could have gotten them to agree to more?”

“More!” exclaimed Anarynd. “I don’t know about all Moreland men, but my father would have choked to death before agreeing to some of what Elsworth did.”

“Don’t congratulate yourself too much, Yozef,” said Maera. “I watched Elsworth the whole time, including when you looked elsewhere. A few times, I thought his protestations were for show and not his personal positions.”

In the end, Abbot Elsworth said he would take the revised proposal back to Moreland City. He didn’t guarantee the council would agree to all the changes, though he promised to argue that they do so. In the assumption that the council agreed, a new copy was prepared after Yozef sent Gowlin Reese to search the city for the same type of parchment. They left the form of the proposal the same, except for the conditions and that Anarynd and Yozef would be co-signers. Maera suggested the change, thinking the Morelanders would be less likely to refuse the changes or attempt to reinterpret passages if Yozef Kolsko were formally part of the agreement.

A son of Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland would be the future hetman of Clan Moreland, and the hetman line would pass through his descendants, unless there were no male children, in which case it would go to grandchildren or other male descendants of Anarynd’s son. Yozef wished he could have added female descendants, but the Caedelli weren’t ready for that far a leap.

Should the current hetman die before the heir was twenty years old, a regent would be appointed by the council until the heir reached twenty. Neither Anarynd nor Yozef would serve as regent, nor would Yozef ever be hetman in Moreland.

Instead of primogeniture, where the eldest son was heir, Moreland would follow the Keelan model, where the existing hetman would nominate the son or another male relative as most qualified to be hetman. The Moreland Council would need to approve the choice by a three-quarters margin, with rejections going back to the hetman for a new candidate.

The exception would be in the first generation, where Anarynd’s first son would be the heir, because Abelard insisted the line of succession needed to be settled before civil war broke out among factions. Upon ascension to hetman, the son would have his last name changed to “Moreland.” Yozef envisioned Joey Kolsko changing to Joey Moreland, but he saw no alternative. Joey, or whatever his name turned out to be, would still be his son, and the Morelanders needed to see the hetman as one of their own, not a foreigner foisted on them.

The child would spend one Anyar month—six sixdays, thirty-six days—a year in Moreland Province and be as visible as possible to the common people during that month. Anarynd would take the child until she and Yozef determined he was old enough to make the visit without her, and Yozef promised to accompany them for at least two sixdays each year until the child was ten. They would also be open to shorter visits should other travel plans allow that accommodation—with no details delineated.

As soon as the child was old enough to begin schooling, a Moreland scholastic would come to wherever the child lived to give periodic lessons in Moreland history and customs. A theophist from St. Worlan’s would also come. Yozef had agreed, on the condition that the added lessons be informative and not proselytizing.

A detailed account of the son’s education for the past and future years would be handed in to the Moreland Council each year and their feedback given serious consideration—with Yozef Kolsko deciding on future changes suggested by the council.

Elsworth took the amended proposal back to Moreland City. If necessary, negotiations would continue via secure courier. By agreement, the proposal and negotiations were to remain confidential until concluded.

The day after Elsworth left, Yozef was scheduled to observe a newly activated dragoon regiment undertake a snap exercise in going from sleep to moving out in order, riding five miles, then digging a defensive position. Balwis Preddi’s battalion made up part of the regiment. Yozef had slept alone the night before the exercise. By prearrangement, a guard knocked on Yozef’s door after hearing St. Worlan’s smaller bell ring 4th hour. Yozef dressed and went to the northern wing, with bedrooms of other household members, looking for Carnigan and Toowin Kales, his two bodyguards for the day.

Toowin stood waiting at the top of the stairwell.

“Is Carnigan already downstairs?” asked Yozef.

“Haven’t seen him.”

Yozef started walking to the end of the wing. Carnigan’s room was the last one.

“The other way,” said Toowin, nodding to the other direction.

Yozef looked around, thinking he’d forgotten the location of Carnigan’s room.

“Second one from the end,” said Toowin, after noting Yozef’s momentary confusion.

Second room? wondered Yozef. That’s . . . oh, yes. Gwyned’s room. He’d seen a large bed being carried up the stairs several days ago and hadn’t thought to ask its destination. Yozef’s discomfiture at having to knock on their door passed when Carnigan exited the room before he reached it. Yozef hadn’t known about the new arrangement. On the tip of his tongue was a quip asking about the new bed and if was strong enough for all the weight and activity. He bit off the thought. Carnigan was his friend, but one never knew.

“What’s this I hear about you and Anarynd’s son being a future Moreland hetman?” Carnigan asked.

Yozef stumbled on a slight unevenness in the flooring and caught himself with a hand to the railing. “What—” he uttered, turning to the big man. “Why would you think that?”

“Next thing I know, you’re going to be crowned king of Fuomon or whatever they call the person on top there,” said Carnigan, laughing. “Or is it just some rumor I heard at the Dead Narthani?” The owner of the previously named Happy Murvor pub had had a brainstorm and renamed his establishment the Dead Narthani. Business boomed.

“The other night I was having an ale, and a man told me he’d heard it from his cousin. Seems to come from the cousin’s wife, who has a friend with a brother married to a Moreland woman. I told the man it was probably just one of those rumors always floating around about you. It is just a rumor, isn’t it?”

Chapter 39: A Sea of Sails

Sails Into the Distance

It was another pleasant morning—not that he was enjoying it. Okan Akuyun had just finished one folder of paperwork when he heard urgent knocking at his office door. He had come to hate that pattern of knocking from Lieutenant Nestor, his aide, by now associating the sound with something unpleasant to follow. Maybe I should replace Nestor, he thought in resignation. At least the knocking pattern would be different.

He pushed aside a folder he’d just pulled off the stack on his desk. “Enter,” he called out.

The door opened immediately, and Nestor rushed to the front of his desk, holding a piece of paper.

“Sir, a picket sloop in the gulf has signaled sighting Narthani ships sailing toward the city. Many ships, including ships of the line.”

Akuyun froze. War galleons at Caedellium, he thought. So today is the day. It had been five months since Narthon replied to his report on the failure to proceed with the original mission plan. Narthon had given orders to solidify their current positions and wait for additional forces without mentioning the High Command’s view of his performance as the commander of the failure. Even though the parameters of the original plan recognized that taking the entire island with minimum troops was not certain, Akuyun never could be sure how the current political and military situation in Narthon would respond. Akuyun and his wife had discussed the possibilities too many times. They agreed that in the worst case, he would be relieved of command, be sent back to Narthon, and be relegated to dead-end posts with no possibility of advancement for the rest of his life. Yet an even more drastic possibility lurked in the darker recesses of their thoughts, unspoken by either of them: sometimes High Command ordered a commander to be not only relieved but executed. Unlikely in this case. Not impossible.

Akuyun became aware that Nestor still stood in front of him and that through the open office door several other staff waited at their stations for his response. He composed himself. Whatever is coming—is coming, he told himself. Appearances are important.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He took the message. It was short: war galleons, with frigates and many transports off to the horizon. The large numbers of troops would need shelter and feeding as soon as they came ashore. Akuyun rapidly began issuing orders for quartermaster officers to prepare temporary encampment locations already laid out in anticipation and to begin to activate field kitchens—for exactly how many men, they would know shortly, but they would at least have a start. Then he sent messages to his main subordinates, simply alerting them to the news. Then he waited.

By mid-afternoon, Narthani ships dotted the sea off Preddi City. A cutter arrived with the “request” for Akuyun to meet with Marshal Dursun Gullar aboard the fleet’s flagship. He knew of Gullar but had never served under him and had only vague impressions of competence, though not brilliance. Akuyun went straight to his family’s villa to change into more formal and traditional Narthani officer attire, having preferred comfortable clothing since coming to Caedellium. Whatever the outcome of the meeting with Gullar, he would be there as a Narthani general.

Rabia was surprised when he came into the main house. When he gave her the news, her mouth tightened, and a few more lines appeared at the corners of her eyes, but she gave no other indication of worry, hustling the domestics to freshen his best uniform, give his hair a trim, and force him to eat a hot sweet roll with kava. She sent him out within fifteen minutes with only “See you for evening meal” and a quick hug. She then went to her sitting room, sat in a rocker . . . and waited.

Akuyun boarded the cutter, and it rowed out to what he assumed was the fleet flagship. He boarded with full honors by ships’ pipes, and smartly dressed sailors and soldiers lined the deck of the seventy-two-gun warship. Multiple streamers flew from the aft mast, identifying that the ship held the fleet admiral and expedition commander. The ship’s captain met him and took him into a large cabin in the rear of the ship, whereupon the captain excused himself and left.

Marshal Gullar was of average height, a solid build that suggested a muscular younger physique only now slowly settling into late middle age; close-cropped hair, white on the sides; a round face; and close-together eyes that conveyed a confident mind behind them.

“General Akuyun reporting to Marshal Gullar,” said Akuyun, in precisely the correct tone and with an equally precise officer-to-officer salute: right elbow snapped to his side, forearm raised upward, hand open, palm toward the object of the salute. It was the first time in seven years that he had saluted a superior.

“General Akuyun, thank you for coming so quickly. Please have a seat.” Gullar gestured with his left hand to one of two chairs at the cabin table, where several open and sealed folders lay.

“I couldn’t be sure if you were in Preddi City, but I wanted the two of us to meet as soon as possible before more formal meetings with other staff. There are a few issues we should discuss before then.”

“Thank you, Marshal Gullar. I’m glad I was available. I came as quickly as I could. Although I don’t know your specific orders or requirements, I knew from a dispatch from Narthon of your coming. In anticipation, I’ve had my staff prepare encampment sites, food, and other likely needs. I’m hoping there will be minimal implementation problems, once we know more.”

“Sounds fine, General. We’ll get to that in a while. First, let’s get right to some basic topics.”

Gullar flipped open a folder, glanced at it and then back at Akuyun.

“My orders are to subdue the people on this island by force of arms as quickly as possible. I have with me sixty-eight thousand men and two hundred cannon comprising the Twenty-Ninth Corps and thirty 30-pounder cannon for your use, as you see fit. We also have two 55-pounders, along with shot. I’m not sure why those were added, but I certainly can’t use them.”

Akuyun digested the news. A few more men than the message from Narthon said, and an intact corps, not just units assembled for the mission, as were ours. That must indicate the High Command has other plans for Gullar after Caedellium is incorporated. They wouldn’t send an intact operational corps as an occupying force. On to Landolin? And the cannon? Ketin will salivate to get those incorporated into the Preddi City fortifications.

“I’ve read your reports carefully, both those on the efforts to integrate these island clans over several years and the inconclusive battle with the islanders. I must say, I would not have been in favor of the original mission plan of trying to absorb the island with so few men and taking more time. I’m sure it’s my own predilections, but I would have been inclined to just send forty or fifty thousand men and crush any opposition right from the start. However, that was not my decision. I also want to let you know that your last report was not received well universally at the High Command. Some officers were extremely disappointed at what they perceived as a failure at the command level here on Caedellium.”

Akuyun steeled himself on hearing those words.

“However, more rational heads seemed to have prevailed, something that doesn’t always occur at the highest levels. The consensus, with which I find myself in agreement, is that given the limited resources at your disposal and the recognition that this venture was deliberately designed to aim for success with minimal effort, if there is any reason to assign fault, it would best lie at the feet of the original plan.”

Akuyun didn’t let it show, but his chest muscles relaxed, and his breath came slower. Looks like our unstated worst case is not to be, he thought. So let’s hear exactly what’s in store.

“Thank you for that insight, Marshal. Naturally, I am disappointed we were not able to use what we had to bring Caedellium into the empire, but now that you are here, I’m sure that final objective will be accomplished.” No harm in sucking up to a new superior.

“That’s certainly the idea. Now, to some details.” Gullar unfolded and laid on the table a map of Caedellium. “I am tasked to do whatever is necessary to bring the island completely into the empire quickly, by absorbing the current peoples, if possible, or by crushing opposition completely, if necessary. From your reports, and unless things have changed dramatically, I assume it will have to be the latter.”

“Unfortunately, the situation has changed, Marshal Gullar. Since the battle I reported, we’ve lost the support of the two clans and provinces previously under our control. A month ago, two separate clan forces we estimate at ten to twelve thousand each, along with 6-pounder cannon, moved against those two clans. We had no warning. The clans had vigorously patrolled the borders and had been too successful in uncovering many of our agents who previously sent reports on clan activities.” Akuyun pointed out the two lost clans on the map. “We didn’t lose many men, but our garrison in Eywell Province was forced to withdraw back to Preddi. At the same time and under the distraction of the two clan forces, the Selfcell Clan closed the main gates of their capital. I had ordered the local garrison to concentrate with the city’s defenses, where our ships could support them. The Selfcell commander, Colonel Metan, made one unsuccessful attempt to reenter the city, but faced with uncertainty over the exact location and intentions of the clans, he withdrew back to Preddi territory. I endorsed both commanders’ decisions. There has been no major fighting since then, but skirmishes occur whenever we send patrols across the borders. I should also inform you that there is a single report from one of our few remaining agents operating within a clan of some small level of Fuomi involvement.”

“Fuomi, huh?” grunted Gullar. “That was one of our suspicions after we read your report about the one battle and how the islanders unexpectedly used tactics and a willingness to sacrifice men. I’ll be honest with you and say that your General Zulfa may have taken the Caedelli too lightly. On the other hand, the evident precision of the islander attack seemed totally out of place for these people. That’s why we’ve had increased suspicion that the Fuomi have been somehow involved. I’d hoped you’d have better estimates of the degree of involvement.”

“It can’t be too large,” said Akuyun. “Certainly, there are no signs of Fuomi troops, and we haven’t seen any of their ships, although we didn’t have enough ships to search extensively. With what naval strength we had, Admiral Kalcan and I agreed we needed to keep our frigates and sloops at hand for support and to keep up patrolling the coasts.”

Gullar nodded, not otherwise indicating whether he agreed with not searching harder for Fuomi ships or he only accepted Akuyun’s explanation without comment. “Well, that will end now,” asserted Gullar. “Admiral Dimir has enough ships. I’ll have him keep constant patrols along the coasts and sweep out a few hundred miles. If Fuomi ships are around, he’ll either find them or push them too far away to be a factor.”

Having dismissed the issue of the Fuomi, Gullar moved on. “The one aspect of my orders I’m not comfortable with is that there will be a divided command structure,” said the marshal.

“Divided?”

“I will be in command of only the corps I brought with me and all naval assets. Your Admiral Kalcan will be temporarily under Admiral Dimir’s authority. You will remain in charge of Narthani territory, which, as you indicate, is now just this . . .” Gullar consulted his notes. “Uh . . . what used to be the islanders’ Preddi Province. I believe the High Command thought it best to let you concentrate on the province holding our civilians and the two allied clans. Although that’s changed with the loss of those clans, orders are orders, and I don’t see a need to override them. I would have preferred a completely unified command, but it was decided that protection of the Narthani civilians and production within existing territory and keeping control of the Eywellese and Selfcell peoples would only divert my mission of subduing the rest of the island. Naturally, you are to provide support for my campaign but will not participate directly. Your attention is to be on protecting our base of operations. As I said, I would have preferred a single overall command structure, but I understand their reasoning, and I don’t see it as a problem in reaching the final objective.”

Akuyun’s mind raced through the implications. Even though Gullar doesn’t say it, I’m not formally his direct subordinate. Naturally, I will assist where I can, but the final victory here will be attributed to him and not me.

“Naturally, I will assist wherever I can,” said Akuyun, repeating his thoughts, “and I can see the logic behind either structure. But, as you say, it was the High Command’s decision.”

The two men spoke for another half hour on preliminary plans for disembarking Gullar’s men and their initial support. They scheduled a full senior staff meeting on shore for the next day to go over details for a more permanent deployment and to allow Akuyun’s staff to update the new arrivals on the current situation.

Akuyun took the same cutter back to the harbor. By now, his senior staff had gathered in his headquarters: Zulfa and the three colonels, Assessor Hizer, Admiral Kalcan, and civilian administrator Tuzere. All were anxious to learn the basic outline of the consequences of Gullar’s arrival—including Akuyun’s fate, their own positions, and any clues to Gullar’s plans. The three troop leaders were not pleased to hear they wouldn’t participate in finishing off the islanders. Kalcan was already resigned to being integrated into Admiral Dimir’s command structure, along with his men and ships. Only Tuzere seemed obviously relieved that Narthon had acknowledged the importance of his responsibilities and would likely decree no changes for him or his staff.

Hizer’s reaction remained the only one that Akuyun couldn’t read. The fact that no additional assessor had come with the fleet meant that Hizer would now spend most of his time with Gullar—the implication being that back on Narthon, the High Command had not been disappointed with how he carried out his duties, and it further indicated that Akuyun’s status had not been fatally marred.

It was near sundown when Akuyun returned home. He had sent word earlier to Rabia only that, “He would be home at the usual time.” She needed no other wording to know that all things considered, her husband’s status remained relatively unchanged. She was still sitting in her chair when the message arrived. She took it from the messenger, thanked him, and then went back into her sitting room. After closing the door, she sat back in her chair, hugged herself tightly with both arms, and trembled for almost an hour.

Orosz Clan Headquarters, Orosz City

“It’s an impressive summary, Tomis,” Yozef said to the Orosz hetman. “I was worried that when we added Orosz City to the battlefield list and simultaneously decided more clanspeople from other clans would come here as their redoubt, the logistics wouldn’t work. However, you and the other hetmen have done a superb job. The people will be packed elbow to elbow in the city and mountain cleft valleys, but they’ll be fed, housed, and protected as well as in any other redoubt on the whole island.”

“Anger, fear, and determination can add up to a mighty motivation,” said Orosz. “I’ve seen the reports on other redoubts, and I’m glad most of my people will be here.”

“Oh, most clans are doing fine getting ready—at least, as ready as they’re going to be,” said Yozef, not sure whether Orosz’s comment was a criticism of other clans. “Although I’ll agree that not many of the others will be as well defended. On the other hand, the Narthani will be able to come right up to your walls, while most of the other redoubts are in mountains or other terrain, making them more difficult to approach. I’m just hoping for as much time as—”

Yozef’s last words were cut off as Tomis Orosz’s office door slammed open. A man Yozef didn’t recognize rushed in, waving a piece of paper used for semaphore messages.

“Hetman!” the man gasped, out of breath. He tried speaking but could get no more than a word or two out before Orosz grabbed the sheet. As he read, his mouth clenched, and he slapped the paper with his other hand.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time, Yozef,” he said grimly and handed Yozef the message.

From: Hetman Keelan

To: All Hetmen

Dornfeld fishermen est hundred Narthani
ships sail to Preddi City
many warships include 2 and 3 gun
decks many large transports

Yozef’s gut tightened, and a cold wave passed through him. “So, it begins,” he said softly, staring at the paper. “Tomis . . . you were saying how we can be motivated. I’d say this message counts.” He handed the sheet back to Orosz. “The news has only gone to hetmen so far. We’ll need to spread the word. It’s time to begin everything we planned. The War Council is to come here and remain for the duration of what will happen. There’ll be no time to wait to gather all four of you once action begins. The people destined for redoubts should begin either moving there or getting away from the coast.”

“This soon?” said Orosz, surprised. “I thought we assumed it would take these new Narthani time to recover from months at sea.”

“The new ones, yes,” said Yozef, “but what about the ones already here? They haven’t moved lately, probably because after our actions they figured they didn’t have enough men to provide security in Preddi Province and carry out attacks. Now, they’ve got tens of thousands of new soldiers, even if they’re weak from the voyage. That leaves the originals free to do what they did to Swavebroke or do a reconnaissance in force into Selfcell and Eywell provinces. I recommend that everyone within thirty miles of a coast start moving now.

“We also have to initiate our final plan. You’ll need the other War Council members to agree, but if semaphore messages go out immediately, you should hear back today. The Level One alert can then go out.”

The agreement from Stent and Keelan returned within two hours. Feren Bakalacs was away from the Farkesh capital when the message came in. Only after sunset did he learn that the new Narthani army had arrived; then he read Orosz’s request. The next morning, the first semaphore message from Devanyo, the Farkesh capital, carried the final vote to begin Level One.

Preddi City

Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa found himself the most junior officer in the headquarters room in Preddi City. At Marshal Gullar’s request, a large map of Caedellium lay spread out on the rectangular table around which stood eleven men. Zulfa, Akuyun, and Hizer were the only members of the original Narthani forces attending. The marshal, Admiral Dimir, and six of Gullar’s generals at or higher than Akuyun’s rank made up the other eight. The last three days had been filled with disembarking the newly arrived army, getting them settled in an encampment a few miles from Preddi City, organizing the mountains of supplies that accompanied the army, and meetings, meetings, and more meetings. In the current meeting on the fourth morning, they would begin to decide on details of the Twenty-Ninth Corps’ campaign.

“Let’s get started,” ordered Gullar. Side conversations hushed, and the men alternated between looking at the marshal and the map.

“We’ve had a chance to go over past reports again and be briefed by General Akuyun and his staff on current conditions on Caedellium. On the voyage here, we spent considerable time thinking about options on how to execute this campaign. The pieces of information we did not have at that time were a full appreciation of the islanders’ performance at the Moreland battle, increased suspicion that the Fuomi had had a hand here, and the loss of the two allied clans. The obvious conclusion is that we cannot think we are simply dealing with a mass of unorganized locals. Although it didn’t result in major battles, the clan campaign to isolate the two allied clans showed planning, tactical sense, unit organization, and, from all reports, a good number of horse artillery.

“All these factors sum to mean we’ll face an enemy more like we’ve faced in mainland campaigns and not merely a mass of unorganized, inexperienced clansmen. If anything, I see this as an advantage. We’ll be facing an enemy we’re more accustomed to instead of one that is unpredictable. It’s also fortunate our corps completed the conversion from mixed pike and muskets to all muskets. In retrospect, the High Command sending pike and musket units to Caedellium was a mistake, albeit an understandable one, due to the erroneous information about likely islander tactics focusing mainly on light cavalry. We now know that in addition, they will fight afoot and have at least light artillery. Brigadier Zulfa has described the odd three-swivel carriages they used, but those are too short range to be a major problem. More serious are the 12-pounders they captured and the horse artillery they now seem to possess in some respectable numbers. General Akuyun assesses, and I agree, that we should be open to the possibility they’re producing heavier cannon, though these haven’t yet been encountered. Also unknown are the number and capabilities of any Fuomi on the island, but it’s unlikely there are enough to be decisive, as long as we’re aware we might make contact with them.

“Our basic strategy is to achieve one or more decisive victories and force them to capitulate. To do this, we’ll move into their provinces and destroy whatever is necessary to bring them to battle. As we’ve discussed, there are three general options to follow—naturally, with many variations. One is to follow a similar strategy as already attempted by Brigadier Zulfa: cutting the clan territories into two unconnected sections by driving through to the other side of the island. An advantage to this option is that it hinders coordination among the clans. A disadvantage is that it leaves us open for attacks to our rear and our supply line. Given the number of men we have and our total naval control, this disadvantage doesn’t seem critical.

“The second general option is to keep within contact of our navy, attacking coastal provinces, with the advantage of easy supply and movements via ship. The major disadvantage is the conquest would take longer.

“The third option is to divide our forces with multiple attack points. The advantage here is that it might lead individual clans to surrender sooner and, as that happens, encourage the others to follow suit. However, if we divide our forces, and given the islanders’ recently displayed capabilities, it has the danger of being attacked ‘in detail’—letting the islanders focus on one part of our corps at a time and losing the advantage of overwhelming superior forces at any one point.

“I’m inclined to agree with the previous tactic of forcing the islanders to stand and fight. Even with our corps and General Akuyun’s men, we only have about eighty thousand men on an island-continent five hundred miles across at its widest points. If the clans refuse to stand and fight, we could spend years chasing the last ones around the island. We have to force them to defend their towns, people, villages, and farms. This is the basis of the strategy Narthon has used before, and it has worked elsewhere.

“We also have a precedent right here on Caedellium. The islanders massed to defend Moreland City. There’s no reason to believe they won’t do the same if we threaten provinces and major cities.”

During the next two hours, the men discussed and argued the salient points of each strategy and combination of tactics. Akuyun believed Gullar already had a plan in mind and was using the meeting to see if any significant contrary arguments came to the fore.

They set the launch date for one and a half months from that day—time for the men to recover from the long voyage and regain their physical condition. Time to match horses for the ten thousand cavalrymen just arrived. Time for maneuvers to refresh integration of arms. Time to finish organizing logistics with local resources. Time for Tuzere and Akuyun to plan for administrating large new chunks of Caedellium territory and peoples. Time to gather more information about the islanders’ current capabilities. Time for Akuyun to wonder if they still underestimated the islanders.

“The lack of updated information bothers me the most about the situation,” said Gullar. “I agree with General Akuyun’s decision to concentrate on protecting the civilian population until we arrived. However, we have enough forces here now to explore other options without endangering the province’s security.”

Chapter 40: It Begins

Free Clans, Level One

The Level One alert gave affected islanders up to three days to initiate action, depending on location and assignments.

The two rotating regiments currently patrolling the Eywell/Preddi border were ordered to pull their camps back twenty miles farther and continue patrols from the new camps. They assumed the Narthani had managed to slip enough scouts through the clans’ screen to locate the existing camps. With more Narthani available, they might risk trying a surprise foray against the two regiments.

All units, from regiment down to platoon, had to prepare to move on one day’s notice, with each reporting on its ability to do this, any reasons why it couldn’t comply, and when it would be ready. The order implied that units failing to satisfy the War Council would have their leaders replaced and be moved from their current location to another clan’s territory.

Only essential military and men involved in critical tasks, such as food production, were to remain within thirty miles of the coast. All others needed to move inland, such as to their assigned redoubt.

All Selfcellese in the southern half of the province had to move to the hastily organized redoubt in the low mountains northwest of Sellmor. Selfcellese in the northern part of the province prepared to leave on a twelve-hour notice to head into Stent Province, where they would be directed to the Stent redoubt.

Eywellese could begin moving into other provinces, but each Eywellese had to decide individually, because no organized leadership existed in the clan. Estimates were that about one-third of the Eywellese would respond.

Six regiments of dragoons gathered at Hanslow in Eywell Province. The city stood in the center of an arc that ran from the Keelan/Eywell border to the sea west of Wynmor in northern Selfcell Province. Many Hanslow residents had fled the city, leaving ample empty buildings to lodge regiments and store supplies. Owill Brell estimated half of the remaining population would actively support the clansmen, and the other half would sullenly tolerate the use of their city as a staging site against the Narthani.

One regiment would go to Wynmor to join with Hetman Selfcell and two thousand of his clan’s fighting men. The Selfcellese had only begun to organize on the model of the other clans, but only a few bitter past victims doubted their commitment. Welman Stent had written to the War Council that his main concern with the Selfcellese was they might be too committed to prove their loyalty to the rest of Caedellium.

The final deployment in Level One consisted of two regiments of dragoons to Dornfeld in western Keelan.

Kolsko Household, Orosz City

Adjustments came to the Kolsko household. The room Culich Keelan had slept in before he returned to Caernford was cleaned and made ready for his return. He would stay in Orosz City for the duration of the crisis. However, the household numbers would remain the same.

“Ceinwyn’s leaving?” asked Yozef when Maera gave him the news.

“In two days,” Maera said. “The women’s platoon she’s been training with is being split up and used as a cadre, you call it, to train more women. I confess I wasn’t aware of how it was going for her, but it turns out she was a squad leader in the platoon. She and her squad are going to Clitwyth in Stent Province to form new women’s platoons there.”

“I didn’t think the idea of women’s units was being accepted.”

“Stent is one of the early exceptions,” said Maera, “but many of the others are slowly coming around.”

“Both of you are so busy, I’m not surprised you haven’t seen what’s happened with Ceinwyn,” said Anarynd, who had been listening. “She’s become quite well known in Orosz City, and I wouldn’t be surprised if stories of her have spread. A hetman’s daughter training to fight the Narthani? Who also fought the Narthani assassins and got that terrible scar?”

“That’s why Welman specifically asked for her—which is what Ceinwyn told me,” said Maera. “She expects to be a platoon leader in the new units being formed.”

“It’s an incongruous image,” said Yozef. “From my experience with her and what I’ve heard, Ceinwyn seemed to be a self-centered bitch—pardon me, Maera, I know she’s your sister, but . . . ”

“No apologies needed, Yozef. I’d hesitate to use the word myself, but I can’t argue with its accuracy—at least, with the Ceinwyn I’ve known the last few years. Things have changed with her, though. I don’t understand exactly what’s going on inside her, but she’s not the same person. Despite my saying I haven’t kept up with her since we came to Orosz City, we’ve still gotten along better and had more real conversations during the last month than in the last ten years. Perhaps it’s the scar? At first, she did her best to hide it, but now, if anything, she arranges her hair to let it show better.”

“I suspect it’s become her identity symbol,” said Yozef. “You’d need to have a psychiatrist figure it out, but there’s any number of reasons. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Sometimes, when people don’t like something about themselves, they make themselves proud of it to compensate. Maybe she’s come to appreciate the attention and respect the scar brings her from other people. Maybe the Ceinwyn we see now was always there but was hidden and has now come out. Hell, I don’t know.”

Maera didn’t know what either a “psychiatrist” or a “defense mechanism” was, but she thought she understand the intent of Yozef’s musings.

“She’s also probably a great recruiting poster . . . uh . . . a sign you have made with pictures and words encouraging people to do something—in this case, to convince women to train to fight and join units,” said Yozef. “I can almost hear the arguments: ‘Brave hetman’s daughter fights to protect her family from the dastardly Narthani. If she can fight, why can’t you?’”

“They have such ‘recruiting posters’ in Amerika, Yozef?” asked Anarynd.

“Oh, yes,” he replied. Not to mention advertising posters.

Ceinwyn wasn’t the only woman in the household to get training, although for the others it occurred “in-house.”

Yozef came home early one day and found Anarynd, Gwyned, and Braithe Reese being given dry-run lessons in loading and firing muskets and pistols by Braithe’s husband, Gowlin.

“Wife’s been nagging me for sixdays, Yozef,” said Gowlin. “When I finally remembered and found time, the others asked to learn, too. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, Gowlin,” said Yozef. “I should have thought of it myself. Go ahead and arrange a time to take them all out to a firing range outside the walls. Dry runs are only useful so far. They need to know how the recoil feels.”

Later, when Yozef talked with Maera, he learned he hadn’t been aware of other goings-on among the clans.

“I only heard about it a few days ago, Yozef. In several clans, they’re giving firearms training to children as young as eight years old. The northern clans are even including children down to ten years old in auxiliary units.”

“Ten years old! They couldn’t even hold a musket!”

“I’m sure it’s the smaller pistols for ones that young,” said Maera.

“Still, that’s awfully young to plan on them fighting Narthani.”

Maera patted him on the arm. “You still don’t understand us completely, Yozef. Naturally, we want our children out of danger, but that desire is not absolute. Most Caedelli would rather see their eight-year-old child helping fight the Narthani than see him enslaved or possibly killed while hiding.”

She’s right, he thought. I still don’t understand them as much as I should, but this shouldn’t surprise me. He remembered Yonkel Miron, the eight-year-old boy who first found Yozef lying naked on the beach near Abersford. Later, when he came to know Yonkel, Yozef had told the boy’s parents that Yonkel was bright enough for schooling beyond most islander children and that the boy might be a candidate to be a scholastic someday. That promise had ended the morning of the Buldorian raid. Yozef had glimpsed Yonkel standing behind the courtyard barricade, holding a short, rusted sword and looking eager for an adventure he had no true understanding of. Later, after the Buldorians withdrew, Yozef found the boy lying dead, his chest cleaved by a raider’s blade.

Keelan Manor, Caernford

“Why can’t we stay together, Father?” pleaded fifteen-year-old Mared Keelan, her eyes wet with tears but her voice firm in demanding an answer.

She’s becoming so much like Maera, thought Breda Keelan. Is it because she’s turning into a woman or because it was always there? Maybe we didn’t notice when Maera was around, and we didn’t see it in our youngest daughter?

“You know why, Mared,” Culich Keelan said firmly. “I would prefer to stay here with you, your mother, and the rest of our people. Agreeing to be part of the War Council gave me the authority to plan all the clans’ fight against the Narthani. That makes it necessary for me to be with the other council members when we believe the critical time has come against the invaders. That time is now.

“And no, you and your mother will not come to Orosz City with me, even as much I would prefer us all together. Maera and Ceinwyn are already there, where the center of resistance against the Narthani will likely be. Should the worst happen at Orosz City, your sisters and I want to know some of our family are still safe.”

“But I’ve heard you s—”

Culich cut her off with an abrupt hand raised, palm toward Mared. He knew what she would say. “Yes, there’s nowhere absolutely safe, but it’s your mother’s decision and mine that we not all be in the same place.” He didn’t elaborate that Breda had not been convinced but finally acceded to Culich’s wishes.

“It’s also important for our people going to the Dillagon redoubt to know I believe it’s a safe haven while fighting is going on. Otherwise, why would their hetman send his wife and daughter there? If we all went to Orosz City, some might think it’s because I thought it was safer there—which it’s not.”

Mared grudgingly nodded, accepting the argument’s truth and logic.

“Remember,” said Culich, “your mother will be busy helping our people, and it’ll be your responsibility to help her, be sure she takes care of herself, and do your best to be the brave hetman’s daughter, as an example to the families taking refuge in the Dillagons.”

Narthani Headquarters, Preddi City

Akuyun met with Gullar and his staff every day in the sixdays following the fleet’s arrival. Most of the time, he was more of an observer, as the Twenty-Ninth Corps dealt with establishing encampments, billeting officers, slowly working to get the men back in condition after the months’ long voyage, and myriad details with the infantry, the cavalry, the artillery, and the logistics of a 68,000-man corps.

Gullar had mainly listened as his staff questioned Akuyun and his people about the Moreland City battle, what they knew of the clans’ history, the terrain, and assessments of the clans’ numbers, tactics, and weapons. It was all very professional, and even when they questioned Akuyun’s own decisions, it conveyed a tone of information gathering and not criticism. Which was why he felt surprised and grateful by the way Gullar opened this day’s meeting as soon as all the men had seated themselves around the rectangular table, Gullar at one end, Akuyun at the other.

“All right, I think we have a clear enough picture of the situation to look ahead. Kamil, summarize how you see our options.”

General Kamil Avan, Gullar’s second-in-command, sat to the marshal’s right. “Our mission’s objective is the same as General Akuyun’s, bringing the entire island of Caedellium into the empire. The key difference is that now the High Command has increased the priority and committed enough men to ensure achieving the objective, instead of making the effort low priority with minimal resources, as previously assigned. The fact that the island has not already been subjugated is unfortunate, and although we might have made other decisions than General Akuyun and his senior officers in a few places, all of these fall within the normal parameters for any military decisions. We find no general fault with General Akuyun or his staff.”

Akuyun didn’t feel offended by their open discussion of him. He expected such evaluations at the higher levels of the Narthani military, where general officers spoke more freely among themselves than they would with ranks below or officials above. The highest levels of Narthani leadership accepted this form of internal critique and informally ignored it, in exchange for the generals’ loyalty to the empire. The long-standing custom of openness also tempered mistakes from above.

“Although the original decision to send so few troops might be understandable from a status-of-resources perspective, a mere doubling would have almost ensured success. The opportunity to take advantage of the clans’ disorder and lack of fighting experience is now gone, which is why the High Command determined that we needed an entire corps to accomplish the objective.

“Other original mistakes were sending obsolete mixed musket and pike units, instead of those converted to all muskets, the lack of sufficient cavalry, and the settling of so many Narthani civilians on the island before we had achieved complete security. All three of those placed severe restrictions on General Akuyun’s options. Most of these factors resulted from the greatest problem with the initial plan: the shortcomings in intelligence. Instead of disorganized clans that we didn’t expect to cooperate quickly enough to resist absorption and that had no experience in large-scale military operations, the clans organized faster and to a totally unexpected degree. They showed tactical sense more like that of a mainland realm’s army, and they went from having no artillery to developing the casting and deployment of cannon impressively fast. While I grant that Caedellium is far from Narthon and intelligence must have been hard to come by, there’s still no excuse for basing the original mission on such poor information.

“However, the most serious failure from higher up was to send so many Narthani settlers here so early. We assume there was some logic to it, but we’re unaware of why you would put a hundred thousand nonmilitary personnel into an ongoing conquest when given no better than even chances of success. Naturally, it may simply be our own lack of understanding of why such decisions were made.”

The last words were the commonly pro forma method to avoid outright calling High Command decisions stupid.

“Which leads us to where we are and what’s next,” said Avan. “After reviewing all information, we have recommendations that General Balkto will elaborate.”

Avan looked to the man sitting on Gullar’s left. The short, bald man with eyeglasses was Gullar’s operations officer, what Yozef would call his G-1. Balkto rose and went to a Caedellium map on the wall. He picked up a wooden pointer and tapped the tip on the center of Preddi Province before turning back to the table.

“We will retrace the route of Brigadier Zulfa’s invasion, but this time with 52,000 Narthani divided among units totaling eight thousand cavalry, 38,000 infantry, and six thousand support troops. This force would move straight on Moreland City and then on to Orosz City and finally finish cutting the island in half by reaching the coast of Adris Province, where naval resupply will be waiting. The loss of Eywell Province means there will be times when the corps is farther from a supply base than the tentative plan developed on the voyage called for, but we don’t consider that an unacceptable situation.

“Another eight thousand infantry under General Istranik, with naval support, will attack coastal provinces and prevent the clans from concentrating all their men on the campaign to cut the island in half. Those eight thousand would also be available as a reserve for the main force. The remaining eight thousand men will remain in Preddi City and includes support personnel and several regiments to assist General Akuyun in maintaining the security of Narthani civilians in Preddi Province and forestall Caedelli temptations to raid into the Province.

“Since the islanders made a stand at Moreland City before, we expect them to do the same this time. If not there, then Orosz City. Future details and actions will be dictated from initial outcomes. The hope is that a few crushing defeats and major cities burned will lead individual clans to sue for terms.”

During the following discussion, Akuyun voiced caution about making assumptions about the Caedelli, and it was the only time he had the impression Gullar’s staff peremptorily dismissed his views.

“It’s unfortunate we no longer control the two adjacent provinces,” said Gullar. “They would have given us more projection into the heart of the island. However, this presents more of a logistic complication than a tactical one, because it only places our base of operations fifty to eighty miles farther from the island’s geographic center. The aim remains as it was for General Akuyun—to either defeat in battle or get every clan on the island to surrender. Based on what we know, it’s obvious any surrender will only come after we’ve defeated them badly enough in battles and destroyed enough of their cities, towns, villages, crops, and herds to force them to accept the inevitable. That’s our best-case scenario. Worst is that they never surrender, and we have to dig them out of every hole in the ground and kill most of them. We agree with General Akuyun that it’s far better to bring as many as possible alive into the empire and with as much of the island’s infrastructure intact as possible, but we need to face the possibility that won’t happen. The only positive about that worst-case scenario is that once the clans’ ability to mount serious military opposition is finished, the High Command will likely have our corps move on to other missions and bring in a recently incorporated people to help repopulate the island and root out the last resistance.

“Our focus will be to destroy the clans’ ability to fight. How we do this is the question. After considering options, we are recommending to Marshal Gullar that we follow the same basic strategy as tried by General Akuyun—march toward major cities and force them to either fight or have the cities destroyed.

“The exact campaign direction will be determined later as we finish getting our men back in shape after the voyage. In the meantime, we need to push back at the clans’ patrols along the Preddi border and see if we can regain some of the lost ground. At the same time, it will give us a chance to test the condition of the cavalry units matching up with unfamiliar horses, get intelligence on the status of Caedelli weapons, and give us some indication of how they will react. If the opportunity seems right, we might attempt to retake the Eywellese town of Morthmin about thirty miles north-northwest of Preddi. That would give us more of a forward base to operate from, and we’d be in a better position to explore more options for our major moves. Ideally, we would go as far as Hanslow, but that’s close enough to the edges of our previously controlled territory that it might provoke a major clan response before we’re ready.”

Akuyun Villa, Preddi City

“The meetings have gone well,” Okan Akuyun said to his wife. “Gullar’s staff is very professional. While I wouldn’t rate all of them at the very top level, they all focus on their responsibilities and the overall mission.”

Rabia took another sip of Melosian tea and set down her cup. “You had concern over their attitude toward you.”

“I haven’t seen a problem. Not all of them agree with some of the decisions we made, but the impression I get is that they accept our actions as the men on the scene and not as criticism. It was interesting today when General Balkto summarized their intent when they move against the clans. They will follow the same basic strategy we already tried—marching into the middle of Caedellium and burning every town and city until the clans are forced to fight and be destroyed or surrender when they realize the futility of further resistance. Even though we didn’t succeed, I take it as a good sign that Gullar and his people came to the same plan.”

“Did they indicate when they’ll start?” asked Rabia.

“No fixed date but about a month and a half from now. They’re still organizing and recovering from the voyage. However, by sending an existing corps, it shortens the time. When we came, the units were new and had never been together before, so it took many months to get the men and units into minimally acceptable status. In the meantime, he’ll increase pressure on the islanders and might try to retake Morthmin as a base farther forward. Losing Eywell sacrificed an important salient into the island’s interior. They’ll also mount more aggressive patrols, leading up to battalion-sized scouting, to check the clans’ responses.”

“It all sounds like everything is moving forward well,” said Rabia. “Why do I sense you’re not pleased with something?”

“You know me too well, dear. What Gullar did not bring with him was any additional civilian administrators.”

Rabia’s shoulders slumped, and resignation flashed over her face. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“I’m afraid so. Gullar confirmed to me in private that he had no knowledge of what the High Command intends for his command after it finishes with the Caedelli, but he doesn’t expect to be involved in administering the island.”

“Which leaves it up to you and your people, Okan, and we won’t be going home anytime soon.”

Akuyun laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you miss your family, and Bilfor’s and Morzak’s children are growing up without us seeing them.” The Akuyuns’ two older sons were army officers and had growing families, including three children born after the Akuyuns left Narthon.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea how much longer we might be here, Okan?” asked Rabia.

Akuyun shook his head. “Too much depends on how Gullar’s campaign goes. I’ve tried to caution him and his staff that the islanders are liable to prove more stubborn than they think, but that’s the one topic I don’t believe they’ve listened to. The person who does agree with me is Sadek, and he’s now working more with Gullar than me in his assessor role. Sadek tells me he expressed similar reservations as my own, and he’s shown me a copy of a recommendation he intends to send to the High Command. In it, he lays out a series of options, depending on how Gullar’s campaign comes out. One possible scenario is that even when they are crushed in battle, the clans refuse to surrender, and scattered resistance continues from supporters and islanders hiding in the mountains. In that case, Sadek suggests the most efficient way to proceed is to depopulate the entire island by whatever means necessary and bring in a completely new population.”

“Great Narth!” exclaimed Rabia. “I pray it doesn’t come to that.”

“The same with me. The Caedelli are joining the empire. I’ve come to believe they would be a valuable addition. I’d hate to see that wasted. Whatever happens, it looks like we’re going to be here for several more years.”

Chapter 41: Recon in Force

Orosz City

“They’re steadily increasing the pressure on us,” said Welman Stent to the full War Council. “It started about three sixdays after the new Narthani arrived. Both regiments in Eywell have pulled back their encampments to Morthmin, and I’ll order the one regiment in Selfcell to withdraw to Stent Province as soon as the last of the Selfcellese in northern Selfcell have left.”

“What’s the size of the Narthani intrusions?” asked Yozef.

“Until last sixday, no more than fifty at a time. However, twice now our people have encountered over a hundred Narthani, perhaps as many as two hundred, accompanied by a few artillery pieces. It all smells like they’re building up for something much bigger.”

“As it does to me,” said Farkesh. “The itch in my back tells me it’s time to start Phase Two and get more people heading to the redoubts and units gathering.” Only Phase Three would be left: all noncombatants to the redoubts and all fighting men to major mustering points.

“They could keep this up indefinitely,” said Orosz. “The longer we wait, the more prepared we can be. I’d hate for us to waste sixdays, even months.”

Culich sighed. “Everything we do has to assess the consequences. So far, our forward regiments only had to discourage Narthani patrols. What if we authorized them to go after the next large patrol of one or two hundred? Maybe chasing them back or even inflicting enough casualties will set back whatever timetable they’re on.”

“Another thing to consider,” Yozef added, “is that as larger groups cross the border, it’s only a matter of time before much of our men’s attention is on the larger groups. Then they’ll miss small patrols, even individuals slipping through our cordon attempting to stop the Narthani from knowing what’s happening in the rest of the island. It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s already happened.”

After a half-hour of discussion, Tomis Orosz called for a vote. “I think we know as much as we’re going to about the current situation and our options. Unless someone objects, I suggest we vote on whether to call for Phase Two or wait for more news of Narthani action.”

Stent nodded. Farkesh said, “I’ve nothing more to add,” and Culich said, “Vote.”

“All right then,” said Orosz, “those in favor of—”

“Before we vote, Tomis,” interrupted Farkesh, “I have a suggestion. I know how the conclave agreed on the council organization, we four voting and Yozef advising and voting only on two-two ties, but let’s be honest. Yozef is at least as important as any of us in our planning, so why don’t we agree he’s a voting member on all issues?”

Stent gave Yozef a questioning look. Culich appeared impassive. Orosz nodded and said, “I think I agree with Feren. Events may start to move fast, so I don’t see a need to consult with the other hetmen. We can agree among ourselves and bring it up with the others at some appropriate future occasion.”

“Culich, what do you think?” asked Stent.

The Keelan hetman shrugged. “Obviously, I have a connection with Yozef, so it’s best I don’t decide. I’ll agree with whatever the three of you want.”

Stent looked at Yozef.

Yozef had been listening and thought it a reasonable suggestion, which itself was a revelation to him. A few months ago, he would have looked for ways to deflect responsibility, often futilely. Now he seemed more than willing to accept the ultimate responsibility of joining the council in making life-or-death decisions for all the Caedelli.

“Uh . . . Welman . . . if it’s the will of the council members, then I accept.”

Stent nodded. “It’s done, then. Let’s all five of us vote. Tomis, you’re serving as our leader in meetings. You call it.”

With that lack of drama and discussion, the Caedellium War Council became five members—four hereditary clan hetmen on the Island of Caedellium, planet Anyar, and one member from La Mesa, California, planet Earth, hereditary leader of no one.

“Two options, then,” said Orosz. “Wait or invoke Phase Two, although I suppose I need to include a third option where some of you might not have a strong feeling either way and will abide by the decision of the rest. So, those in favor of invoking Phase Two, raise a hand.”

Three hands raised: Stent, Farkesh, and Keelan. Culich cast a surprised look at Yozef.

Orosz continued. “Those in favor of waiting for Phase Two, raise a hand.” No hands raised, meaning Yozef and Orosz had no firm opinion.

“I have to say I’m surprised, Yozef,” said Culich. “Do you really not have a strong opinion about starting Phase Two, or were you hesitant to cast a vote your first time?”

“Culich, it’s one of those situations where the issues and parameters are too complex and the information too limited to make purely rational decisions. In such cases, my people came to understand that sometimes a group can often come to the best option, even more than individuals who you might think better qualified than a group decision. We call this ‘collective wisdom.’ The basis of it is that an individual, no matter how intelligent or experienced, can always make mistakes. If decisions are made by groups, sometimes mistakes can be canceled out. It obviously doesn’t always work, but when there’s an element of doubt as to the best course of action, it’s often best to go with a collective decision, which is what we’re doing today. If three of us believe Phase Two is justified and two don’t know, I’m willing to go with the majority decision.”

“It’s settled, then,” asserted Orosz. “Notice will be sent out that Phase Two is declared.”

Picket Regiment, Eywell Province

Major Irwyn Lango hated having his meals disturbed. They were often one of the few times of the day he could try to ignore that he commanded a mixed Bevans/Pawell battalion, only newly activated. He spent most of each day knowing he had no business in such a role, but as his hetman had explained, “Goddamn it, Irwyn, none of us know what we’re doing. You’re one of the best we have, and Bevansites have to be represented in leadership meetings and decisions. I know it’s hard enough to command this many men and even worse when half of them are Pawellese, but would you rather have a Pawell major commanding our people?”

Lango had had no good rejoinder and reluctantly moved from being a captain commanding a Bevansite company to a major commanding a battalion with two Bevansite and two Pawellese companies. A month of training together had smoothed some of the rough edges. Yet just when Lango had started to feel as if he might eventually be a respectable commander of a unit in training status, his battalion was declared fit for action. They became part of a regiment taking its turn based south of Morthmin in Eywell territory. The first few days after their arrival had been tense—he’d spent every moment wondering whether the whole Narthani army would attack. A sixday and two days later now, he had begun to relax into the boredom of squad and platoon reports with no sign of anything more than stray animals.

Even so, he’d just begun eating a mid-day meal of dry sausage, cheese, and hardtack when interrupted by his youngest brother, who served as his aide.

“Irwyn, looks like the entire forward Pawell company is galloping back here! They’re supposed to be west of here toward the Selfcell border. The lookout on the last semaphore station sent the message. I asked him to repeat it, but there’s been no response yet.”

Lango frowned. “That jackass commanding the company knows he’s to stay on station until relieved in two more days. God curse all stupid Pawellese! Get my horse. I’ll ride out to meet them and find out what the excuse is.”

Twenty minutes later, Major Lango and a Bevansite platoon were riding on the road that paralleled the semaphore line. Seventeen minutes after that, the first Pawellese rider in a stretched-out column came into view. One rider spurred his horse ahead of the others. It was the Pawellese captain.

Lango never had a chance to lambast the aforementioned jackass.

“Narthani!” yelled the captain, pulling hard on his horse’s reins to stop ten yards away. “They surprised and wiped out a squad, then attacked the rest of that platoon, who responded to the musket fire. Only half of the platoon got away. When I got word, I called in the rest of the patrols and took the platoon resting at our encampment to see for myself. I saw at least a hundred Narthani cavalry. We skirmished with them and got our asses out of there. I can’t be certain, but I believe there are more of them coming behind the first batch I saw. I managed to gather most of the rest of the company and got back here like we’re supposed to if we run into more than we can handle.”

Lango had long swallowed his words of beratement before the Pawellese captain finished his short, hurried report. “How far behind you are they?”

“We put some distance between us. Last time we saw them was about half an hour ago from atop a hill. They were maybe twenty minutes back at that time.”

“Shit!” said Lango. What should he do now? What was he supposed to do? He mentally reviewed the written and verbal instructions: chase back smaller Narthani units, hold in place ones of about equal size while waiting for help or orders from the regiment, withdraw to the regiment’s encampment site if they were too outnumbered. The latter two situations required sending semaphore messages to Colonel Postwyn, the Mittackian commanding the regiment. Hopefully, the colonel knew his business.

Orosz City

Yozef and Maera left their house together that morning. As they did many mornings when they were both in Orosz City, they walked together, preceded and followed by four regular bodyguards, two of whom cleared a path through even the busiest street merely by their appearance. Yozef wondered which of them made people more nervous—Carnigan, with a size and a natural expression that made him appear angry even when he wasn’t, or Wyfor, who oozed danger. However perceived, the two men moved through the street, creating a wake that pulled Yozef and Maera behind it.

They were less than a hundred yards from their house when a teenage boy ran to within fifteen feet of their prow and skidded to a stop. He called out over the human shield, “Urgent message from Hetman Orosz! He wants Ser Kolsko at clan headquarters immediately!”

“Something’s happening in Eywell,” said Tomis Orosz as soon as Yozef and Maera walked through the door of the map and planning room. Orosz, Owill Brell, Denes Vegga, and several other men had gathered around one of a half-dozen tables, this one with a Caedellium map spread out. “There was a semaphore message of Narthani activity, then another message about contact, then nothing as it got dark. At first light, we got the message that the forward regiment had had heavy contact and was falling back toward Morthmin.”

Is this the anticipated invasion or a smaller action? Yozef wondered. “No estimate of how many Narthani?”

“No,” said Brell. “We’re hoping to get more information shortly. The last message we got was sent from the fourth station from the end of the line toward Preddi. We have to assume the farther stations were overrun or abandoned.”

“Welman had been in Hanslow,” said Orosz, “but was halfway to Moreland City when the first message came. He got the first news about contact at the next semaphore station and waited there for the second message, then turned around and rode hard back to Hanslow. He’s messaged this morning that he’s accompanying three of Hanslow’s six regiments forward to Morthmin and will semaphore when he knows more.”

“He’s also activated the Mobile Rider Express,” said Denes.

Yozef absorbed the information while studying the map. Thank God for the semaphore line from Orosz City all the way to near the Preddi border, he thought. The newer sections, from Moreland City on, had been operational for three sixdays. They would get news no more than a couple of hours after being sent from one of the stations five to seven miles apart, depending on terrain. It won’t be this easy once action shifts away from the lines. That’s when we’ll see if the Rider Express works. The Caedellium version of the Pony Express had been renamed the “Rider Express,” after Yozef acknowledged his original name didn’t work on Anyar.

Worried that when action happened miles from functioning semaphore lines, it could take days for couriers to reach Orosz City or an open line to the city, Yozef had brainstormed with the MIU staff. He described the Rider Express with a tone of regret, because it needed regularly spaced stations with fresh horses. This, he said, was impractical when they didn’t know the sites the messages originated from, either mobile forces being chased or, hopefully, at some point, chasing Narthani.

“Well, eternal darkness, Yozef,” Maera’s cousin Riona had quipped. “Why do the stations have to be immobile?” Riona’s comment was accompanied by her usual sneer that anyone, especially Yozef, had to be corrected. He had been tempted more than once to drop her from the MIU, but he found it equally annoying how many times she had insightful ideas, even improving on his own.

“That could work,” Denes had said when apprised of the idea. “We could have men holding strings of fresh horses and camping where there was water and either fresh grass or wagons carrying feed. Their positions could vary, depending on the movements of major forces they’re supporting. It would let us keep in more immediate contact, even down to the regiment level.”

“I like the idea,” Yozef had said, irritated to be agreeing with Riona and chagrined for feeling irritated. “There’s bound to be problems getting the mobile stations connected to here, but under good conditions it will get us far more detailed updates in not much slower time.”

“Stent will send back riders with more details as he gets them,” said Denes. “If he’s followed our procedures, he’s also putting out scouts ten miles in all directions.”

“I hope this isn’t it,” said Orosz, worried. “Not every clan has finished Phase Two. Moving on to Phase Three so quickly would leave too much undone.”

“Nothing we can do about it,” cautioned Yozef. “Just wait. It’ll likely be a few hours before the situation clarifies. Is there any reason for us to stay hovered over this table? I, for one, have other things to do in the building or nearby.”

“If you all leave word at the main entrance where you’ll be, I’ll send runners as soon as we get more information and need to make decisions,” assured Brell.

“I’ll still be in this room, looking at different maps,” said Yozef.

“I’ll join you,” said Denes. “No point going too far away and just have to race back. Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else.”

The two men walked up four steps leading to a square-eight-shaped elevated walkway surrounding what Yozef called the Pits—two huge maps raised three feet off the floor. Pit One’s map showed an enlarged image of Caedellium. They had transferred as much data as possible to the map: borders, villages to cities, rivers, and elementary references to altitude using shades of green and brown. The map was as complete as they could make it, and the surface was dotted with figurines representing known positions of specific clan forces. Arrayed in rows south of Preddi stood figurines for Narthani infantry and cavalry. Since no one knew anything about their current disposition, except within Preddi Province, the rows sat waiting for information.

Maera had listened to enough of the talk about Eywell to know they didn’t need her here. She had gone to the main map and was talking with one of the six women training to move the figurines. Once Phase Two started, one of the women would always be in the Pit, ready to translate status updates into figurine positions. Maera looked up, saw Yozef, and with an open hand gesture asked if there was anything new. He shook his head.

“These maps you’ve had made are wonders, Yozef,” said Denes. “Still, they’re intimidating at the same time. When I’m out in the field, worrying about the men around me and Narthani nearby, I concentrate on only that. Here, anything I’m doing, no matter what, is reduced to these lumps of painted, fired clay. Look there, just near Orosz City. The man farthest right of the three near the city. The figure with the number one on the flag sticking up out of its head. That’s me, twenty-five hundred other men, all our horses, wagons, and artillery. It makes us look so insignificant.”

“You know what it represents. You can say the same thing about a Narthani figure, and I’m sure you don’t consider one of those insignificant.”

Denes shook his head. “I’d rather be in the field than here. At least, I’ll have the feeling of being in control, whether it’s true or not, instead of coolly moving pieces around.”

Yozef gazed over the map, labels, and figurines. He’d had the idea from watching too many movies depicting headquarters in various wars: Eisenhower’s SHAEF, Churchill’s admiralty, Germans, Americans, and Russians. He couldn’t remember if there had been such setups during the U.S. Civil War. It also reminded him of board and computer games, where he and fellow gamesters refought past and fantasy wars. He remembered the feeling of almost euphoria when his moves annihilated an opponent, his tokens pushing aside those of the enemy. He wondered if men could succumb to feelings of godhood when they had the authority to decide where each of their tokens would go, what sacrifices they would be ordered to make, what victories they would garner. He himself felt some of this power. Although he was only one of the five War Council members, now that the other four had elevated him, he couldn’t delude himself that his opinions didn’t count more than others’. The difference was that on Earth, if he lost armies, there was always the next game, and his memory had been short after defeats as he looked forward to future victories. Now, the tokens were people, tens of thousands of real humans with families, fears, hopes, and futures, which kindled dread when he dwelled on the responsibility.

“I see your people are still working on the other big map,” said Denes, interrupting Yozef’s specter of himself.

“Uh . . . yes. I haven’t checked on it for a couple of days.”

They walked to the other section of the catwalk surrounding Pit Two, a raised relief map of Caedellium using the hundreds of thousands of altitude measurements the survey teams had collected and were still working on. Several pottery makers had been matched with surveyors who’d been pulled from gathering measurements, and the team worked on creating the three-dimensional representation of the island. Ironically, Yozef’s enthusiasm for the map waned as the mapmaker team’s waxed. They had been dubious, having never heard of such a map, but once the first section was done, using clay and then painting the surface to simulate surface features gathered by the field surveyors, the team began to view the map as an artwork. By then, Yozef had come to believe topographical maps would have sufficed and been faster to complete. He had considered scrapping the partly completed relief map, but several hetmen and other leaders had become enthusiasts.

Yozef and Denes stood watching two male surveyors and one male and two female pottery-makers work to extend the existing map. Yozef hadn’t inquired how the two professions interacted to generate the relief, but it seemed to involve narrow sticks standing in a clay base with the sticks representing altitudes. They watched as a woman substituted a column of clay for a stick, checked with a surveyor looking at a large sheet of paper covered in numbers Yozef assumed were heights, then proceeded to the next stick. Two others filled in spaces between clay columns while the second surveyor looked back and forth between their work and his own sheet of numbers.

“They certainly appear focused,” said Denes, “but the tedium and attention to detail would drive me crazy.”

“All of us have our talents and contributions to make, Denes. Obviously, these people have found their niches, although I’m not sure they’ve finished enough for the raised relief map to be useful if the Narthani are making their move.”

“Whether they are or not, I still have unit status paperwork to do,” said Denes. “I don’t recall your On War saying anything about sitting on my butt this much with quill and paper in front of me.”

Yozef slapped Denes on the back. “If it had, men like you would never have agreed to command positions. Seriously, though, it’s those reports that let the MIU and the War Council know exactly what we have to work with. Not that I have any sympathy. I need to make my own butt-to-chair contact to read all the latest reports on readiness.”

The two men went to their separate workstations in the building. Two endless hours passed for Yozef as he forced himself to concentrate on report after report, some of the contents even seeping into his attention. Relief came when Maera popped her head into his office.

“Yozef, an Express rider just got here. Orosz is reading a message from Stent.”

He followed Maera back to where Orosz, Denes, and several other men stood around the same map table as before.

Orosz finished reading two sheets as Yozef edged to the front. “Welman says he thinks it’s a large patrol, not a full-fledged invasion. The forward regiment is falling back, as directed in their orders, trying to stay in contact with the Narthani without getting into a battle. Welman expects to join Colonel Postwyn in the next two hours.” Orosz looked up at a large wall clock donated by a wealthy Gwillamese. “That means he’s already gotten to Postwyn. Merciful God, I wish there was a way to get even faster updates. I know the semaphore and Rider Express are marvels, but the faster we get information, the faster I seem to want it.”

Welcome to the information world, thought Yozef. We always want more after each taste. Tomis chaffs at what we have, so it’s a good thing he doesn’t know about line and wireless telegraphs. Time, like Napoleon said. If we just had more time. We get through this, and maybe in a year or two, I could have the island really wired.

During the next two days, the council headquarters kept abreast of events in southern and middle Eywell. Postwyn’s regiment suffered two hundred casualties in a series of intense skirmishes that didn’t quite qualify as battles. The Narthani pushed Postwyn back until Stent arrived with three more regiments, and the Narthani withdrew back to Preddi in good order. Stent made one attempt to cut them off, but confusion among the four regimental leaders prevented an encirclement attempt.

“I wasn’t actually trying to block them,” Stent said later when he returned to Orosz City and reported on the action in detail. “I’d intended to leave an escape route, but I wanted to see how well the four regiments could coordinate. It wasn’t encouraging. Postwyn’s regiment had been in continuous contact for an entire day, so I used them as the reserve. When I tried to hold the Narthani’s attention with one regiment and have the other two try to threaten their flanks, one regiment lost contact with the Narthani and never was a factor, while the other one got too close and took a hundred casualties when one of its battalions got ambushed.”

“Don’t be too discouraged, Welman,” said Yozef. “It’s the first time we’ve had real-world multiple-regiment action. That the regiments didn’t end up totally lost, shooting at one another, or running at the first heavy contact, yet kept the pressure on the Narthani, are all positives. We’re all learning. While the lessons may be hard, expect to get better at all this the more experience we have.”

Yozef only half-believed his encouragement, but confidence was in such short supply, he didn’t want to erode what little they had.

Preddi City

Other debriefings occurred when the Narthani unit returned to Preddi territory.

“Interesting,” said Gullar at hearing General Balkto’s after-action report. “The clans kept just enough contact to slow down our people while they waited for reinforcements. They didn’t attack or appear to be building up to an attack until they had more men on the scene than we did. When they did force it, they seemed somewhat uncoordinated, rather than hesitant to fight.”

“Problems with coordination never go away, no matter who you are and how much experience you have,” said General Kamil Avan, Gullar’s second-in-command. “What jumps out at me is that they had other units positioned close enough to support those our men encountered. From when they first appeared and the time of first contact, I’d estimate the reinforcements might have been at Hanslow. There appeared to have been around five to six thousand of them when our men withdrew, which raises questions. Was that the entire Hanslow force, or were there more not yet sent forward? Was it fortuitous that our probe aimed directly at where they had reinforcements stationed, or if we’d probed elsewhere, would things have developed differently?”

“There are always more questions raised,” said Gullar, “but we now know they had organized units positioned behind those we and General Akuyun’s men have encountered near the border. We also know they didn’t press our men until they had superiority in numbers. However, I’m not sure any of this changes our plans.”

“I agree,” said Avan. “I’m satisfied the regiment we sent out performed well. Officers report the men were not quite up to full physical fitness but were close, and they responded well to orders. This regiment was chosen to be slightly below average status, so I believe we can be ready to campaign in another two to three sixdays.”

The Narthani needed one day more than Avan’s estimate range of twelve to eighteen days.

Chapter 42: HERE THEY COME

Here They Come

“Sergeant Walon! Wake up!” One of Brilwel Walon’s men shook him awake.

It was thirdday, second sixday of the month of Amgelon. They were perched on an isolated peak sticking fourteen hundred feet above the valley running north-south through Eywell Province and ten miles southwest of Morthmin where the current forward regiment had set up their base since pulling back from the border. From their position, they overlooked the main road and the semaphore line running to Hanslow. The last sixday the Narthani cavalry patrols had gotten larger, more frequent, and more aggressive in keeping the clan patrols from penetrating farther south. From their position, they could watch a swath of territory sixteen miles across.

Walon groused, “All right, all right. I’m awake. It had better be important. I was dreaming of being home with my wife, and she had planned a welcome night’s activity.”

The young man—more a boy, because he wasn’t more than seventeen years old (fifteen Earth years)—was fresh off his family’s farm in Adris Province, home to all the men in this unit. They had not had the dragoon training and had been assigned as lookouts. The title “sergeant” was one of those labels Yozef Kolsko had insisted on, formalizing a rank structure. Walon often thought the ranks were unnecessary, though he finally saw the argument for being able to know who was in charge when men from different clans found themselves fighting or operating together. Anyway, Yozef Kolsko said it was important, so that was good enough for Walon.

He sat up, opened his eyes, and looked at the agitated youth.

“So, what’s so important?”

“The Narthani are coming. The sun is just hitting the plain south of here, and you can see them.”

“How many are there?”

“ALL OF THEM!!” screamed the boy.

Walon jumped to his feet in the rock-and-cloth shelter he’d slept in the last sixday. He ran upslope forty yards to the highest observation point. He didn’t think to put on his boots and didn’t notice the rocks cutting the soles of his feet. At the summit, two men were taking turns looking through one of the new telescopes, a valuable and rare tool that Walon had been entrusted with.

As he reached the other two men, they turned. Both were pale.

“Merciful God, Brilwel! Merciful God. Look at them!” said one man and handed him the telescope. What seemed like a mere smudge on the plain north of them, as seen by the naked eye, resolved into three long, dark columns. Infantry filled the road for mile after mile. He couldn’t make out the exact numbers abreast, but his brain told him that from the known width of the road, they had to be five or six across. The mass of infantry was interspersed with wagons, and columns of cavalry flanked the road fifty to a hundred yards on each side. He thought he could see smaller smudges farther on the flanks and forward—screens for the main force.

They had been briefed on what they might see and how to make crude estimates of numbers from their vantage point. He made one estimate, then a second and a third. The three estimates clustered around twenty-five thousand, and there had to be even more, because he couldn’t resolve the end of the columns.

It took an hour and a half for the two riders Walon selected to get down the mountain and ride hard to Morthmin. From there, the semaphore station sent the alert to all clans, and the Morthmin regiment retreated northeast toward Hanslow.

By chance, Yozef was the only War Council member at the headquarters when the semaphore message came in from Morthmin. The message was uncoded.

From: Morthmin station

Top: War Council

Narthani army moving on road to Hanslow.

1st est 25,000 min

Withdrawing to Hanslow

“Does this mean the Narthani are coming here, Ser Kolsko?” asked the trembling fifteen-year-old girl (thirteen Earth years) who had brought the message from the Orosz City semaphore station. Younger boys and girls were filling as many roles as possible to free men for fighting units.

“It’s too early to tell for sure . . . Vurna, isn’t that your name? You’ve given me several messages the last sixday.”

“Yes, ser, Vurna Hotwun.”

Hotwun? Despite the news, Yozef suppressed a grin and took a second look at the girl. She was lovely, and he thought she was destined to be stunning. Yes, Vurna, in a couple of years you may be.

“Well, Vurna, all we know is that the Narthani are on the move, but that’s what we’ve all been preparing for the last months, isn’t it?” He put his arm around her shoulder. “No need to worry. This is just the first step. The Narthani are going to be in for many surprises, aren’t they? Now, off with you. We all have our tasks, and yours is getting messages to people as fast as possible.”

He watched her brighten at his words and bounce off, as only early teenage girls could. Holy shit! Yes, it’s time to worry, but for you, Vurna, what’s the point? Keep faith that the leaders and grownups know what they’re doing and God is on your side. Keep that faith at least a little longer.

Within five hours, the news would reach all nineteen free clans, Eywell existing in a suspended state, no longer part of the Narthani world, but neither part of the clan alliance. Seaborn, though separated from the rest of Caedellium by the Seaborn Straight, had formally contributed to the clan alliance by sending their hetman’s eldest son leading eight hundred men to Orosz City. The Selfcellese had contributed fifteen hundred men, led by Elflyn Langor, in Orosz City—it was agreed there was too much bad blood left to station them within Stent Province. The remainder of the Selfcell men remained in their province to protect their hastily organized redoubt and serve as a mobile force should an opportunity arise to strike at the Narthani rear.

In the meantime, the full War Council met at the Orosz City semaphore station. Welman Stent joined via dedicated semaphore from Hanslow. The lag for Stent’s participation slowed progress, but it hardly mattered, because the main topic was invoking Phase Three—imminent war with the Narthani. Even with the time of transmission delays, the five to zero vote came after only two hours by using prearranged codes for expected proposals. No discussion was necessary.

All noncombatants not already at redoubts were to start for their assignments as soon as possible. All military units were to immediately muster and move to prearranged positions.

Although the Narthani appeared to be following a route to Hanslow, nothing was certain. Per planning, ten regiments of dragoons and support units would gather at Hanslow—twenty-five thousand men under the command of Welman Stent. There, they would wait for the Narthani. Units currently mustering in an arc from Pewitt Province in northwest Caedellium to Mittack in the southeast were to begin moving inward, contracting clan forces toward Eywell. Only when the Narthani’s intentions appeared fixed would all clan forces finish consolidating.

In the time it took the Narthani army to move thirty miles farther into Eywell, four hundred thousand Caedelli were on the move. Another four hundred thousand were already in redoubts or part of already formed and stationed fighting units. It was a mass migration that rivaled anything Yozef could dredge up from Earth history. Food stores had already been sent to the relevant clan redoubts, along with any belongings a Caedelli thought irreplaceable. Animals had either already been slaughtered to cure the meat; driven to pastures near the redoubts to serve as seed to replenish stocks, if the clans survived; or scattered to out-of-the-way places to make it harder for a foraging army to gather them.

As word reached each clan, riders went out to every village. “Leave immediately for your redoubt. Men to report to assigned stations.”

In the last year, registrars and assistants had rechecked or recorded, depending on the clan and the level of records already kept, the names of every single person and his or her assigned station when the notification came for Phase Three. It was a degree of record keeping previously unknown on Caedellium, but the result was that all clanspersons knew exactly what they were supposed to do, and the few who didn’t followed those who did.

Only three clans had built no redoubts: Bultecki and Vandinke provinces were mountainous and not likely to be the Narthani’s prime targets, and Nyvaks because it was connected to the rest of the island by an isthmus, and occupying that province would have no strategic advantages for the Narthani. Keelan and Gwillamer shared the Dillagon Mountains redoubt. All coastal clans had inland redoubts or used redoubts in other provinces.

Orosz City was the largest redoubt and the only one at a major city and was planned most members of three clans (Orosz, Moreland, and Adris), in addition to some of the noncombatants of Hewell, Bultecki, and Stent. It would be, by far, the biggest concentration of people ever seen on Caedellium—almost two hundred thousand crammed into the city and the abutting mountain areas.

Word of the Narthani’s move reached the Kolsko house at midday, when Maera came to give the news before frightful and incorrect rumors arrived. Anarynd, Gwyned, and Braithe sat in the central courtyard, enjoying the sun, rocking Dwyna to sleep, and feeding Aeneas. Morwena kept trying to teach Braithe’s toddler to walk. When Maera walked in, Morwena squealed and ran to her, calling “Mea!” She hugged Maera’s leg. The three seated women looked up, smiled, started greetings, then froze from Maera’s expression.

“We wanted you to hear the news first from us,” said Maera. “We think the Narthani are moving. An army has crossed into Eywell and is moving northeast, so far.”

Braithe paled, momentarily unlatching Aeneas from a breast and eliciting a protest. She guided him back, and he subsided. Gwyned gritted her teeth, and her hands reflexively opened and closed as if searching for a weapon. Anarynd’s expression didn’t change, but she unconsciously touched her abdomen as if to shield the growing child.

“What does that mean for us?” asked Anarynd.

“Nothing for now,” answered Maera. “They’re a long way away, and we don’t know the direction they will head. We’ll know more in the next day or two. We’re all safe within the city walls. You’ve seen the defenses. Yozef is confident they can’t get into the city.” Which wasn’t quite true. Yozef’s exact words were more like, “It would be extraordinarily difficult and probably cost them more than they’re willing to pay.”

“I need to get back to the headquarters,” said Maera, “but Yozef and I will be home for evening meal at the usual time. We’ll give you any more news then. Try not to listen to any rumors from people on the street. Once word gets out, there will always be fearmongers.”

At the headquarters, Yozef stood on the elevated walkway between the two pits, looking back and forth between the detailed Caedellium map—for at least the twentieth time in the last hour—and then down at the raised relief map the assigned team had worked on literally day and night to be near completion, with only half of Mittack, most of Nyvaks, and the Seaborn Islands left to finish.

Figurines represented known redoubts and major troop positions. They had just added a single red carved wooden figure for the Narthani army. When more information became available, they might replace the single figure with others to distinguish individual units or concentrations. A green figure with a flag that read “Stent” faced the Narthani figure. The Stent hetman currently led eight thousand men tasked with delaying the Narthani advance. Another seventeen thousand men moved to join him. They would not engage in major battles but would force the Narthani to move slower than they might want and to know they faced a major clan force. It wasn’t time to lure the Narthani army but only delay them a few days to let people reach the redoubts or men to finish mustering to their units and move to planned dispositions.

A second green figure read “Harmon.” It represented Harmon Swavebroke, the new Hetman Swavebroke. His father had died after delaying the Narthani attack on the clan capital at Shullick. His first name was used to indicate the individual and not the clan. He would command eight thousand men who would maneuver around the Narthani army without making contact. He had impressed everyone with the firm hand he’d taken in organizing the evacuation of Shullick and the gathering of clansmen. A planned counterattack had not happened, because the Narthani withdrew aboard their ships before the attack launched, but Harmon’s swift grasp of his clan’s reins and later impressions during planning sessions had elevated him to a command over units from multiple clans. He and two thousand men were shown on the map as located at Orosz City. The next morning, Harmon would leave and collect additional men moving to join him. At the order from the War Council, he would cut the supply line back to Preddi Province. Until then, he and his men would move north of the line of the army’s advance and set up a camp while waiting for clarity about the Narthani’s intentions.

Scattered across Caedellium, smaller green figurines represented regiments and battalions that would move toward the Narthani line of advance once the clans knew more. For now, they had to avoid any contact, even with Narthani scouts out to twenty miles from their army. The Caedelli would give the Narthani nearly free rein to send out flanking scouts, and clan units would wait for orders to suppress such patrols and squeeze any Narthani closer to the main body of troops.

Yozef looked at the wall map for the twenty-first time. It hadn’t changed. People rushed about, doing whatever they were supposed to be doing. Everyone, except him, seemed to have an urgent task that needed immediate attention. Yozef had nothing to do here at the moment. The months of planning were now in motion, and he had nothing to offer. He would go forward the next day toward Moreland City and eventually join Stent, not to directly command any men, but to see the Narthani for himself. Figurines on a tabletop and wall map positions didn’t substitute for seeing what these only represented. He could argue with himself or others, such as Maera, but he needed to see.

Marshal Dursun Gullar

The Narthani army commander sat in his large coach, reading reports from the first scouting patrols that swept ahead of the army. Gullar hated horses. He had never learned to ride well and thought the stupid beasts would be better suited to roasting than riding, except they remained necessary for cavalry and pulling wagons. His personally designed coach came with him to Caedellium. It had the advantage of allowing simultaneous conferences with senior staff while on the move. It also featured specially designed springs and a floating carriage body that smoothed out bumps endemic to most roads and could ride reasonably well even across unimproved terrain. The downside was a constant rocking motion that induced motion sickness in some men—but not Gullar. Neither was he subject to seasickness. He had started his military career in the Narthani navy before it was recognized he had more talent for commanding naval infantry on shore operations than ships. The High Command then transferred him to the army, where he rose quickly in rank. Though not considered one of their best commanders, he proved himself solid and dependable, just the qualifications the High Command had wanted to finish the Caedellium subjugation.

Gullar commented more to himself than to the aide sitting opposite him in the coach. “Only distant sightings so far, according to the latest scout reports. Groups of a few dozen that retreat when approached.”

“The same pattern as the first attempt to draw them into battle,” offered a senior aide. “If this holds, we should start seeing more of them as we get into Moreland. That’s assuming they don’t stand at Hanslow.”

“Unlikely,” said Avan. “If they’re going to defend cities or territories, it’ll be their own and not those of a clan they must consider traitors.”

“Yes, I agree,” mumbled Gullar. He glanced over the reports again, looking for any detail he might have missed.

“Let me see the map again,” he directed at the younger, more junior aide tasked with keeping an updated map of their positions. Once they reached the flat land running toward Hanslow, the army would reposition their march. He stared at the map showing the three arrows of their parallel columns now moving a mile apart, the different-colored arrows of major cavalry units, and two dotted arrows of the support units and the wagon train following the main road to Hanslow. They had made good time in this terrain, but that wouldn’t last.

“No,” he said. “I expect we should start seeing more of them once we cross into Moreland Province.”

Welman Stent

The Stent Clan hetman looked at a map of the same territory—a map that also showed arrows and positions. Joining him in examination were his senior commanders—colonels and majors, by Yozef’s nomenclature. His force had grown in the three days since the Narthani crossed into Eywell and would continue to grow until he had twenty-five thousand men—dragoons, 6-pounder batteries, and medium-sized wagons able to move fast. The men had varying expressions of determination, eagerness, and nervousness—sometimes all from the same individual, as emotions cycled through them.

“I reiterate. Our goal is NOT to stop the Narthani’s advance or engage in a major battle. Yet. We are to slow them to give our provinces enough time to finish emptying and withdrawing to redoubts and finish mustering all our fighting men. We’ll withdraw from Hanslow back into Moreland and see if they slow down to assess Hanslow. Limited contact will be necessary only to convince them to periodically stop their advance to take up defensive positions, or at least make them more cautious. Once we believe the clans are as mobilized as they’re going to be, then and only then will we shift to making serious contact and try to lure them north toward the Moraine and Coast sites.”

A Bultecki colonel voiced a question several others were thinking.

“I know the plan, but it will gall me to watch them ravage a province, even if not mine.”

“Our time will come,” Stent assured him, “when and where it’s determined to be the right time and place.”

“You mean when Yozef Kolsko says when and where,” quipped a Seaborn major softly. Rumors had finally reached even the most remote corners of Caedellium.

Stent wasn’t sure how to respond. After all, although he belonged to the War Council, even he didn’t know the degree of validity of the major’s question. Yozef never expressly gave orders, but somehow major decisions always seemed to settle on his opinions—usually after discussions with all the council members. Recently, on some occasions, Yozef seemed to give an order as if he were in sole command, and none of the other leaders had objected or refused yet.

“Wherever and from whomever such decisions are made,” said Stent, “all we need to focus on right now is our assigned task—to slow the Narthani’s advance.”

Gullar

At sixteen miles into Moreland, the Narthani forward scouts ran into the first major islander units. Vastly outnumbered, the scouts retreated to within visual distance of the main columns and reported the sightings.

“At least several thousand horsemen about four miles in front of us,” Gullar summarized to his six main subordinate generals. “Perhaps some cannon, but the scouts couldn’t get close enough to be sure.”

“Switch from scouts to reconnaissance-in-force?” asked the Narthani cavalry commander.

“I think so,” agreed Gullar. “Make it two companies. No cannon. Push out no more than . . . let’s say, five miles, and see how they react.”

Stent

The hilltop gave a good perch from which to watch the forefront of Narthani companies leave a cavalry flanking column and trot ahead of the rest of the army. The tree cover let Stent observe without being seen.

“Like I said, Welman,” his cousin affirmed, “they didn’t like their scouts turned back and wanted to try to force a look.” Stent hadn’t assigned his cousin as leader of the forward pickets keeping a close eye on the Narthani because he was a relative but because he might as well have been born on a horse.

“Well, we’ll just have to give them something to think about, won’t we?” Stent grinned with an expression of anticipation, not humor. “I think where the valley narrows about four miles east of here will be the right place.” His cousin’s grin matched Stent’s.

Gullar

“Cannon fire to the northeast, Marshal,” offered one of Gullar’s aides—redundantly, because the marshal could clearly hear it himself.

“Sounds about four to five miles away,” added his second-in-command. “Send forward to support—cavalry and infantry?”

“I think so, General. A battalion of cavalry and the forward infantry regiment. Double time the infantry, but don’t get more than two miles ahead. The rest of the army will continue at the current pace.”

Stent

After ambushing the Narthani cavalry companies, Stent kept his men digging deeper, waiting for the Narthani to react. A larger cavalry unit had arrived, briefly tested his men’s positions, and been repulsed, twice, then tried to circle behind them—only to be turned back by larger clan dragoon forces. A thousand of Stent’s men blocked the road, using the crest of a natural slope running perpendicular to the road that zig-zagged three times upward. A quarter of the men had dug in on the crest, while the other 250 men held the horses two hundred yards on the back side and out of shot exposure. They anchored twenty 6-pounders on the back slope with their barrels just clearing the crest.

Fifteen minutes after the Narthani cavalry gave up flanking them, infantry appeared and spread out on a thousand-yard front with 12-pounder cannon in gaps between infantry blocks. Stent had another six thousand men one to three miles to his rear, but this was only the first round of the delaying game. He let his artillery exchange a dozen barrages with the Narthani, with 6-pounder solid shot cutting a few gaps in the Narthani infantry and hitting one 12-pounder. The Narthani shot mainly buried in the forward slope or sailed over the crest to land beyond the horses, though both their mounts and the men holding them had an exciting time listening to cannonballs whizzing over their heads.

“Looks like they’re getting ready for a serious attack,” said Colonel Postwyn. He stood to Stent’s left and likewise surveyed the Narthani deployment through a telescope. The Mittackian’s regiment had been the first to encounter the Narthani’s push. Stent had thought the first messages from Postwyn had a panicked tone to them, but the regiment had retired in good order and managed to slow the Narthani with a sabotage of bridges and small ambushes. Stent changed his opinion once he talked with Postwyn. The man had been nervous, as anyone should have been, but he did what he was supposed to and acted in a timely manner.

“More infantry forming up behind those on line and cavalry massing on both flanks.”

“That’s the way it looks,” agreed Stent. “With another three or four thousand men here, we could hold for several hours at least, but that’s not our intent. It’s time for us to pull back as soon as all the dead and wounded are away.”

Gullar

“No recovered islander casualties?” the marshal asked.

“No, sir. By the time we realized they had left, there was plenty of time for them to take any wounded and dead with them.”

“And our casualties?”

“Twenty-one dead and another fifty to sixty wounded.”

Gullar cursed. Although the first action was minor, the enemy would reasonably consider the outcome a success. Seventy to eighty casualties were not significant for the fifty-two thousand in his force, but he didn’t like to give the opposition any reason to be encouraged or lay any seed of doubt in his own men.

The islanders had not made an offensive move—merely defended their position until more of his men arrived, and then they’d pulled out. If he had to guess, it would be a repeating pattern. His men would assess the outcome; bury the dead, to be retrieved later for a proper ceremony; evaluate the wounded, to either continue with the army or be sent back to Preddi City; and have scouts confirm that the islanders had withdrawn. The confrontation had cost enough time to make it too late in the day to continue. Gullar ordered the nightly encampment an hour earlier than protocol dictated.

The islanders’ well-planned action and their quick coordinated movement were not good signs. He didn’t expect major problems in defeating an islander army, but neither was he one to casually underestimate any foe.

He found the other action of the day equally disturbing. When the support force had reached his forward cavalry, a mile-and-a-half gap had opened back to the main force. The gap contained scattered Narthani, messengers and medical wagons going after and returning with casualties. Several hundred islander riders had brazenly cut through the gap from south to north. Except for a few killed and wagons lost, this had accomplished no direct military purpose. But it was as if the islanders were teasing his men. They had stayed out of musket range and left before artillery could set up. It let thousands of his men see the enemy for the first time. He also felt disconcerted that they could recognize the separation in his forces so quickly. In response, he decided to keep a tighter formation from then on and refrain from a reconnaissance getting too separated.

Marshal Gullar didn’t realize this was exactly the decision the islanders had tried to elicit. The teasing game with the Narthani continued for the next two days. Islanders would threaten a cavalry screen, force the Narthani to respond, and then withdraw. Although the maneuvers had no military effect on the Narthani, their two-day march from the Eywell/Moreland border to Moreland City stretched into the fourth day until the farthest-forward screen reported sighting the city. The Narthani encamped just within sight of the city walls and with a view of thousands of islander riders swirling on the plain where the Battle of Moreland City had been fought. Tomorrow they would deploy for battle.

Stent

Stent rode through the clan camp in front of the city. Or rather, their simulated camp. His now twelve thousand men had done everything they could to make the Narthani think they faced at least twice that number of Caedelli. It had been Maera Kolsko who suggested using different clan flags and colored banners to suggest a general gathering of all clan forces. The same flagmen wore out several horses as they rode around, brandishing different colors. In addition, at dark, Stent’s men lit enough campfires to support a larger islander army. The remaining thirteen thousand men stayed seven miles north of Moreland City and waited for those facing the Narthani to withdraw.

At first light the next day, the Narthani army deployed across the plain of the previous battle. Infantry regiments occupied the northern ridgeline and wooded hills to the south that had demarcated the flanks of the previous Narthani force. Masses of cavalry protected the flanks and the rear, and cannon were unlimbered and made ready. Stent waited atop the highest roof in Moreland City. When he could barely see the nearest Narthani formation finish deploying in the lightening darkness, he nodded to a man standing ten feet away and holding a brass horn.

“All right, Rigmor, send the signal and let’s get out of here.”

Within fifteen minutes, no clan fighters remained in Moreland City or facing the Narthani formations finishing deployment.

The sun had just hit the highest peaks to the north when the Narthani realized all was not as expected.

Gullar

“Gone?” the surprised marshal said for the third time. “All of them?”

“As far as we can tell,” repeated his second-in-command. “Several patrols are carefully moving forward, but the only thing between us and the city walls are smoldering campfires.”

“Did they withdraw into the city?”

The second looked discomfited.

“That’s the other report. No sign of activity is seen on the walls.” He hesitated, then continued, “Uh . . . as if . . . as if no one is there, either.”

“You’re suggesting they might have abandoned the entire city,” returned a surprised General Balko.

“We’ll know soon,” said Gullar. “The patrols were ordered to advance until they hit resistance.”

An hour later, as the command staff waited at the front of the Narthani army, they saw a Narthani flag raise over a section of the wall. Another ten minutes and a rider came galloping up with a message from the major whose infantry battalion had breached a wall gate. No sign of any living person. They further confirmed this when they opened a main gate from within, and both infantry and cavalry units scoured the city.

The army encamped in front of the city while units finished a thorough sweep. The initial caution for traps proved unnecessary. There had been no attempt to defend the city or to leave traps for the Narthani. The islanders had chosen not to defend the city. Patrols to the northeast reported many fresh tracks, horses and wagons, on the road and parallel in the direction of Orosz.

By nightfall, the confirmation was final, and Gullar met with his staff in his command wagon. Apparently cleared of danger or not, the marshal felt leery of putting larger numbers of his men in the city, because unexpected surprises could play on the minds of troops expecting a battle.

“Any thoughts on all this?” asked Gullar. He, of course, had his own thoughts, but one of his strengths was soliciting frank opinions from his senior officers. He didn’t think of himself as brilliant, but he compensated by utilizing ideas from subordinates—the selection of which he did think of himself as skilled.

“I think they saw what was coming and decided they couldn’t stop us,” a senior general replied. “Not in the field or the city. The city has walls, but many sections are wooden or low masonry—nothing that would slow a determined assault by our men. Faced with the situation, they opted to retreat. I admit, however, I was surprised. It’s a decision we might have made if positions were reversed. I would have expected the islanders, and especially ones of this clan, to put up as much resistance as possible. Such societies can be irrational when defending their home ground. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Signs are Caedelli fighters pulled away to the north,” said Avan. “I would have expected northwest toward the next province, Orosz. The briefing reports say that it’s the titular capitol of the island.”

“We don’t know when the city’s population left. If it was during the night, they can’t be moving that fast, and we might be able to catch them. There are two problems, though. We can’t know when they left, and even if last night, I’m sure the islander cavalry we’ve seen would try to slow us down. They would be on our left flank.”

“Look back at the last few days,” Balkto said. “Their actions might have been simply to slow us down to give the population time to get far enough away that we couldn’t catch them.”

“I agree, slowing us might have been a major factor,” countered the youngest general and the one whose men had searched the city, “but I think they never intended to defend it. You know how troops are. While searching any city, any valuables they come across somehow tend to stick to their fingers. What we’ve seen is nothing of significant value. No gold, silver, or jewelry in the houses. The city’s abbey is also empty. We should have found medical instruments and medicines in the hospital and books in their library. Both were empty. I think they’ve been moving out of the city for at least a few sixdays before we got here, maybe longer.”

“Something else that supports that possibility,” added a grizzled officer. “In a city this size, there would always have been a few people left behind. Those who refused to leave their homes, usually older ones, some too sick to move, some mentally deficient that had no better sense . . . someone. Here there’s not a single soul, which smacks of a careful and well-executed evacuation by their authorities.”

The discussion continued for another twenty minutes until Gullar thought they were into the repetition phase, having exhausted most new contributions.

“The question then facing us is what to do next?” said Gullar. “The original plan was to reduce Moreland City, then continue on to Orosz City. We expected to fight a battle here, and while that didn’t happen, is there any reason not to continue as planned?”

“It depends on our immediate objective,” said Avan. “If the ones withdrawing to the north are their main force, do we want to pursue them? Alternatively, we continue to Orosz City. No matter what their army, if we choose to call it that, is doing now, eventually they have to stand and fight. Either option is arguable, but I favor continuing east and ignoring their army’s movement, for the moment. If they wouldn’t fight here, maybe they will at Orosz City. They may be trying to draw us away from their capital.

“However, I must say the behavior of the islanders makes me uneasy. I know we cannot expect an enemy to do what we planned for them, but the willingness of a clan to abandon an entire province should make us question any other assumptions we might have had about these islanders. It reminds us of General Akuyun’s warnings about them.”

No other officer countered Avan’s summary, and Gullar ordered the next step.

“I think we’re all in agreement to continue on to Orosz City. We resume our march tomorrow morning at first sunrise. Once the main force is clear of the city to the northeast, burn Moreland City to ground. Not a single structure of any kind is to be left. If they’re going to abandon major cities without a fight, they at least need to see the consequences.”

By noon the next day, the Narthani army was ten miles northeast of Moreland City—or, more correctly, where Moreland City had been. The prevailing winds blew to the north-northwest. Thus, the smoke from the burning city moved perpendicular to the army’s route—perfect for viewing the immense smoke plume that covered the sky and remained in plain view for both the Narthani and any Caedelli within twenty miles.

One group of seventeen Moreland men watched silently as the first whiffs of smoke appeared, until it covered the entire sky from the city to the horizon. Half of them had lived in the city. No one said a word. Their leader finally roused the grim-faced men to resume shadowing the Narthani army. More than a couple of faces had tear traces running into their beards, but eyes were cold and mouths clenched.

Chapter 43: Waiting

Orosz City had never contained anywhere near the number of people who now sheltered within its walls. That number would only grow, because more kept streaming in and would do so for several days. Despite months of planning, it seemed at times chaotic as people were directed to assigned areas, either within the city itself or on to the mountain valleys to the north. The latter were those too old, young, or infirm to stand on the walls if the Narthani assaulted. For those, the mountain terrain and minimal forces needed to block the few passages would be their protection.

Every building within the city had been examined and assigned people to house. A house or rooms that normally held a family of five were sufficient to hold twenty sleeping bodies. The clans had set up huge food sites throughout the city. Everyone would have sufficient calories, albeit from a monotonous diet heavy in bread, cooked dried legumes (natives of both Earth and Anyar), dried meat and sausage, dollops of dried vegetables, fruit, and fish. Several streams ran from the mountains into and through the city, so water was not a problem. What to do with human waste on a scale the city had never had to deal with previously was solved with temporary slit trenches with cloth screens for minimal privacy. Medicants paired with roving patrols to ensure that people adhered to strict sanitary measures. As with all preparations, it wasn’t elegant but would serve the purpose.

Included in the frenetic activity of the city was a flurry of comings and goings at the islander command post in city center. The entire upper level of the three-story building housed the two pits and the meeting rooms. Yozef looked at the last communiqué from Hetman Stent.

“They’ve left Moreland City and are headed in this direction.” He looked up to see questions in many eyes in the room. “Stent is trying to lure them northwest toward the Moraine Site, which we think is our best option to get them in a position to defeat them. So far, they aren’t cooperating. Stent says he’ll press them harder, short of an outright field battle, but it looks like they’ve settled on the strategy of cutting the island in half after taking Orosz City. I think it’s the logical choice, but we’d hoped for the Moraine Site. If they continue, then it’ll have to be here.”

He stopped for a moment, then continued. “Moreland City has been burned to the ground.” Sighs, groans, snarls, curses, and assorted noises reverberated around the room.

“We expected this. Always remember that cities can be rebuilt, even if we use Narthani bones as reinforcement.” Yozef thought he’d throw in the last comment to try to soften the news. It worked . . . for some.

“I think we can only give them another day or two to change their minds. If Stent fails to draw them after his men, we’ll move to the next stage. As we’ve planned, from that point on we will not harass their flanks. We’ll want them to keep coming, though Stent will stay at their front to keep their attention and slow them down to give us every possible minute to prepare.”

The Oroszians in the room imagined the Narthani army sweeping a destructive path through their province. While none liked it, most accepted the necessity. Those who hadn’t accepted in their hearts had done so in their minds—it was going to happen, so they moved on with their assignments.

Hetman Orosz felt optimistic. “Even if the Narthani are not slowed, it would take them another four to five days to reach us. From the level of influx of people and reports from all provinces, everyone will be inside before then. As expected, we have various problems with settling and feeding people, but all things considered, I believe we can handle it. Naturally, and as we all know, the situation can’t last too long, or it will start to break down, and by too long, I mean more than two months. After that, the situation could get critical.”

The Fuomi leader, Rintala, spoke up. “I don’t believe the Narthani will sit outside the walls for longer than a sixday at the most. For them, the situation is simple. Either they attack and breach your defenses soon, or they give up trying to take Orosz City, no matter how important a goal they see it. Their problem is that, at least as far as our own intelligence and your spies into Narthani-controlled Caedellium report, they don’t plan on lengthy sieges. No city defenses can stop a large-enough army willing to pay the price. Normally, if defenses are too strong, a besieging army will either starve out a city or dig deep trenchwork closer and closer to the defenses, until they are close enough to bring in heavy siege mortars and cannon. They then degrade the defenses to the point that a manned assault can succeed. Siege mortars lob explosive charges over the walls, and cannon fire large balls into walls until they crumble. That takes both the equipment and time, something this army might not think it has. It’s also questionable if they have enough men to overcome your defenses. With a professional Fuomi defense force, I would say no. But here, it is hard to evaluate how well your people will hold up under a determined assault.

“You can expect them to probe around the edges of your defenses to see if there is a weakness. I doubt they will find it, since the city is perfectly nestled against the mountains on two sides, but they will try, just in case. That should take a couple of days.

“If and when that fails, their commander will have to decide whether to try an assault. My guess would be they try at least once. Now that they’ve already come here, I doubt they’ll simply move on. The questions then are whether they try more than once, how many casualties their commander is willing to take, and how well your people fight. You might not have the strongest defenses I’ve ever seen, but you have some nasty surprises that will cost the Narthani dearly. If I had to make an experienced estimate, I would say that the Narthani could breach your defenses but would pay such a high price, the army might be unable to subjugate the rest of the island—a price I doubt their experienced commander will accept.”

“I concur with Commander Rintala,” said Yozef. “The Narthani will probe the edges of our fortifications and then try a direct assault. What they might do is an initial trial assault, one they do not expect to work but that will allow them to test the strength of our defense. Then, based on the test, they’ll attempt at least one full-scale attack on what they believe is a relative weak spot.”

“Do we have weak spots?” asked Hetman Orosz.

Yozef grimaced. “If we thought we did, we could have done something to strengthen them. It all depends on the Narthani’s view. It’s always possible they find one we missed, or they might think they found one that isn’t. It all still comes down to their trying it somewhere. Therefore, we have to be ready to meet them anytime at any point.”

“This test attack,” questioned Klyngo Adris, the Adris hetman. “Do you mean to say they would send . . . what? . . . thousands of men to attack our walls, knowing they will fail? They would be deliberately sacrificed for information?”

“Without hesitation,” answered Rintala. “The thinking would be that by sacrificing a few hundred or even a thousand men, they could uncover a way to defeat you and complete their mission. A Narthani commander would do it without thinking, as long as he believed the sacrifice wouldn’t impair the overall capability of his forces.”

“Would you or another Fuomi make the same decision?” asked a blank-faced Hetman Stent.

“I might if I thought the circumstances required it,” Rintala answered matter-of-factly, “although I wouldn’t do it as casually as a Narthani.”

Several of the men shook their heads in disbelief, shock, and dismay.

“Remember,” Yozef said, “this is a war to the death, at least for Caedellium. The Narthani and even the Fuomi come from a different world than you are familiar with. Fighting wars on a large scale requires thinking differently, particularly about the ultimate goals. For the Narthani, they might sacrifice those men to achieve their assigned mission. But consider Caedellium.”

He paused and looked around the room, and his eyes settled on Lordum Hewell.

“Lordum,” he said softly, using the hetman’s first name to emphasize camaraderie, “what would you do if you were leading a thousand men about to be trapped and all killed by the Narthani? There was one chance to save most of your men, but it required you to order a hundred of those men to stand and fight to the last man to delay the Narthani so the other nine hundred could escape and live to fight another day. What would you do?”

The Hewell hetman looked as if he had just bitten into the most bitter fruit imaginable, but his eyes never left Yozef.

“I would order the men to stand and delay the Narthani.”

“Even though you knew they would all die?” prompted Yozef softly.

“Even though.”

“And what if your thousand men were from several different clans, but the hundred men in the best position or the best condition were from Hewell?”

Lordum’s face got longer and grayer.

“I would order them to stay,” he said, his voice grating as if he hated every word.

Yozef turned to the entire group with what he hoped was a stern face.

“What Hetman Hewell just said illustrates two important points. One is that during warfare, it is sometimes necessary to sacrifice the few to save the many. Second is that this is not a war of one clan at a time against the Narthani. It’s all of Caedellium against them. All of you, and many of our other mid- and higher-level commanders, lead men from different clans. They have to all be treated exactly the same. Any unit where the men believe the commander is favoring the safety of men from his own clan over them will disintegrate as a fighting force. In the same manner, any commander who is inclined to give such favored treatment will make mistakes that cost more lives than only those he might have to sacrifice. You and the other leaders must be able to sacrifice men if it becomes necessary. But it’s also your responsibility to see that situations don’t arise that require you to make such a decision.”

Yozef hoped all the men in the room both acknowledged and accepted the lesson, and they would pass it on to other leaders. He also fervently prayed he would never have to make such a decision himself and wondered whether he could. Naturally, being Yozef Kolsko, he could never share such wonderings.

“But let’s return to the immediate business,” Yozef urged. “The Narthani are heading toward Orosz City. Hetman Stent will continue trying to lure them to the Moraine Site, but if that fails, it means the Narthani are coming here.”

“In that case, we want them to get to Orosz City, try to take the city, and then when they can’t, we’ll wait and see what course of action they choose, probably continuing to Adris.

“Assuming they’re coming to Orosz City, Hetman Stent’s men will demonstrate in front of them and make some efforts to slow them down and not make them too suspicious that coming on to Orosz City is exactly what we want them to do. We want them to think there are no more than twenty thousand clansmen opposing them. The rest of the men will remain within the city as part of the defense or stay outside of their scout sweeps.”

Yozef hated what he was about to do, but in for a penny, in for a pound—or whatever.

He half-closed his eyes, looked at a wall, and focused, as if gazing a long distance.

In a half-whisper, almost talking to himself, he said, “It comes to me that the best chance to destroy this Narthani army with the least cost to Caedellium is if they exhaust themselves trying to take our strongest defenses. Then, when the Narthani are weakened, our men swoop in from all sides and finish them off. I can’t see whether that will come to pass against the city’s walls or when they pass this way again. Either way . . . yes . . . either way I see the end of the Narthani on Caedellium. What I cannot see is the price we’ll have to pay or exactly where this will happen, but I don’t see failure, as long as we stick to our plan.”

I think that’s a good enough show. He pretended to remember where he was, refocused his eyes on the men surrounding him, and felt both relieved and not quite ashamed but something close. In his earlier life, he would have felt intimidated by their capabilities, self-confidence, and responsibilities. Here, he had essentially lied to them—feeding on the rumors of his being a Septarsh, a messenger from God.

Some of the faces looking at him appeared full of confidence, others resigned to whatever price they might have to pay but encouraged by the eventual outcome, a few—thankfully, only a few—in awe.

“Where was I . . . ?” mumbled Yozef.

“The disposition of our men,” Hetman Orosz said gently.

“Yes, yes. We will pretend to keep them from Orosz City, let them try to breach the defenses, and see how committed they are to taking the city.”

He looked around.

“Are there any questions? No? Then may God guide our hands and our minds.”

A chorus of “God Grant!” rang throughout the room.

Narthani Army, Orosz City

Marshal Gullar was not a particularly pious man. Neither was he a particularly warm person. For both reasons, he tried to be careful in his language—avoiding unnecessary cursing or displays of anger—except for moments such as this. The sixty-eight miles from Moreland City to Orosz City had been frustrating. The islanders had changed their tactics. For twenty miles, the main islander force stayed to their northern flank. Several heavy skirmishes erupted, and twice Gullar thought the clans might be setting up for a battle that didn’t materialize.

“Almost like they’re trying to lure us to follow them to the north,” said General Avan.

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” said Gullar. “Which encourages me that they don’t want us attacking Orosz City. We’ll keep to our current plan and ignore any such attempts at diverting us.”

From that point on, flanking scouts and patrols no longer found themselves facing clan horsemen. The land they passed through appeared empty, even of islanders merely observing their progress. By the third day, the outer scouts had ridden up to twelve miles from the army, without engagements or even sightings of islanders. It was different to their front. A mass of islander cavalry kept inserting itself between the army and Orosz City as Stent shifted his entire force to slow the Narthani’s progress. Shots were repeatedly exchanged, and twice a battle again seemed imminent, only to have the Caedelli pull back after light losses. The main difference was that the Narthani could not penetrate the islanders more than one mile to their line of march. They could continue with confidence about what happened on their flanks but with no knowledge of what lay in front of them.

That answer came when they arrived at Orosz City, and the clan force continued east past the city. Gullar’s reticence to curse was sorely tested, then failed when he heard the confirmed reports on what passed for the clan capital in front of them.

Gullar spend a good five minutes stomping back and forth in the command carriage, running through every curse he knew. Those witnessing this wondered whether he made up some as he ranted. Finally, he ran out of steam. He took several deep breaths and turned to face the concerned generals waiting for his response to the reports.

He looked at his subordinates, grinned humorously, and tried to reassure them.

“Please excuse my . . . shall we call it a lapse in piety? However, I think you all may grant me the reports are such to test even the greatest of Narth saints.”

A chorus of support followed—more politic than heartfelt, but also relieved that the commander had recovered from his momentary spleen.

“What we find in front of us is not a Caedellium capitol city, with much of the city extending outside a decent but not extensive wall, but an entire city surrounded by fortifications, including bastions studded with cannon. I believe the reports we were given said that the clans had a meeting place for their leaders in a building placed well outside the city and undefended, to signify openness, where the different clans could come to settle differences.” The last words dripped sarcasm.

“It seems the reports prepared by the mission that’s been on Caedellium for several years have SOMEHOW MISSED A FEW PERTINENT FACTS!”

“Pardon, Marshal,” said his second-in-command, “but didn’t the reports also note that their information was up to a year old, because the islanders rooted out most of our agents? Isn’t it possible the islanders have constructed these fortifications since the last information came out of Orosz?”

Gullar glared at his second. “Subordinates that contradict superiors tend not to get future advancement.” Then he put a hand on his second’s shoulder and squeezed.

“You’re right, there could be other explanations, but such explanations are meaningless to us at this juncture. Our concern is only what is the situation and what do we do next?”

He looked again at the city a mile or more distant.

“Report,” he stated with a neutral voice. “What are we facing?”

The lead element general answered. “The city is surrounded by a two-mile-long continuous fortification that encloses what appears to be about half of the original city’s area. What we assume were individual dwellings and smaller buildings outside those walls were burned and the remains removed to create clear fields of fire. The fortifications we can see consist of forty-eight bastions about two hundred feet apart, twenty-five feet high, and jutting about ten feet out from a fifteen-foot wall. The bastions are placed such that each can support its neighbors. Any infantry trying to attack one bastion would be raked by canister from the two adjacent bastions. The walls seem to be masonry, but we can’t be sure of what composition or thickness. The bastion masonry is apparently of a different composition, since the color and mottling are different. The fortifications extend to the mountains backing two sides of the city. The enclosed city is a slightly higher elevation than where we are, so we cannot see beyond. A fifteen-foot-wide, four-foot-deep trench is up to the base of the bastions and ten feet from the wall. The trench has no standing water, but from what we can see, it looks like water had been there—making us wonder if the bottom of the trench is mud of an unknown depth and if water could be filled when they want.

“There looks to be multiple cannon in each bastion. If they are not trying to fool us with fake cannon, it would mean upwards of at least a hundred cannon of different sizes, possibly many more. Our artillery officers believe at least some of the bastion cannon are in the size range of 30-pounders.”

The officer shook his head. “That’s all we have at the moment.”

“So allow me to summarize, gentlemen,” said Gullar bitterly. “Instead of a relatively open city with a manageable wall partway inside it, we face a fortified position we might expect back on Melosia. We have no siege equipment. They might actually outgun us—given a slight elevation advantage and larger cannon. To approach the walls, our men would have to cross open fields of fire a half-mile deep, cross a possibly muddy or water-filled ditch, and then scale the bastions and/or the lower walls. Have I missed anything significant?”

He heard no comment from the clustered commanders.

“Then, given the situation . . . recommendations, gentlemen?”

Avan spoke up first. “We need to probe whether there is a way to bypass the fortifications. Either see if their anchors to the mountains offer any weak spots or if we can find ways to get behind them. Possibly a route into the mountains to come at them from behind.”

Gullar was not optimistic. “I agree that we need to check those possibilities, but somehow I doubt we are going to find any way in that doesn’t involve considerably more time than we have. The peaks we see are imposing, and they’ve obviously been preparing, so I doubt they’ve left any passes undefended.”

“We have to know if those cannon are real or fake,” said a stern general. “Company-sized probes all along the wall should get them firing, so we can get a good estimate of exactly how many cannon and of what caliber we face. We will lose some men, but I believe it necessary.”

Those being the two main recommendations, it was decided. The army would encamp two miles from the city. While they probed the walls, other units would search for alternate access routes into the city.

Gullar ended the conference with a dour forecast.

“Gentlemen. We planned this campaign based on the expectation that the islanders would meet us in field battles to protect their people and provinces. In such battles, our numbers, discipline, coordinated units, and professionalism would prevail. Given the apparent lack of a history of large-scale conflicts and how Akuyun’s first thrust to Moreland City played out, that was probably a reasonable expectation for us. I think we can all agree that all that planning is now worth a pile of crap. I think we must assume that the islanders have no intention of fulfilling our prediction. They’ve gathered the large force we’ve been chasing, but so far, they show no indication of engaging in direct battles. Instead, they’ve withdrawn the Moreland and Orosz populations to prepared defenses, such as we see here. If such fortifications, here and elsewhere, cannot be overcome, our original mission plan to Caedellium has failed. We may be able to burn every structure not within such fortifications and interdict the islanders’ ability to farm or carry out other productive activities, but we aren’t going to subjugate them without more time and effort than anticipated. Let’s see what options we have here and then decide on the next course of action.”

Chapter 44: Will the Walls Hold?

Orosz City

“My, my,” said Carnigan. “There certainly are a lot of them.” From a position on the mountain slope north of the city, Yozef, Denes, Carnigan, and the senior Orosz commander used telescopes to survey the Narthani encampment being constructed.

Not being a fan of Carnigan’s developing humor tendencies, Denes cast an annoyed eye at the big man.

“A God-cursed lot of them that want to kill our people,” Denes spit back.

“That will try to kill our people,” said Carnigan serenely, “but are going to end up dying themselves.”

“I pray you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right. I’m the bodyguard of the great Yozef Kolsko, master of mysteries, ear of God, War Leader of all the Caedellium clans. I wouldn’t have this job if I wasn’t always right.”

“You have this job because you’re big as two horses, and no one else can stand you,” Yozef chipped in without lowering a telescope surveying the Narthani.

Denes grunted, a humorous grunt equivalent to most men collapsing in laughter—a sense of humor not being one of his defining characteristics.

Carnigan did laugh. “Well, maybe a little of all of those.” Then his voice lost its humor. “But I have faith that God will help us, whether at battle or through your coming to Caedellium.”

Oh, Christ! moaned Yozef to himself. I thought Carnigan was one of the few who didn’t think I’m in direct contact with God!

During the next two days, the main Narthani army sat in position, while probing all around the city. Battalion-sized units checked both anchoring points to the mountains. Infantry and cavalry searched for passes to approach from within the mountains west of the city and the cleft. When they found nothing, a full division pushed east. The Narthani forced Stent’s mobile clan unit back enough to allow them to search for access to the city and the cleft from the east. They had a similar lack of success. Fierce firefights erupted several times, but the Narthani found no direct approaches to the city walls. Anywhere they probed narrow passes and mountain tracts, they were met by entrenched musket, swivel gun, and 6-pounder fire.

On the third day, the Narthani probed the wall in two places simultaneously, each at about battalion strength. Neither group got within two hundred yards of the wall before a storm of shot sent them retreating with heavy casualties.

“Why attack with so few men?” asked Orosz, puzzled. He stood beside the Adris and Hewell hetmen, the Fuomi commander Rintala, and Yozef. They had been in a meeting when the alarm sounded. Word came that Narthani were approaching the wall. Thousands of men, and some women, swarmed to the walls and their preassigned positions. The hetmen had all wanted to go to one of the bastions to see what was happening, but Yozef dissuaded them from going all together, in case a random Narthani cannon shot took out too many leaders at once. Nevertheless, they had taken turns in smaller groups. Yozef himself thought the risks unnecessary but decided against further argument, thinking it wouldn’t hurt for them to see for themselves what they faced.

After the Narthani withdrew, leaving almost two hundred dead within view of the walls, the five men met on a bastion to view the results.

“I don’t understand why they attacked with so few men when they have so many,” queried Klyngo Adris, echoing Hetman Orosz. “They couldn’t really have expected to succeed.”

“They didn’t,” replied Yozef.

“They attacked and got what must be a couple hundred men killed, plus the wounded, for no reason,” said Orosz in disbelief.

“They were testing to see what kind of firepower we had on the walls,” asserted Denes, who had joined the meeting. Rintala and Yozef nodded. “Until now, they had no idea how strong an active defense they faced. Now they do.”

Orosz looked shocked. “You think they deliberately sent men out to be killed just to count our guns?”

“Muskets? Yes,” said Rintala. “Even more, how many cannon, of what caliber, and what direction they faced when firing. Every musket and cannon within sight of the Narthani feint must have been firing at them. It’s a wonder any of them survived, but you saw how fast they retreated. It would have been better if only your guns stationed directly at the assault points fired and then only enough to turn them back. You’ve given away far too much information to the Narthani commander, more than was necessary.”

Denes was obviously about to take umbrage at the Fuomi’s criticism, but Yozef cut him off with a hand to a forearm and spoke calmly.

“Such discipline is too much to expect from people who have never imagined finding themselves in such a situation and without the experience to understand the need for such discipline. The men and women of Caedellium are brave and will stand their ground, but we have to accept the limitations of what they are capable of. At least until, unfortunately, they have more experience.”

“Apologies,” offered Rintala, looking at Denes. “I only meant it was unfortunate to have given the Narthani more information than was necessary. I had no intention of slighting your people.”

Denes grunted and nodded, accepting both the apology and Yozef’s comment.

Orosz was still confused.

“You mean the Narthani commander would throw away the lives of that many of his men just to gain information?”

“He didn’t throw them away. Consider. If they launch an all-out assault on the walls, thousands might be killed, and they’ll still fail. He likely made the cold calculation that ‘throwing away’ a couple of hundred men would let him avoid losing thousands later. I’m afraid it’s an example of the decisions we talked about before that are sometimes necessary in war.” I need to keep reminding them that war is different from any previous experience they have ever had. At these times, it’s lucky we have the Fuomi here to back me up with real Anyar experience.

On the evening of the third day, the War Council met with all the senior leaders within the city as they did every evening.

“I think they’ve given up for now, trying to find a way into the city that doesn’t involve coming over or through the walls,” said Denes with satisfaction.

“Possibly,” cautioned Rintala, “but don’t assume it. If I was them, I would repeatedly have a few men test your mountain defenses and where the city walls merge into the mountain slopes in case you weakened the defenses to reinforce the main walls. That’s assuming they intend to try the walls.”

“Do you think they will try?” asked Orosz.

“I think they have to. After coming all this way to Caedellium with that many men, and then you islanders so far refusing to meet them in a pitched battle, I think their commander has got to make at least one good attempt right here. Perhaps a more serious probe or two, but one serious attempt so he could at least report it was tried. Otherwise, how could he or his superiors evaluate the situation completely?”

“Would you make the attempt?” asked Yozef.

Rintala looked at Yozef.

“I would have to. I would hate the decision, but I would do it.”

Yozef nodded. “It’s the kind of decision the commander has to be willing to make while at the same time hoping never to have to do it.”

Narthani Army, Marshal Gullar’s Staff

Gullar summarized the reports and opinions that had been voiced and questioned during the previous hour. “Can I fairly conclude that we see no likely path to successfully get into Orosz City with the forces we have in a reasonable timetable, except by a direct assault on the fortifications in front of us?”

Not happy about it, the staff members nodded, and Avan voiced the consensus. “There being no other option does not mean any of us like the idea. If our probe on the walls and the islanders’ response are any indication, we would lose a lot of men. One option would be to dig in and wait for siege cannon and mortars to be cast back in Preddi City—which would take months for them to arrive. Then, there would likely be months of the active siege before we could attempt an assault.

“An alternative is a direct assault to make a serious test of their fortifications. Right now, we only know what we see from outside cannon range. For all we know, the fortifications are not as formidable as they look. Unfortunately, the only way we can find out will cost us more men.”

“Then the question comes, how many casualties are we willing to take?” asked another general. “It’s one thing if we knew the direct assault would be successful, thereby going a long way toward fulfilling our mission. But we could end up being turned back and the losses accounting for no gain.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, for your input,” Gullar stated. “As always, the final decision is mine. I think we have to try the direct assault. I don’t like it any more than you do, but there it is. Although I wanted to wait for all your input, I asked General Avan to outline an operational plan, based on the information we have and with the restriction that the assault cost us no more than ten percent of our entire force if we fail.”

None of the men were pleased at the decision, though all understood its difficult nature and the authority of the marshal to make the ultimate determination.

“Naturally, those casualties might go higher if we can breach into the city, and hand-to-hand, street-to-street fighting takes place and the islanders don’t surrender, which my instincts tell me is not going to happen. In that case, casualties could go much higher than ten percent but would be justified if it leads to individual clans starting to capitulate.”

Gullar turned to his second-in-command. “Avan, if you please.”

The second-in-command rose and nodded to two aides in the back of the room. They came forward and tacked a map on an upright board surface. It was a diagram of the city’s fortifications, with symbols for Narthani units. The senior officers looked closely at the diagram.

“We can’t do anything to change the fact that they’re going to outgun us. Our probe against their walls shows that most, if not all, of the bastions house one or more 30-pounder cannon and will have a slight elevation advantage to our 12-pounder field guns. I see only two possibly ameliorating factors. One is that they cannot be as experienced with using them in battle as our artillery batteries are. Second is that they won’t be able to move them easily from one bastion to another. I believe if we position our guns before first light and concentrate them to fire on a single section of wall, we can compensate for their caliber and elevation advantages. I recommend we open fire using solid shot against a narrow section of the fortifications and see what result we get after a few volleys. If their fortifications are weak and we immediately see some degradation in the integrity of their walls, we can continue with solid shot. Otherwise, we would shift to grapeshot aimed at the cannon positions to suppress their gun crews and slow their rate of firing. At the same time, ten regiments of infantry, a total of twenty thousand men, will advance across a one-mile front. This is to hide the fact that only two regiments will actually make the initial assault, with a third regiment following for immediate support.”

Avan pointed to symbols and arrows on the diagram aimed at a section of the city walls.

“We’ll threaten a broad-enough front to prevent adjacent bastions from fully supporting those under our main assault. The infantry will try to breach by two tactics. First is to place charges at the base of the walls and bastions. We don’t know their strength, but we might be able to blow holes in the lower walls or even bring down a bastion or two. In that case, the men can pour over and through the gaps. If that doesn’t work, the second tactic is grappling hooks. Men will try to swarm sections of the lower walls, supported by grapeshot and musket fire of their compatriots. It will be a bloody goal, but once we start getting men over the wall, the attention of the defenders will be forced to switch from our men in front of the wall to those already over it. At that point, the breach should be unstoppable. Our artillery will keep firing grapeshot at flanking bastions and wall sections. While this initial assault is taking place, all other regiments will move toward the gap created by the first three regiments, and the next two in column will advance about halfway to the wall. They will go no farther unless the signal is given of a successful breach. At that point, they will move quickly to the breach, followed sequentially by other regiments, as directed by the commander on the scene. If and when we have secured one or more of the gates through the walls, additional units on standby will advance.”

He turned from the diagram to face the audience. “As we all know, at that point, any further planning is moot, because the confusion and unknown conditions inside the city will require on-the-spot decisions.”

The next three hours were occupied with questions, small changes to the plan, and clarifications of unit assignments. When they finished, Marshal Gullar sent them back to their posts. The attack would commence at first light the next day.

Orosz City

Denes Vegga had somehow, at least to his uncertain recollection, ended up being looked to as the lead person in the defenses around Orosz City. He had protested that the Orosz clansmen who had overseen the fortification construction knew more details of the city, but given everyone’s general lack of experience with real battles, his roles in the defense of St. Sidryn’s and the Battle of Moreland City, and his command positions in the two raids into Preddi had all argued against him.

That night, while sound asleep, he was shaken awake.

“Ser Vegga! Wake up! Something’s going on with the Narthani.”

He didn’t recognize the voice or the person holding a lantern.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling on his boots. He hadn’t taken off his other clothing from the previous day.

“We’re not sure, but they’re up to something.”

Denes had been sleeping in a small house adjacent to the city wall, near the curve connecting the north and east sections. Whatever was happening seemed to be in that vicinity, because the man—an Oroszian, from his accent—led him directly up to the top of a nearby bastion. Twelve to fifteen men stood up there, he couldn’t tell the exact number in the darkness, along with the two 30-pounders. The silent men strained to hear out into the darkness toward the southwest. A partly shielded lantern with red glass gave the bastion top and the men a menacing glow. The red lantern was one of Yozef’s innovations—allowing map reading without reducing night vision.

A grizzled older man noticed Denes and came up to him. “Ser Vegga,” he whispered, “one of the boys thought he heard something about an hour ago. We brought up one of the ‘ears’ to see if we could hear more.”

The “ears” were self-standing sets of exaggerated animal ears. On Earth, they would have been recognized as models of the fennec, a foxlike African animal—another of Yozef’s introductions. Each ear was eighteen by twelve inches and fixed on a frame where a person could insert his head under the two ears. The effect was to focus more sound into the person’s own ears, much as animals with especially sensitive hearing do. The older man shushed those who had started whispering to one another. Denes listened at the edge of the rampart. He could just hear . . . something. It seemed to rise and fall, with a constant background. He moved to the ears and put his head in position. All sounds were amplified, including the other men’s shifting of feet, the wind blowing over the ears, and a faint cacophony of voices trying not to be loud, rustling of cloth, clinks of metal on metal and . . . wheels. Definitely wheels.

Men rushed to bring Yozef, Rintala, and other major commanders in the defense. Once they arrived, each took a turn at the ears.

“What I think I hear is large numbers of men moving and artillery coming closer,” offered Denes.

“I agree,” seconded Rintala. “They must know they are outgunned, so they would want to shorten the range to more equalize an artillery exchange. I doubt they would risk their guns unless it was part of an attack, and they need the guns forward as much as possible to support infantry.”

“First light?” Denes asked Rintala. The two had developed a good working relationship and mutual respect.

“First light,” agreed the Fuomi.

Denes turned to Yozef.

“Do you agree?”

How the hell do I know? Yozef thought.

“It sounds reasonable.” How’s that for waffling?

“Should I call a general alert and get people on the wall?” Denes asked, still looking at Yozef.

Your guess is at least as good as mine, thought Yozef. So what should we do? The sounds are at some distance yet and evidently have not gotten closer. Probably means the Narthani are moving into predetermined positions. Would they attack in the dark? I have no fucking idea.

“You’re in command of the defense, Denes,” Yozef said after a long moment. “What do you think?”

“I think the Narthani are going to attack this section of the wall. I think we should get the walls manned and ready for them.”

“Then do so. But you might consider only a partial alert. Perhaps half at their stations. Give the others more sleep. That is, as long as there is no action by the Narthani and the sounds don’t get closer.”

“Hmmm . . .” considered Denes. “Maybe a quarter of the men now and another an hour before first light. Jaako, what do you think?”

Rintala turned from looking outward—not that he could see anything.

“Either is probably as appropriate, although you might make that two hours before first light to give everyone plenty of opportunity to wake up, dress, eat, and then get in position.”

Denes gave the order: one quarter stations immediately, another quarter in an hour, and the remainder in three hours. It was five hours until first light.

Narthani Positions

Brigadier Susfar Tunik knew why Marshal Gullar had selected him to command the assault on the islanders’ city walls. It was simple—and correct. There needed to be a senior commander close enough to the assault to make decisions in real time, someone who could see immediately what was transpiring and issue orders on the spot. Tunik was the youngest of Gullar’s brigadiers and the least experienced, therefore the most expendable. Not that Tunik doubted Gullar’s opinion of his competence. The marshal didn’t tolerate officers in whom he had no confidence.

The same thoughts occupied the minds of the colonels of the two infantry regiments who would lead the attack and the third in reserve. They all knew their units would take heavy casualties. The only question was how bad would it be? All four officers understood that there could be no hesitation. Once the attack commenced, it had to be pressed forward at all costs. Not only success in the attack, but the best chances of the most men surviving depended on breaching the walls as fast as possible. To hesitate would only leave them under fire longer.

The thoughts of the major commanding their 12-pounder batteries varied only slightly. While he and his men would not make the assault, as soon as they opened fire, the heavier cannon on the bastions would respond. If they couldn’t bring down a section of the wall or at least suppress the islanders’ cannon, their position would get grim very quickly.

The five men squatted around a map laid on the ground. Troops held overlapping rain ponchos to shield a low lamp from view of the islanders’ walls. They had been over the plan numerous times, but going through it again was never a waste of time. It also gave them a last-minute feeling of focus on their assignments instead of on what awaited them.

The first lightening of the sky to the east outlined the mountains behind the city. In a few minutes, the whitish bastions would be barely visible. Time to commence.

“Any last questions before we go?” asked Tunik, looking at the four faces illuminated by the low lamp. None of the four men spoke.

“To your stations, then. All are in place. Artillery will begin as soon as there is enough light to aim. Glory to the Narthon Empire. I’ll see you all inside the city.”

Orosz City

Maera woke when the messenger came to fetch Yozef. He had returned to their house to get a few more hours of sleep. She lit a lantern and watched him quickly dress.

“Is this it? Are they coming?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Denes must think something is happening and wants me on the wall with him.”

She rose from the bed.

“I’ll go the headquarters, just in case. Should I send for the other operations and intelligence staff to come also?”

Yozef thought for moment.

“Yes, go ahead and get them here. I’ll send word to the headquarters when I know more.”

“Just remember, the plan is for you to also be at the headquarters during an attack. You need to help coordinate instead of shooting at the Narthani yourself.” After learning of Yozef’s role at the Battle of Moreland City, Maera never tired of reminding him to stay out of the direct fighting. She always couched it as his being too important to risk, which was true, but Yozef had finally come to accept that she genuinely worried about him, her husband, irrespective of what else he was.

Cannon

Anarynd heard the first cannon fire while sitting next to Aeneas’s crib. Meara had woken her to tell her the latest developments and where she and Yozef were going. Anarynd’s hand rested on the crib rail, slowly rocking it. Aeneas would never keep covers on himself. She watched his belly rise and fall in the manner of the youngest. Her own belly had begun to make her movements less instinctive and more deliberative. She still had five months before her baby was expected, but she’d already grown large for the time of her term. The medicants said it would probably be a big baby, but all was progressing normally. Despite her condition, she felt as good as she ever had. Many people had told her she glowed with health. Morning sickness and other side effects had apparently passed her by—as Maera said had happened with her. When the two women talked about how well they felt during pregnancy and their good fortune not to have gotten sick since they married, Maera threw Yozef a “look.” They hadn’t told Anarynd the reason for this, and they weren’t sure how to bring up the topic.

When Anarynd heard the first distant boom, she stopped rocking the crib, and her torso muscles clenched. Immediately, a salvo followed the first boom. There was a minute of silence, then cannon fired again but more sporadically.

Aeneas stirred. Not from the sound of the guns, but from the sudden cessation of motion. Anarynd resumed rocking, and he lapsed back into the oblivious sleep of infants.

Anarynd was not the only person thinking of a child at that moment. Susfar Tunik had left Narthon six months before his wife was to give birth to their fourth child. Would it be a boy or a girl? If he were not there, what would his wife name it? They had discussed names before he left but never settled on one for each sex. He wondered when and if he would ever see and hold the child. Despite his discipline, the thought strayed across his mind that after this day, the baby might never meet its father.

When the firing began, Maera was at the headquarters organizing the staff. People had slowly trickled in after being roused from sleeping. Everyone in the room froze when they heard the guns.

“Back to your duties, people,” Maera said. “Those on the wall count on us to keep everything organized. Our job is right here. Do what you’re supposed to be doing.”

When the firing began, Yozef had one of the best observation sites—adjacent to the Narthani’s initial target with round shot. At the first Narthani cannon flash, Carnigan grabbed him by the back collar and jerked him down behind the rampart wall. Seconds later, they heard the loud buzz of grapeshot rounds passing over their rampant and the impact of several on the outer rampart wall.

“Time for you to get back to headquarters, Yozef,” growled his bodyguard. Carnigan was not happy that he himself would not participate in defending the wall, but he took seriously his assignment of keeping Yozef safe.

Denes had also ducked down as the grapeshot hit their bastion. “Carnigan’s right, Yozef. There’s no good reason for you to stay. We will do the rest. Go on with Carnigan.”

Logically, Yozef knew his being there would not contribute to the defense. Part of him wanted to protest that he needed to stay and observe. The other part wanted to be anywhere but someplace where a random shot could find him.

When the firing began, Diera Beynom was overseeing last-minute details in the central hospital set up to treat major injuries. She talked to others as they finished laying out tools of their calling. At the same time, she mentally recited prayers asking God to protect them all and especially those directly facing the Narthani.

When the firing began, Welman Stent stood on a hill looking west in the direction of Orosz City, five miles away. Even if it were daylight, he wouldn’t be able to see the city, because several low hills intervened. What he could see from the hilltop would be a pattern of signal rockets—should they be fired upward from the Orosz City headquarters roof. There was only one signal. It happened to be white and yellow rockets. If he saw them, it would tell him the city was in danger of being overrun by the Narthani, and he was to use his discretion to attack the Narthani rear and flanks with the twenty-five thousand dragoons and ninety-seven 6-pounder horse artillery he led. It would be a desperate measure to try to save the city.

When the firing began, Reimo Kivalian stood on a bastion top just to the east of the initial Narthani target. He immediately directed the two 30-pounder crews to load and fire grapeshot at the flashes from Narthani cannon. Despite each 30-pounder having a Fuomi gun captain, Caedelli made up at least two-thirds of each crew. The islanders had drilled to an extent they had thought unnecessary. They learned otherwise in the first ten minutes. Drilled or not, the Caedelli found loading, aiming, firing, quenching, and repeating different in reality and when other cannon fired back. Still, they kept up a steady rate of return fire. They ran into a major problem: they kept aiming at where they thought the flashes had been, not always where they were. Many of the clans’ grapeshot clusters sailed over the heads of Narthani gunners or into the ground, which was not quite firm enough to skip the shot. Unbeknownst to the islander crews, occasionally a half-blind cluster of grapeshot would find the Narthani batteries by accident.

The Narthani artillery major cursed when he could finally see the round shot having little effect on the city bastions. He immediately ordered a complete switch to grapeshot and to keep sweeping the tops of the ramparts—the range being too long for effective canister. Each grapeshot round contained twenty-seven balls, just under a half-pound each. With forty 12-pounders, each salvo, whether together or staggered, sent 1,080 inch-and-a-half balls at the tops of the three bastions and intervening walls, covering a front of four hundred feet. Due to the balls spreading into a cone-shaped dispersal pattern, most of them sailed over the defenders’ heads or hit walls and ramparts, but enough found human bodies to create a steady number of casualties. In addition, the whiz of a ball passing, even many yards from a human ear, gave people cause to reflexively duck.

By the time the Narthani switched to grapeshot, the leading infantry regiment was already past the batteries and trotting silently toward the wall. With the dim light and their dark uniforms, they were not detected until within 150 yards of the moat. The clans’ 30-pounder cannon switched to canister and were joined, for the first time, by bastion 12-pounders and a few 6-pounders on the intervening walls. In addition, clansmen troops wielded swivel guns, muskets, and even a few crossbows if the men could shoot better with quarrels than with musket balls.

The islanders’ defenses firing at the infantry seemed sporadic as guns and men came into play, then turned into a continuous rolling noise with peaks of sound from cannon of different calibers.

The Narthani charge at first seemed unaffected, but as more Caedelli guns and cannon fired down on them, their charge became jagged. Holes appeared in the formation where a coincidental concentration of hits decimated the ranks. By the time the first Narthani regiment reached the ditch, half of their men were down. The following regiment had suffered nearly two hundred casualties from shot aimed at the first regiment when it had passed on to hit bodies in the second. The third regiment waited in reserve for Tunik’s signal.

Denes Vegga watched from his bastion position. The Narthani’s charge, which had seemed so dramatic at first, slowly disintegrated. Even so, hundreds of Narthani crossed the ditch. Several tried to place charges at the base of the bastions or the walls; others used grappling hooks with ropes to throw over the walls. The islanders’ “potato-masher” grenades rained down on the attackers, but still they came on. By this time, the Narthani artillery had quit firing grapeshot at the walls to avoid hitting their own men and concentrated all fire at the bastion tops, where Caedelli casualties mounted. The islanders’ 30-pounders in the bastions raked the Narthani at the base of the walls and neighboring bastions. Narthani bodies started to carpet the ground, yet more came on.

Watching how they kept going in the hail of fire made Denes’s blood run cold. What discipline! he marveled. Or is it insanity? Whatever it was, he didn’t know whether the islanders could have done the same.

The sun still hadn’t risen above the horizon and wouldn’t for another twenty minutes or so, but Susfar Tunik could see clearly—or, at least, as clearly as the existing light and the clouds of gun smoke allowed. Despite the clans’ murderous defensive fire, the Narthani had successfully placed several charges that went off at the base of the fortifications.

Two charges had erupted at the bastion at the center of the Narthani’s assault. Signs of damage marked the bastion wall, but it remained intact, and firing continued from its top. One Narthani charge at the lower wall between bastions looked more promising, then two successive charges went off at the same point.

It took over a minute for the smoke and dust to clear enough for Tunik to see any effects. Then he clenched a fist in the air! A gap showed in a twenty-foot section of the wall! They had done it! He could see his men running to the gap.

Caedelli fire from nearby on the wall had stopped, because the defenders were either dead or stunned. Tunik ordered the third regiment to the gap, then composed a message to Marshal Gullar that he was committing his third regiment to the gap and following it himself. When the marshal received the message, he ordered six more regiments, a division and a half, to quickly flow forward to exploit the developing breakthrough.

Among the stunned was Denes Vegga. The explosion occurred in the middle of the wall between his bastion and the next. When he got back to his feet, he saw the gap in the outer wall, the Narthani flowing toward it, and the defenders on the wall starting to retreat to the inner wall, which was the original city wall and was separated from the outer wall by thirty yards. A killing zone lays between the walls.

The clan defenders of the inner wall joined shoulder to shoulder—men and women from fourteen to eighty years old. Not all had muskets, but those who didn’t instead carried crossbows and even the bows of earlier eras. Many wielders could not accurately shoot with whatever weapon they carried, but in this case, accuracy was less important than simply firing. As the Narthani flowed into the area between walls, defenders had only to fire in the general direction to have a good chance of hitting someone. Yet still the Narthani came on. By now, the third regiment’s lead elements had joined the flow. It seemed as if no number of casualties would stop them.

Then, just as the first Narthani reached the second wall, the islanders threw torches from the ramparts. They ignited raw oil lying in a shallow trench a few feet from the wall. Flames leaped from the trench. Simultaneously, smoke-trailing crocks came arching from the ramparts.

From his vantage, Denes could see defenders on the wall ramparts igniting fuses on crocks. Then they used an attached five-foot length of rope to twirl each crock several times and send it sailing into the killing ground. The crocks, each filled with half a gallon of “napalm,” burst as they hit. Yozef had dreamed up the incendiary substance, and many, including Denes, had had severe qualms about using it against other humans. But no more. Seeing the Narthani attack, their fanatical discipline, the possibility that they might breach even the islanders’ second defensive wall had all combined to rid Denes of lingering qualms. Despite himself, he inwardly exulted when most of the crocks burst on impact, igniting and throwing a spray of the sticky substance at nearby Narthani.

Flashes of grenade explosions helped spread the napalm flames. In less than a minute, the determined Narthani drive to the inner wall was replaced by Narthani scrambling to get out of the zone. They bolted back over and through the wall gap, fleeing anywhere to escape the ghastly scene of dead and dying comrades and those who wished they were dead, as the napalm burned their bodies.

Repulsed

Yozef heard cheers over the continued firing as he stood on a balcony of the headquarters’ second floor. Runners had brought news of the assault. The last report contained Denes’s message that the Narthani had breached the first wall, and the kill zone was ready. It must have worked, he told himself, half in confidence and half as a prayer. Within another few minutes, the firing itself slacked off, particularly the more muffled sounds of the Narthani artillery.

He whirled and dashed back inside.

“Carnigan! Back to the wall! I have to see what’s happening! The firing’s dying down.”

The big man didn’t argue. As they raced out of the main room, Yozef gave what he intended as a reassuring look to silent, white-faced Maera.

While directing a triage for casualties, Diera Beynom heard the cheering. Hope rose unbidden, not just because of the cheers, but also because the number of wounded had been far fewer than they had feared. No more than twenty at the station she supervised, the one nearest to the center of the Narthani attack. She didn’t factor in that a grapeshot striking a human body left few survivors.

Anarynd kept rocking a sleeping Aeneas. Hope rose in her as well, and she became aware, for the first time, of her hand cramping from its grip on the crib.

As smoke and flames suddenly erupted from beyond the first wall, the Narthani artillery major knew the attack had failed. Then came the unorganized scramble of men frantically struggling over the gap and racing away from the city—many without their weapons. Only minutes earlier, they had thought the price their units paid would be rewarded by a breach into the city. Now, some men tried to help the wounded, but many fleeing troops left the injured on the ground and even stepped on them in the haste to escape.

The major ordered each battery to fire grapeshot three more times to the bastion tops and then prepare to retreat. The cannon horses remained far to the rear, being too big a target to bring this far forward. Each 12-pounder had an iron ring attached to the rear support of the carriage. Coils of rope with metal snap-hooks at one end lay behind each gun. At the third firing, each crew hooked ropes to the carriage ring, several men to a rope, and began pulling the cannon to the rear as fast as they could. It was chaotic. Some crews had lost enough members that they had a difficult time moving the weight of the carriage and the gun. In those cases, officers commandeered retreating men to help on the ropes. Carriages overturned as crews pulled too fast and didn’t keep the carriage balanced. Then the crews had to strain to get the cannon back onto its two wheels. In a few cases, but only a few, the crews panicked, couldn’t work together, and abandoned their guns. Officers took note of those crews for later punishment.

Marshal Gullar knew the attack had failed almost the same moment as the artillery major. Watching from a thousand yards with a telescope, he saw the smoke and the retreat. He observed a full two minutes before lowering the scope.

“That’s it, then,” he said to both himself and his staff. “The attempt failed.”

Moving on from the disappointment, he didn’t let his thoughts linger on the failed effort.

“Get the medical units forward to help the wounded,” he harshly told a colonel, who knew the tone was not directed at him but at the failure.

Twenty minutes later, Gullar knelt by a stretcher carrying Susfar Tunik, initially wounded by a musket ball glancing off his rib cage. He had reached the wall gap, only to be knocked down and trampled by his own men trying to escape. Two of the men had recognized him and carried him back out of the islanders’ range. The two men made it out unscathed, but a 30-pounder canister’s ball had hit Tunik on the back of his calf at six hundred yards from the wall.

Tunik remained conscious, though in considerable pain, and insisted on giving Gullar a verbal report of what he had seen. Later, the marshal summarized the day to his senior staff.

All their faces appeared bleak.

“That’s it, then,” he said once more. “We had to try, but after seeing what I did and hearing Brigadier Tunik’s report and those of other surviving infantry and artillery officers, I don’t believe we can take Orosz City—either at all or only after suffering such losses that we would be mortally in danger from the islanders’ field forces.”

“Do we have casualty figures?” asked one veteran general.

Gullar glanced to his second-in-command to answer.

“Good estimates are eleven hundred dead and twenty-two hundred wounded, both infantry and artillery. Ten cannon were also lost. The artillery batteries and men are in good enough shape to still be effective, but not so with the three infantry regiments in the assault. Many of the survivors are so shaken, I would hesitate to transfer them to other units. I doubt their usefulness in future actions, and they are likely to spread too many eyewitness tales to the other troops. We will keep them together but separated from the other units as much as possible.”

“That’s over two thousand wounded we’ll carry with us,” commented a tall, rakish officer. “From what I hear, many are so gravely wounded they need more extensive medical care as soon as possible. Is that going to influence our next move?”

“It’s one factor,” Gullar conceded. “But only one. As always, the success of the mission is paramount, but I think we can agree that the original concept of getting the islanders to a major field battle and crushing them isn’t happening. Not here, anyway. From how they have behaved and by the surprises we found here—the concrete bastions and other fortifications, the 30-pounders, and whatever those flaming bombs were—we didn’t expect any of it. Neither can we take this city without unacceptable losses.”

“Is this another failure in the intelligence reports we were given?” asked his second-in-command.

Gullar wished Avan had not asked the question. “We can’t assume that yet,” he replied carefully. He wanted to investigate more before accusing Akuyun and Assessor Hizer of incompetence or worse, but his intuition tended to support that conclusion.

“We believed the islanders would be forced to defend their territories. We have seen this pattern before in other lands, and the fact that they did come to the field at the Moreland City battle supported that assumption. Whether some new factors came into play since then, we’ll have to investigate, but our focus right now is our next course of action. We have already discussed two options should an assault on Orosz City fail, so it’s time to look hard at those options. In either case, we’ll return to the base at Preddi City and consider a more extended campaign along the coastal clans, in concert with our fleet.”

Gullar nodded to the general who had asked about the wounded.

“Our current decision is whether to continue on to Adris Province to meet up with the fleet or retrace our route back to Preddi City. The concern about the wounded favors the Adris option. Putting the wounded on ships will get them back to Preddi City at least a sixday faster than going overland back to Preddi City. That option also will let us destroy as much as we can as we move through the eastern part of Orosz Province and into Adris. Once we make contact with the fleet, we can consider commencing coastal operations from that point instead of from Preddi City. I’d also rather have that clan force we’ve chased in front of us instead of in our rear.”

“I would recommend forward to Adris,” offered one general. “There’s little left to destroy back over the route we used to get here, it’s less time to reconnect with the navy, and there’s the wounded to consider.”

Several officers made supporting comments, which meshed with Gullar’s intentions. After letting his subordinates have their input, Gullar gave the order.

“Adris it is. Have the men be ready to move at first light tomorrow.”

Chapter 45: On to Adris

Orosz City

It was nearly midnight when Yozef and Maera returned to the Kolsko house. Carnigan and Gowlin Reese followed behind. More remained to be done, but they were too physically and mentally exhausted to be useful to anyone. When they dragged themselves through the main door, Anarynd met them. She hadn’t seen either of them all that day. She had received a message before midday that the Narthani had been turned back, then no other word. The three intertwined in a hard embrace and stood that way for several minutes. Yozef and Maera hadn’t touched since leaving the house that morning.

Now in the house—their home, at the moment—they were no longer on duty. Gwyned appeared and took Carnigan’s hand to lead him off, as did Braithe Reese her husband.

Then, in tears, Anarynd asked, “If you tell me you’ve already eaten or you haven’t eaten but aren’t hungry, I won’t believe either one of you, so sit at the table.”

Anarynd had laid out a loaf of the ubiquitous bread being baked for everyone in the city, cheeses they had brought with them from Caernford, olives Anarynd had gotten from somewhere, and a flask of wine of unidentified origin, of questionable quality, but of invaluable appreciation at that moment.

“How is Aeneas?” asked Maera.

“The little devil might be the only one in the city not knowing or caring what happened today.” Anarynd gave a shaky laugh. “He was happy all darn day and not a bit of a problem. He fell asleep at sundown, and I’ve been waiting for you on the balcony since then.” She unconsciously put a hand on her swollen belly.

“Oh, Ana,” said Maera sorrowfully. “I’m sorry you were here all alone this long day.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, you silly,” said Anarynd, patting Maera’s hand. “You both were doing what was needed to keep us all safe. And I stayed here taking care of Aeneas and the new son that’s coming.” She rubbed her stomach.

“Still convinced it’s a boy?” teased Maera. “Yozef said he wants a girl this time.”

“It’s a boy,” Anarynd stated as if it were a fact and not an intuition. “There’ll be time for girls later. My first one needs to be a boy to establish an heir for Moreland.”

Yozef reached out to hold Maera’s hand and laid his other hand on the back of Anarynd’s neck.

“What you did today was important to us all, Anarynd. I can’t speak for Maera, but today, when I thought about you, Aeneas, and the new baby, I didn’t worry because you were here. We all had our roles today.”

Maera and Anarynd gave in to tears of relief, and Yozef felt his throat constrict and eyes burn.

After a few more minutes, Anarynd deliberately changed the subject. “Now tell me. What happened today? I haven’t heard any details.”

Yozef cleared his throat, then returned to eating, interspersed with giving the day’s summary. Only an outside observer would have commented on the matter-of-factness in his account and that he never referred to what could have happened.

“The Narthani tried to breach the wall at the curve of the fortifications. We think it was a test to see if it was possible—enough men to give it a good attempt but not a complete commitment. If those attacking had managed to get inside the walls, I think the Narthani would have launched their entire force at that point. The attempt failed. They must have taken several thousand casualties and retreated. We suffered less than a hundred deaths and two hundred wounded.”

Anarynd contemplated his last words for a moment. “Only . . . ” she said in a soft voice, “except for those and their families.”

“Yes,” agreed Yozef sadly. “For those, it’s either literally the end of the world or their lives changed forever. But that’s the nature of war. Some die that others may live. All we can pray for is that their sacrifices are both worthwhile and appreciated by those who live.”

“Is this war going to end?” Anarynd asked. “Will the Narthani leave now?”

Yozef shook his head. “The end? No. But a hoped-for beginning for what will lead to the end. After today, we think they will move on, but in what direction and with what purpose? We have plans for the most likely choices they make, so tomorrow we’ll find out what comes next.”

Move on Adris

They had their answer when they awoke the next day. Squatting outside their building, a messenger kept watch on their balcony and the main door of the building. He had a message from Denes but had been told to wait for them to rouse before delivering it, because it wasn’t urgent.

The message? The Narthani are moving east.

Because of the supposed lack of urgency and since they had hardly been together the last few sixdays, Yozef insisted he and Maera spend two hours eating morning meal and feeding and playing with Aeneas. The sight of Yozef Kolsko lying on the floor while a laughing toddler climbed over him elicited different feelings from the two women. Anarynd felt warmth and affection for their family and anticipation of her own child to be. Maera matter-of-factly accepted that her husband was different. Part of her remained the hetman’s daughter, who could be staid, as decorum demanded, due to her station. The toddler pulling the hair of a leader of the islanders’ fight against the Narthani was not disconcerting but somehow out of place—in a good way.

It was midmorning when Yozef and Maera reached the headquarters. All of the senior leaders had already arrived, including Welman Stent. He had entered the city as soon as he could bypass the Narthani army moving east. Maera wondered how long they had waited. She doubted that at least some of them would have waited long for anyone else, except her husband. Although Denes had told the messenger not to disturb them, he’d assumed they would have appeared some time ago. Yozef and Maera did not even have a few moments to greet people milling about when Hetman Orosz called for attention and asked Denes to give the latest update.

“They were moving at first light. Now that it’s midmorning,” Denes threw an annoyed glance at Yozef, “their lead elements are about eight miles from the city and headed straight for Adris City—at least, so far. We think it’s a fair assumption that’s their target. It also probably means they’re still unaware that their navy won’t be there to meet them.”

Stent rose. “My men have orders to withdraw as before, keeping in front of their line of march, although I doubt there’s anything we can do that would change their objective. I know we’ve been over this before many times, but allow me a little uncertainty. Are we certain there is no way for their navy to get into the Gulf of Normot?”

“No possible way,” answered Lordum Hewell, shaking his head vigorously. “My clansmen have fished those waters for centuries, looking for other passages besides the Normot Cut, without success. Every generation resurrects the idea of making more channels, but we haven’t even been able to find a twisted route that minimizes the effort enough to attempt it. Their naval ships are stuck out at the mouth of the bay, a good fifty miles from Adris City. Only longboats, cutters, shallow draft fishing boats, and anything else that’s small can get through by a combination of rowing through the barrier and then raising a sail once within the gulf. Of course, we’re assuming the Fuomi ships and our battery barges will keep the Cut blocked.”

“Whether the Fuomi can do what they say is beyond our control,” said Yozef. “What we can control is to prepare for when the Narthani realize they can’t connect with their navy in the gulf. We hope they’ll then turn around and head back to Preddi City by the same route they came on. And yes, we can’t rule out that they’ll try to force their way through the passes we’re blocking. We won’t know for sure until they leave Adris City. If it’s the passes, we’ll have to reinforce wherever they head, and they still might turn back this way.

“As soon as they get another ten miles, it’ll be safe to assume they’ll continue all the way to Adris City. Then we need to start digging. Everything has been planned, but we’ll need to go over it again—both the logistics and being sure everyone knows their job, right down to boys and girls carrying water and food to workers.

“If they turn back this way, Orosz City is where the future of Caedellium will be decided. The other redoubts are secure enough and far enough away to not need all the fighting men currently providing security. We need to send out the call for every fighter, medicant, cannon, musket, shovel, horse, and the graders at the Keelan Site to head this way immediately. We’re going to need every pair of hands, every gun, here in the next few sixdays. Also, as soon as the Narthani army is committed to Adris City, all incoming timbers, empty sandbags, mines, and cannon not already here should be put where we expect to use them and not brought into the city for storage. At the same time, the charges in place on the cliffs above the river will be set off, and we’ll see how much rock we can drop for a temporary dam.”

“Are my regiments finally released for action?” asked Harmon Swavebroke. “Or do we wait for this, too, until the Narthani are committed to Adris City?”

Yozef looked at the other four War Council members sitting on one side of the large table everyone had gathered around. “I’m inclined to let Harmon go. What do the rest of you think?”

“No reason to delay,” said Stent. “By the time he gets to his men, they cut the Narthani line, and word gets to their army, the bastards will almost be at Adris City.”

Yozef turned to the new Swavebroke hetman. “Okay, Harmon. Off you go. Remember, there’s still a lot of Narthani in Preddi, so don’t forget they could always send out a sizable force to try to reopen the supply line. Stay on this side of Hanslow, and keep scouts deep into Eywell. If they do try to push you aside, we’ll send word to Roblyn Langor. The Selfcellese promise to send a couple of thousand men to harass any such relief force. But we don’t want to commit them unnecessarily, because so much of the Selfcell population is in a relatively vulnerable position in a redoubt they hastily constructed in the central Selfcell mountains.”

He turned to the entire group. “Here it is, then. Everything and every person of possible use, from everywhere on Caedellium, is to head this way immediately. As soon as the Narthani are confirmed to have committed to Adris, we’ll commence digging and building. We will construct fortifications from the city walls all the way to the river. That’s three miles, possibly a little less, if the dam backs water up onto the plain. I know it still sounds daunting, despite all our planning and calculating, but it comes to me that we will finish in time, if all the people put all their effort into it.

“Also, get the rollers working over the ground out to four hundred yards from the defenses.”

As Yozef’s final innovation before the invasion, he’d ordered the construction of two “rollers,” ten-foot-long cylinders with a six-inch shaft running down the middle. Into the shaft, they would insert a four-inch iron bar to protrude from both ends of the cylinder. The bar had a knob on each end and a raised ridge three inches from the end. A hook and a chain were inserted between each knob and ridge, which prevented the hook from sliding farther down the bar. They attached chains from both ends to a one-foot beam, which in turn led to a twenty-horse team. They filled the cylinder with rock and pulled it over the cleared, leveled ground to provide clear fields of fire. Although the horses disturbed the ground, by the fifth or sixth pass of the cylinder, the ground was so compact the horses’ hooves had little effect.

They tested the compaction, and it worked. Canister, grapeshot, and solid shot skipped off the hard surface instead of burying itself in the ground. It was especially successful with canister. Three-quarters of the musket balls from a canister round’s cone of shot, which would have been lost into the ground, now skipped and continued on. Yozef estimated the result would be an approximately fifteen-percent increase in canister balls potentially impacting a human figure at two hundred yards.

He now hoped it wouldn’t rain or, if it did, that it waited until they finished the fortification and then rained enough to turn the ground the Narthani would have to cross into a quagmire even if it negated skipping shot.

After Yozef finished talking with Harmon Swavebroke, he and Denes walked with Welman and Harmon to their waiting horses and escorts.

“I suspect I have the easiest job among the three of us,” said Swavebroke, “not that any of this is easy. I only have to raise havoc with a supply line they can’t possibly defend along its entire length. Welman’s got to dance with the Narthani to keep their attention enough that they keep hoping to force a decisive battle, while we at the same time avoid that battle. And you, Yozef . . . ” Swavebroke shook his head. “I’ve heard the numbers, but when I look out at the empty land from the city to the river and try to imagine building fortifications to stop a Narthani army of this size, and in only a sixday or two . . . my mind can’t get hold of it.”

“I won’t deny there’s a good deal of praying going on,” said Yozef. “I still believe the Moraine and Coast sites were our best options, but the Narthani didn’t want to follow Welman’s attempt to lure them farther north. We’re now sure they decided to repeat the first attempt to cut the island in half. Even if they don’t permanently occupy the land they cross, the destruction will take decades to recover from.”

If we have decades, thought Yozef. A swath of destruction demarcated the Narthani route from the Eywell border, across the breadth of Moreland, and continuing through Orosz. Assuming they kept on through Adris, there would be a twenty-mile-wide path of devastation where hardly a structure remained: city, town, village, farm, ranch. Gone would be two clan capitals: Moreland City and Adris City. It reminded Yozef of Sherman’s March to the Sea in the American Civil War. The Union Army had cut through the heart of the Confederacy, destroying infrastructure to cripple the Rebel economy, and foraging parties left barely enough for the civilian population to survive.

Yet whereas Sherman’s army fed itself by stripping the land of food, the Narthani had found very little to eat and had to depend on supplies brought with them or from the supply line back to Preddi, which was about to be severed. The uncertainty was whether the Narthani would try to force open the supply line. Swavebroke had orders not to fight battles against large Narthani forces unless necessary, but he would harass attempts at resupply. Yozef hoped it would take the Narthani long enough to act to make moot reestablishing their supply route.

“As for constructing the fortifications here,” Yozef said, attempting to reassure Swavebroke, “it’s going to be a close thing, but look again at the numbers. If we succeed, the Narthani will return here to face a fifteen-foot-wide, four-foot-deep trench of mud and water. We’ll use the earth from the trench to build a timber-reinforced berm with cannon emplacements. To get to the trench, they’ll have to cross obstacles and mines. The city and the river will anchor the ends, so the Narthani will have to attack the defensive line. Every cannon, musket, and man we have and many women will be on the line or the walls.

“It looks like the graders from the Keelan Site and two new ones just finished in Caernford will get here in time and will give us six of them. In addition, farming plows will help break up the soil. Even without those, twenty thousand men and women can move a lot of soil—which is how many people will be digging for their families’ lives and their own.”

Yozef didn’t elaborate that his worries didn’t revolve around whether people could dig, but rather on constructing the berm, laying thousands of mines, and keeping the people organized.

Fifteen Miles North of Burnym, Moreland Province

Balwis Preddi awoke well before dawn, fifteen miles north of the Moreland town of Burnym. He stared upward at the starry sky through a surrounding screen of trees. He hadn’t woken on his own. He came to with one of his men slowly shaking his shoulder.

“Balwis. Balwis. It’s time. The men are ready.”

Balwis sat up, clearing his head as he looked around. He could barely see others under the starlight. He found it hard to pick out individuals, but all around him slowly seethed a battalion of four hundred men, trying to be silent while packing. They faintly heard their horses up in the arroyo, where they were picketed. Nearby stood four more encampments such as this one: two thousand men and horses; twenty 6-pounder cannon and limbers; six hundred pack horses with food, medicine, and ammunition; forty wagons sturdy enough to cross rough country; and five hundred extra horses.

Balwis commanded the powerful, fast-moving force. The original commander had been thrown from his horse and fractured both a leg and an arm. They had no time to send back to Orosz City for instructions or a replacement. Before leaving to attend a War Council meeting, Harmon Swavebroke had denoted one battalion commander in each regiment as the most senior, in case the regiment’s colonel was lost for whatever reason. As his regiment’s designed senior major, Balwis automatically breveted to regiment commander. As Balwis usually did when he first woke up, he felt momentary wonder at how and why he had responsibility for an entire regiment of dragoons sent on a critical mission deep into Narthani territory. As always, the simple answer was that they had no other palatable option.

The Narthani Army Reaches Adris City

The Narthani army arrived at the coast of Adris Province in four days. They didn’t move faster, because once they were ten miles from Orosz City, islander horsemen and horse-artillery on all sides forced the army to maintain a semi-defensive disposition the rest of the distance. They had numerous skirmishes, some qualifying as small battles, where the islanders melted away when the Narthani reinforced. Larger numbers of islander cavalry also turned back the Narthani cavalry’s reconnaissance probes.

The first report that the scouts had sighted the ocean buoyed Marshal Gullar’s mood. Yet his improved mood didn’t last when more detailed reports found no Narthani ships. Gullar felt disappointed but not apprehensive. They’d planned for the fleet to meet them near Adris City, which was another twenty miles to the east along the coastal plain. Only a day later, when they reached the outskirts of Adris City with still no sign of the navy, did Gullar’s mood switch to concern. Where are they?

The army had begun to encamp when a cutter came ashore from a small island just off the coast of Adris City.

Gullar and his staff were setting up in a large home when a major brought the news.

“Sir, a naval officer arrived and says he has to see you immediately.”

“Well, then, why isn’t he already in front of me?” barked Gullar.

Finally, he thought. Now I’ll get some answers about why the navy isn’t sitting here waiting for us.

Almost immediately, an immaculately dressed naval lieutenant appeared before Gullar and snapped off a perfect salute. The marshal didn’t return it.

“Where is the Narth-damned navy, Lieutenant!? You people were supposed to be here waiting for us!”

The officer reddened, lowered his salute, and glared back at Gullar.

“Sir, I bring you a message from Admiral Dimir. He orders me to tell you that, unfortunately, he is unable to bring his ships to this port.”

Gullar stood silently for several seconds, unable to believe or process what he had just heard.

“What do you mean, he can’t bring them here!?” he shrieked.

“Sir. The entrance to this gulf is effectively closed by a wide ridge of rocks and reefs that run from shore to shore, completely across the thirty-mile-wide entrance to the gulf. There’s only a single gap wide enough for our ships to get into the gulf. Admiral Kalcan’s ships had previously used this gap and had had no problems, because the islanders have no navy. However, when our first ships got to the gap, we found four Fuomi frigates anchored on springs presenting broadsides to any ship trying to use the quarter-mile-wide gap.”

“Fuomi!” exclaimed Gullar. “What are the Narth-damned Fuomi doing here? I thought the island was on its own!”

“Marshal,” said Avan, “General Akuyun did mention rumors and speculation about outside interference to explain some of the islanders’ unexpected tactical decisions. These frigates would confirm that.”

“And I suppose you can’t force your way through?” Gullar pressed.

“We tried,” said the young naval officer, “but the gap can only be entered when the tides and winds are right, and even then, there’s no room to turn to present a broadside. Admiral Dimir sent a war galleon to try to break through, but it could only use its forward chase cannon against sixty 30-pounders from the frigate broadsides. The galleon was shot to pieces—its mast gone and most of the crew, casualties. The admiral had to order it abandoned and burned to keep it from further blocking the entrance to the gulf.

“We lost one sloop trying to find a way through the reefs and rocks and have spent the last sixday using longboats and cutters to look for another opening. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful, although Admiral Dimir wants to assure you we’re still trying.”

Incredulity replaced Gullar’s anger. His voice lowered to a near-normal octave.

“The gulf closed? How can that be? Our navy has operated in these waters for years. We’ve received no report that this gulf could be closed.”

“I don’t know, sir. All I can report is the situation we face. It might be that the Fuomi never made their presence known before, and reports from Admiral Kalcan indicate that only sloops sailed into the gulf. Everyone assumed we would have no problem meeting you at Adris City.”

One of the Narthani colonels present spoke up. “Marshal Gullar, a comment one of my officers made to me just an hour or so ago might be relevant. He said that a company sweeping through the harbor area of the city found only a few small boats but no sign of any piers or other harbor facilities to handle large ships. Almost as if no such ships ever came to Adris City.”

Gullar sat down on a chair. For a rare moment, he was speechless—shocked and feeling as if he had walked into a strange dream where he didn’t understand the action. His staff whispered among themselves while he tried to regain composure. In a little more than three minutes, he spoke again, this time in his normal voice.

“And how far from here is the navy, Lieutenant?”

“About fifty miles, sir. Once my cutter rowed through the reefs, we raised a sail. We’ve set up a camp on an island just offshore. We’ve seen islander horsemen, usually a few at a time, once perhaps a hundred. They know we’re here but have made no effort to approach us. Several other cutters have relayed updates back to the fleet. One of them should be halfway back there. We sent it off as soon as we recognized your approach.”

Gullar glared at the aide carrying a map satchel.

“Pull out the map of this part of the island.”

Quickly, an aide unfolded a map and spread it out on a table. A solid wall of Narthani senior officers and the navy lieutenant crowded around, heads bent as they examined the map.

“If the navy can’t get into Adris City, sir,” said Balkto, looking at the map, “how about we push on to where they can approach shore? There are three possibilities.” He used his finger to point to them in turn. “All about the same distance from here. There’s the western or eastern shores of the gulf, until we come to clear water, or north to the coast of Pawell Province. I assume we wouldn’t go northwest into extensive mountains. Of course, a fourth option would be to retrace our route here, but that would entail more time.”

“What about that, Lieutenant? Where’s the nearest point the navy can meet us?”

The lieutenant used his right hand to point to the options on the map. “The coastlines out beyond the gulf entrance are not good. Inside the gulf, we could have embarked you just about anywhere within fifteen miles of Adris City, but beyond that and all the way past the entrance to the gulf, cliffs, reefs, and rocks would make any large-scale movement from shore to ships difficult and time-consuming, at least for twenty miles or more beyond the barrier. The few more favorable spots are small and surrounded by high hills and mountains. I’m assuming not a good terrain for reembarking an army that might need to defend itself. Admiral Dimir is waiting for word from sloops he sent to the northern options—the . . . ” He paused while he read the map. “The Pawell, Nyvaks, and Skouks coasts. As yet, no word has come back. One problem the admiral sees is that all three of the shorter routes pass through mountain chains. They don’t appear wide, but the maps and reports indicate all have narrow, sheer passes. The admiral wonders whether the clans could block your way.”

Balkto examined the map. “He’s right, Marshal. The mountain ridges may only be ten miles across in places, but I can imagine the twenty thousand or so islanders we’ve faced could easily block the passes. I assume you wouldn’t want to get the army concentrated in an unfamiliar mountainous terrain where we couldn’t maneuver. We might be able to find other routes through the mountains or force the passes, but we couldn’t be certain if we commit to those routes. On the other hand, moving along the gulf coasts would eventually get us to open water, where the navy could resupply us.”

A sour-faced general spoke up. “That’s assuming we don’t meet any more unexpected surprises, such as terrain our maps don’t tell us about, or if we get there and the situation is worse than it is now. Isn’t the surest option to reverse ourselves and return directly along the route we took getting here? At least, we know the route in detail, and we know what’s on the other end.”

“Yes, General,” said Gullar, “I’ve been thinking the same thing, and that’s the decision I’m inclined to make.”

“If we do that, sir,” said Avan, “then we should leave the wounded for the navy. The men would get faster care than if they go back with us overland, and they won’t slow us down.”

Gullar turned to the navy officer.

“Lieutenant, we have about fifteen hundred wounded seriously enough not to be fit for immediate duty. Could the navy pick them up and how quickly? Is it possible to use that island you’ve used as a base to leave them there?”

“I’m afraid not, Marshal,” replied the naval officer. “However, a few miles along the northern coast from here is a short peninsula that could be defended long enough for the transfer. If you leave enough men to defend the place, I think Admiral Dimir could use every cutter in the fleet, perhaps towing longboats, and then we’d pack the wounded in. It would take several hundred-mile round trips with every cutter.”

“How long would it take?”

“With reasonable weather, which the island seems to have most of the time, four days total. Make it five days, because I would have to take a cutter back to the fleet.”

The sour-faced general spoke again. “If it’s four days for our wounded, the men tending them, and enough men to defend the position, then it would take over a month to transfer the entire army that way. Not an option.”

“No, not at all,” agreed Gullar. “Not just the time factor, but once we got down to five to ten thousand men, the islanders might decide the numbers are small enough to attack. We need to maintain the integrity of our force.”

Gullar considered the map again for a full minute.

“All right, gentlemen. Here’s what we are going to do. The wounded will stay here, with the minimum number of medical personnel to attend them. Also staying will be the remains of the three regiments who made the assault on Orosz City. Their depleted ranks and morale are such that they’re the most expendable troops we have. Avan, the lieutenant will show you the peninsula he mentioned, and you need to get the men digging defensive positions. That will still leave us with about forty-six thousand men. Use as many men as necessary to complete the defenses and have us ready to head back to Preddi by first light two days from today. We’ll also leave two batteries of the 12-pounders that can be dug in.

“Gentlemen, let the men have as much rest as possible. Once we start back, we’ll have full rations for only ten days.”

Gullar turned to the naval officer. “Lieutenant, I’ll give you written orders to take to Admiral Dimir to get a message back to Preddi City as soon as possible. We haven’t received any resupply overland from Preddi the last four days. We should assume the islanders have stopped any supply trains from getting through. I left General Istranik with enough men to raze Keelan Province. He should have completed that assignment by now and returned to Preddi. Any news of that operation?”

“Sir, Admiral Dimir told me to inform you that General Istranik burned the Keelan port town of Salford with no resistance by the islanders. Cavalry patrols at least fifty miles inland reported no inhabitants. They also burned some smaller coastal towns and villages, then word came from Preddi that the islanders had cut your overland supply line. General Istranik decided that finishing the destruction of Keelan Province had a lower priority than returning to Preddi City to assess the supply line’s status.”

“Good,” said Gullar. “Istranik is to use his men and those of General Akuyun to reopen the supply line at least as far as . . .” Gullar stopped to look at the map. “ . . . Moreland City.”

Gullar called for pen and paper and began to write—talking to the lieutenant and his staff at the same time.

“All right, Lieutenant. I’ll give this to you verbally as well, so there’s no misunderstanding. General Istranik is to take his men and any that General Akuyun can spare and move first to Hanslow, the Eywell capital, bringing enough supplies for this army. From there, move on to Moreland City. I leave it to General Istranik’s discretion if he can move closer to Orosz City, but he is not to put his force in major jeopardy.”

Gullar paused in writing to address his staff.

“Even if Istranik comes only to the Eywell-Moreland border, our total distance back to support is less than two hundred miles. I assume the islanders will continue to harass us, but once we clear Orosz City, the terrain is flat enough and well known now to us, so we can move faster. I would estimate the same four to five days back to Orosz City and then four more to Moreland City.”

“With us staying here for two days, that’s going to cut the rations short,” cautioned Avan.

“All right, then, eighty percent rations as of now,” ordered Gullar. “The men are in good condition, so cutting back slightly will give us . . . what . . . another sixday’s rations? If necessary, during the last part we could start eating the horses.”

The marshal’s last comment stunned half of the staff—the others accepted the possible necessity. Yet all the officers now clearly realized, if they hadn’t earlier, that the army’s status had changed dramatically. Instead of quickly subjugating the island, they found themselves on the defensive—at least, for the moment. Once they reached Preddi and reestablished contact with the main base and the navy, they would be invulnerable to anything the islanders attempted and would switch tactics. But they had to get back to Preddi.

Chapter 46: Return to Orosz City

Orosz City

“It’s confirmed,” Denes said to the others. “The Narthani army is headed back this way. Stent reports the Narthani are pushing harder this time. At the rate they are moving, Stent estimates they would have covered twenty-five miles the first day, so he’s decided to engage them more than planned.”

“We have to increase all efforts to get ready for them,” asserted Yozef, “and Welman needs to delay them as much as he can. Every day is critical.”

Denes frowned. “To slow them down more will mean more casualties.”

“It’s the price we’ll have to pay to save more lives later,” Yozef said firmly. “Every day they’re delayed will mean the blocking wall and other defenses we build will get stronger. Better a thousand die slowing them down than hundreds of thousands if we fail to destroy this army.”

Denes nodded. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “Let the land in front of the defenses be the graveyard of the Narthani,” he spat.

That’s a good line, Yozef thought. I should have thought of it. “The word also needs to go out to every single Caedelli here in Orosz City, especially those working on the defenses,” he said. “The Narthani army is coming back this way, and this is as far as any Narthani in that army lives. Right here. On the plain in front of the city. Reemphasize to everyone that how hard every single person works in the next few days will determine whether they and their families live, die, or spend the rest of their lives as slaves of the Narthani.”

A growl rumbled through the room. Those with confirmed tasks hurried out to spread the word. A few waited for updated assignments or to confer with others about their tasks. Maera had left, too—heading back to the intelligence staff to go over the messages from Stent and to update maps. Yozef stood alone.

I’ve done all I can. There’s no time to change plans at this point. I’m not going to be leading men out to slow the Narthani. I’m not particularly good at anything that is ongoing. But I have to do something.

A body bumped against him. A big body. He stumbled and looked to see who it was. Carnigan. Standing there with a raised eyebrow.

“I assume you’re starting to feel useless again. It’s about that time. Wondering why everyone listens to you when you know so little and certainly have no good advice. Maybe even getting surprised you’ve taken command. Well . . . SNAP out of it!”

Yozef looked blankly at his friend and bodyguard. Damn big oaf is getting to know me too well, and it’s getting irritating, was the first thought through his mind. He’s right, of course, was the second thought.

Yozef sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just that there’s nothing for me to do now. At this moment.”

“You can let yourself be seen.”

“Seen?”

“Yes! Merciful God! Get your butt out where people can see you. I don’t give a graeko’s ass if you don’t think you’re a Septarsh, but many of the people do or at least wonder at the rumors. Let them see you’re real.”

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

“Tens of thousands . . . no . . . hundreds of thousands of islanders are putting their future in your hands, because you’re mainly responsible for the plans we follow. Thousands are out there right now digging in the ground with every fiber of their strength. Thousands are going to die, either slowing the Narthani army or fighting it once it gets here. And you’re worried about people thinking you’re a Septarsh. How about giving some thought to someone besides yourself?”

Yozef felt his face redden. First with anger, then chagrin.

“God damn it, Carnigan. I hate it when you’re right. You’re supposed to be a big dumb oaf we only keep around to scare people.”

“Oh, I can still scare people. That doesn’t mean I don’t recognize self-pity when I see it,” Carnigan stated airily.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

Carnigan smiled at the “okays.” Yozef never tried to explain where the expression came from, but “okay” had spread throughout Caedellium in the last few years, along with numerous other expressions “originating” from Yozef Kolsko.

For the next three hours, Yozef, accompanied by Carnigan and a cadre of messengers insisted on by Denes—just in case Yozef had an “idea” (or a whisper)—toured the ongoing digging and building from the corner of the city walls toward the river.

They would approach a cluster of workers digging the main trench, filling sandbags, and hauling sandbags up to where others built ramparts, cannon emplacements, and ammunition stock sites. The workers would stop as they approached, Yozef would praise their hard work and emphasize to keep working, and then he’d move on. It became depressing. He still felt as if he weren’t doing anything. Finally, they moved on to another grouping, where a boy who couldn’t have been more than nine years old struggled to carry a sandbag up the forming berm. Yozef helped him up the slope, then followed him back to the trench and began carrying two sandbags at a time up the slope. Carnigan watched quietly for a couple of trips, expecting Yozef to move on. When he didn’t, Carnigan joined in—in his case, carrying four bags at a time. At first, the other workers stopped to stare at Yozef Kolsko, then pitched in with even more effort than they had before.

After two hours, Yozef could hardly move. He’d tried to stay in physical shape, but too many demands and too little time had curtailed his workouts. What must it be like for all these people working all day?

When he started to stagger, Carnigan announced to everyone within earshot that Yozef was proud of their work but that he needed to move on to inspect other sites on the line. He then pushed Yozef along, and they walked back toward the city. They arrived at the Kolsko house right at sundown. Most workers outside the city would continue for another hour. Some would work by torch and lanterns until their bodies demanded rest.

It was Anarynd who first saw Yozef, with his dirty clothes, face, and hands. He simply went to the balcony and sat down. Anarynd gave Carnigan a questioning look, and he bent down and whispered in her ear. She nodded, and Carnigan left.

Anarynd heated water and prepared the small bathtub that one person would just fit in. She then took Yozef’s hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the bath. He smiled sadly when he saw it but undressed and stepped into the tub, sinking down until only his head showed above the water. Anarynd brought Aeneas into the room, set him on the floor, and let him explore and play in view of Yozef. She sat behind him in a chair and massaged his shoulders when he sat up. The water had just started to approach room temperature when Maera returned from the headquarters.

Anarynd picked up Aeneas and walked out to Maera. Yozef heard whispers. He rose from the water, dried himself off, put on clean clothes Anarynd had laid out, and walked out to the balcony facing the interior courtyard. He sat in the darkness on the rocking bench Maera had ordered. The otherwise loud drum of city sounds at this time of day was reduced to background noise. He sat there for some time. When he finally heard steps, he didn’t look around but felt someone next to him. Anarynd laid sleeping Aeneas in his lap. He reflexively cradled the infant in his left arm and began to slowly rock the bench with his feet. Anarynd then sat on his right, Maera on his left. Neither spoke. Both put an arm over one of his shoulders and pressed their bodies next to his. Anarynd took his right hand and placed it on her abdomen. The four of them sat rocking slowly as night fell.

Yozef felt both comforted and almost angry. Comforted to hold Aeneas and have his wives touching him. Almost angry as he unavoidably dissected their motives.

Are they trying to make me feel guilty for being in a funk? Reminding me of responsibilities to them, Aeneas, and the one to come? Why can’t they just leave me alone?

Rock. Rock. No words. Time passed. A shard of objectivity intervened.

Maybe they’re worried about me. Maybe they’re a little scared—what with the biggest actual battle coming up and me sitting here, unresponsive. Maybe they actually care for me, and it’s their way of comforting. Maybe I’ll wake up and be back in my bed in Berkeley. Maybe pigs will fly.

When he choked a little laugh, Anarynd gripped his hand tighter. For the first time, he acknowledged their presence. His head turned to her. He gave her a little smile, containing more than a hint of sadness, but still, a smile. He rotated his hand in hers so they gripped palm to palm. He turned to Maera and gave her the same smile. He looked down at oblivious Aeneas, sleeping the sleep of an infant secure in his world.

He felt a pang of hunger and remembered he had not eaten or drunk since morning. I guess I’m going to continue living, he thought wryly. I’m hungry, and so must they be.

“I’m okay,” he said aloud. “Just a little overwhelmed at the moment. I’ll be fine.”

Anarynd relaxed. They had been married only six months, and this was the first time she had experienced one of his “episodes.” They tended to come every month or so and lasted anywhere from a few minutes, like this one, to a whole day. He had unconsciously avoided letting Anarynd see them. It was Maera who recognized an episode and did what she could for him but basically waited for him to come out of it. He let Maera see him at these vulnerable periods—but no one else, until now.

Maera also relaxed. This episode was quick but had a depth of feeling to it that alarmed her. He had confessed his doubts on just about everything happening. At first, she was taken aback to have her husband unload on her in that manner. She didn’t expect something like this from a husband. Certainly, her mother was her father’s confidant, but Hetman Keelan seldom expressed serious self-doubt in his actions. His confidence was part of his role as head of sixty thousand clanspeople.

But Yozef . . . for Yozef, it was different. Maera didn’t count herself among those ready to proclaim him a Septarsh—not quite yet. But she saw him up closest of anyone, even Anarynd. He remained full of doubts about almost anything he did and discounted any suggestion that he had a special relationship with God or of being a “Septarsh” to whom God whispered. Unbeknownst to Yozef, she had spoken with Rhaedri Brison about Yozef. The old theophist had not shared an opinion as to what Yozef might be but emphasized to her that there was no requirement for a genuine Septarsh to know he was one or not to have reservations about himself and his actions. He advised her simply to support Yozef when she could and to understand that he was different from other men. She tried.

He gently pulled his right hand from Anarynd’s belly and shifted Aeneas to the right arm.

“I think I need to eat and then get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

Maera raised an eyebrow to Anarynd and tilted her head toward the inside of their rooms. He had come out of whatever dark place he’d been in. As was his habit, he would not talk about it, at least at that moment, but would pick up a routine as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he would talk to her about it later that day or the next day or sometimes never, as if it had never happened. Maera wondered what he saw at those times and whether it was something she wanted to see.

Stress

The next day, Maera found Denes a mile south of Orosz City, as he oversaw laying a minefield section. Yozef had scheduled a full day of one meeting after another.

Denes heard his name and found her standing behind him. “Maera,” he greeted her.

“I know you’re busy, as is everyone, but I have to talk with you about Yozef.”

“Yozef? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing physical. Oh, he needs more sleep, but that’s all of us. He’s just so wrapped up in worrying. He’s afraid he forgot something to help against the Narthani or has given bad advice. It’s wearing on him, and he’s not as mentally sharp as usual. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Anarynd and I do what we can, but it might help to give him a break. He needs to spend time with men when it’s not about building fortifications and killing Narthani. Maybe he could have an evening at a pub, as he did in Abersford. I know how much he enjoyed those. He usually went with Carnigan, Filtin, and occasionally others, including you now and then. Carnigan thinks it a great idea, naturally, but Filtin’s still in Caernford. Of the men here in Orosz City, you’re one of those he’s known you the longest, so I’m recruiting you to help.”

Denes ran a hand over his shaven head and looked back at the mine-laying crew.

“I know,” said Maera hurriedly, “it seems a frivolous thing to do at a time—”

“No, no,” interrupted Denes. “Just that I was surprised. I’ll admit it does seem like something inappropriate, but we need Yozef at his best. We can’t afford a distracted Yozef Kolsko. The few hours lost at a pub would be more than compensated if it keeps him fully functional.”

At precisely eighteen bells, when normal workdays were ending, although work on the fortifications would continue after dark, Carnigan Puvey and Denes Vegga walked into a meeting of Yozef and the balloon fabrication and manning teams. The crews that would ride in the balloons to observe Narthani positions insisted the gondolas were insufficiently secured and wobbled too much. The men making the balloons insisted the manning crews moved around too much and shifted materials without considering the gondola’s balance.

“Time for Yozef to go to another appointment,” boomed Carnigan. He and Denes picked a surprised Yozef out of his chair and marched him out of the room.

“What other appointment?” asked Yozef. “Not that I don’t appreciate being rescued. I confess I hardly listened to them argue, after meetings all day.”

“We have orders from higher command,” said Denes, declining to elaborate.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at a corner table in the Five-Legged Krykor, the finest pub in Orosz City, according to their visiting expert—Carnigan. Balwis Preddi and Wyfor Kales waited, along with five steins of beer.

Yozef hadn’t inquired further about “higher command,” often a key phrase identifying Maera, and he had only a momentary qualm. By God, I do need this, he thought. I didn’t realize how much I missed the evenings at the Snarling Graeko in Abersford until I smelled the odors of hops and people, the sounds of good cheer, even if fueled by alcohol, and being able to forget everything else, even if only for an hour.

“No thinking, Yozef,” ordered Balwis, shoving a full stein into Yozef’s hand. “Drink up.”

Yozef complied. The long, cool draught rolled over his tongue and down his throat, taking with it part of the day’s worries. Several more draughts followed as the men talked of anything but what was supposed to be on their minds every minute.

A second stein arrived, and Balwis groaned. “Shit. Look who walked in. That Landoliner asshole.”

Yozef glanced up. Rhanjur Gaya stood by the main door and checked out the surroundings but missed seeing the five men’s table. He walked to what passed for a bar counter and began talking with men Yozef assumed were Oroszian merchants. Gaya had dressed as usual—in an ornate jacket, brightly colored trousers (green today), and enough jewelry for half a dozen wives of wealthy Caedelli.

“Shame on you, Balwis,” said Carnigan. “Such disrespect for assholes that serve a purpose—as opposed to the honorable Rhanjur Gaya, whose purpose remains unclear.”

Denes grunted in agreement. “He can’t open his mouth without letting you know how everything is better with his people. The food is better. The women are more beautiful and compliant. The land better. The worship of God more correct. Shit. And speaking of shit, he probably thinks Landoliner turds smell better than a Caedelli’s.”

Yozef was halfway into his second stein and definitely feeling loose. “Reminds me of a story,” came out of his mouth without permission.

“A story!” announced Carnigan, pounding his fists on the helpless table. It barely survived. “It’s been ages since a Yozef story. Let’s hear it, Yozef.”

“Well, there was this Keelan woman talking to a woman from Preddi, and you all know how people from Preddi think there’re better than anyone else.”

Several sets of eyes looked to Balwis, wondering if he would take offense.

“It’s true,” he said. “My family lived in the country, but the city Preddi were almost as bad as Gaya.”

“Anyway,” said Yozef, “the Preddi woman says, ‘When I had my first child, my husband gave me a new carriage.’

“‘That’s nice,’ said the Keelan woman.

“‘And when I had my second child, he gave me a rorton fur cape. One of the rarest white ones.’

“‘That’s nice,’ said the Keelan woman.

“‘After my third child, my husband gave me a new house.’

“‘That’s nice.’

“‘How about you?’ asked the Preddi woman. ‘What did your husband give you when you had your first child?’

“‘Oh, he arranged for a theophist in the local abbey to give me lessons in being polite.’

“‘Lessons in being polite?’ exclaimed the Preddi woman. ‘Why did he do that?’

“‘Well, he wanted me to learn to say, That’s nice, instead of I don’t give a shit.’” As Yozef finished the story, he noticed Gaya leaving the pub.

Yozef had hit a home run. Even dour Denes, cynical Wyfor, and jaded Balwis broke into helpless laughter. Adjacent tables turned to the uproar and gathered to find out what made a table of dangerous-looking men laugh so hard.

Two days later, Yozef, Denes, and Mulron Luwis were examining the latest maps in the Pit. The Fuomi delegation, accompanied by Rhanjur Gaya, joined them. Yozef finished explaining that they were “war-gaming”—having the women around the map reposition figurines of Narthani and Caedelli forces as the men went through possible scenarios.

“We do something similar in Landolin,” said Gaya. “Of course, we use gardens designed in the shape of Landolin nations and use people instead of figurines.”

“That’s nice,” said Denes.

Balwis burst into uncontrollable laughter. He excused himself and left the room.

“What—?” asked Mulron. “Is something wrong with Balwis?”

“Later,” said Denes, face red and jaws clamped shut after that one word.

Ready or Not

It had been two sixdays since the Narthani army left their encampment near Orosz City and moved toward Adris City. The return was nothing like the outward trip. The first time, the Narthani had engaged in only occasional skirmishes with islanders who tried to delay them and suppress Narthani patrols. This time, Stent engaged the Narthani in numerous battalion- and regiment-sized actions, always at sites and conditions of their choosing, because it was the Narthani who had to keep moving.

For the first time, the islanders suffered significant casualties. The worst was when an Adris dragoon regiment attempted to ambush a Narthani cavalry battalion but had chosen the wrong site and didn’t adequately protect their flanks. A Narthani cavalry regiment had surprised them and was rolling up their position from a flank when a Bultecki battalion, in turn, surprised the Narthani and stopped their attack. The Adrisians suffered more than a thousand casualties and the supporting Bultecki almost two hundred. Yet they escaped complete annihilation and provided an example of one clan coming to the aid of another, even at a danger to themselves. The War Council hoped this important precedent, though a costly lesson, would motivate all islander units.

Notably, the clans’ attacks had never been “serious,” as Marshal Gullar would rate them. They did nothing to indicate the islanders were ready for a decisive battle of any kind. Still, Gullar’s experience and intuition kept him constantly on edge. He pushed his subordinates, and they in turn pushed their men to keep the army moving, even at the expense of maximum defense. Every instinct told Gullar time was of the essence, though he couldn’t articulate to his subordinates why that should be.

The answer came when the first forward cavalry screen found itself facing not large numbers of islander horsemen and cannon, but instead the southern wall of Orosz City and fortifications extending from the curve in the walls to the river three miles away—fortifications that had not existed two sixdays previously.

Clarity

Marshal Gullar had one of those moments of perfect clarity, when the puzzling clues came together and an answer was obvious. The islanders delaying their movement without offering battle. Their abandonment of entire cities to be burned. The gathering of their people into redoubts—especially Orosz City. The understanding that it was all part of a long-term, deliberate plan, that what lay before them could only have been planned for months.

Marshal Dursun Gullar stood on a low hill just southeast of the city. When they had passed this way the last time, scraps of buildings extended from the city’s walls almost a half mile before the army reached farmland and its remains—in this case, the stubble of crops, isolated fenceposts, and scattered bushes and tree stumps. All of that was gone and the land totally bare, as if something had not just scraped the earth clean, but also leveled any small undulations of the ground. The clean swath was a half-mile wide, on the other side of which earthworks had magically appeared since they were here last.

Of course, Gullar knew it wasn’t magic. One part of his mind, the part still functioning objectively, recognized that given the number of islanders in the city and in the mountains, they must have put tens of thousands to work digging and building as soon as his corps had passed. The clans had applied intense pressure to prevent his patrols from reporting what happened at Orosz City after they’d left it two sixdays ago and to forestall any warning that would lead him to order a different route back to Preddi—possibly north to the Pawell coast or one of the other options, no matter the obstacles. Anywhere but where he was right now. No matter how much planning the islanders might have done, they would not have had the bodies and the materials to duplicate this effort everywhere—certainly not in a terrain with features that formed a bottleneck and not with the fixed cannon positions on the south wall of the city. He berated himself for walking into their trap like some half-witted prey.

From his vantage point, he could see the line of fortifications running from the city wall over two and a half miles to what was now a lake. A huge landslide had blocked the river, and a lake almost a half-mile wide had formed. He could see the cut in the cliffs where the Caedelli must have set explosives to bring down the slopes. The lake anchored the distant end of the line. As if the steep berm and bunkers of their line were not enough, he could see where they got the earth for the berm. A four-foot-deep and fifteen-foot-wide ditch ran in front of the berm. Gullar had a bad feeling that his men would find the ditch full of water when they attacked.

At this moment, Gullar felt cold in a way he had not for many years. In this case, it wasn’t the cold of his people’s northern origins or the cold of winters or rains, but—and he was honest enough to admit it—the cold of fear. For the first time, he knew his corps faced serious trouble.

Orosz City

The Caedelli command group stood crammed onto the top of the one of the southern bastions. The twenty or more of them had eight telescopes and took turns looking at the vanguard of the Narthani army halted three miles away.

“We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” said Denes Vegga, lead commander of the static defenses.

“And pray to Merciful God that it’s going to be enough,” added Welman Stent, lead commander of the mounted forces. He had ridden ahead the previous day for a final consultation. Afterward, he would wind through a narrow trail in the mountains to rejoin his men, who had slipped behind the Narthani for their last ten miles.

“Will they do anything today?” queried Hetman Adris. His voice only slightly betrayed what he felt. It was his men who had been trapped by the Narthani several days previously and had suffered many casualties. That, and knowing Adris City was a wasteland of charred wood and ashes, instead of causing him to waver in his commitment, had only strengthened it. He didn’t express it, but inside he seethed with the thirst for revenge. A thirst he foresaw might soon be quenched.

“Not today,” answered Denes. “It will take several hours to bring up the rest of their men. Given the time of day, I’d say they encamp for the night and launch a full-scale assault just as the sun peeks above the eastern hills. Their men will be fresh from a night’s sleep, and they might hope to catch us not quite ready. That won’t happen, of course. We’ll have an advantage that the sun will be in their faces as soon as it clears the hills. I wonder if they might delay their attack until the sun’s higher?”

“I think not,” said Yozef. “Whenever it is, they’re going to cross a half-mile of open space to get within musket range, survive all our surprises, and cross the ditch.”

Hetman Farkesh looked his usual dour self. “I still wonder if they might not just reverse themselves again to try to find a coast to link up with their navy.”

Yozef had the same concern. All of this could be for naught if the Narthani commander refused to take the final step into Yozef’s trap. An ingenious stratagem, if it worked, and a foolish waste of effort, if nothing happened. Naturally, he could not share the depth of his worries—not at this point.

“Though anything is possible, there are a number of reasons for them to come straight at us. One is that they don’t have contact with their navy. Welman has seen to that by keeping a close noose around their army. No messengers are getting out. They finished evacuating the wounded they left at Adris, and at last report there was no sign of a Narthani cutter for at least a sixday. Observers along the coast haven’t reported seeing Narthani ships for the same period. They were last sighted off the coast of Mittack, sailing south—almost certainly going back to their base at Preddi City. We can assume they told the navy they were heading back overland, so if they changed course now, they would only end up being penned against a coast whose terrain they’re not familiar with.

“Welman has whittled away at them for the last two sixdays. The total number of casualties they’ve suffered has not yet significantly reduced their abilities, but it has to have an effect at some point. Moreover, they must be getting short of rations. They didn’t get a major resupply at Adris as they expected. Given how we’ve slowed them down the entire time, their timetable must be badly in arrears by now. Finally, the restored semaphore from Moreland has reported increased size and depth of Narthani patrols coming into Eywell. There is a good possibility that a second Narthani force is planning to meet the one we’re facing here, possibly at Moreland City, and bring supplies. We intend to inhibit that possibility, but the Narthani commander here won’t know what’s happening elsewhere. Given all these factors, I think they will most likely launch an all-out effort to break through our fortifications right here. Once they do that, they’ll be irrevocably committed. They’re at their peak strength right now. Given what we have waiting for them, even if they don’t break through, it will cost them so many men that trying to reverse and go elsewhere will be out of the question.”

“All our prayers hope they break themselves against our people,” stated Hetman Orosz.

“Yes,” agreed Yozef, “but remember, it’s not only our people in the earthworks and the walls of Orosz City they need to worry about. There’s also Welman’s men. They can’t launch their entire force at us at the same time. If they did that and were willing to pay the price, we probably couldn’t stop them. However, we have twenty-five thousand dragoons and a hundred cannon lurking in their rear and flanks. They have to hold back enough men to protect their rear in case Welman attacks.”

“Something Welman Stent intends to do as soon as the opportunity presents itself,” ground out the Stent hetman.

“But only when the opportunity is right,” cautioned Yozef.

“You’re still sure their attack will come toward the river?” questioned Hetman Pewitt.

“As Yozef would caution us, nothing is sure,” said Denes, “but I can’t imagine them attacking within range of the city wall and the 30-pounders. The earthworks connecting to the wall are not as extensive as farther toward the river, but they should be strong enough that when added to the fire from the wall, they will stop anything the Narthani might try there. No, it will be somewhere from about a third of the way from here to the lake forming behind the temporary dam in the river.”

“Or several places,” warned Yozef. “With this many men and the straits they find themselves in, the Narthani may well launch an assault at many points and possibly across the whole line of our earthworks.”

Rintala spoke next. The Fuomi commander, freshly shaven, wore a uniform as spotless as ever. His troop commander, Kivalian, though not quite as dandy, still had his eternal grin.

Wonder how they do that? thought Yozef.

“If it was me,” said Rintala, “I would show you a solid front of men as I advanced but then focus on perhaps three points to have the men flow to.”

“I don’t think they’re going to ‘flow’ anywhere,” said Yozef. “Not after they hit our first lines of defense.”

Rintala and Kivalian looked at Yozef with respect. More recently, that respect included deeper and deeper curiosity. Not being from Caedellium, they did not have the legends of a Septarsh to whom God whispers as part of their mythology, but whatever Fuomi version of this existed, it had started to be triggered in their subconscious.

“We shall have to see how all of Yozef’s ideas for defense work under an attack,” said Rintala. “It’s axiomatic that no plan works as conceived once a battle begins. However, I, for one, would not want to have to get past what we have seen you Caedelli prepare. To be honest, when we return to Fuomon, much of what we have seen here will be turned against the Narthani on Melosian battlefields. I suspect warfare will change in ways I’m only just now thinking about. In a sense, it would be a shame for the Narthani to go home with some of this knowledge.”

“As few of them as we can manage will have that chance,” said Denes gravely.

Okan Akuyun

Okan Akuyun woke before dawn, as usual. By first light he would be in his office, as would his staff. The previous day had been trying, to say the least. Marshal Gullar’s latest reports had arrived, along with orders for General Istranik, whom Gullar had left in Preddi with eight thousand men.

Istranik had commanded the attack on Keelan Province. When receiving reports of Gullar’s inability to engage the clan forces in a major battle, Istranik had withdrawn back to Preddi City to await clarification if Gullar required support. Then a message came from Gullar to bring all remaining Narthani forces to Moreland City, along with resupply for Gullar’s army.

These orders had rippled through the Narthani in Preddi, along with the news of what had transpired during Gullar’s march from Preddi City to Adris City and his intent to return by the same route. This was not how the Narthani had expected things to proceed. The report had turned everyone’s outlook from certainty about the inevitable subjugation of Caedellium to one of doubt about their existing positions. If Gullar’s army was in some degree of trouble, what about Preddi and the Narthani settlers, farmers, and tradesmen?

When word came of the abandonment of Moreland City, every fiber of Akuyun’s intuition sent out alarms. He immediately ordered all noncombatants to move inside fortifications. All aspects of a functioning economy stopped.

Akuyun’s relations with Istranik moved from tense to outright hostility on receiving Gullar’s order. Most contentious between the two generals were the eight thousand men Marshal Gullar had left under Akuyun’s command. Their purpose was to support Gullar’s main force and help ensure the safety of the 100,000 Narthani civilians in Preddi Province, along with acting as a potential reserve.

When Istranik terminated the Keelan operation, Preddi City became the center of two parallel commands: Akuyun, with his original ten thousand men and the eight thousand from Gullar; and Istranik, with his eight thousand. The final confrontation with Istranik had occurred the previous day. Istranik interpreted Gullar’s order to bring all forces to Moreland City to include both the eight thousand men put under Akuyun and Akuyun’s original ten thousand. Akuyun had flatly refused the latter, because neither he nor his men were formally under Gullar, and they had the task of protecting Preddi and the Narthani now living there. Istranik finally acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, when Tuzere supported Akuyun. However, Gullar’s eight thousand men were another matter. A reasonable reading of the situation was that Gullar gave their command to Akuyun only on a temporary basis and as a reserve, which Gullar was now calling on. Akuyun eventually complied with relinquishing the eight thousand men to Istranik but then ordered Zulfa and Tuzere to call up the civilian militia, which had languished with no role once Gullar’s corps had arrived. Naturally, the last decision alerted the civilian population that all was not well on Caedellium for their people.

By reclaiming the eight thousand, Istranik theoretically had a total of 16,000 men. Yet despite trying to follow Gullar’s orders to come to Moreland City with all men, Istranik had to secure the supply line himself because Akuyun refused to contribute his own men. Once he accounted for men who needed to stay in Preddi, such as farriers and other noncombat soldiers, Istranik had 10,000 men available to bring supplies to Moreland City and attempt to maintain a long, open supply line back to Preddi City.

All of this ran through Akuyun’s mind as he lay next to his wife. She was still asleep. He had kept her abreast of the main developments but had not shared, even with her, his intuition that the entire Caedellium mission was in serious danger. He felt he had done all he could.

He eased himself out of bed, padded into the dressing room, and closed the door, so as not to wake Rabia. Then he lit a lamp and proceeded to shave and dress for the day. He would be present to see Istranik off by mid-morning, so he could get in a few hours of paperwork before that duty, and then go back to worrying whether he had overlooked anything and was acting within his authority and power. He didn’t like Istranik but conceded to himself that Gullar’s subordinate was competent. Akuyun honestly wished him good fortune, because they were both officers of the Narthon Empire, and because bad luck would only mean that Preddi itself was under threat.

Chapter 47: First Attack

Munmar Kellan

Captain Munmar Kellan spent a sleepless night preparing his company of a hundred men to move into position. He also did what he could to encourage the men. He told them they would succeed in their assignment the next day and conveyed his full confidence in their orders. He lied.

He wondered whether he or any of his men would live to sundown. They would lead the assault. He saw what had happened to the regiments thrown at the city’s walls the first time the army passed this place. Although the fortifications blocking their way back to Preddi City did not look as formidable, the first wave would absorb the full brunt of the islanders’ fire.

He felt afraid, which a Narthani should never feel, but he wouldn’t show it—not to his men, not to other Narthani, and not to an enemy. He was Narthani of an honorable family that had served the empire back to when their people came out of the great northern steppes. He had hidden his fears all of his life or at least as far back as when he first recognized something different about himself, compared to the other men in his family. They would never be afraid. Yet lately he had wondered whether they hid it as he did. Either way, he would do his duty and trust that Narth would be merciful—if not in this life, then in the next.

Dursun Gullar

Narthani marshal Dursun Gullar, commander of the Twenty-Ninth Corps, woke three hours before first light when an aide gently shook his arm. He’d slept five hours—enough to be sharp of wits for the morning. Other men, given his responsibilities, might not have slept at all. Gullar was not other men. He had long ago learned to discipline himself to do what was needed, even if his body and mind objected. He feared he would need all of his wits and discipline this coming day. He had served the empire ever since joining the army as a fifteen-year-old boy, barely shaving. His family was old-line Narthani of an insignificant lineage. He could still remember the determination of that boy, who secretly swore to himself he would raise his family to the prominent ranks of Narthani society.

He kept secrets, but a main one now was his pride at having achieved that boy’s goal. He was a marshal of the Narthani army, having risen from a pathetically young and naïve youth to command an entire corps of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Honors and victories filled his years of service, though not always the latter, because circumstance could favor either side of a conflict. Yet enough victories to repeatedly mark him for advancement. He had led a regiment that turned back a Fuomon attack threatening an entire army. His regiment had been decimated but had saved the army. This led to his promotion to division commander, where he served for four years. During most of that time, he faced the Iraquiniks as Narthon pushed deeper into Confederation territory. The last two years had been a frustrating time of taking and losing the same territory over and over. The Iraquinik defenses, capabilities, and terrain features finally made the High Command decide to seek another route to expand west of Narthon. By then, Gullar was a corps commander who might someday lead an army of many corps.

When orders came to pull his corps back from the front, he wondered whether his corps’ performance had been found unsatisfactory, although he couldn’t see why. His worry about being replaced was assuaged when High Command told him the opposite: that they considered him a reliable corps commander—although he noted they didn’t say superior. They gave him a new assignment that required an experienced leader. Thus, he learned, for the first time, of the plan to jump over the Iraquiniks on Narthon’s western border. A large island, 1,600 miles northwest of the Landolin land mass, was to be converted into a fortress and a relay-and-supply point to invade one of the Landolin nations, which, in turn, would be the base to subjugate the rest of Landolin and start a second front against the Iraquiniks. Once Narthon faced enemies on only one border, the Fuomi and its allies would get the empire’s full attention.

Gullar’s assignment was to use his corps to crush the resistance on Caedellium. Although the islanders had fought the existing Narthani to a standoff in a battle a few months previously, the lack of success was reasonably attributed to not enough Narthani forces, the need to rely too much on islanders’ allied auxiliaries, and a more determined islander defense than expected. Gullar’s corps was to solve all those issues.

However, the on-site circumstances had confounded the mission. The islanders simply didn’t do what he’d been led to believe they would do. This, when combined with incomplete intelligence on the islanders themselves and the island’s geography, brought him and his men to this day. It wasn’t the first time he had led men in a desperate situation, but the last time it had been a regiment of two thousand, whereas now he had forty-six thousand men from the Twenty-Ninth Corps. For Narthon to lose an entire regiment was regrettable, but in that instance long ago, it had saved tens of thousands of others. To lose an entire corps would be a major blow to both Narthon’s military and its reputation. In addition, the remaining Narthani on the island would be in grave danger.

The islanders were far more skilled than anyone had anticipated. Even with the Fuomi’s help, what they had accomplished here alone was startling. To have constructed a two-and-a-half-mile length of earthworks in this short time spoke of a long-term plan and not a spur-of-the-moment decision to act on an opportunity. Gullar might logically tell himself he had only dealt with what was known, but he felt bitter for letting his corps fall into a carefully laid trap—one they needed to break out of, and quickly, or the entire corps would be in grave peril.

Today would tell the story. They had to break through the fortifications. They would never be stronger than they were this morning. There would be no probing attacks. The time for those was past. It would be an all-out assault . No matter the cost, they had to break through into more open country, where their discipline and experience would frustrate the islanders.

Yozef to the Front

Yozef had spent the previous evening with his family. Once again, Denes and the others had insisted that he rest as much as possible. They explicitly stated this would help him come up with fresh ideas the next day, but the implicit message was so that his hearing would be sharp for any communiqués from . . . you know.

None of the three adults said anything about the next day. They talked about the food, about Aeneas’s day, about the coming new addition to the family, feeling the baby move inside Anarynd, but never the next day. Anarynd put Aeneas down to sleep, then gave both Yozef and Maera tight hugs, and without another word went to her room. Maera took Yozef by the hand, led him to her room, and made sure his mind was on something other than the Narthani, at least for an hour. Then, spent, he fell asleep before stray thoughts could reemerge.

Two hours before first light, a knock on the bedroom door woke Maera—or, rather, prompted her to rise since she had lain awake next to Yozef for an hour.

Maera went to the door. Carnigan waited. Neither said anything. He nodded. She nodded back.

“He’ll be ready in a few minutes, Carnigan.”

She started to turn away, then turned back. “I know you will, but I have to say it anyway. Please keep him alive.” Her voice had a slight tremble that surprised her.

“I will, if it’s at all possible, Maera. He’s the best of us, and I’m not sure what we’d do without him.”

She looked up at him in surprise. It had taken a long time for Carnigan to use her first name, and he had never expressed to her how he felt about Yozef.

She moved quickly to give him a symbolic hug. With him being so big and her on the small side, there was no way she could reach around him, so it was more like pressing tight.

“I know you’ll look after him, Carnigan. I know, I know. Oh, damn, I wish he didn’t think he has to be out there today!”

“I wish he didn’t either, both because he’s my friend and because I know how important he is. And trust me, Maera. He doesn’t want to be out there, either. But he’s going to be, because he thinks he has to be there. He will be as frightened as anyone, but he will be there and do whatever he can. That’s how he is. It’s a level of courage many would not understand, but I hope you do as much as I do.”

Maera’s eyes finally overflowed, and several tears ran down her cheeks.

“I know,” she acknowledged. “He can be the most exasperating man at times, and he refuses to let himself be put into a single understandable role.”

“That’s because he’s Yozef Kolsko.”

Maera felt surprised again. The big man had always been the skeptic, the one who made fun of suggestions that Yozef was anything special, always having a caustic comment when any of Yozef’s ideas worked or at signs of deference to him. But something seemed different on this day. Carnigan’s words and tone betrayed that he too felt convinced there was something extraordinary about the strange man who had come into all of their lives.

Fully dressed, Yozef interrupted their embrace as he came into the room.

“Say, there, are you two having an affair behind my back?” he said in an effort to lighten the obvious emotional mood.

“Alas,” said Carnigan, “I’ve begged her to leave you and marry a real man, but who can fathom the thoughts of a woman?”

“Not when I’ve already got a real man,” Maera dug back, elbowing Carnigan and moving to hug her husband. This time her arms could go mostly around the object of the embrace. Anarynd appeared and joined in. She held a still-sleeping Aeneas in an arm and partly supported on her belly. The four stood for almost a minute, then Yozef broke it up.

“Time we get going, Carnigan. There’s a day’s work to do today.”

“That there is, that there is.”

“I’ll see you all tonight,” said Yozef and, without another word, walked out.

As Carnigan followed, Maera said softly, “And you, too, Carnigan. You look after yourself. Gwyned has lost enough and doesn’t deserve to lose you, too.”

The normal Carnigan was back. He simply grunted and followed Yozef.

Maera closed the door and turned to Anarynd and the baby.

“You’re going out, too, aren’t you, Maera?” Anarynd’s said, her voice firm but sad.

“Yes, Ana. Just like Yozef has to go, so do I. I’m Hetman Keelan’s daughter. Father can’t be on the line, with his leg still bothering him, or he would be there. Several thousand Keelanders are there, including Ceinwyn, so I have to be with them, whatever happens. Plus, I’m the wife of Yozef Kolsko! I’d rather be with him, but he doesn’t need the distraction of me nearby. He’ll think clearer about what needs to be done if he assumes you and I both are safe within the city.”

“I wish I could be there, too, Maera,” said Anarynd, “even though I don’t know how useful I would be.”

“You are important, Ana. You know you have to stay here to care for our two babies. They will be safe here, and should something happen to either Yozef or myself, or both of us, we’ll know that the children will be cared for.”

“Kill them all, Maera,” Anarynd hissed with a twisted grimace. “Kill every God-cursed Narthani out there today!”

Anarynd let out series of vicious curses and damnations the likes of which Maera had never heard from her friend’s mouth or even from many men. It finally ended when Maera embraced her, and they both broke into tears, which morphed into sobbing laughter.

Anarynd asked a final question: “Yozef doesn’t know what you’re doing, does he?”

“No. He would only have raised a fuss and might even have assigned someone to keep me here and ‘safe.’ This way he doesn’t have to worry. Whatever happens will be over before he knows. He’s planning to be at the center of the earthworks where they think the Narthani will likely launch their main attack. I’ll find a place well enough away from where he is. It also reduces the chances of something happening to us both. With thousands of our people out there today, I’ll be lost among all of them.”

With one last look at Ana and Aeneas, Maera walked out, leaving Anarynd to wait.

On the Line

Yozef and Carnigan made their way through the city streets, then out one of the gates in the wall, and walked the mile and a half to Denes’s station. As much as Yozef felt ill at ease with the attention so many islanders paid to him, this was no time to quibble. The Caedelli needed all of the fortitude they could muster. If some of the people took heart from a Septarsh on their side and moving among them, then so be it.

The two men stopped at a position on the berm ramparts. Denes and his staff stood twenty yards away, with messengers running in all directions. Yozef had no part to play. It was all in motion and up to men such as Denes and Stent to command and make decisions. Yozef had come only “in case” he had insights or advice.

Carnigan was there to protect Yozef, if possible, or, as he told himself and others, to keep him from doing anything extremely stupid. Unbeknownst to Yozef, Carnigan had orders from Denes, with the approval of the War Council, that if things went badly, Carnigan should take Yozef to safety, even if it meant giving him a thump on the head and carrying him off unconscious.

Carnigan also had had a family goodbye that morning before collecting Yozef. Gwyned and two-year-old Morwena saw him off from their room. They hadn’t told anyone, but they were planning on being wed. Gwyned was pregnant, though not as far along as Anarynd. After leaving Morwena with Braithe and Aeneas, she would be on the city walls, doing whatever she could to help the fighting men by carrying water and reloading muskets.

For Filtin Fuller, the morning meant taking his position as commander of a battery of four 25-pounder carronades. The last sixdays he had gone from being one of Yozef’s best project foreman to commanding one of the last cannon batteries activated from the Caernford foundry. He had moved his family from Abersford to Caernford at Yozef’s inducement of higher pay, more responsibility, and the opportunity to stay at the forefront of whatever Yozef Kolsko came up with next. Which of the three inducements was most influential in his decision to move was an open question.

Although Filtin’s switch from shop to cannon was recent, he had observed and listened to Yozef’s insistence on endless drills. Thus, he had worked his forty men mercilessly until they could literally load and fire blindfolded. His assignment to artillery had been automatic, because he had contributed to designing improved canister cartridges and had also come up with an innovative solution to a problem with grapeshot, whose disadvantage was that the intermediate-sized shot tended to bounce off the inside of the barrel to score the inner surface after firing. Filtin’s idea had been to make grapeshot cartridges, instead of using bags, and to add musket balls and smaller shotgun pellets to fill gaps between the grapeshot balls. This kept the grapeshot moving forward and not bouncing around on the way out. As an unexpected side effect, the tighter pattern of grapeshot allowed better specific targeting at the farthest edge of the grapeshot’s range.

On this day, Filtin and his men stood ready. Because of their late arrival, no position remained for them at the berm. Denes told them to wait in the rear as a reserve, and they wouldn’t load their carronades until they knew whether they would be firing at Narthani artillery batteries or advancing infantry.

Cirwyn Gwillamer and twelve hundred Gwillamese fighters had ridden hard after the call for all available men reached their province. His father, Cadoc Gwillamer, was too old to make the hard ride in the time needed and had stayed with the bulk of his clan in the Dillagon redoubt. Those who did make the hard ride to Orosz City arrived only the previous evening at sunset. They were among the last to arrive and had traveled the farthest. They had enough food for another two days and thus were not plugged in to the Orosz City logistics system. Their assignment was to function as one of the reserves, to move where Narthani might be liable to breach the defenses or where losses on the ramparts needed replacements.

The Gwillamese had followed Yozef’s dragoon-training guidelines and had contributed to several actions against the Narthani. Almost eight hundred Gwillamer men rode with Welman Stent, shadowing and harassing the Narthani army, and a Gwillamer battalion was stationed near the river, at the distal end of the defensive line. The twelve hundred men with Cirwyn consisted of his clan’s last significant fighting men—and women, almost a hundred of whom were able riders and strong enough to serve within the force. He had confidence in his clan’s people and they in him. He tried to keep in mind Yozef’s admonition not to lead from the front, but Cirwyn knew if he fell this day, either of his two younger brothers back in Gwillamer would capably take his place as heir.

“It’s time to move farther away from Denes,” said Carnigan, breaking into Yozef’s thoughts. “He wants you far enough from him that you both don’t get killed at the same time.”

“As opposed to different times?” Yozef said, his mouth dry.

Wait for First Light

The eastern horizon showed no hint of the first light of coming dawn. Yet 150,000 men and women were awake and moving—more than 100,000 islanders to the earthworks or the southern Orosz City wall, and just under 50,000 Narthani moving into their assigned positions. The islanders didn’t want to risk an earlier-than-expected Narthani attack and would nap in place, if they could. All would wait. Some would pray. Islanders to merciful God; Narthani to Narth, God of War. All would pray for victory. Many would pray for their own survival. Many would pray for their families if they should fall his day. Many prayed for courage. None prayed for the opponents they faced on the Orosz City plain.

First Light

Marshal Gullar and his staff stood behind a heavy earthwork thrown up overnight. It was stout enough to stop anything but a 30-pounder ball and protected them from smaller round shot, canister, grapeshot, and musket balls, except for a lucky hit to the head if they peeked over the earthwork. Gullar had a telescope, but he had no reason to use it yet, because he couldn’t see more than thirty yards through the darkness. For once in this campaign, luck was with them. The larger moon, Aedan, had set just after dusk, and Haedan, the smaller moon, had followed two hours later. Even the starfield was in their favor. The great River of Stars that ran across the heavens would not be visible for another month. Broken clouds filtered whatever starlight remained. More clouds would be better, but Gullar thanked Narth for the lack of rain. It would have made footing difficult for the attacks into which he was about to send his men.

None of the men spoke; no more could be said. Gullar and his senior officers had gone over the plan numerous times, and they had done the same with their subordinates. This review had gone down the chain of command until every single Narthani soldier knew his starting role. After the battle started, of course, it would be up to Gullar and officers on the scenes to adjust the initial plan.

I never expected to find myself in this situation, thought the marshal. After all the years coming up through the ranks, early years of campaigns against the Fuomi, the eastern peoples, and then many years against the Iraquiniks, to find myself and my men in as desperate a situation as this. I didn’t say so explicitly to my staff, but I think all know we are in serious trouble. Even after reducing to half-rations, we only have two more days’ worth left. We’re as strong as we’ll ever be right now. We have to break through these earthworks and get to the open country beyond. Once in Preddi and back in naval contact, we can systematically reduce all the coastal provinces and slowly expand our control over the island. The High Command won’t be happy with the timetable, but they’ll get over it. The Caedelli might hold out in the mountains for years, but they would be more of a major nuisance than a serious threat, as we slowly starve and wear them down. And, of course, they must have some inkling of this on their side. If so, then we are both desperate.

Gullar could see a hint of light behind the eastern mountain peaks. It was time. He turned his head to his second, General Kamil Avan, standing at his shoulder.

“Start it, Kamil,” was all he said. Three words that would lead to so much by so many. The first name of Gullar’s second-in-command told Avan this was a fateful moment. Gullar never used first names during operations. Using Avan’s first name told his second the marshal wished him and all the men Narth’s good fortune and protection.

Avan stepped back and spoke to a colonel, who trotted off into the darkness. He commanded the artillery that would now move forward to within grapeshot and canister range of the earthworks. They would provide artillery support to suppress islander fire. The artillery crews would take heavy casualties by being exposed and within the same range as the islanders’ guns, but it was a price that had to be paid. To precisely place sixty 12-pounder cannon in the dark could not have been done by the Caedelli. The professional Narthani artillery moved as one man once Avan gave the command to move forward. The distance to their assigned positions had been calculated, and one man from each battery let out twine anchored at the Narthani line. When the man reached the end of the twine coil, that was the position of this crew’s cannon. Each cannon also had two men with twine connecting them to the two cannon on each side and instructions to keep their twines tight. If Yozef could have seen it in action, he would have admired the discipline and execution. As a result, the Narthani finally set up the cannon no more than three yards apart, staggered in a perfect line, after wheeling the cannon more than a thousand yards.

Another hundred cannon would set up farther away and would arc round shot over the attacking regiments to keep the islanders’ attention and make flanking positions uncertain whether the Narthani would attack them next.

Earthworks

Elac Kemescu was the first islander to hear the Narthani artillery moving forward, or so he claimed for the rest of his life. The Farkesh clansman had answered the call for all available fighting men to come to Orosz City. Feren Bakalacs, the clan hetman, led eleven hundred of his clansmen, including Kemescu. At Yozef’s suggestion, men not part of established units were distributed along the line, so that no single clan would be decimated should the Narthani overrun their position. Thus, Kemescu and four hundred other Farkeshers were positioned directly in line with the planned Narthani artillery positions. Bakalacs had passed Kemescu’s position only ten minutes earlier as the hetman toured his men’s different positions, encouraging them to make their clan proud and showing that their leader was taking the same risks.

Kemescu leaned over to whisper to his cousin beside him when he stopped, turned to look over the rampart, and then cupped his hands around his ears.

“What is it, Elac?” whispered his cousin.

“Shh! I think I hear something.”

The cousin ran off to their hetman’s position, to reappear less than two minutes later with Bakalacs, both men puffing and out of breath.

“Hetman, something’s going on.”

By now, several other men could hear the same something.

“I think it’s wheels,” urged Kemescu.

“Artillery,” stated Bakalacs. “Vegga and Yozef warned us their first move might be to try to get their artillery in position to support an infantry assault. This might mean they’re going to come straight at us here.”

Listening men mumbled at their leader’s words. Runners ran to adjacent positions and to Vegga in the middle of the earthwork line. When word reached Denes, he sent a rider north toward Orosz City to where one of the natural streams came from the mountains and exited under the city walls. The islanders had constructed a crude dam across the stream, with the water flowing through two openings. Denes’s message arrived with the order to lower two barriers to block those openings. The water immediately began backing up and in short order reached the level of a sluice. It diverted the water into the trench in front of the berm and channeled it toward the river. Although the volume of water wasn’t great, it created a foot-deep, fast-moving stream racing straight down the trench. The speed of the flow, the slippery footing, and the four-foot-depth of the trench made for an unpleasant obstacle to any Narthani trying to reach the berm.

Narthani

Captain Munmar Kellan led his hundred men forward. He would not command from the rear or the middle of his men this day. They had to see him in front for what was expected of them. No one spoke. Every man knew to follow the artillery forward. Their regiment, two thousand strong, made up the first unit behind the artillery and therefore led the assault. To the inexperienced, this would have seemed the most dangerous position, though Kellan knew that the next couple of regiments, right behind his, were in the most peril. If all worked as planned, their artillery would open the attack, and Kellan’s regiment would charge after the fourth salvo. After that, salvos would follow at sixty-second intervals. It was Kellan’s task, along with every other company commander, to estimate the next salvo and blow a whistle for his men to dive to the ground. The artillery would attempt to fire over their heads, but misjudgments of timing and aim would inevitably cause casualties from friendly fire.

Their regiment’s task was not to directly breach the earthworks but to carry planks, satchel charges, and rope and grapples. No matter what happened, they wouldn’t fire their muskets until they reached the base of the earthworks. The following regiments would take the brunt of the initial islander fire as soon as the Caedelli were alerted that an assault was underway. Once the infantry reached the trench, the Narthani artillery would be forced to stop firing, in fear of hitting their own men. The following regiments would carry only weapons and ammunition. Nothing else, not even water. To survive, they had to race the open distance to the islanders’ line and over the planks put in place by Kellan’s regiment, then cross the trench, climb the sloping glacis of the earthwork, and use the rope and grapnels to force through any breaches created by the first wave.

They had no need for water. In the few minutes between when they started their run until they were over the earthworks and in the islanders’ rear, there would be no time for water. If they failed, there would still be no need for water, because they would never again have need of anything.

Islanders

Elac Kemescu crouched beneath the rampart and had just raised a leather pouch of water to his mouth when the Narthani opened fire. Sixty 12-pounders fired grapeshot and canister from four hundred yards. The inch-and-a-half-diameter grapeshot were lethal out to at least eight hundred yards, but the canister was at the edge of effective range. His cousin had been looking over the rampant and stood mesmerized when the world flashed in front of him. His hesitation cost him as a partly spent canister ball that might not have penetrated much beyond a thick leather jerkin hit his right eye and ended his universe. Kemescu’s cousin simply sat back on his haunches, then fell onto his back without a sound or other movement. Kemescu didn’t bother to check whether his cousin was alive.

Narthani

The instant their artillery fired the fourth salvo, Munmar Kellan blew his whistle and yelled, “Go!!” He and his hundred men had to move forward as fast as they could before their artillery reloaded and fired again. They were told they had fifty-five seconds before diving to their bellies and hoping the next shots passed over them. The artillerymen aimed the first few volleys somewhat blindly because they couldn’t judge elevation accurately, given the initial lack of clear lines of sight. Since the top of the earthworks, the target of their grapeshot and canister, stood eight feet tall or more, in theory the artillery would fire over the heads of their own advancing infantry, but only if they had advanced far enough forward and no misaims occurred.

Munmar Kellen didn’t need to urge his men on. They carried the twenty-foot hastily split planks from trees felled only a few hours earlier. They would place the planks across the ditch. In addition, each man had rope and a grapple looped over his shoulders or satchel charges in a backpack and digging tools in hand. At the whistle, they were off, racing to beat both the islanders’ return fire and their own cannon.

Islanders

The quiet of anticipation was replaced by the first Narthani cannon, followed by shouts of islanders getting to stations and gun crews loading. The eastern sky had lightened, and vision to each front began to resolve at closer distances. The Narthani’s following salvos of grapeshot and canister raked the islanders’ ramparts. The islanders suffered few casualties, because not many were foolish enough to keep sticking their heads up, with no more reason than to look.

A few clansmen forgot or ignored instructions not to fire their muskets until they could see the enemy. Unit commanders screamed at the guilty and warned the rest. The cannon crews had different instructions: if the Narthani cannon fired before being clearly visible, they would do the best they could to aim at the Narthani’s flashes. The third Narthani salvo fired before the first islander’s gun returned fire.

Yozef watched the initial exchanges from several hundred yards north.

God damn it, God damn it, he repeated over a dozen times. You idiot! We should have had pickets out a couple hundred yards to give us more warning and oil- or kerosene-soaked woodpiles to light as soon as they started. Then our gunners could see better and the other men could start using their muskets, if infantry were coming—which they must be. Damn, damn. And why didn’t the Fuomi make that suggestion? Or Denes? Maybe I’ve been counting on them too much to correct my mistakes or help things I’m ignorant of. Damn, damn—

Just as the light started to reveal the Narthani infantry, a fortuitous islander grapeshot round hit a Narthani powder limber, and a spark set off the entire load of powder. A blossom of light erupted eighty feet high and across as the load went off all at once. The flash illuminated the battlefield for hundreds of yards and clearly showed the lead Narthani regiment within a hundred yards of the ditch. Residual flames from the explosion provided a backlight for islander men to fire their muskets. Although their ability to aim at a specific target was questionable, any musket balls missing the first-wave regiment had a chance to hit something in the following waves, which were separated by fifty yards.

More than three thousand islander muskets joined the firing, with the Narthani infantry as their targets. The islander artillery shifted from counterbattery fire to lower their muzzles and fire canister at the Narthani infantry. Despite withering islander fire, it started too late to prevent the first Narthani regiment from reaching the ditch. They put planks in place, with some men wading into the water, and others losing their footing and being swept away before they could regain their stance. As soon as a plank lay in place, a steady stream of Narthani raced across it.

Yozef could see the first successful plank in place, then several, then a dozen or more and the Narthani pouring over. A Fuomi gunner who captained a 30-pounder repositioned the gun and fired canister down the ditch line. He swept thirty or forty Narthani from the planks, only to be immediately replaced by more. A second and third cannon followed suit, 12-pounders this time, with the same result—temporarily stopping attempts to cross the ditch, but the Narthani laid more and more planks into position, and then the second regiment arrived.

The men, and a few women, stationed on that section of the earthworks now could see the Narthani infantry clearly enough to aim, because the Narthani had reached the base of the earthworks and crowded thick across the ditch. The section of the defenses directly under assault was about three hundred yards wide, but the islanders for several hundred yards on each side had joined in, firing obliquely at the Narthani. Cannon and musket raked the field. Narthani dead and wounded lay thick on the ground. The first regiment reached the earthworks with only 20 percent casualties. The second and third suffered 60 percent. By paying that price, the Narthani had more than three thousand men climbing the glacis and setting off satchel charges that both blew holes in the earthworks and killed some of their own men.

They threw hundreds of grappling hooks over the ramparts. The Narthani used the ones whose hooked ends lodged in something solid to climb the glacis. The islanders cut or threw back most of the latter, but enough Narthani managed to pull themselves onto the ramparts that the islanders found themselves fighting hand to hand. It wasn’t that the numbers who initially reached the ramparts were so great, but the Caedelli had to stop firing at the advancing Narthani to deal with those in their midst, and the effect cascaded. As more Narthani reached the ramparts, fewer islanders focused on the front, and more Narthani reached the ramparts.

In five minutes, the Narthani overran a two hundred-yard section of the earthworks. A reserve regiment of islanders, made up of the Hewell, Vandinke, and Skouks clans, formed a crude line and fired at the rampart now swarming with Narthani. The islanders momentarily stopped the tide as hundreds of Narthani fell, along with several dozen islanders still fighting and hit by friendly fire. Then the flow restarted. The islanders’ reserve regiment had no time to reload. Those who carried Yozef’s bayonets locked them in place and charged, accompanied by other men with swords or axes or men using their muskets as clubs.

Denes had ordered more units north and south of the assault point to flow in that direction. The reserve regiment held just long enough for thousands more islanders to reach the breach—at a cost of three-quarters of its men becoming casualties.

It was now light enough to see clearly, although the sun was still below the eastern hills. Despite the light, vision of the battlefield remained spotty, because of clouds of gun smoke that rose dozens of yards high. The wind hadn’t picked up yet this early in the morning. Finally, gaps did appear enough for Yozef to see what was happening. He had gripped the edges of the rampart so tightly that when he released both hands, all his fingers ached. The Narthani’s breach seemed to be closing. It wasn’t closed yet, but more islander units had joined in.

“Hey, Yozef,” Carnigan said. “What do you think?”

“We held them. At least for now.”

Gullar

“We broke through but couldn’t hold the breach,” snarled Avan.

Gullar sighed. “Yes, so close. We couldn’t get more reinforcements there in time, but at least we now know that the line can be breached.”

“At the cost of how many men, though? Three regiments hardly exist anymore. Others suffered casualties before withdrawing, and we lost some of our artillery.”

“But now we know more,” Gullar said firmly. “They closed the gap by bringing in reserves from both sides. What we have to do is attack at several points, so they can’t concentrate. If we can break through at even one point, we still can make this the decisive battle we wanted, although at a far higher price than anticipated.”

“But you know that if we commit enough men for multiple attacks, and it fails with losses like our first attempt . . . ” cautioned Avan.

“I’m well aware it’s an all-or-nothing attempt. It has to succeed.”

Neither man had to speak of the consequences of failure.

Avan took a deep breath. “If you’ve decided, I recommend we use the same basic plan as before, but this time attack at three points, using four regiments each, instead of three. It will mean moving every single piece of artillery we have forward and leaving only the cavalry to protect the rear. They won’t be of any use anyway, until we can secure a breach. The remaining regiments will guard the rear and be ready to move forward. It should be done as rapidly as possible. That infernal floating globe will see everything we do, so we need to form up and attack immediately, even if not all units are completely in place.”

Two hot-air balloons had caused widespread consternation among the Narthani when they first rose from the city’s walls at first light, tethered about a hundred feet high. Gullar and most of his senior officers understood the significance without knowing how the islanders did it, but telescopes showed men hanging in baskets below the globes and dropping objects trailing streamers.

“It’s observers sending down our positions,” Balkto had said in disgust. “Even without full daylight, they’ll see every deployment!”

Balkto wished the single globe would suffer the same fate as its original partner, which had seemed to shrink and slowly settled back behind the city’s wall.

“I agree,” said Gullar to Avan’s assessment, “except let’s keep a thousand cavalry forward. As soon as the first solid breach is made and we control a section of the fortifications, have a battalion of infantry help the engineers bring forward more planks and build enough of a bridge to let the horses pass. If we can get a thousand cavalry in their rear, they won’t be able to dislodge us, and we can pass the rest of the corps through.”

“As you wish, General, although too many things can go wrong if we commit this fully. And if we fail to break through . . . ”

“I assure you, Kamil, I wish there was another way.”

Chapter 48: Life or Death

Denes Vegga

Although cannon and musket firing had died down from constant to sporadic, no one would later say they noticed a reduction in noise. Human voices more than made up for any slack: yells of triumph at having beaten off the Narthani (mainly from those not at the point of attack), shouts to be alert that the Narthani might come again, curses at the Narthani, prayers elicited for many different reasons, cries of the wounded, calls for assistance from those helping the wounded, and shouts from commanders and individuals trying to organize and repair damage to the fortifications.

Denes Vegga’s was among the loudest of those voices. The Narthani’s powder charges had gapped two fifty-foot sections of the defensive berm, and they had temporarily overrun several cannon battery positions. Squads of medicants frantically carried casualties away from the site of the breakthrough, the wounded to be treated and the dead stacked to the rear to be dealt with later.

Yozef found Denes amid the chaos, already getting hoarse from yelling. Other shouting men surrounded him as he shoved messengers off in all directions.

“They’re not defeated, you idiot. They’re regrouping!” Denes screamed at a man who must have voiced premature optimism.

Yozef wanted to get through the throng to Denes but had limited success forcing his way through. Carnigan solved the problem by simply pushing men aside and bulling his way forward. A few of the jostled men looked angry until they saw who did the shoving and who followed in his wake.

Finally, Yozef shouted next to Denes’s ear, “We have to get ready again!”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Denes snarled. He grabbed a bedraggled, bloodied man by both shoulders.

“Haldor, get your surviving men organized a hundred yards to the rear. You’ll have to be a reserve for this section in case the Narthani break through here again.”

The man nodded and stumbled off. Yozef now recognized him by name and appearance, once he imagined away the dirt and blood, as the commander of a Mittack battalion that had been stationed on this section of the fortifications.

Denes turned to another man, this one dusty but otherwise relatively unscathed.

“Allwar, bring your men forward RIGHT NOW! Help repair this section, and then move back as the first reserve.”

In an instant, the man disappeared, as Denes, gasping for breath, turned to Yozef to explain.

“Skouks. Just arrived. A thousand of them.”

Denes lowered his voice and spoke directly into Yozef’s ear. “They’re worn out from riding all night, but they’re the closest men not already assigned a position. I would rather hold them as a final reserve, but there’s no time to shift other units.”

“Denes, this was already the weak spot along the entire line! How did they know to attack here?”

Denes cursed, then spit out, “Either they had spies among us, or just bad luck for us.”

In addition to the berm and the ditch, a third layer of defense consisted of a patchwork of traps, obstacles, and makeshift mines a hundred yards deep before the ditch. The plan had been to create killing zones allowing free movement, the concept being to funnel attacking Narthani into fields of fire directly in front of artillery emplacements. Attackers, frantic to close with the defenders as quickly as possible, would tend to flow into the killing zones—in theory. Unfortunately, the islanders hadn’t had enough time to finish preparing this third line of defense. The first Narthani assault hit a section of the fortifications where this third line hadn’t been completed.

“I don’t see how a spy could have gotten word to the Narthani,” said Yozef. “Not with Stent’s men covering the ground between us, and not since we were working until last night.”

“Then we’d better pray it was just bad luck and they try the next attack somewhere else,” growled Denes. He turned back to the other men and continued shouting instructions.

Narthani

Gullar, Avan, and four other generals stood at the Narthani command center, alternately looking at a diagram of the battlefield and peering over the lip of the rampart. The diagram was one of many copies they’d prepared the previous day. Though crude, it showed the basic features of the Orosz City walls and fortifications running down to the river and the lake to the south. This copy had three large arrows pointed at the Caedelli line. To the rear of the arrows, they had drawn squares with unit designations. Other icons and smaller arrows indicated artillery units and their projected movements and final positions.

The middle larger arrow had more unit blocks behind it than the two flanking arrows.

“So here it is, gentlemen. An all-out attack. We HAVE to break through into open ground beyond these defenses. There can be no hesitation. No adjustments. No sending back here for further instructions, if things don’t go well. Our main attack will be at the same point as our first try. We temporarily broke through but didn’t have enough men left to hold the position before they reinforced from flanking positions. That will not be the case this time. The Caedelli won’t be able to push adjacent defenders to the point of the main assault. That’s the main task of the two flanking attacks—to press hard enough so that the central attack point can’t be reinforced.

“The initial assault at each point will involve four regiments each, instead of three regiments as before. Ten more regiments will follow immediately at any breakthrough. We believe their weakened center will be the most vulnerable, so six of those regiments will be there, with two each on the flanking attacks. That’s a total of six regiments at each flank and ten in the center. The only major adjustment will be to flow regiments into wherever the first major breakthrough occurs. General Avan will be in position to make that decision. We also need to get cavalry through at the breakout point. We’ve assigned an infantry battalion to work with engineers to make a crossing of the ditch stout enough for a thousand cavalry to cross. The rest of the cavalry will protect our rear, along with every man not part of the regiments doing the assaults. There’s no such thing as a noncombatant today. Even the medical staff are to be armed.”

Gullar paused and looked firmly at his leaders.

“I know we’re going to take major casualties, but once we break through, we can spread out behind the fortifications, relieve the two flanking attacks, and roll up their entire line. We’ll then reorganize and have open terrain back to Preddi.”

Gullar looked around again at the stone-faced Narthani generals. He didn’t need to tell them the absolute imperative to succeed. They knew. Together, they had over a hundred years of service in the Narthon army and had campaigned against many enemies of their people. They had seen many victories and defeats, but none had ever dreamed that they would find themselves and their men this far from home and in such dire straits. They all were also professionals. They would not wait in the rear to observe the results. While none of them would be in the vanguard of the attack, all would be close behind and would move forward with their men. If the attacks did break through, they would need to move forward quickly enough to issue orders to coordinate the exploitation of that breakthrough.

The same would hold for Gullar and his immediate staff. Once the assault was underway, they would follow on the heels of the last regiment in the center attack. Behind them would be the rest of the corps, with the bulk of the cavalry coming last.

Once Again

The Narthani made no attempt at subterfuge this time. The attack came nearer to mid-day than mid-morning. The sun was well up in sky, with scattered clouds and a light breeze. The morning haze and the gunpowder clouds had dissipated or been blown away. All the islanders standing behind the length of the berm could see the Narthani formations to their front. The clans’ vantage points from the city walls allowed them to see the depth of the infantry formations concentrating at three points. Those manning the single balloon tethered inside the main wall had an even better view. The entire Narthani army had positioned itself to leave no doubt to their intentions. Reports from the men in the balloon flashed to Denes’s position via heliograph and the Morse code Yozef had introduced.

“Although they appear to be planning to hit us at three points,” said Denes, “their infantry is centrally deployed in the same place as the first attack. That will probably be their main focus.” He looked at a diagram drawn by the balloon observer and delivered to him by rider. The drawing bore an eerie similarity to the one Gullar used.

“That makes sense,” said Yozef. “It’s reasonable that because they broke through the first time, they must think the same point will be weak. The other two attack points will keep you from moving more units toward a single spot on the line, like you did earlier. At least, that’s what I suspect is the purpose of the two flanking attacks.”

Denes nodded with a firm yet pleased expression. “Yes, but if they attack directly from the current positioning, those two flanking attacks are where we finished the third line of defense. If it works as planned, we would not need as many men there as otherwise. I’ve also sent back to the city for half of the men on the walls to come as quickly as possible. They won’t be organized into units, but we’ll have large numbers to serve as replacements and reserves.

“We’ve also kept in contact with Stent through the heliograph. Welman intends to press on the Narthani rear as soon as they start the next assault. He reported that they only seem to have most of their cavalry to protect their rear. He intends an all-out attack.”

“I fear it’s going to be a near thing,” Yozef said. “They were still somewhat overconfident this morning. If they had come with everything they had, as they are now, they would have cut through us and be formed up and heading back east to Preddi. But they’re not overconfident now.”

Narthani

The last unit signaled it was in position. Gullar didn’t hesitate. The time for thinking was over. He nodded to Avan, who turned to the signals officer standing behind them.

Avan uttered one simple word: “Go.” Within seconds, a set of flags had run up a thirty-foot pole. Within seconds, several other poles along the Narthani deployment reiterated with the same flags. The message was simple. Attack!

In less than a minute from Gullar’s single word, more than thirty thousand Narthani infantry and artillerymen barreled into motion.

Caedelli

Yozef and Carnigan moved from Denes’s command position to avoid too much of the leadership being in the same place. Yozef had wanted to remain nearer to what seemed to be the Narthani’s main target point, but Carnigan had vetoed that idea. They compromised by moving to join a section manned mainly by Keelanders at the juncture between the main and the northerly projected Narthani thrusts.

At the same time, Yozef, Carnigan, Denes, and tens of thousands of islanders saw the Narthani’s sudden movement. The islanders’ few 30-pounders on the line opened fire with solid shot as soon as the Narthani reached the 1,200-yard mark. At eight hundred yards, the clans switched to grapeshot and were joined by 12-pounders. By four hundred yards, the 6-pounders joined in, and all fired canister. Also at four hundred yards, their few sniper rifles began searching for officers, and finally, at 150 yards, muskets added their fire.

As hellish as the islanders’ fire was, there were simply too many Narthani. Hundreds, then thousands fell, yet more thousands pressed on. The Narthani 12-pounder guns pushed to within three hundred yards before opening fire with canister. Over a third of the gun crews didn’t survive to that point, but the remainder laid out a withering cloud of balls that swept over the tops of the berm. As islanders fell, they were pulled back, and others took their places.

Elac Kemescu had survived the dawn attack, although he would never understand how. Now he found himself again on the line, firing and reloading as fast as he could. On either side stood men he neither knew the names of nor remembered what clans they were from. Such distinctions were irrelevant.

Within seconds of the first Narthani cannon salvo, the man on his right disappeared from his peripheral vision. He glanced to that side and saw a body with the upper part of the head missing. A grapeshot ball had nearly decapitated the man. Within seconds, someone had pulled the body back. Another man took his place, only to fall from a musket ball before firing even once. Kemescu glanced over again; this man, with a wound to the shoulder, was out of action. A second replacement lasted almost five minutes before a canister round hit his throat just under the chin.

Without thinking, Kemescu edged a few inches farther to his left. If the right position were accursed, he added a little more distance from the position that attracted death.

Gullar

At first, the marshal couldn’t see details from his position. The first indication that his infantry on the flanking attacks was in deep trouble was a series of fireballs erupting at the point of the rightward attack. He couldn’t see the source of the flames: barrels of crude napalm igniting.

He stepped higher and strained to see the action more directly. At fifty and one hundred yards from the ditch, the islanders had buried twenty-gallon wooden kegs of napalm. Each keg had been placed on top of a small metal plate under which lay a powder charge just large enough to thrust the keg out of its hole and simultaneously ignite the napalm. The charge was set off by the same flintlock mechanism used in muskets and tripped with a heavy twine leading back to the berm. Only half of the kegs erupted from the ground upon ignition, but even those kegs still buried that ignited then added to the burning globs of napalm. Hundreds of yards of ground became an inferno.

The men caught in the flames were dead, dying, or otherwise out of action. Those following behind saw the wall of flames in front of them and instinctively diverted around and into open ground—the planned killing ground directly in front of the islanders’ artillery batteries. This packed more Narthani infantry into less space and confused whatever unit control still existed. The islanders’ canister mowed down hundreds.

By the time a following Narthani regiment reached the zone, they were walking on bodies of dead and wounded comrades. Even then, so many Narthani took part in the attack that a good number reached the ditch, only to be slaughtered by makeshift claymore mines—powder charges with musket balls facing in the Narthani’s direction. The islanders had dug the mines into the base of the glacis. When they set off the charge, by the same mechanism as the napalm kegs, it not only excavated a small piece of the berm base but also sent a cloud of musket balls shooting toward the Narthani. The entire northern attack floundered and fell apart.

At the southern attack, a similar result occurred, though from different causes. The clans had run out of enough mines for the entire line. Instead of the napalm kegs, the ground in front of the berm concealed foot-deep holes and two-foot-deep pits with buried pointed wooden spikes, awaiting the charging infantry. Any unsuspecting soldier whose legs landed in a hole ended up with broken or badly wrenched ankles or impaled feet. As with the northern attack, the Narthani infantry, seeing the chaos in front of them, diverted directly into killing zones, to be met by the islanders’ canister and claymores. The southern attack slowed but didn’t stop, as the northern attack had. Men were more afraid of fire.

Although Gullar couldn’t see the details, he saw enough and sensed enough to believe the two flanking attacks had failed to breach the defenses. But that had not been their only purpose. Their main goal was to fix in place enough islanders to increase the success of the main attack. This, he could see, was going better. By telescope, he saw his infantry pour over the berm in waves.

Gullar turned to his staff. “Everything forward to the center breach.”

With that order, Gullar and his staff, all remaining infantry, and what supply train they had moved forward, while he sent orders to the cavalry to begin retreating. Yet at that moment, Gullar did not realize that his cavalry was occupied with a three-sided attack by twenty thousand Caedelli dragoons, ordered forward by Welman Stent.

Denes Vegga

Denes was standing on a wooden rampart between two 12-pounder batteries when the Narthani attack commenced. Despite his instincts to stay at the front of the fighting, both the Fuomi and Yozef insisted that top leaders needed to be where they could control major actions. Denes reluctantly understood and followed their instructions. He moved two hundred yards to the rear to one of the built-up bunkers spaced at three hundred-yard intervals. The shelter and the elevation gave him a view of both the back of the berm and the islander units awaiting orders. He could directly see signals from hand-held flags from men on the berm, giving him crude updates on the Narthani advance.

When the first Narthani appeared over the top of the berm, Denes ordered forward a mixed regiment of Pawell and Nyvaks men. He prayed that the men of two traditionally feuding clans had forgotten their history and were focused only on the Narthani. Those reinforcements hadn’t yet reached the berm when he saw the last of the original defenders vanish under a Narthani wave. He immediately ordered in the Skouks men who had arrived only before first light. He could see hand-to-hand fighting, but the Narthani pressed relentlessly forward.

“Yellow and violet flares!” he yelled at three men behind his bunker.

They crouched near a score of three-foot-long rockets, the latest versions, after Yozef decided parachute flares were too unreliable. Employing the same type of ignition rods used by artillerymen, they lit off two rows of rockets. Eight of the ten worked and rose straight up two hundred feet into the air before exploding in yellow and violet smoke.

All along the line and on the walls, men and women translated what Denes had signaled: yellow smoke meant all remaining fighters to move where the violet smoke originated. Thousands of Caedelli left wherever they were and ran, walked, or limped as fast as they could toward Denes’s position. The limited room and the collapse of coordination meant clanspeople were fed piecemeal into a meat grinder.

Although Denes himself couldn’t see beyond the berm, heliograph messages from the city walls updated him every few minutes on the Narthani’s positions. When even the reinforcements were being hard pressed, he ordered them to fall back to a secondary line forming with packed muskets as fighters ran to the position. They made room only for wheel-to-wheel batteries of 6- and 12-pounders. The few 30-pounders were too heavy to move in time.

The Narthani flowed over the berm, hesitated when they saw the secondary line with guns forming, then charged.

Munmar Kellen

He had survived the first attack, even though his company was one of the first to reach the ditch and the berm the islanders had constructed as if by magic. That he was still alive felt unreal, because he now had only fourteen of his original hundred men with him. He didn’t doubt that a few others were scattered among units in the chaos. Yet most of his men lay dead or wounded in front of him as he and his few remaining men joined one of the last fresh regiments heading to expand the breakthrough. He didn’t know what was on the other side of the berm or how the units that had already flowed up and over the islander defenses had fared. He would find out in less than two minutes, though.

Denes

The two reinforcing units had momentarily stopped the Narthani, only to finally be forced back. Their numbers dwindled, and the seemingly unending stream of Narthani flowed forward. The secondary line seemed to hold, but there wasn’t enough time to reload muskets and cannon, and a breach in the line opened. First, a single Narthani appeared behind the secondary line, then five, then a hundred. The line began to collapse in both directions, and the Narthani even threatened Denes’s own position. He looked north to see a seemingly solid stream of runners, riders, and wagons pouring through Orosz City’s main gate.

The wall, he thought. Culich and Orosz have abandoned the wall and sent everyone here. The Keelan and Orosz hetmen were commanding the city’s defenses. There’s too many of them! It’s more than all the people stationed on the wall, and there aren’t that many muskets. He grabbed a telescope hanging by a strap on a timber and scanned the oncoming throng. His first look answered his question; many of the people arriving either carried no weapon or held makeshift implements: shovels, axes, pitchforks, cleavers, knives.

Avan

General Kamil Avan reached the top of the berm. His staff and escorts formed a human shield around him that hampered his view, but their utility was proved when a lieutenant and two infantry rankers fell from musket fire, one after the other.

“Get down, sir,” yelled a senior noncommissioned officer who had served with Avan for ten years. “What the hell good will you be to us if you get yourself killed?”

“I have to see, Kormac. Otherwise, how do I assess what to do next?”

“There’s nothing to do,” the man yelled back at Gullar’s second-in-command. “We either finish breaking through, or we don’t. Let the officers leading their units do their jobs, and you stay ready to do yours once we’re through.”

A Mistake

The second attack had started thirty minutes earlier, and the sun was still an hour shy of mid-day when Marshal Dursun Gullar made a fatal, yet understandable, misjudgment. Seeing his men occupying more and more of the berms’ top, he ordered the two flanking attacks to turn toward the breakthrough, thereby releasing the defenders to turn into the edges of the breakthrough.

Live or Die

Carnigan saw the flares first. “Yellow and violet, Yozef! The Narthani must be breaking through near Denes’s position.”

Yozef whirled to see thousands of islanders running toward Denes’s position five hundred yards away.

Oh, Christ! This is it! screamed inside Yozef’s head. Denes must believe the line can’t contain the Narthani. They’re running to their deaths to stop a leak from becoming a deluge.

Yozef dropped the telescope and grabbed the musket he’d leaned against the rampart. “We go!” he yelled to the captain whose company he was in the midst of.

The Keelan officer blew a whistle to get his men’s attention, pointed to the flare smoke, then drew a sword and pointed to the direction of Denes’s position. Yozef joined the men leaving their positions on the berm and racing south. Carnigan didn’t try to stop his charge. As important as Yozef was, losing him wouldn’t matter if the Narthani won. Assuming they won, Carnigan would later explain to Maera that seeing the Septarsh running to help seemed like the right thing to bolster faint hearts.

Avan

He looked back toward the Narthani side of the berm. Enough planks had been laid side by side and lashed together that whole companies were racing across. Even so, not enough men had crossed, and regiments had slowed or stopped, waiting their turn. An engineering unit was assembling a sturdier crossing for the thousand cavalry waiting five hundred yards away and the artillery moving into column formation with their limbers. More infantry regiments were moving in his direction, their biggest obstacle the carpet of dead and wounded comrades, often two and three deep. A temporary dam to the water flowing down the trench toward the river had formed when several planks the infantry crossed over had slipped into the water and then lodged against the trench sides. The Narthani had pushed bodies of their own men against the planks. This completed a dam with water near the top of the trench on the upstream side and only a few inches of water and mud on the downstream side.

“Major Nerturk!” Avan yelled. “Get yourself to the next regiment waiting to cross, and have them clear paths through the bodies. Throw them aside or in the trench if necessary.”

“What about the wounded?” asked the senior aide.

“Them, too. We’ll have to worry about them later. All that matters now is getting as many men across as fast as possible. We need to push well behind the islanders so we can form blocks.”

Denes

A stream of Narthani infantry charged west a hundred yards from where he stood. It was a surreal image—the Narthani units so intent on the breakthrough, they ignored Denes’s command bunker.

“Message from the balloon!” a voice called out to his left, and a piece of paper was shoved into his hand. He didn’t look to see who the voice belonged to, only quickly read the heliograph message.

“They’re throwing everything at the breakthrough,” said Denes. “If they get too many men to our rear, it’ll turn into a disaster. Flags to signal units on the line to turn toward the breakthrough. If we close the gap, we’ll have time to worry about the Narthani that are already through.”

He turned to the cluster of runners waiting for messages and began dictating names and units as he checked a diagram of unit and commander deployments.

“Colonel Arlinton to turn directly north and attack the Narthani breakthrough.” A runner scribbled furiously, repeated the message, and was off, running south. Denes didn’t believe the Stent regiment could stop the flow and would certainly take heavy casualties, but they would buy time.

“Colonel Meenford to follow Arlinton.” Another runner dashed off. Meenford’s mixed Bultecki/Vandinke regiment would fill in inevitable gaps in the first regiment, and Denes hoped that would be enough to keep the breakthrough from widening south.

More messages went to units farther south to try to move on the flanks of what was left of the first two regiments.

North was more difficult. Runners couldn’t cross the Narthani flow, so heliograph messages went to Orosz City’s walls, then relayed to a heliograph station north of the breakthrough. Denes doubted the units north of the breakthrough would get the messages in time.

Yozef

The Keelan company Yozef and Carnigan were embedded with at the start of the second attack formed part of a mainly Oroszian regiment.

“I need to get to Colonel Mizerone!” Yozef yelled into Carnigan’s ear over the din of men shouting, musket and cannon firing, and the general chaos as the company moved south.

Carnigan grabbed Yozef’s arm and pulled him along, the big man bulldozing through men standing and wondering what to do and men rushing back and forth, sometimes with objectives in mind and other times just to be doing something. Faster than Yozef had thought possible, they pushed their way through Mizerone’s aides and staff, a hundred yards from where Yozef and Carnigan had stood on the line.

Several men started to block their path until they recognized both Yozef and his largest “shadow.”

Mizerone looked almost relieved when he saw Yozef.

Poor bastard, thought Yozef. How’s he supposed to know what to do? He was probably a carpenter or farmer only a few months ago. At least he looks like he knows he should be doing something; he just doesn’t know what!

“Colonel Mizerone,” said Yozef, “you need to turn your regiment south and attack the Narthani flank. We have to slow them down until reinforcements get here.”

The Oroszian looked toward the original Narthani deployment and the bodies of Narthani caught in the traps, the mines, and the killing zone to his regiment’s front. He licked his lips.

Oh, Jesus, thought Yozef frantically, he’s going to say his orders are to hold this front.

“My orders are to hold this position, but the Narthani attacking have pulled back, and we can see them moving south—I assume to the break. So . . . our purpose here is no longer valid—is it? You wrote in On War that a commander has to adjust to the real situation and not fixate on orders that might no longer make sense.”

Oh, thank you, Jesus. Forgive me for taking your name in vain before. Thank you, thank you for this commander actually having read On War and thought about it.

Mizerone yelled orders, and subordinates scattered to get the regiment to wheel right. Yozef and Carnigan stood aside—Yozef, to avoid being run over; Carnigan, so men wouldn’t have to detour around him. They stayed near Mizerone’s position and watched a 25-pounder carronade battery pass by, commanded by Filtin Fuller. Yozef vaguely remembered him being assigned to artillery when the final call for fighters came. Yozef hadn’t seen Filtin in several months and didn’t realize he would be commanding a 25-pounder battery. Why they ended up positioned with an Oroszian regiment, Yozef didn’t know, but the three men waved to one another as the battery rushed by. Filtin yelled at the four crews and ran around, urging his men on.

Denes

Temporary reprieve arrived in the form of a mounted Bevans dragoon regiment. Its commander had seen the breakthrough occurring and brought his men a half-mile from where they had waited as a reserve. If the lead Narthani had had artillery or were organized enough to form squares, the Bevans unit would have been annihilated. As it was, they rode their horses straight into the point of the Narthani advance, crushing scores of the enemy and a few unlucky clansmen whose backs were to the charge and couldn’t get out the way.

Frenzied Narthani officers and non-coms screamed and pushed, trying to restore order for lead elements of their advance. Most units lost cohesion in the melee at the berm and when attacking the secondary line. Then confusion ensued on what to do next when breaking through to open ground.

The Bevans riders cut through them and advanced two hundred yards before the Narthani could organize. Then Bevans ran into the lead elements of a Narthani regiment newly arrived on the islander side of the defenses. Infantry volley fire took a terrible toll on the Bevans riders before their leaders got them turned around. However, the Bevans regiment slowed the Narthani push and provided enough of a distraction for the vanguard of the people pouring out of Orosz City to reach the northern flank of the lead Narthani regiment. Although unorganized and poorly armed, through sheer numbers the islanders ate into the Narthani flank. Two or three islanders fell for every Narthani, but at this narrow point in the battle, the islanders had the numerical advantage.

The following Narthani units became stacked up behind the lead elements as Meenford’s, Arlinton’s, and Mizerone’s men fell but refused to give way.

Balloon

Elvin Walshon focused his telescope on the battlefield lying before him and not on the 150-foot drop from the two-man basket hanging below the balloon. His job was observing and dropping messages to be relayed via heliograph. Marlan Toosbury’s job consisted of constantly adjusting the modified kerosene lantern, whose rising hot air kept them aloft. Walshon had long ago gotten so used to Toosbury’s cursing the balloon, the kerosene lantern, and himself for ever volunteering to be a ballooner that now he ignored everything but observing the Narthani.

They had watched the other balloon slowly sink back to the ground two hours ago.

“Must be a slow leak,” Walshon had said.

“Why couldn’t it have been our balloon?” Toosbury had moaned. “It’d be my luck for this damn thing to just suddenly come apart. Then we’d find out how fast we can fall a hundred and fifty feet.”

They had started at a hundred feet, then let out more line as the battle started. Walshon ignored Toosbury’s latest reason why they were going to die. He switched from looking through the telescope at the battle in the middle of the defensive line in front of the city to another spot a mile east, where a cavalry battle had been underway for thirty minutes. At first, he had seen flashes of cannon from both the clans and the Narthani, then the flashes ended as horsemen became intermingled.

He checked a landmark he’d noted a few minutes earlier. He had no doubt the cavalry battle was moving west. Stent is pushing the Narthani cavalry back! Walshon thought. And maybe it’s an illusion, but I’d swear I think, for the first time, I see many more clan dragoons than Narthani.

He scribbled a message, wrapped the thick paper around a fist-sized rock, tied the paper to the rock, and dropped it over the side of the basket. It fell, nearly hitting one of the men assigned to watch for message drops. The startled man grabbed the rock, retrieved the message, and ran off to the south wall bastion. There, hetmen Keelan, Orosz, and Farkesh watched the battle. The message reported the Narthani cavalry retreating from Stent’s forces and that a second Narthani infantry regiment had turned from waiting to cross the ditch and the berm to face the rear, as if redeploying to face Stent. Four other regiments still waited to get to the breach, and the first cavalry that had been waiting to cross the trench now streamed across, but only three abreast.

“Elvin!” Toosbury called out. “What’s that to the west? I noticed it a few minutes ago, but it’s changed size.”

Walshon whirled and directed his telescope to the horizon. There, four to six miles away, he saw a dark mass that seemed to undulate. It took almost a minute for enough pauses to occur in the balloon basket’s rocking motion. What he saw was horsemen. Lots of them. Coming their way.

Yozef

He was now near the front of the Oroszian regiment’s men with Carnigan when Wyfor Kales and Gowlin Reese both appeared from nowhere. All three men refused to let him move closer to the fighting fifty yards away. Yet he heard the firing, shouts, screams in two languages of wounded and dying men and the wounded horses from the Bevans charge. Even dying, the horses’ bodies and flailing legs had served to delay the Narthani.

Fifty yards to his right and slightly forward, Yozef saw Filtin Fuller urging on his men as they pushed their four 25-pounder carronades. They followed two clan 6-pounder batteries moving into position behind 12-pounder batteries, whose crews were mainly dead or wounded and most of the guns destroyed by satchel charges thrown or carried by Narthani soldiers. Some of the charges had exploded while still carried by Narthani—whether intentional or not. When the 6-pounders were in place, they fired canister in unison, barely missing the last 12-pounder crew pulling their gun back to the 6-pounder line. Filtin’s battery moved to a gap between the two 6-pounder batteries, and Yozef caught a quick glimpse of Filtin helping turn a carronade toward the Narthani.

Avan

General Kamil Avan still stood on the top of the berm in the middle of the breakthrough. It had grown to six hundred yards an hour ago before stalling. Ahead were remnants of four Narthani infantry regiments. They’d been sent into a meatgrinder of hand-to-hand fighting, interspersed with temporary unit actions that devolved quickly with casualties. Bodies of the dead and wounded hampered movement by both sides. In his years of serving in the Narthani army, Avan had never seen such savage action, nor had he ever heard or read of such a brutal fight, neither side surrendering an inch while men lived. Footage was gained by blood, not by the other side giving way.

To his front, he thought he saw the right-side defenders weakening. The flashes from muskets seemed fewer, and from his slight elevation he thought he could see gaps in what had been a solid wall of islanders. A flash of sunlight caught Avan’s eye. The clans were setting up a new line of cannon—6-pounders, from their looks—at the same position where fifteen minutes earlier he’d ordered an engineering company carrying charges to silence 12-pounders at all costs. They had succeeded but vanished, and now even more cannon were moving up.

We’re going to lose if we don’t move forward, Avan thought with certainty. It was a mistake to put everything into this one breakthrough. We should have kept up the assault along the entire original front. It would have worked if we’d kept moving, deepening and widening the breach, but the islanders responded too quickly. Now, we’re tied down with them on three sides of us, and we can’t bring all our men to bear on them at once. Nor is there any way to bring into action the few remaining regiments still on the other side of the berm.

The thousand cavalry held for exploiting the breakthrough were finally coming across, but they had no time to assemble. He had to throw them into battle as soon as each company crossed. Nor could he wait for more cannon. They, too, were finally crossing, and the first batteries of Narthani 12-pounders were just setting up to his right.

He turned to his aides. “Every cavalry company is to charge straight at the gap developing to our right front. The next infantry regiment is to charge the new cannon being set up and then try to roll up their line to the north. All cannon that get across are to focus two canister salvos at those new islander cannon, if our infantry is clear. Otherwise, concentrate on the same section that appears to be weakening. Everyone else, keep attacking. The horses and men will be stepping on bodies, but there’s no helping it. We’re getting slaughtered. We have to make room and get more of our men into action. As it is, we’re just feeding them into a trap.”

Elac Kemescu and Munmar Kellen

The last clansmen on this section of the berm defenses had pulled back or were dead—except one man. Elac Kemescu threw potato-masher grenades over the berm, until he reached down for one more and the wooden box that had been full was empty. Then he fought hand to hand as Narthani began pouring over the top of the berm. Men he knew and strangers fell under the wave, accompanied by as many Narthani, until the ramparts and the gun pits filled with bodies. While engaged with a Narthani his own size, almost simultaneously, he felt a searing pain in his side. That same moment, a friend of Kemescu’s clubbed the Narthani from behind. The friend reached for him, then fell forward, a Narthani bayonet protruding through his chest. Kemescu fell to his knees, clutching his side and feeling warm blood. Another Narthani fell from the top of the berm across Kemescu’s calves, and the two men twisted and grappled.

To his surprise, Munmar Kellen had survived the first assault on the islander berm, only to be reassigned to another unit, which once more put him among the lead attackers. He wasn’t a pious believer in Narth, but he couldn’t squelch bitterness at the God, if he existed, for sparing him once, only to send him back for another chance to die. To his relief, crossing the same open ground as before was easier than expected, because another regiment had already crossed the berm.

Kellen’s optimism vanished when his new unit joined the savage fighting to secure the berm. His participation was short-lived. He paused only momentarily, as he crested the berm, to take in the fighting along the berm and the Narthani pushing on. Then the edges of a canister cone caught him with four of the balls. He was hit on a bicep, twice on his right leg, and a fourth hit broke a clavicle and ricocheted away. Although he didn’t know it, the fourth hit was fortunate. The bone protected an artery where a hit would have been fatal within moments.

He fell across the back of the legs of a wounded islander, and the two of them grappled, their blood mixing as they rolled together. More Narthani jumped down off the top of the berm. Kemescu lay under Kellen, both men exhausted, weak from blood loss. One man tried to pull Kellen away and pulled a knife to finish Kemescu, when an officer yelled at him to keep moving.

Kellen’s arms refused his orders to move. Even a final infusion of adrenaline failed to energize his exhausted muscles. His weight kept the islander immobile for the moment, but he didn’t think he had anything left to fight with.

Kemescu was glad to have the Narthani on top of him. It kept him from being stepped on or noticed by the continuous stream of men passing over and beside them.

Neither man spoke the other’s language, but it was unnecessary. They both released whatever grip they had on the other and pulled themselves into a recess in the rampart. There, an unknown islander had stashed extra clothes, a sack of hardtack and cheese, a water jug, and a well-worn copy of The Word. All those items were replaced by two exhausted, bloody bodies that leaned against each other and waited for whatever happened next.

Filtin Fuller

His four gun crews were a mixture of shopkeepers and craftsmen working on Yozef’s various projects, men incapable of riding horses, and brothers from St. Tomo’s abbey in Caernford. Their 25-pounder carronades were the last guns cast before Caernford’s citizens left for either the Dillagon redoubt or Orosz City.

The short-barreled carronades weighed the same as regular 12-pounders but had a more limited range, which wouldn’t be an issue, because the Narthani were so close. Filtin and the crews had trained for only three days, using a single carronade. The other three guns finished cooling and mounting on carriages only the day before they left Caernford, and two carronades had never been test-fired.

He was too conscious that his battery had a commander with no previous military command experience, men barely trained, carronades inadequately tested, and now they’d been pushed to the front against what seemed to be a never-ending tide of Narthani.

A man to his right suddenly jerked backward when a musket round struck his forehead. A man and a woman he didn’t recognize appeared from nowhere and dragged the body away. The dead man was replaced by a teenage boy who worked in the Caernford kerosene refinery. The boy picked up the dead man’s sponger, the wooden pole with a cloth sponge to swab out the barrel after firing and to tamp any sparks before reloading.

Filtin ran back and forth, screaming at the men to work faster—as if they weren’t already working faster than anyone thought possible. A line of men with bayonetted muskets stood with the guns, fighting off Narthani infantry. Behind them were more men, reloading, then stepping forward to fire through openings in the front rank. Four women and a girl no more than eleven years old appeared and pulled wounded and dead to the rear.

Yozef

He stood twenty yards behind Filtin’s battery, watching the gun crews frantically set up and the men protect the guns firing and reloading when the Narthani were yards away and resort to bayonets when the Narthani came close.

Thank God, or thank me, thought Yozef, impiously, for remembering about socket bayonets. The clansmen could reload without removing their bayonets, whereas the Narthani plug bayonets let them do only one thing at a time, because the bayonet handle slid down the barrel. It gave the defenders an advantage they sorely needed.

And thank God for the chaos so that the Narthani come at us as a mob, instead of with disciplined attacks.

No sooner had the last thought run through Yozef’s mind than a half-dozen Narthani broke through the guns’ defenders and fell on a 6-pounder crew adjacent to Filtin’s position. The crew, intent on getting their gun ready, vanished under the sudden onslaught. More clansmen, waiting their turn at the defensive line, engaged the Narthani. Then even more Narthani forced their way into the battery, and a general melee broke out, threatening to engulf that entire battery and spreading to Filtin’s.

“Oh shit,” Yozef said, while thinking, Why does this always happen to me? He held a musket he was not supposed to use, being guarded by three of the most dangerous men on the field, when yards away the batteries were in danger. There was no calculation in his mind. His decision was automatic. Carnigan, Kales, and Reese wouldn’t leave him, even if he ordered them to help repel the Narthani. And even if they would, he couldn’t do it and stay out of the fight.

He pulled the bayonet he wasn’t supposed to use out of its scabbard and twisted it in place on the end of the barrel of the musket he also wasn’t supposed to use. When he looked up, Kales and Reese had done the same. Carnigan had two braces of the horse pistols he favored, but he also carried a metal shield and a battle ax. The shield seemed smaller than the one he’d used against the Buldorians at St. Sidyrn’s abbey, but the ax appeared to be the same one. It flashed through Yozef’s mind that there couldn’t be two such large axes on the island.

They had no need for discussion. As a shoulder-to-shoulder front, they hit the Narthani surging through the gap. To Yozef’s left, Carnigan’s ax hardly slowed as a diagonal swipe passed through significant parts of two Narthani bodies. A third Narthani had ducked but found himself impaled on Yozef’s bayonet when he straightened up. The four of them had no time or room to watch anything except what happened to their front as they moved forward into the Narthani. Shocked at the focused counterattack, the Narthani lost momentum. More clansmen engaged and once more cleared the guns of Narthani, although several dozen bodies lay scattered amid the carriages and limbers.

“All right!” yelled Carnigan, “now get your ass back behind the guns.”

Carnigan had to help Gowlin Reese move. Braithe’s husband had taken a bayonet in a thigh. The bleeding didn’t spurt, so no artery was cut. When the four of them were once more behind Filtin’s battery, Wyfor tied a cloth around Reese’s thigh. He wouldn’t be running, but he insisted he could stand, reload, and fire.

Avan

The new islanders’ cannon batteries setting up to the Narthani’s right had been delayed but not stopped. Twice Avan’s men had got into the right-most battery, but both times the islanders had beaten them back. That battery seemed to have only one gun in action. Yet the farther two batteries had laid down withering canister fire at the flank of his cavalry and infantry flowing to the northwest corner of the arc that Avan was trying to break out of. Despite the Narthani’s losses, they had pushed back the islanders with each renewed attack.

One more good push and we’re through, thought Avan. As the salient grew, another regiment, then another, reinforced those fighting in the forefront. To his side, Avan could see another regiment flowing over the berm. The last three cavalry companies he had been assigned were preparing to throw themselves at the islanders’ weak point. Across the trench, an entire division, four regiments, waited their turn. They were the last men Avan had at his disposal. The rest of the cavalry and three infantry regiments were holding off islander horsemen attacking the Narthani rear.

Avant turned to a signal officer. “Message to Marshal Gullar. We’re about to break into the open. Time for him to come forward and the rear guard to follow.”

Denes

He read the short message. The rider’s horse had collapsed as soon as its rider dismounted and stumbled to Denes’s bunker. The man was no shape for the answer that needed to go back.

“Akryn,” Denes barked. An Adrisian stepped forward from the knot of men awaiting instructions. “Grab three other men, and all of you deliver a message. At least one of you has to get through. Kill the horses.”

Bekir Uzcil

The mission to kill the Keelan hetman had failed, but no fault had been assigned to Captain Bekir Uzcil, or so General Akuyun had assured him. Still, the failure and the loss of most of his men ate at Uzcil. He had requested and been approved to transfer to the Twenty-Ninth Corps as soon as he heard Akuyun’s units would not participate in the next campaign. He felt as if his honor had been stained, and he needed to make amends against the islanders.

With a solid recommendation from both Akuyun and Assessor Hizer, he had been given command of a cavalry company in the Third Division, Twenty-Ninth Corps. The division’s cavalry commander was not pleased to be assigned a new officer just before a campaign, but the colonel quickly came to appreciate a superior officer to the one being replaced.

Uzcil felt elated when his company rode through the last islanders standing between the army and wide-open terrain. Two more cavalry companies followed suit. Uzcil and his company wheeled left to attack the rear of the islanders’ defense. The Narthani forced more and more clansmen to divert from the fight against Narthani infantry, and the entire islander line began to collapse.

So intent was Uzcil in directing his company against the islanders’ rear, he didn’t notice the owner of the pistol whose ball struck him in the back of the skull.

Yozef

Carnigan, being several inches taller than anyone else in the vicinity, was the first to see the bad news. Yet even he had to use the spokes of a carronade to stand another two feet higher, despite nearly continuous whizzes of passing musket balls. “The bastards are through our line! I can see our people starting to run!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Yozef screamed. “As many as we’ve killed, there’s still a shitpot lot of them! No matter what we do on these flanks of theirs, they’ll get way too many to open ground where they can form up. Our losses have been so great that I don’t know if all this has gained us any advantage!”

“Wait,” said Carnigan. “Something’s happening.”

“Well, get your big ass down from there before your luck runs out,” exhorted Yozef.

Fighting continued until Yozef had trouble remembering a time when it hadn’t. Twice more, the Narthani nearly overran the carronade batteries, and twice more Yozef and now two companions joined in pushing the Narthani back. Carnigan bled from half a dozen wounds, none serious. Wyfor limped, though Yozef couldn’t see from what, and the wiry man held against his side the hand that had lost two fingers during the attack on the Kolsko house. Yozef had a few scratches but was otherwise unscathed, even if drained from exertion and adrenaline overload.

“Am I imagining it?” Reese called out. He stood behind them, reloading their muskets and pistols, his pant leg covered in dried blood from the wound that had quit bleeding. “Or are there fewer Narthani than before?”

Yozef hadn’t registered more than what was directly in front of him. He now corrected that lack. Life-and-death fighting still went on, but not as frenzied as before. In some isolated pockets, clansmen had no one directly engaging them. Some clansmen, finding themselves with no one to fight, moved to where the Narthani remained. Other clansmen, stupefied, just stood in a daze.

He began to see Narthani drop muskets and kneel or lie on the ground. The Narthani were broken. Dead, dying, and wounded Narthani lay two and three deep in mounds interspersed with bare ground. Scattered individuals or small knots of men stood as if frozen, with nowhere to go and no one commanding them what to do. The islanders had recovered the portions of the earthworks the attackers had occupied and continued to fire at those Narthani still standing and anyone who, by movement, indicated he was still alive. To the south, the firing around the point of the main Narthani attack had dwindled.

The islanders had held. The carronade battery had lost half of its men, and only two of the guns were still in commission, but those two continued to load and fire canister at the carpeted ground to their front. Yozef couldn’t see Filtin. The islanders gave no pretense of coordination, and their rate of fire had slowed from exhaustion, but the crews by now functioned like automatons. Yozef saw one carronade fire canister at a single Narthani not fifty yards away, yet somehow the hundreds of balls missed, and the forlorn man stood amid the carnage and stared at nothing.

Enough, Yozef thought sickly. “For God’s sake, enough,” he yelled, but in English.

The crew of the second cannon didn’t hear, didn’t understand, or didn’t care as they finished loading another canister round. He stumbled over debris and bodies to stop this obscenity and barely touched the barrel of the first carronade. He yelped and jerked his hand back. The bronze was hot enough to have caused a serious burn if he’d leaned on it harder. These were untested barrels, he remembered.

A crewman of the carronade raised an ignition wand to the barrel pointing at the same forlorn Narthani.

Yozef yelled, “Stop! It’s over!” He was either too late, or the crew ignored him as the ember end touched the primer vent.

Yozef’s world flared in yellows and blacks, and he felt himself airborne and then . . . nothing.

Chapter 49: Anyone Can Fall

Come Quickly

Maera sat with her back against the earthwork rampart, where she had stationed herself during the battle. From there, the earthworks tapered off to be covered by cannon fire from the city’s south wall. That morning, on the way to the defensive line, her cousin Riona Klofyn had joined her, carrying a musket.

“Word came last night. Pynmer is dead,” Riona said, her face haggard.

Maera hadn’t known Riona’s son well but knew he was with Stent’s dragoon force. There was nothing to say. Both women were going to the line to defend the clans and, in Riona’s case more than Maera’s, not passing up the opportunity to personally kill Narthani.

The Narthani had made a brief attempt to storm their section, but the islanders beat them off easily. More serious were the major infantry assaults to the south and the cavalry engagements still ongoing to the east. Her section of the line fired obliquely to support the defenders closer to the points of the Narthani assault. She had used her position as Yozef’s wife to commandeer a musket, something Yozef would have been angry at, both her being there and using him to get her way. But he wasn’t there, so he didn’t know yet.

She had fired muskets and pistols before but only a few shots at a time. Today she’d lost count of how many times she had fired the musket, but her right shoulder felt as if it would have major bruises. She didn’t know how much time had passed as it slowly rose in her consciousness that only a few Narthani stood in view. Sounds of firing had diminished, now replaced with sounds of wounded humans and horses. Is it over? wafted through her muddled thinking. She wiped sweat from her forehead, smearing it into dust and gunpowder covering her face.

From nowhere, Denes Vegga appeared in front of her.

Whatever she was about to say died when she saw his face. As if they had lost the battle. If not that, then . . .

“Is it Yozef?” she said in a voice that sounded like hers.

Denes nodded. “I had a hard time finding you.”

“Is he . . . dead?” asked the same voice.

“Not yet. But the medicants say you should come now. Word has also gone to Anarynd and several others.”

He didn’t say who the others were, but he implied that those close to Yozef might want a final goodbye.

Maera didn’t say anything else, her face set in stone. She pulled on her cloak and followed Denes down the fortification line. Hundreds of medicants and hundreds more people worked on the wounded—treating some in place, putting others on wagons and carts to be taken into prepared hospitals in Orosz City. Every island medicant not necessary at the redoubts was here, either part of MASHs set up nearby or non-assigned medicants helping where they could.

The cries of the wounded competed with and were lost amid people shouting and celebrating the victory. Bells rang from all quarters of Orosz City. Her mind idly thought that all the bells had been melted down to forge cannon.

They had traveled two hundred yards when they met a carriage carrying Anarynd, Gwyned, Braithe, and the children. Anarynd’s face appeared stricken but her jaw firm. Aeneas slept in Anarynd’s arms.

They rode without speaking a half-mile and saw their destination well before they arrived at a makeshift shelter of blankets and poles. Hundreds of men stood silently, gathered around the shelter, and parted as they approached. The carriage slowed to a halt, and several men helped the women out of it. Maera and Anarynd followed Denes into the shelter. What seemed to be a dozen medicants either attended to a body lying on a platform or clustered nearby, whispering.

Only when they neared the platform made of planks supported by sandbags did they see it was Yozef. Anarynd gasped, and Maera whimpered. Blood covered the wood, a naked Yozef, and medicants’ hands and forearms and dripped red onto the ground. A wound on the side of his head had been stitched closed but still leaked blood. A blood-soaked compress was tied to his right thigh. Blood ran from a ghastly hole in his side, and medicants frantically changed compresses, trying to staunch the flow. The two women’s only hope came on seeing his chest still moving.

Diera Beynom had been talking with several medicants until she saw Maera and Anarynd. She came quickly to them, and the three hugged.

“Is he dying?” Maera asked in a toneless voice.

“Oh, Maera . . . Anarynd . . . there’s just nothing we can do. It’s the body wound. It went into his liver, and we can’t stop the bleeding. Even if we could, there’s probably too much damage for him to survive.”

“How long does he have?” pressed Maera.

“It could be any second. The surgeons are surprised he’s even lived this long with that wound. You should go to him now.”

“Can he hear us? Will he know we’re here?” asked Anarynd in a small voice.

“I don’t know. He seems to be unconscious, but you never know. Talk to him, if you want—something of it may get through to him.”

They moved to his side, each with one arm around the other. Anarynd held Yozef’s hand, and Maera placed her palm on his cheek on the unwounded side.

Maera leaned over. “Yozef. Yozef. It’s Maera and Anarynd. Aeneas is here, too. I don’t know if you can hear us.”

She stopped, partly choked up, then cleared her throat. “It was a great victory. The Narthani army is destroyed. Just as they seemed to have finally broken through the best we could do, Harmon Swavebroke arrived with the dragoons who had been cutting the supply line back to Preddi. Riders got to Harmon only yesterday, and he drove his eight thousand men as hard as humanly possible to get here. He left a thousand men too exhausted or whose horses gave out, but when they got here, Denes had them go straight at the lead Narthani units. When that happened, the heart seemed to go out of the Narthani, and most of them tried to run or surrender. Many clansmen didn’t give quarter, but Denes and Welman Stent finally got control, and we took thousands of prisoners. Everyone is cheering the victory, and everyone knows you saved us.” Maera’s voice broke, and she paused to gather herself. Anarynd put an arm around her shoulder “Your name will never die,” Maera said when she could speak again. “It will be a legend forever.”

She couldn’t go on. Anarynd gave Maera a harder squeeze with her arm and leaned down in turn.

“Don’t worry about the children, Yozef. Maera and I and all the people of Caedellium will care for them. If the new child is a boy, we will name him Yozef after you. If he, we, and all of Caedellium are fortunate, he will grow to be even half the man you were. . . ” Anarynd stumbled on the last word. “ . . . are . . . are. The man you are.”

More medicants moved toward them. “Pardon, but we need to get in closer.” They elbowed the two women farther back so they could continue whatever they were doing.

If it’s hopeless, why are they still trying? Maera wondered, accepting the inevitable.

“Am I only imagining this, or does it seem as if the bleeding has slowed?” one of the medicants said in a puzzled voice.

“What?” asked a white-haired man.

Diera whispered that he was the senior surgeon in Orosz. “The others are also the best we have,” continued Diera. “There has probably never been a patient on Caedellium who has had such a team of medicants. In preparation for the battles, the best surgeon medicants from all the provinces are here in Orosz to tend wounded. When word went out that Yozef had been wounded, many of them came here as fast as they could. If these surgeons can’t do anything for him, then no one can. Even a couple of Fuomi surgeons are here.”

The white-haired medicant had been joined by several others who hovered over the abdominal wound. Maera recognized two Fuomi uniforms—a man and a woman.

The white-haired medicant shook his head. “I wouldn’t think it possible, but you may be right—it does seem to be slowing. But that doesn’t make any sense. With this kind of damage, the only thing that should slow the bleeding is death from running out of blood.”

A grizzled medicant on the other side of the platform laid a hand on Yozef’s forehead to check the head wound, pulled his hand suddenly away, then placed it back on Yozef’s forehead.

“His temperature is way up, like he has a fever.”

He used a cloth to further clean Yozef’s face.

“And look at the red flush. With all the blood, we might have missed it before. He should be pale with blood loss and shock, not hot and flushed. I don’t understand.”

A flurry of talk erupted among the medicants, their voices suddenly a din.

“What’s happening?” asked Maera.

Diera shook her head. “I’m not sure. Let me check, and I’ll come back to you.”

The abbess joined a cluster of people, including the Orosz medicant, two Fuomi surgeons, and Eina Saisannin, translating between Caedelli and Fuomi.

When Diera came back, she looked puzzled.

“No one seems to know what’s happening. I’m sorry, but he should be dead. Instead, his heart seems strong, the bleeding is slowing, and the fever and flush are things no one has ever seen before in wounds such as Yozef’s.”

Anarynd broke out in semi-hysterical laughter. Startled, Maera and Diera stared at her. Medicants turned to look disapprovingly.

“This is YOZEF KOLSKO,” Anarynd proclaimed loudly. “Why should anyone wonder at what he does, awake or not? He should be dead, but he’s not, and he is not going to be. God has laid his hands on Yozef. What all the medicants of Caedellium could not do, God will do!”

Diera stared for several more moments. “Whether it’s God’s doing or not, obviously something is happening that we don’t understand.” Diera stopped, then continued hesitantly. “I don’t want to give you too much hope, but he’s still alive. All we can do is wait to see what happens.”

Diera turned back to the medicants and the surgeons.

Anarynd wiped remnants of earlier tears from her smile, her eyes glowing, and new tears formed, these of happiness. It was only the second time Maera had seen that expression on her friend’s face after her return. The other time happened after a medicant confirmed she was carrying a child.

Maera didn’t want to quash Anarynd’s hope, and she wanted to shield Ana from the ultimate blow when Yozef finally died. Maera wouldn’t admit to herself that for the first time since Denes had brought the news, an ember of hope burned deep in her breast.

“Ana, we have to let the medicants do their best. Let’s move out of their way to give them more room.”

“Of course,” said Anarynd, still smiling, not saying what was in her mind. Of course. Let the medicants pretend to be helping him. It is God himself who is in this shelter and who will save Yozef.

Tight-faced, Maera led Anarynd out to the carriage, where Braithe handed her Aeneas. Denes stood among several hetmen, including all the War Council members. Culich Keelan had come via dray.

“Is he dead?” asked Denes in a noncommittal voice.

“No,” Maera snapped, annoyed at the question. “And God grant that he doesn’t die!”

“What!” exclaimed Harmon Swavebroke, coated in sweat, dust, and several splotches of blood. “We’ve heard that the medicants think it will only be a short time before he passes on to the next life!”

“You fools!” blurted Anarynd, still euphoric in her fantasy. “Do you even now not fully realize that Yozef Kolsko is not like other men!”

“What?” said Cirwyn Gwillamer, confused.

Questions also erupted from others within hearing. Finally, Denes shouted them all down, then turned to Maera.

“Maera, what’s happening? Is Yozef going to die?”

“All I know is that he has not died yet, and the medicants don’t know why.”

Her words were greeted with shouts of amazement, joy, relief, disbelief, and confusion. The news rippled outward from those nearby to those farther back in the throng that now numbered in the thousands.

Maera suddenly felt more tired than she ever had, even more than after giving birth to Aeneas. When she started to sag, Denes caught her. He called out, and men scrambled to use sandbags to create a crude bench twenty feet from the shelter. Maera, Anarynd, Gwyned, and Braithe sat holding the children. The day’s light faded, as did cries of the wounded, as they either died or were taken to Orosz City for better treatment. Only the most seriously wounded remained on the plain in front of the city, tended by MASH units. Medicants worked on those whom triage had categorized as unlikely to survive their wounds.

Hours passed. People lit lanterns, so many that for a hundred yards around the shelter it was as light as day. The bells in Orosz City had stopped pealing. Everyone waited.

More hours passed. Men offered water. Women passed out food to the throng still standing hundreds of yards deep around the shelter. Aeneas woke several times to be fed and changed, then drifted back to sleep. Maera and Anarynd took turns holding him and rocking on the sandbags.

Neither Maera nor Anarynd spoke to each other or to anyone. Carnigan appeared, bandages covering an alarming percentage of his body but apparently not stopping his mobility. Gwyned had been alarmed when she first saw him. In her relief, she pretended to scold him with a few soft words. He stood behind the seated women and wept.

Hours continued to pass. People may have come and gone, but the numbers remained beyond easy estimating, having grown as people from Orosz City walked to be witness to whatever happened. Yozef Kolsko was dying . . . or was he? The stars rotated in the clear, windless night sky. Babies, Aeneas and others held by waiting women, woke, were fed and changed, and went back to sleep—except for Aeneas, who woke sometime during the night and decided it was time to play. Gowlin Reese had been wounded, but the bayonet stab had been sewn shut. He refused to leave until Maera asked him to take Braithe and the children back to the city.

Time seemed irrelevant, only that they waited. Maera noticed the absence of Wyfor Kales, the third of Yozef’s bodyguards. She had hoped they would keep her husband far from the worst of the fighting, but history told her that Yozef somehow managed to find himself where she wished he wouldn’t. She wasn’t angry at them. What was the use, knowing Yozef? But where was Kales? When Diera stopped to check on all of them, Maera asked if the abbess would check on Wyfor. She returned twenty minutes later. Kales was in Orosz City, having lost an arm above the elbow. He had stated to everyone who would listen that at least it was the arm already missing two fingers.

The last star faded with the approach of sunlight, when Diera came again and went into the shelter. Maera and Anarynd could hear the medicants talking. When Diera returned, she looked exhausted, she looked bewildered, she looked . . . in awe?

“The bleeding’s stopped completely—in all the wounds, including the abdomen. His heart is still strong, and the fever, or whatever it was, is gone.” Diera paused, then continued in an odd voice. “They think he’s going to live.”

Maera gasped loudly and sank to her knees, sobbing hysterically, her face alternately turned skyward and then down, as if praying.

Startled, Diera, Carnigan, Gwyned, and Anarynd all stared at Maera. As amazing as the news about Yozef was, they had all begun to expect that however it came to pass, he was going to live after all. Maera’s reaction, though, was completely unexpected. No one had ever seen Maera cry. No one had even heard rumors of such an emotional outburst by Maera.

Word spread faster than could be believed. Yozef would live! It was a miracle! God had intervened to save his messenger! Faster than was in any way physically possible, word reached the city, and bells began pealing once more—both for the victory and for Yozef’s miraculous survival.

It was more than twenty-four hours from the final Narthani assault and Yozef’s injury when he first opened his eyes. His first thought was, Well, it’s not a white ceiling this time. He couldn’t have said why this awakening reminded him of waking up inside the Watchers’ ship or in the hospital at St. Sidryn’s, though somehow it did. Something big had happened. Otherwise, why would he make that association?

Suddenly, it all came flooding back. The battle! What had happened? Who won? He was still alive, as were the people around him, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

“Who won?” he tried to say. It came out more like “Guroh wah.”

Sounds erupted everywhere. Suddenly, so many figures moved quickly across his blurry field of vision, it made him nauseous. Hands touched him. Rough hands, soft hands, gentle hands, cold hands, warm hands. He hurt. Everywhere, it seemed at first, then localized to his body, with lesser pains in his head and leg.

“Yozef,” he heard. “Yozef, can you hear me?”

He turned his head slightly. It only hurt a little. He saw a head. A woman’s head. Maera. She looked terrible. Bags under her eyes he thought could do well for long-term travel, smudges of something on her cheek, tracks down the smudges. Tears?

“Ou uk turible,” he croaked out. “Ou need sum slp.”

Maera shook her head. Another voice broke into rumbling laughter. Yozef turned his head, painfully. Carnigan stood with bandages everywhere.

“Ou uk evn urs.” Yozef tried clearing his throat. “Ou luk evn wurse.”

“Yes, well, you should talk. We’d give you a mirror, but it would only upset you.”

Yozef started to laugh until a jarring pain in his body made him gasp. His eyes flared open, and his face turned pale.

“God damn it, Carnigan, shut the hell up!” yelled Gwyned, giving her to-be-husband a whack on the chest that would have caused most men to stumble. Carnigan didn’t budge, but his face took on a chagrined look.

“Sorry, Yozef. I don’t think they want you to move too much just yet. Something about you’re supposed to be dead, and you’re refusing to confirm their opinions.”

Gwyned rolled her eyes.

Yozef smiled wanly, then looked around again to Maera. Anarynd was there, too. He wanted to say something, but . . . just . . . drifted . . . off.

“He’s sleeping,” said Diera. “They gave him a little more of the poppy extract once he came awake. They were afraid to give more earlier.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, but I think I almost believe in miracles.”

Recovery

Yozef slept sixteen hours and awoke the next morning, ravenous. The nano-elements had scavenged healthy tissue in their desperate struggle to keep him alive. The drained tissues cried for sustenance, and his stomach demanded food. Medicants spoon-fed him a broth reminiscent of his first awakening on Anyar. They graduated him to a thin stew, to a thicker stew, and finally to a whole loaf of bread sopped in stew juice, before he was satiated. He didn’t speak and immediately went back to sleep. Two hours later, he was awake and hungry again. By late afternoon his color was better, there was no sign of bleeding from any of his wounds, and the abdomen wound felt painful only if he moved—instead of searing, as it had been when he first regained consciousness.

His voice also came back, and he asked for details of the battle. They tried to put him off, telling him to rest and get reports later. When that failed, and afraid he might get agitated, they sent for Denes. He appeared within fifteen minutes. Yozef immediately noticed a change in Denes’s demeanor toward him. They would never be close friends, but while Denes had listened to and used Yozef’s advice, he had never been overly deferential. Yozef had the impression this had changed.

Denes updated him on the battle—though not in detail, because the medicants insisted Denes’s recount be short. Gullar was dead, along with most officers above the rank of captain. Surrender to an enemy was not part of the ethos of the Narthani officer corps. Subordinates even dispatched most of those who were wounded.

However, the Narthani didn’t expect the lower ranks to fight to the death, and an estimated six thousand Narthani were prisoners, four thousand of them wounded. The body counts were still being tabulated, but the islanders currently estimated 34,000 Narthani dead—no one could account for how many of those had died fighting versus those wounded or surrendered and subsequently dispatched by vengeful clansmen. An unknown number of Narthani escaped the battlefield into the surrounding countryside. Islanders hunted them down with no thought to taking more prisoners. No account would be gotten for their numbers or fate.

The Caedelli had fared far better, but the count was still appalling: nine thousand dead and 18,000 wounded. Even with MASH units and most of the medicants on Caedellium, it took three days to treat every wounded islander.

When Denes left, Yozef stared into nothingness and came as close as he ever did to an honest prayer. Please, God, let it all be worth it.

Then the chief medicants visited him.

“Thank all of you,” Yozef whispered, “and any other brother and sister medicants who treated me. Please tell everyone how much I appreciate them.”

The white-haired lead medicant smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Thank you for the intention, Yozef, but I’m not sure we can take credit for you still being alive. By all our understanding of medicine and treatments, you should be dead. The wound to your liver was so severe, we saw no possibility of your surviving. Yet you did, and we have no idea why. It’s like your body simply refused to die. Then there are other things. You ran a fever like we think happens when a body is fighting an infection or disease, but this was a wound that would never be accompanied by fever. If anything, you should have turned colder from blood loss. And now? Look at you. Only a little more than one day since you were wounded and you’re talking with us as you heal at an astounding rate. No, I’m afraid medicant knowledge may have no place here. It may well be that as rumors are spreading, the explanation is better addressed by theophists and not medicants.”

I should have died? The best medicants on Caedellium cannot explain why I didn’t and now they see me healing abnormally fast. Keeping the effects of the nano-elements the Watchers gave me hidden is now out of the bag and isn’t going back in. As much as I’ve worried about starting rumors of demonic powers at work, now I’ll need to go along with rumors of divine intervention. Who knows? Maybe this is a fortuitous break. If people believe God reached out to save me, who’s to naysay if the effects are long-lasting—like, the rest of my life and those I associate with intimately. Of course, that means the Septarsh rumors will be too entrenched to ever be countered.

Yozef sighed to himself. I think after this there will be no going back or dissuading the Caedelli. Nothing I could possibly say or do is going to change what they know to be true. I think I’ll just have to live with it.

It was evening before he steeled himself to ask the fate of people he knew. Thankfully, most had survived, though not all. Filtin Fuller—Yozef’s always cheerful, always dependable close friend, who had an enviable family with a loving wife and happy children, who was one of Yozef’s first converts to innovations and a major contributor—died when the 25-pounder carronade battery he commanded fought off the final Narthani attempt to save themselves. Yozef alarmed the medicants when he was told that Filtin had died; he wept hard enough to break some of the stitches to his wounds.

In the next few days, rumors grew. Soon it was difficult to find people who believed anything other than merciful God held Yozef in his arms until he was healed enough to live. Even medicants and the more skeptical Caedelli hesitated to contradict this. After all, if they could not explain what happened, how could they argue against possibilities?

They kept him in the same temporary shelter two more nights. Maera sat with him the first night, Anarynd the second. The next morning, medicants moved him to a thin mattress on what looked like a door, and slowly, gently, six of them carried him to the Kolsko house in the city. Tens of thousands lined the way. It took more than two hours to complete the two-mile trip. Yozef stayed awake part of the time, then fell asleep with the rocking, then awakened, looked at the people, waved occasionally, and drifted off to sleep again.

In two more days, he stood briefly for the first time. On the fifth day, he made several short walks to relieve himself. The medicants thought he should stay in bed, but he hated to void in bed, where the collection and cleanup were just too intimate. For most patients, the medicants might have held their ground, but for Yozef Kolsko, they ceded decisions to him.

Ten days after the battle, Yozef read and listened to detailed reports of the battle’s aftermath. His body still ached, pain spasms occurred if he moved too fast, and he limped.

I have to get to Preddi City. The Narthani there must still be in a state of shock at the destruction of their army. Now is the time. The fire is hot, and there will never be a better time to strike the iron.

To his surprise, arguments against his moving so quickly lasted only an hour, with Maera the most disgruntled. By three hours, he left Orosz City with everything needed for the trip to Preddi City: a carriage with the compartment modified for extra cushioning to sit or lie, and ten thousand dragoons, and two hundred cannon more than the clan forces already surrounding Preddi City.

Chapter 50: Resolution

First Meeting

The two men met in a tent just out of a long rifle shot from the Preddi fortifications and the same distance from the first clan earthworks under construction. Two flags flew from equally tall poles. The green flag had a large central white star and smaller stars encircling the central star.

Again, under a canopy or tent, thought Yozef. I seem to have a penchant for such meetings. First with the Fuomi, then Selfcell, and now the Narthani commander.

Akuyun had been on Caedellium for several years, but no one Yozef knew had ever met him. A few prisoners spoke of him with respect. Supposedly a firm man but fair, from the Narthani point of view. We shall see if he is also reasonable, or if we are going to have to dig them out, one by one.

Not tall or physically imposing but something of a presence about him, was Yozef’s first impression. Mid-fifties. Clean shaven. No mustache like many of the Narthani sported. Short trimmed hair. Dressed in his finest, I would say. I bet he dresses carefully for any occasion. A cautious man. Not one to be underestimated. He came when they started bringing in large numbers of civilians, so maybe he was one trusted to deal with both their general population and the military. Calm—considering the situation. Almost like he thinks he has the upper hand. What’s he thinking? It’s certainly not a situation he thought he would be in.

At the same time, Akuyun carefully observed the islander sitting across the table. From all accounts, this was their leader—the Yozef Kolsko of Assessor Hizer’s reports and the one who survived the assassination attempt on Hetman Keelan. Not all that impressive, was his first thought. Same height as myself, a little more robust, but then again, I’ve always been on the wiry side. Strange lighter-colored streaks to his hair and oddly pale blue eyes. Much, much younger than I would have predicted, for being the apparent leader of all the clans, assuming that’s who he is.

Akuyun also noted the man limped a little, had a fresh scar on the side of his head, and winced slightly when he sat. Was it an old injury? A wound from Orosz City?

Although the meeting involved only the two of them, three others remained present. Each side had a translator. Akuyun had never learned Caedelli, it being more effort than his time allowed and there was justification for, and because he hadn’t expected to remain on the island. Akuyun’s translator sat to his right at the table. Another man in his fifties. The two of them had an ease between them that Yozef suspected meant the translator was a trusted aide.

Balwis Preddi translated for Yozef and sat to his left, so the two translators directly faced each other, as did Yozef and Akuyun. A fifth man stood to the right and behind Yozef. A big man. Unarmed, Akuyun noted, but his size, scars, and eyes spoke volumes.

Yozef began the dialogue.

“Apologies for insisting you come only with a translator, while I came with a translator and my big friend. I’m afraid my people were adamant that he accompany me. I’m still recovering from the battle at Orosz City, so they reckon the meeting is two healthy men on each side, not counting myself.”

So he was injured in the fighting, Akuyun thought. Not a leader from behind, which is where senior leaders should be. Does that say something of the islanders or of him? The battle was just over three sixdays ago, so the injuries could not have been too severe.

As for the argument that there were two equal men on each side, the big man alone could probably handle the other four of us by himself. And the translator was certainly not someone unfamiliar with action. Akuyun was a keen judge of men.  He recognized the islander translator as a dangerous individual. Sheathed, but dangerous. As for the big man, Akuyun noticed the care the giant had taken in helping Kolsko sit. Almost paternalistic.

“My own people are also not pleased at the conditions, but I accepted on the basis of your guarantee of safety. I believe it important that the two of us are clear, to avoid any misunderstandings.”

Yozef nodded. “I agree. Since you and I will speak through our translators, I suggest we understand that each of us needs to whisper among ourselves from time to time.”

“Agreed,” said Akuyun.

“Fine, then. Shall we begin with how we each see the situation?” Yozef said through Balwis Preddi.

Akuyun nodded. “Let me be open and admit you have gained a great, and with more honesty, surprising victory over our army. It will serve as a lesson not to underestimate the Caedelli people in the future.”

Was that a subtle or not so subtle dig that we might not have seen the last of the Narthani’s attempts to subjugate Caedellium? thought Yozef.

“Despite that victory, I still have enough forces to defend Narthani territory, and our navy rules supreme over the seas around Caedellium and any land near the coasts.”

“That is true,” said Yozef, “but let us be clear. You may rule the seas, but the land you think you own is not Narthani territory. It is Caedellium land that you are temporarily standing on. And yes, you have enough forces to put up a strong defense, but only here around Preddi City. There is no way for you to grow more food than you already have stored. From that food, you have to feed upward of a hundred thousand of your soldiers and civilians. We control the countryside everywhere else in Preddi. Your two client clans, the Eywellese and Selfcellese, are no longer your allies. The Selfcellese have joined us completely, and the Eywellese are not a factor. You are contained within Preddi City and three of the largest Preddi towns. Your defenses here are formidable, but not so much those other towns.”

“I wonder if you think you can take this city by force?” said Akuyun. “We know you have Fuomi helping you. They must have explained to you what it takes to mount a siege and how long a siege can take.”

“You are correct. The Fuomi have advised us. But do not believe we are unaware of such things without outside advice. Let me be clear. There is no way you are going to remain on Caedellium. The land within your fortifications is the only place any Narthani can stand on the island, and that is only temporary. We estimate you have about twenty-one hundred active solders, not all of whom are fighting men. What field artillery you have is limited, although you have the support of your navy, and we assume you have moved some naval guns ashore to strengthen the defenses. Right now, facing you are forty thousand men with field artillery. More are on their way. Not only did we capture all the cannon with Marshal Gullar, but we forged most of our cannon here on Caedellium and are producing more as we speak, whereas you must depend on what you have on land and with your navy. We know your supply of copper and tin is too low to cast more guns. You might get naval guns ashore, but we can match you with those the Fuomi gave us.

“In addition, we can call on another hundred thousand Caedelli to join us here, if necessary. It does not take young legs or testicles to stand behind earthworks and fire muskets or help man cannon. I guarantee there are tens of thousands of old men, women, and half-grown children who are eager to stand and fight.”

Interesting, thought Akuyun. He tells me much, but what to believe? That they outgun us in field artillery is certain. And he’s right. They are only going to get stronger. We already knew they were forging their own cannon, but it seems more extensive than we suspected. As for the forty thousand men . . . maybe that’s true, but could they all remain here for an extended siege? I doubt it. And the other hundred thousand? Older men and even women? Although some would discount them, I doubt it wise in this case. This Kolsko is right that they can take the place of young men in fixed positions. I have done the same with our civilians, but can they realistically count on thousands of questionable use? Still, a hundred thousand is a lot of bodies.

“So we are at a stalemate,” said Akuyun. “You think we cannot break out of our defenses, and yet we still sit behind them where you cannot get at us without losses that you might not be willing to suffer.”

Yozef turned his head and spat to one side. He’d seen more movies than he cared to admit where a man would spit to show he wasn’t afraid—fear dried up salivary glands. He gave it a shot, then felt ridiculous when Akuyun seemed unimpressed.

“Don’t assume to know what the clanspeople are willing to suffer to rid Caedellium of you. But let me tell you how I see your position and what the future will hold. As I have said, you will get no more food from this land. It will be impossible for you to farm enough from within your walls, and you would have to bring the bulk of your forces out from behind the walls to try to protect any farmers. A completely untenable option.

“Your second problem is water. The city’s main source is the Preddi River that flows through the city. If necessary, we can divert the river so that the riverbed through the city is dry. Do not think we can’t. I’m sure you heard reports from those few of Gullar’s men who escaped on how we built extensive-enough earthworks in two sixdays to stop his army. We already have identified several places where the effort in moving earth is not much more than that to divert the river. There are some wells in the city, and you might dig or might have dug more, but are those enough for the entire population? Your navy can supply some water with effort, but certainly not enough for a hundred thousand.

“Third, a siege is exactly what you will face. Remember how we dug at Orosz City. If necessary, we can have a hundred thousand people digging trenchworks around the city. In fact, you must have seen the beginning of this. We understand the tactics needed to bring down a defended city. Deep and extensive trenches will be dug in a complex pattern all around the city. Once we are close enough, we will bring in siege mortars and catapults. You may know of the fire pots we used so effectively. Imagine hundreds of such pots being launched over the walls into the city every day by catapults. Take my word that we can build catapults hidden behind dirt berms and capable of throwing objects over a thousand yards. In addition, siege mortars are being cast as we speak. By the time the trenches are close enough, the mortars will start to be delivered here. When they are, they will join the catapults. Even with naval guns, you won’t be able to stop the bombardment. At some point, your defenses will weaken enough that we will breach the walls and take the city. The fighting might be bitter and costly, but I guarantee no Narthani would live through the experience. Let me repeat what I just said. If we have to take the city by storm, not a single Narthani will be given mercy.

“Then there is a final factor. You gathered most of your civilians here in the city from the rest of Preddi Province. However, there are at least fifteen thousand civilians we either collected from sweeps of the Preddi countryside or those who might survive if we are forced to take the three smaller towns. We also have six thousand of your soldiers taken as prisoners or wounded in the Orosz City battle and other engagements.

“Thus far, these six thousand Narthani prisoners and fifteen thousand civilians who could become prisoners are alive and in reasonable condition. However, if we are forced to lay siege to Preddi City, the status of all those twenty-one thousand will change. There is no rationale and no will to care for twenty-one thousand Narthani alive outside of the city while we carry on a siege and suffer what would be huge casualties in taking the city. In that case, the lives of all Narthani under our control are forfeited.”

For the first time Akuyun showed a reaction—what Yozef suspected was well-concealed shock.

“You are threatening to kill twenty-one thousand defenseless people unless we, what . . . surrender?” Akuyun ground out.

“Please do not presume to accuse us of barbaric behavior. The Narthani have no status to level such charges, given what the Fuomi tell us about your normal behavior to other peoples. Also, do not think we have no memory of what you have already done here on Caedellium, both to the Preddi Clan and in raids you or your Buldorian ‘raiders’ carried out.”

Akuyun calmed down and sat back in his chair, a severe expression on his face. “If you know anything about us, you know that surrender to you is not an option, no matter what the cost. We would be expected to fight and die to the last man, rather than become your slaves.”

“We do not ask for your surrender or slavery. We simply require that the Narthani leave Caedellium.”

Akuyun sat straighter, obviously surprised. “What exactly is your offer?” asked Akuyun.

We’ve got them! exulted Yozef to himself. I may thank whatever God there is that this particular Narthani is rational. He might actually care about his men and the civilians he’s protecting. Please let it be so!

“We offer you your lives. The lives of every Narthani on Caedellium. We only ask that you go board your ships and leave.”

“That’s it? Just that we leave? No vengeance, no ransom?”

“There are, of course, a few conditions but nothing that should stop you from saving the lives of all the Narthani you are responsible for. We can discuss the details of leaving, but in short, you will embark both soldiers and civilians in equal ratios. We don’t want to find that after you embark all civilians, you decide your supplies can then support a longer siege, or you decide the honor of the Narthani demands a fight to the death.”

“If we do that, there will come a time when we have few-enough soldiers you could attack.”

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take. But consider that we don’t want to waste our own lives unnecessarily. Trading even one islander’s life for one Narthani is the same ratio, no matter if we’re speaking of hundreds or tens of thousands.”

“And other conditions?”

“There are two. One is that your slaves will remain. We will not allow you to take anyone with you involuntarily. They will be freed to either live on Caedellium or try to find their way to some other place on Anyar.

“The final condition is that you will leave all weapons, powder, and shot. It will be a small repayment for the damage you’ve caused, but it will help prevent future adventures against Caedellium. We also will not allow you to take weapons that might be used against either ourselves or others at some future time. We consider leaving you your lives to be more than satisfactory. Realize that more than a few islanders would rather pay whatever price is necessary to kill every one of you—men, women, and children.

“There are also those who want to identify and hold you accountable for every act against an islander any of your people committed. I and others have prevailed against those desires—so far—but you would be well advised to know the mood against you.”

Akuyun remained silent for almost a minute. “I think we understand each other. I will have to consider all you have said and consult with others before I have an answer.”

“Of course. Though it’s really quite simple. Your options are limited, and our patience is short. Given all the facts, I think two days is sufficient time for you to come to a decision. I hope it’s a rational one. My sense is that you feel a strong obligation to the people you are responsible for. You don’t want to see them all killed, nor do I want to see thousands of islanders die to get you off Caedellium. The simple answer is to just go. Go, for God’s sake, and let’s be done with death.”

With those final words, Yozef rose with both of his companions’ assistance and he walked back toward the islander lines. Balwis and Carnigan followed, though not before Balwis gave the Narthani a look that clearly placed him in the camp of those wanting to personally see every Narthani die.

Akuyun walked back to the Narthani fortifications, where his staff and subordinates waited. He recounted the meeting.

Hizer spoke first. The assessor appeared haggard. He had been captured at Orosz City—assessors having a duty to remain alive, if possible. “That was certainly short and to the point. And I’m afraid quite succinct in the analysis.”

Akuyun looked at the assessor. “Any immediate thoughts, Sadek?”

“Oh . . . plenty of thoughts. None of them pleasant. How do you assess this Kolsko fellow, who seems to be their leader? Interesting that the clans sent a single person to represent them. From what we knew, I wouldn’t have thought they would trust any individual to negotiate.”

Akuyun grimaced. “Unless you know of a different meeting than the one I just attended, I didn’t hear any negotiating. It was reasonably polite, but what I heard were ultimatums.”

Hizer gave a short laugh, which was amazing under the circumstances. “So I exaggerated a bit. Still, I wonder about this Kolsko and exactly what is his position in the clans? We didn’t know who we’d be talking to, but now I’ll go back and look at our past reports. Our agent in Caernford, Istem Sokulu, imagined him important enough to add him to the target list, along with the Keelan hetman, and those innovations we’re now attributing to him are another factor, but none of that answers exactly how he fits into the clan leadership.”

“Do you think he was bluffing about the prisoners and civilians?” asked Nizam Tuzere, the civilian administrator, with a worried expression.

Akuyun heaved a big sigh. “Sorry, Nizam, I just don’t know.”

Hizer voiced the opinion of all of the men. “It will ultimately be your decision, Okan, but unless you see something I don’t, what other choice is there but to accept Kolsko’s demands?”

Akuyun turned to the senior of the two naval officers at the meeting. “Admiral Dimir, I know you wonder whether you couldn’t have done more to relieve Marshal Gullar, but from all the reports, I don’t see what other options existed.”

The admiral had made several attempts to break through the Fuomi blockage of the Normot Cut. Failing to find a passage for even a sloop, Dimir sent a thousand men in cutters and longboats through rocks and reefs to attack the frigates and clan battery barges from the rear. The attack failed with three-quarters casualties. In a final desperate effort, Dimir sent two war galleons side by side into the gap, where they dropped anchor within cannon range and used anchor-springs to turn broadsides to the similarly anchored Fuomi frigates, absorbing Fuomi fire the whole time. One Fuomi frigate was so badly damaged, the crew abandoned and burned it. The others all suffered major damage, but both Narthani war galleons fought until they were shattered wrecks and then sank, further blocking the gap.

Dimir shook his head. “I know you’re right, General, but it will eat at me forever, wondering if there was anything else I could have tried. In the end, I didn’t see what else to do, especially since I had to maintain enough of my ships to support you and General Istranik back here. You’re sure there are no other options than to abandon the Caedellium mission entirely?”

“None I can think of at the moment, Admiral. We have two days, so let’s give it some more thought. Maybe a brilliant idea will occur to one of us,” Akuyun said sarcastically.

Akuyun Villa, Preddi City

Rabia Akuyun had dinner prepared for her husband, as if it were any other evening. The children had protested about eating early and then being sent to their rooms, but Rabia wanted the evening to be solely for her husband. Whatever the outcome of the meeting he had that day with the islanders, it would weigh heavily on him.

Surprised, she heard a servant announce Okan at the villa’s main entrance only just past sundown. She had expected him to go well into the night before leaving his headquarters. He came onto the balcony, where she waited, sitting at the table.

He sat down and looked at her, a conflicted expression on his face.

“How was the meeting?” she asked. “Was anything decided?”

His mouth turned up slightly, but it wasn’t quite a grin.

“I think the decision was foreordained before we met. It’s just that neither side was aware of it.”

“Already decided?”

Akuyun patted his wife’s hand.

“I think we are all going to leave Caedellium, some of us very soon, the rest in a few months. The leader of the islanders, a man named Kolsko, seems to have them convinced to let us leave, instead of trying to take the city. He gave me two days to decide, but considering the options that Kolsko laid out, and that I unfortunately agree with, I don’t see any alternatives.”

“And conditions?”

“Humiliating, perhaps, but we don’t have much choice. We must leave all weapons, and no slaves will go with us. All troops and civilians are free to leave aboard our ships, if those two conditions are met.”

Rabia grasped his hand with both of hers. She was visibly relieved and fearful. The children would be safe, but what about Okan?

“What will this mean for you back in Narthon?”

“The fact that the High Command gave my original mission only a slim chance of working and that it was Gullar in command of the disaster, I think at worst I will never rise beyond my current rank and will be sent to some unpleasant assignments, out of sight. Assuming the High Command remembers it was their basic plan in the first place.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through this,” said Rabia. “Even if it takes time, they’ll eventually see you’re too capable not to put you in more important positions.”

Akuyun smiled fondly at his wife. Always trying to make me see a bright side, even in this, he thought. At one time, I would have worried that she’d be disappointed in having married me, if I failed like this. Those doubts are long gone, but still I will regret it, for her and myself, if this is the end of my advancement.

Word is Spread

Akuyun meet with his most senior officers the next morning. He recounted details of the meeting with the islander leader and his views of their options. They talked for several hours, going over various scenarios without finding alternatives. That afternoon, they expanded the meeting to include all officers down to the company level. It was a chance to let them give their input and to fully understand the situation, which they needed to communicate to their men. Their level of shock and dismay directly related to their rank. The more experienced men understood either immediately or after some discussion. A few of the younger officers were of the “die to the last man” or “never surrender, to uphold Narthani honor” school. Akuyun made a note to remember the more recalcitrant to never have them in any units he commanded in the future—if he had a future commanding troops.

In the end, all agreed or at least seemed willing to follow orders. Akuyun felt moderately pleased that he didn’t have to relieve or arrest any of the officers who said they would refuse the conditions laid out by Kolsko.

It was settled, and Akuyun sent word to the islander lines for a meeting the next day.

Chapter 51: The Last Ship

Truce

Six months passed quickly, after Akuyun accepted Kolsko’s conditions. In principle, it was simple—the Narthani would leave. In practice, it was more difficult. Akuyun relentlessly accounted for every Narthani, including civilians in other parts of Preddi. Tuzere masterfully orchestrated temporary housing and scheduling to shuttle the people to Ezarkin, Narthon’s westernmost port.

The Caedelli matched Akuyun’s determination, though they focused on assurances that the Narthani didn’t hide slaves who didn’t want to leave. The islanders were intransigent in child disputes where one parent—more commonly, the mother—was an islander and the other parent a Narthani who wanted the child. If the mother wanted to stay, so did the child.

In some cases, a Narthani slave wanted to stay with his or her master for whatever reason. Private interviews confirmed the slave was not being coerced and understood the options. In a few cases, the slave had known no other life, and the option of being free was too frightening.

Surprisingly, more than three thousand Narthani wanted to stay. Their reasons varied, from having an islander wife and children and wanting to stay with them, to seeing more options in life on Caedellium than back in Narthon, to being Narthani in name only because they came from peoples only recently granted Narthani citizenship. Most of the latter hated the Narthani.

A few violent interactions occurred where an islander took it upon himself to settle a score for treatment by a specific Narthani offender on any Narthani available. As sympathetic as the islander’s leadership might be to his grievances, by the terms of the armistice there would be no reprisals. Clan authorities handled the first cases with stern warnings and minimal charges against islanders, but when instances continued and a few egregious offenders escaped consequences, Yozef arm-twisted the War Council to declare special trials and judges separate from those of a clan. After several exiles and one death sentence, the worst offenses stopped.

On the Narthani side, enforcement came easier. Akuyun issued orders for behavior—and that was that. Swift and harsh responses dealt with offenders. After a couple of public hangings for murder, assault, and fomenting mutiny, the Narthani behaved better than the islanders.

Akuyun never had to use the emergency refuge he’d asked Admiral Kalcan to develop on Klinwyn Island, off the western coast of Preddi Province. By the end of the first month of the armistice, it was evident the Caedelli would honor the conditions set out by Yozef Kolsko, and Akuyun’s worry about a need for emergency evacuations subsided.

During the first month, Akuyun and Yozef met regularly, sometimes more than once in a day. During one meeting with Akuyun, the general introduced a man named Sadek Hizer, who carried the title of assessor, whatever that meant. Yozef hardly noticed Hizer. His attention centered on a man accompanying the assessor, standing behind and to one side, as might an aide. Yozef and Esyl Havant stared at each other. The Narthani spy had worked in Caernford as a semaphore messenger and orchestrated the attack that cost the lives of Anid Keelan, Mirramel Killin, Norlin Rumney, and two guards and resulted in Culich Keelan losing a lower leg and Ceinwyn Keelan bearing a terrible scar across the side of her face.

Yozef’s fingers clenched, relaxed, and clenched again, as if searching for a pistol or a knife. Havant glanced at Yozef’s hands, his eyes narrowed, and he gave a slight shrug as if to say, “Nothing personal.” The meeting continued, but Yozef remembered nothing. He decided not to tell Maera. The truce agreement forestalled retributions, and as much as he wanted to kill Havant, the relationship with Akuyun eclipsed his urge. Nothing could jeopardize the invaders leaving Caedellium.

Later that evening, Maera asked Yozef why he seemed quiet at evening meal. He said he was tired and went to bed telling himself to forget Havant. Instead, he dreamed of the shot hole in Aeneas’s nightshirt, another hole in Anid’s forehead, and the wounded Narthani he had stabbed over and over.

The War Council set up a temporary headquarters in Neath, a southwest Eywell town that boomed into a city of 30,000 from an influx of clanspeople. Four dragoon regiments, 10,000 men, rotated monthly to keep an eye on the Narthani, with company- and battalion-sized patrols throughout the Preddi countryside. At Yozef’s suggestion, the War Council assembled 30,000 men and three hundred cannon at Neath for the senior Narthani officers and officials to “accidentally” witness practice maneuvers. The gathering lasted only a sixday, because most of the men needed to get back to their families and clans, but it impressed the Narthani. “Leaked” information spread that 70,000 men and seven hundred cannon participated in the maneuvers—a sum the Narthani couldn’t confirm but that seemed plausible, with the shuffling of banners and scarves supposedly representing different clans. Balwis Preddi later claimed the largest collection of “unique” clan scarves at nine and for months referred to himself by different names, the closest many had seen at humor from the man.

Finally came the day the last Narthani ship finished loading. Among the cargo would be Okan Akuyun and his family, with Akuyun the last Narthani to board. He served as a de facto hostage for his men’s behavior, but he would have been the last anyway, because all the Narthani were his responsibility.

The two men stood on the wharf, watching the last people climb the ramp to what had been a troopship, but which now carried a load of Narthani civilians and the last few soldiers. The two men had become comfortable with each other. Ironically, both respected the other and at times wondered to themselves whether a friendly relationship might have developed under other circumstances. Both also thought the other didn’t quite fit a stereotype of his people. Akuyun was too reasonable and honorable—given the system he grew up in. Yozef was too civilized and unconcerned with anything except end goals.

When the time came for Akuyun to board, they called over a single translator for them both. Someone who spoke fluent Narthani and Caedelli. Balwis.

“Thank you, Ser Kolsko, for upholding the conditions of the armistice.”

“And thank you, General Akuyun, for keeping tight control of your people. There were a few unfortunate incidents, but overall I believe everything went as well as we could reasonably expect.”

Yozef was curious about Akuyun’s future. “What will happen to you when you get home?”

The question surprised Akuyun, because it hinted at concern. “There will be endless debriefings to see what went wrong here, but I suspect in the end I’ll get another assignment somewhere in the empire. I also think there will be considerable interest in finding out exactly where Yozef Kolsko came from.”

“Came from?” Yozef echoed innocently.

Akuyun grinned. “Oh, word has gotten around. It happens when you put thousands of people in proximity, even though they may be enemies. We’ve heard of the mysterious Yozef Kolsko who washed up on a Caedellium beach only a few years ago and has brought momentous changes to the island, both in new knowledge and by playing a leading role in resisting us. I just wish we had known about you earlier.”

“What would you have done?” Yozef asked, genuinely curious.

Akuyun had learned the personal details of the attack on the Kolsko home but believed that his newly developed rapport with Kolsko required honesty. “I would have first tried to capture you and then convince you that the Narthon Empire was the natural place for you to flourish. If capture didn’t succeed, then I would have sent a larger assassination team into Keelan Province as soon as possible.”

Yozef’s gut tightened at these honest words given so matter-of-factly. His memory flashed again back to that night, Anid’s death, the hole in Aeneas’s nightshirt, the first time he knew he’d personally killed other humans.

You might think you could come to like this guy, Yozef thought, but don’t forget where he’s coming from and what he’s capable of.

“I hope you know that the Narthani view of the world will eventually destroy your empire and its people,” said Yozef. “Creating and nurturing hate can only lead to one end.”

“Not many of my people would agree,” answered Akuyun. “Our way of expanding is all any of us know from birth, and from what histories we have of our people. I doubt if many could imagine any other way.”

Yozef noticed Akuyun didn’t dispute his prediction.

“You might consider my words and wonder if there might not be another way forward for the Narthani. But whatever happens, do not ever come again to Caedellium with similar intentions. You saw what happened when you came here with eighty thousand men, even though the clans were not prepared. That lack will not happen again. The clans are now united as they have never been. We are producing our own cannon in quantity and will build fortifications grander than what you have yet seen from us. We also now have the Fuomi as allies and have contact with the Iraquiniks and one of the Landolin nations. None of those enemies of yours will tolerate the unopposed conquest of Caedellium. Our people simply want to be left alone. Any future attempt to conquer Caedellium will be met with no quarter. Consider it a warning that Caedellium would have to actively join in with other nations in fighting you on the seas and other land masses.”

“I will pass on the warning, but I doubt how seriously it will be received. However, I think both my people and the Fuomi will be interested in searching for information about where exactly you came from and where on Anyar are the rest of your people.”

“I wish you all well in your searches,” said Yozef. “I admit I would like to have contact with my people again.” And good luck in that, as soon as you get spaceships and any clue exactly where in the galaxy both Anyar and Earth are located.

A bell clanged loudly from the last ship.

“That’s my notice. It’s time I boarded. Good luck to you, Yozef Kolsko, in your life among these who are not your original people. Whoever you are and wherever you are from, I wish you good health and long life.”

With no other words between them, Akuyun walked toward the ship. Yozef and Balwis returned to a roped-off part of the wharf where others waited.

For the next hour, Yozef watched while the ship sailed slowly out of Preddi harbor, then raised full sail and disappeared. He wondered how Okan Akuyun would fare, and he hoped he’d never see him again on Caedellium.

Chapter 52: Three Clans

Conclave

An All-Clan Conclave convened in Neath in southwest Eywell Province shortly after the Narthani departed, the first conclave ever held outside of Orosz City. Seventeen clans were represented by their hetmen; Moreland’s factions still maneuvered without agreeing on a new leader, and Abbot Abelard continued to be Moreland’s representative.

At Yozef’s insistence, a green-and-white Caedellium flag flew in front of the building appropriated for the conclave, a flag now including twenty-one small stars encircling the large central star. He wondered how many people counted the small stars and realized there were twenty-one on this flag, instead of the eighteen stars in the original flag.

Hetman Orosz struck the ceremonial gong. He needed only one strike to quell conversations among hetmen and advisers, which surprised most of the attendees, given the ebullient mood still reverberating throughout the island.

“This All-Clan Conclave is formally open,” intoned Tomis Orosz in his role as conclave chair. “We have two main issues to discuss and decide on today. Once we deal with these, additional issues may be proposed. The first issue is whether to disband the War Council now that the Narthani are gone. Several hetmen have asked to speak. After consultations with all hetmen having strong views on this issue, two hetmen will present arguments for the two options, disband or retain. The first to speak is Hetman Bevans.”

Zitwyn Bevans left his seat and walked to the front of the room. “Fellow hetmen, we all rejoice that the Narthani have been expelled from Caedellium. To accomplish what seemed at the time to be an almost impossible task, we agreed to temporarily relinquish clan independence and follow the dictates of the War Council. I was one of those most reluctant to agree, but I acceded once it became clear that most of the clans were in favor. I didn’t want my clan to be obstructive, and, let’s be honest, I was concerned for Clan Bevans’s future should the rest of the clans come to view us as a liability in their commitment to fight the Narthani.

“However, I admit that my original resistance was not wise, and the War Council was a lamentable necessity, a necessity whose time has passed. The council’s purpose has been achieved—the Narthani are gone, and it’s time for the clans to resume their traditional independence.”

Yozef stood in the back of the room and didn’t sit with the Keelan Clan. Culich had been adamant that it would be best to avoid the appearance of too much influence by a single clan. Yozef didn’t see the problem, because everyone knew his history, but he gave in to his father-in-law’s insistence.

Having stated the proposal to dissolve the War Council, Zitwyn Bevans proceeded to drone on about the history of clan independence, all of which the hetmen were well aware. Yozef quit paying attention within the first five minutes.

Come on, Zitwyn, Yozef groaned to himself, get on with it. He glanced around the room. Most hetmen watched Bevans attentively, but Yozef wasn’t fooled. The Bevans hetman was well-regarded personally, but no other hetmen looked to him for complex thoughts. Yozef’s survey of the room stopped when he got to Culich. Am I imagining it, or does Culich look a little too pleased with what Zitwyn is saying? Culich would present the case for a permanent central authority, the details to be discussed but perhaps involving an evolution of the War Council. Why would he be pleased to hear an argument directly counter to what he’ll propose? An answer popped into Yozef’s mind. You old dog! I bet this is a setup! Somehow you arranged for Zitwyn to argue for a position you want the conclave to dismiss, and who better to be unconvincing than Zitwyn?

Yozef’s long-standing admiration for Culich’s dealings with clan politics rose another step higher.

When Bevans finished, he returned to his delegation with approving comments from the Bevansites and polite murmurs from other men.

Orosz gave the gong a light tap. “Next will be Hetman Keelan to propose a continuation of the War Council.”

Culich stumped to face the other hetmen, his peg leg rapping on the wooden planks as he walked. “Fellow hetmen, first let me both rephrase Hetman Orosz’s words and agree with Hetman Bevans’s statement that the War Council is no longer needed. However, this does not mean that Caedellium has no need of mechanisms to coordinate the clans, and that is what I will propose, that we agree to form a central authority. Exactly what the powers of that authority would be and what would be the obligations of each clan are complex details that will need serious consideration. However, what the Narthani should have taught us is that Caedellium can no longer continue as an island of independent clans, none of which has the strength or wisdom to exist in a world of belligerent realms.”

From his position in the back of the room, Yozef couldn’t see all the hetmen’s faces, but the few in view were all attentive to the Keelan hetman’s words.

Culich then called on Eina Saisannin to give a short assertion on the importance of a permanent central authority. The Fuomi presence had been bolstered when a Fuomi fleet arrived three months after the Narthani defeat and before all Narthani left the island. After a brief skirmish at sea, a parley of fleet admirals agreed to keep their distance, because the Narthani were departing and the Caedelli insisted the Fuomi leave their enemy alone due to the armistice.

Eina rose and walked to the front of the room. “Do not delude yourselves that the Narthani threat is over. Yes, you have driven them off Caedellium, but no one can predict Narthon’s future actions. They could try again to conquer your island, either with even more forces or when they perceive a time of weakness. And yes, a Fuomi fleet currently protects your waters, but this cannot be a permanent situation. My people wish Caedellium well, but the time will come when our fleet is needed elsewhere. Caedellium will need to be strong enough to protect itself when that day comes. Since it is impossible to know how serious future threats will be, you need to be as strong as possible. Does anyone here believe that your maximum strength can come from independent clans? Even if you reestablish a War Council when confronted with a new threat, the time lost in responding and the lack of centralized preparation could be fatal.

“And while your attention has been on the Narthani, do not ignore other possible threats. Now that Caedellium has come to the attention of Narthon and Fuomon, the same awareness will inevitably include other realms. The enemies of Narthon are not necessarily your friends. The Iraquinik Confederacy is focused on stopping the Narthani from expanding into their lands, but any one of its members, or coalition, could turn its attention to Caedellium, if only to prevent Narthani control. Similarly, the kingdoms of Landolin could do the same. Even my own people, the Fuomi, could, at some future time, decide that Caedellium is too weak and too unorganized to leave to its own devices. Who but God might say what will come?

“Consider carefully, clans of Caedellium. Is complete independence of each clan so important to risk losing it all, or is there some middle ground, some compromise with enough central control to protect you from outside forces while maintaining your clans’ identities? It’s not an easy goal but one that I pray you will work toward.”

Saisannin finished, nodded to Hetman Orosz, and returned to her seat at the side of the room. The Fuomi ambassador’s closing statement had a definite impact, as evidenced by hetmen and advisers straightening in their chairs and the buzz humming over the room.

“Looks promising,” Kivalian whispered. The Fuomi had chosen to stand with Yozef, instead of sitting with Saisannin and Rintala.

“Promising doesn’t buy doughnuts,” whispered Yozef in return. “Errr . . . I mean food. But you’re right. At least, no one such as Nyvaks jumped up screaming at the idea.”

The Nyvaks Clan hetman had been unusually quiescent since the Narthani defeat at Orosz City. Culich thought one factor was Yozef’s miraculous recovery from wounds as the battle ended.

Well, thought Yozef, I certainly sucked up to that idiot after Culich clued me in. If it takes Nyvaks thinking me a Septarsh to shut him up, then that’s what it takes. He had made numerous conciliatory gestures to the obstreperous hetman in the last several months, even if he’d rather have strangled the man.

Culich summarized a reasoned argument for a central authority without proposing specifics.

Hetman Orosz called for votes on the two proposals. Eighteen clans were voting. The result for Bevans’s enunciated proposal for clan independence was one for, eight against, and nine abstentions. Yozef restrained himself from a fist pump and a yell. Even most of the clans previously most opposed to a War Council—Vandinke, Seaborn, and Pawell—didn’t support complete clan independence.

“The clan independence proposal is rejected,” announced Orosz. “The vote now is for a central authority. I note that no details were proposed, so the vote will be for the concept, which would have to be worked out. All in favor of a central authority, raise your hand.”

Seven hands were raised.

“All those opposed.”

One hand. Nyvaks.

Well, Jesus, Nyvaks! thought Yozef. You didn’t vote for independence, but you’re opposed to centralization! Was there another option I didn’t hear about?

Yozef wasn’t the only person to question the Nyvaks hetman: Orosz scowled in the direction of the Nyvaks delegation before he announced the results.

“Seven in favor, one opposed, ten abstentions. The proposal is rejected. Sers, this leaves us with a problem. As it stands, the War Council remains in force, because Hetman Keelan worded his proposal as a replacement with a central authority. Since there appears to be some support and no major resistance to the central authority concept, and no support to return to the previous state of total clan independence, I have a suggestion. What if we temporarily retain the War Council while reducing its authority so clans can return to more normal activities? Then, since there is support or at least neutrality for some form of centralized authority, let us continue discussions over the next months until we can come to a consensus on how to proceed.”

Two hours of equable discussion followed, ending with a vote sixteen to zero, with two abstentions, to follow Orosz’s suggestion.

He pulled it off, thought Yozef. Culich said that War Council members could maneuver the other hetmen into a gradual acceptance of giving up at least part of their independence, and the first step was to avoid major outright resistance. Now comes the part of figuring out what most of the clans will accept. Yozef wasn’t optimistic.

The conclave broke for mid-day meal and reconvened two hours later.

Once again, Orosz struck the ceremonial gong lightly. “Sers, the next issue is to determine the fate of the three clans controlled by the Narthani: Preddi, Selfcell, and Eywell. Hetman Stent has asked to speak on behalf of the Selfcell Clan.”

Welman Stent moved to the front of the room. “As you all know, the Selfcell Clan inflicted harm to my people through raids along our common border during their alliance with the Narthani. As bitter as my personal feelings have been toward the Selfcellese, Roblyn Langor pointed out a hard truth to me. What was he to do once the rest of us refused to come to his aid when he asked for it?

“We also have to consider that Selfcell revolted against the Narthani and hastened their Sellmor garrison to withdraw, thereby preventing our having to dig them out of Sellmor or leave the city as a Narthani base once the larger force arrived. Finally, when Harmon Swavebroke’s men worked to cut off Marshal Gullar’s supply line, the Selfcellese attacked the flank of a Narthani force threatening Swavebroke’s men. Their attack, though uncoordinated by the standards of the other clans, was ferocious enough to turn the tide, and General Istranik’s relief force withdrew back into Preddi Province.

“Given all that I’ve said, I propose that the conclave accept Clan Selfcell back into the conclave.”

Half the men in the room signaled approval verbally or by the stomping of feet: the other half were silent or voiced opposition. Orosz struck the gong twice.

“Sers, silence, please. Those who might not agree with Hetman Stent should consider that if Clan Stent can forget the past, then who are the rest of us to naysay?”

Before opposition expressed itself once more, Orosz turned to Stent. “Hetman Stent, are you asserting that Clan Stent forgoes any retribution or recompense for the actions of Clan Selfcell?”

“I do so assert, Hetman Orosz.”

Orosz called for a vote, then announced the result.

“It being sixteen in favor of accepting Clan Selfcell into the conclave, with two abstentions, Clan Selfcell is once more part of the conclave. Summon the Selfcell delegation.”

Tomis Orosz’s youngest son opened the door in the rear of the room and returned seconds later with six Selfcellese, led by Roblyn Langer, the Selfcell hetman.

“Please be seated, Hetman Selfcell,” were Orosz’s only words. No other hetmen spoke. The six men sat in one of the three sets of chairs not occupied.

“Next we come to Clan Eywell,” said Orosz. “Does any hetman wish to speak on their behalf?”

At first, no hetmen moved to rise or speak. After nearly a minute, Feren Bakalacs spoke without rising. “Hetman Orosz, I believe I can speak for most of the clans. Eywell will never be accepted back. I call for the clan to be outcast.”

Orosz had expected the Farkesh hetman’s statement and had reviewed records of the only previous clan expulsion a hundred years previously.

“This is a serious step only taken once before since the Conclave of Nordwyn. Does any hetman object to a vote, or is there any clan wishing further discussion?”

Silence. Again.

“Then the vote is whether to outcast Clan Eywell. Those in favor, hetmen, please stand.”

Nineteen men rose.

“By a nineteen to zero vote, Clan Eywell is outcast and will never again be part of a conclave or under the protection of the other clans.”

There were no shouts of approval, but a firm sense of the necessity and righteousness of the decision roiled through the room.

Yozef expected what would come next. Orosz let a minute pass, then moved on to the difficult part of the Eywell situation.

“While Clan Eywell is no longer recognized and the name can never be used again, there is still the question of what to do with the former Eywellese—an estimated thirty-seven thousand living within the province. We will ignore, for the moment, the several thousand who fled into adjoining provinces as they sought shelter with relatives or friends.

“In the only other instance of a clan being outcast, the Raslyn Clan population and land were absorbed by other clans. In anticipation of what the conclave would decide, I have consulted with leaders of Keelan, Moreland, and Selfcell, the clans adjacent to Eywell. None are interested in dividing up the Eywell population or land.”

Orosz’s statement was mainly true. Several of the Moreland boyermen with borders on Eywell had pushed for land but not people. Welman Stent had hinted he might consider taking some of the population, as long as he got significant land. It took an acrimonious session of the War Council for Stent to withdraw its interest.

“The question before the conclave, then, is what to do with the Eywell people and province,” continued Orosz.

“The obvious solution is to reconstitute the clan under a new name and leadership,” said Feren Bakalacs.

Red-faced, Harmon Swavebroke slammed a fist on a tabletop. “You can’t seriously expect us to accept a new hetman to come from the Eywell family, no matter how distantly related to Brandor Eywell!”

“No,” said Bakalacs, “we can at least thank Brandor Eywell’s stupidity for getting himself, both his sons, and his three brothers killed at the Battle of Moreland City. As for more distant relatives, I agree that the entire Eywell family is out of the question. I would also go further and eliminate any Eywellese, including surviving boyermen. There would have to be a completely new leadership, one that we have absolute confidence in and that would command the clan with a firm hand.”

“Then it can’t be anyone within the clan,” argued Cadoc Gwillamer. “Otherwise, there would be confusion in lines of authority. That means someone from another clan, and I assume many of us would rather not start a new clan from the family of an existing hetman.”

“I tend to agree,” said Savar Skouks, a hetman only since his father was killed in a Narthani assassination, “unless the new hetman is from a clan on the other side of Caedellium and it’s someone we can agree on.”

When the following discussion seemed to settle on appointing a new hetman from outside the old Clan Eywell, Culich Keelan called for attention from Tomis Orosz.

“I believe I have a candidate and some conditions that we might all agree with,” said Culich. “There is a clansman whom all of you know personally or are familiar with his role in defeating the Narthani. I have worked with him extensively this last year and can attest that he is intelligent, honorable, and loyal to Caedellium. I will also say that he can be a no-nonsense, humorless prick at times, but sneaky and ruthless when needed. Those latter characteristics served him well when he oversaw the War Council’s intelligence gathering. Some of those same traits will serve us all in reorganizing the former Eywell Clan. I can guarantee that any Eywell leadership leftovers will tread lightly with Owill Brell watching them.”

“Brell!” exclaimed Bultecki.

“Brell?” questioned Pawell before an adviser whispered in his ear. “Oh, yes. Owill Brell. Hmmm . . . an Adrisian. An interesting suggestion.”

The other attendees didn’t hear Hetman Pawell’s son, Urgon, remind his father that he had spent a month working with the MIU and Brell.

“I wouldn’t object to Brell,” asserted Stent. “As did Hetman Keelan, I’ve interacted with him, and he’s everything Culich says. He’s a perfect man to keep a tight rein on any troublemakers.”

“We’d need to provide him with security until he has the people under control,” said Culich. “I suggest we be sure the new clanspeople understand Brell has the complete backing of the conclave, which could be reinforced by temporarily stationing a dragoon regiment within the province, until such time Brell assures us they are unnecessary.”

“I agree with Hetman Keelan about the dragoons,” said Stent. “Even if they aren’t necessary, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. I will also recommend to Brell that one of the first things he does is meet with Verlan Kollar, the boyerman of the Hanslow district. I met him briefly when the Northern Force passed the city on the way to isolate Preddi Province. I believed him when he said he had argued against allying with the Narthani. He also stayed behind to help his people when other prominent Eywellese fled as the Narthani withdrew.”

Orosz pushed the remaining discussion along quickly and called for a vote. Owill Brell was unanimously supported to become hetman of Clan Brell. Culich had arranged for Owill to be occupied elsewhere until his selection was confirmed. Denes Vegga was dispatched, and a puffing Brell arrived at the conclave room. He seemed shocked when Hetman Orosz told him of the conclave’s decision.

“But I’m an Adrisian,” protested Brell.

“No longer,” said Klyngo Adris. “I’ve been proud of you as a member of Clan Adris, and I’m confident I’ll be even more proud when it’s widely recognized that an ex-Adrisian has become a competent hetman reforming a new clan.”

Brell made several more attempts to dissuade the conclave, but Yozef could see his successive protests weaken as Brell began thinking of what needed to be done and how he would do it. Yes, he’ll do fine, thought Yozef. Based on seeing him with the MIU, Yozef had first suggested Brell to Culich. I don’t think Owill will care about becoming a hetman as much as taking on a challenge.

Finally, Brell formally accepted the conclave’s offer and sat where chairs had been reserved for the Eywell, now the Brell Clan. His was the only chair now occupied of the original six chairs. Yozef bet to himself Brell was already planning.

As soon as Brell sat, Orosz moved to the last issue before the conclave.

“Sers, we now come to the question of what to do with the Preddi Clan territory. Little remains of the original Preddi Clan or its leadership. Of the ten thousand Preddi who lived through the Narthani occupation, from the original population of fifty-four thousand, half were from rural areas in the south, well away from the capital, and the other half had been made slaves. In addition, another six thousand Preddi have fled to other provinces. It is known that some of those have established lives elsewhere and have no desire to return to Preddi Province. We have estimates that perhaps three-quarters do want to return, along with their spouses and family members from other clans. This gives only about seventeen thousand citizens to repopulate the province and the main Caedellium port. The Preddi were victims of their own leadership and the Narthani. They deserve the opportunity to reestablish their clan. However, the surviving number of clan members is an issue.”

Orosz ignored possibly absorbing the remaining Preddi clanspeople and land into adjacent clans. The Brell Clan had enough to handle as it transformed into a new clan, and all the War Council members agreed it would not be favorably received if Selfcell were perceived as benefiting from the Preddi Clan’s dissolution.

“We also have another problem,” said Orosz. “What to do with the twenty thousand freed Narthani slaves in Preddi Province? We forbade the Narthani from taking any off Caedellium against their will. These former slaves are from many different peoples on Anyar, either conquered by the Narthani or traded to them from others, such as the Buldorians. They have no unifying connection to one another, except as ex-Narthani slaves. None hope to return to an original home and family, which either no longer exist or are within the Narthon Empire. We have already integrated some hundreds of them into other clans, but Yozef Kolsko has suggested a way to solve the two problems of too few surviving Preddi and the future of the former slaves by putting them together. They would have the Narthani as a common factor, albeit a negative one. We can encourage, not compel, them all to stay in Preddi to help repopulate the province. There are now empty shops, farms, mines, and whole villages. The freed slaves could start off with opportunities they never would have let themselves dream of.”

“What about those Narthani who stayed behind?” asked Hetman Mittack. “Are we to trust them, and where will they go?”

“I’m convinced these are people who hate the Narthani as much as we do,” said Orosz. “Most are from peoples recently crushed, and their families’ memories of what happened are still fresh. As for what we do with them, the easiest solution is to have them remain in Preddi Province.”

The following discussion was brief. No clan had an inherent interest in absorbing either Narthani or ex-slaves, and no animosity existed toward the surviving Preddi. By another unanimous vote, the Preddi Clan was reconstituted with an estimated thirty-nine thousand members. The problem of establishing a new leadership remained. Only one viable candidate existed. When Balwis Preddi was summoned to the conclave, his curiosity at what they wanted with him transformed into stunned disbelief. He initially protested that he knew nothing about running a clan and didn’t want the job in the first place.

His passive-aggressive adoption of the Preddi last name when he fled the Narthani came back at him. He was also the most prominent living Preddi on Caedellium, based on his promotion to command a combined mainly Preddi/ex-slave dragoon regiment when Harmon Swavebroke’s force cut the Narthani supply line. In addition, he had gained standing as the leader of the islander force that had swept through half of Preddi Province as the Narthani retreated to enclosures. Later, Yozef ran a sub rosa campaign to keep Balwis in the eyes of Preddi Province denizens. As a result, thousands of Preddi and ex-slaves saw Balwis as the personification of their liberation, whether he wanted their regard or not.

“Look, Balwis,” Yozef said, after listening to him declare he had no interest in being hetman and taking the man aside from the conclave meeting, “most clans think the Preddi were a bunch of sanctimonious pricks, always thinking themselves better. You’ve used the Preddi last name, so don’t tell me you don’t feel an affinity for your clan—at least, what’s left of it. You’re the one Preddi who has a reputation and has led men in battle against the Narthani. If you’re hetman, you can be sure the men of your regiment will have places to fit in. Then, there’s always the ‘fuck you’ factor for people who don’t believe in you.”

The last argument referenced but left unspoken Culich Keelan, who had gone ballistic when Ceinwyn Keelan informed her father she was marrying the disreputable Balwis and carrying his child. Culich’s verbal opinion of Balwis’s suitability as a husband to a hetman’s daughter led father and daughter not to speak for months. Then, Breda, Maera, and Yozef all worked on Culich until he accepted the inevitable. Ceinwyn and Culich had reconciled, but Balwis could carry a grudge. In the end, he sourly accepted and took a seat in the conclave as the new Hetman Preddi.

In the sixdays to come, Balwis’s first act as Hetman Preddi would be to bring in Wyfor Kales as his chief magistrate. The two men had developed closer ties since their mission to kill Memas Erdelin. Kales had lost an arm at Orosz City, and he hadn’t fully recovered. The medicants said he was doing well for a man fifty-five years old and with as many major injuries as his scars attested to. Nevertheless, Wyfor recognized he would never be the same, and his wife, Teena, encouraged him to find an occupation that would challenge him without requiring too much physical exertion. Whether or not he was the same man, no disgruntled ex-slave, Preddi clansperson, or ex-Narthani would risk having Kales pay him too much attention.

Balwis’s second act would be to convince Savronel Storlini to advise the new hetman on dealing with the three thousand ex-Narthani who chose to stay on Caedellium, rather than return to Narthon. Storlini was a Narthani himself but from a people conquered two generations earlier. He had no loyalty to Narthon and had defected to the clans, looking for a better life, and he had advised the MIU on Narthani customs and history.

The final action of the Neath conclave was the most contentious and the only part of the conclave where Yozef took a lead role and played the Septarsh card. Due to his insistence, his reputation, the rumors he was a Septarsh, and several casual references to, “It comes to me,” the hetman succession of the Brell and Preddi clans would take place using a version of the Keelan system: the hetman proposes a son or another male relative, and the district boyermen approve by a three-quarters vote.

Yozef argued that because the new hetmen had no family histories of leading the clans, input from boyermen would be justified and would mollify internal resentments, particularly within Eywell. Several hetmen erupted in vociferous arguments, including Nyvaks, Vandinke, and, to Yozef’s surprise, Orosz, who worried about interference with internal clan affairs. Other clans didn’t care, because they didn’t perceive it affected their clans. Yozef felt twinges of guilt, but only twinges. He was satisfied that the practice would inevitably spread. It was a small thing, but with four clans now eliminating primogeniture—Keelan, Moreland, Preddi, and Brell—he foresaw a gradual shift to more qualified leadership throughout Caedellium. Every little bit helped.

Capital

When the All-Clan Conclave adjourned, Maera waited until Yozef was momentarily alone before coming to his side and speaking softly so only he could hear.

“No one mentioned what’s happening in Orosz City, Yozef. Are they taking it for granted, or does even Father not realize the long-term significance?”

He casually glanced around to see if anyone was within hearing, then whispered back. “I think they’ve become so accustomed to Orosz City being the focal point of the united clans’ efforts against the Narthani, first for planning and then the climactic battle, that they take what’s happening for granted, instead of projecting to the future.”

“But certainly Tomis Orosz must have an inkling,” said Maera.

“Even for him it may not be obvious, although that condition can’t last much longer,” said Yozef. “Even before the conclave decided that the clans need to consider some form of central authority, Orosz City was on the way to developing into the capitol city of Caedellium. No one is talking yet as such, but past events and current plans are laying the foundation.”

Maera knew he was referring to plans for Orosz City to be the location of a military academy (aided in establishment by Reimo Kivalian), the headquarters of both the multi-campus University Caedellium and the Bank of Abersford, and the central office of Yozef’s many enterprises.

The beginning of a government complex was already under construction just west of the old city. It would house a larger, more formal conclave building, along with a building for the War Council he envisioned morphing into a department of defense. With Yozef’s encouragement, the building for the conclave was to be named the Senate Building and the name conclave replaced by calling the gathering the Senate. Because hetmen could not be in attendance at all times, and since there might be decisions needing regular input from all the clans, Yozef convinced the hetmen that there be two permanent representatives from each clan to spend half a year at Orosz City. These representatives would be known as senators. Each senator would represent the will of the hetman when he was not there himself. As the names suggested, Yozef saw this as a step toward a central legislative body, even if several generations into the future.

“Do you still think it best to introduce the other buildings one at a time, instead of all at once?” asked Maera.

“I dislike subterfuge, but I think it best. I think Tomis got tired of trying to understand why I kept pushing for so much land around the new Senate building. I’m hoping he and the other hetmen come to the realization themselves that we need departments of defense, external trade, internal commerce, and law. If not, I’ll have to try not to make it seem like I was deceiving them all along.”

“You aren’t deceiving them,” argued Maera. “You’re just providing contingencies, as you put it. When it becomes time for each department and building, you will have ensured a natural site for their location.”

“Nice try, Maera, but I wouldn’t be convinced if I were one of the hetmen.”

“Since you’re not letting all the hetmen know your thoughts, I agree it’s best not to tell a select few. However, I expect Father, Welman Stent, and Tomis Orosz will agree with everything we’ve talked about. Most of the other hetmen won’t likely make the connections.”

One other building was already planned to stand near the Senate. Yozef argued it was best to plan for unanticipated needs. The hetmen didn’t understand why such a building was needed, and Yozef didn’t explain that he envisioned the inevitable increase in the island’s central administrative activities. His proposed design seemed small and innocuous enough that they offered little resistance. He didn’t explain that the planned building was modular to allow nearly indefinite expansion to serve whatever form of central authority the hetmen settled on, assuming such a change was finally approved. Whenever questions arose about the need for extensive space between the buildings, Yozef tried reasoning, aesthetics, or, if nothing else worked, he reverted to his “It comes to me” statement, by now widely taken to mean directly from God. The realization he was giving birth to an inevitable expanding government bureaucracy nagged at his conscience.

Chapter 53: Changes

Going and Staying

Changes, expected and unexpected, marked many lives during the months after the final Narthani shipload left Caedellium.

The Kolsko household’s temporary move to Orosz City had extended indefinitely. Too much of what was happening centered around the city, but Yozef refused to say the stay was permanent. Despite his reticence, groundbreaking for a new manor house would happen in the next month. The property lay on a level bench, two miles inside the mountains overlooking Orosz City and the surrounding forested and rocky slopes. A year-round brook came from upslope, and Yozef had ordered built a rock-bottomed, walled course that wound through the property before reentering its natural flow down to larger streams. Almost ten acres of interspersed gardens and groves would provide many quiet spots for just being. The site was favored by Yozef and Anarynd, though Maera considered it too far from the city. It was also the biggest luxury Yozef allowed himself, though he could have afforded far more. His various enterprises continued to expand on the island and soon would be extended as off-island trade resumed, this time on a far grander scale than before the Narthani came. Yozef didn’t spend much time on innovations himself, as much as passing ideas on to others for development. Not all ideas panned out, but enough did to reinforce his reputation and keep increasing the rate of incoming coin.

“I know things never stay the same,” said Yozef as they sat at the table finishing mid-day meal, “but I’m going to miss the people moving back to Abersford and Caernford.”

“I still haven’t accepted how my family has changed in the last year,” said Maera. “Oh, I always knew my sisters and I would leave home to marry and move elsewhere, possibly on the other side of Caedellium, but knowing in my mind and having it happen as it has is difficult. Except for the time we lived in Abersford and then Orosz City, I’ve lived my whole life in Keelan Manor or nearby. Now, Mother, Father, and Mared are the only ones left there. Anid’s dead, Ceinwyn is in Preddi, and here I am in Orosz City.”

“You still have them, Maera,” Yozef said gently. “You just won’t see them as often, and you’ll always have memories.”

Maera stroked her forehead as if to brush away a regret. “You’re right. It’s part of how our lives evolve, and it’s not like my life isn’t full, with our family and all the work we do. A person can’t be blamed for wishing to keep everyone close that she cares about.

“We knew Diera and Sistian would have to return. He has the abbey to oversee. Although he responded to Father’s request to serve as an adviser, the major crises are over. Yet I expect he’s going to find himself more involved in affairs concerning all Caedellium than he anticipates. Diera tells me the theophists throughout the island are communicating more than before. I assume it’s a side-effect of the increasing clan cooperation.”

“Which means we’re likely to see him at least once a year, if not more,” said Yozef. “The same with Diera. I would have preferred that she be the leader of the University of Caedellium’s medicine and biology departments for all the campuses, but we’ll have to settle for her being president of the Abersford campus and dean of its medical school.”

“So many new titles, Yozef, that no one ever heard before. Your people must have a complex society to need so many labels. I’m to be chancellor of all the campuses and Diera president of one campus. I suppose I understand the need for new titles for positions we haven’t had before, but I’m afraid I still don’t see why the head of a specific department should be called the ‘chairperson.’ What does a chair have to do with being the most senior member of a department?”

He didn’t lie. “I have absolutely no idea why it’s called that. It just is.”

Maera shrugged.

“You know, Maera, on reflection, I can’t exaggerate how important the Beynom family has been for me. It was Abbot Sistian who had faith in me when he might have viewed me more cautiously, and Diera oversaw my recovery. It’s enough to make one wonder if there was a God looking after me.”

Maera eyed her husband. She still wasn’t sure whether he believed in God, not that she doubted her own faith.

“I don’t believe I ever told you, Yozef, but after I first met you, I wasn’t impressed. It was Diera who convinced me to give you a closer look.” Maera smiled. “Although I think it was related to your innovations. I’m sure she never had any idea how we would come together.”

He reached out to take her hand. “Whatever the motivation, I’m glad Diera said what she did and you listened to her.”

Yozef waved his other hand to one side. “And all I’ve introduced and accomplished comes back to Sistian and Diera helping me find a place to be accepted by most people. It could have been far different. Then there’s the two Beynom sons. Young Selmar, who was my Caedelli language tutor, and Cadwulf who helped me understand Caedelli customs, organized my records, established the first bank, and became a friend. I may miss him the most of all the Beynoms. He’s on his way to revolutionize Anyar mathematics. I showed him all I know, and he’s gone far beyond me—him and the other mathematicians on Caedellium.

“I’m not sure why he’s so adamant to return to Abersford, but it may work out well with him chairing the department of mathematics at the small Abersford campus of the university. At least, missing two fingers won’t matter in mathematics.” The eldest Beynom son had joined the people within Orosz City as they rushed to help stem the Narthani breakthrough that threatened to collapse the defensive line. Cadwulf had survived, hundreds hadn’t, but he’d lost part of his hand to grapeshot.

Yozef didn’t explain to Maera his earlier worry that the university mathematics department would be too isolated at Abersford or when he decided it would be for the best. With most mathematics development being in Abersford, the campus might draw less attention when he tried to introduce topics requiring advanced mathematics, such as quantum and nuclear physics, relativity, astrophysics, and quantum chemistry.

Yozef released Maera’s hand, and a sad expression passed over his face.

“What is it, Yozef? You’re not the best at hiding what you’re thinking, especially when we’re alone.”

He sighed. “It’s Filtin. I never even knew he was coming to Orosz City until I saw him with the carronade battery. We never spoke, and minutes later he was dead. After Carnigan and Cadwulf, he was my closest friend and in many ways the one who was the most fun to be around. I feel a little guilty, but in a way, I’m glad Nerlin and the children are moving back to Abersford to be near her brother’s and Filtin’s families. This way I won’t be sad every time I see them.”

“It’s no reason to feel guilty,” Maera assured him. “We all have such feelings. It’s not like you’ll ever forget him, and his family will be well cared for.”

Yozef had set up a pension, first for Filtin’s family, then for all the families of men and women from Abersford who were killed or wounded fighting the Narthani. Culich Keelan had followed suit for the rest of Clan Keelan, and most other clans were doing the same for their people.

Yozef changed the subject. Thinking of Filtin still brought on occasional melancholy. “I hope Ana is okay with the visitors from Moreland.”

“As do I,” said Maera. “I know she looks forward to seeing her brother, Iwun, and aunt Glynas, but she’s uncertain about the mother. After we finish here, I’ll check on how it’s going. I don’t want her stressing too much; her baby’s due soon.”

“It’s unbelievable chutzpah that the father and older brother wanted to reconcile once they learned the Moreland hetman line would pass through Ana,” said Yozef, scorn dripping from every syllable.

Maera laughed. “Hutspah?”

“Chutzpah,” repeated Yozef, correcting her pronunciations automatically before realizing he’d used a Yiddish word. “Temerity, gall. To make it worse, the first time she refused to meet with them, they came back trying to lay a guilt trip on her about loyalty to the family! Assholes.”

“Well, it’s not as if she ever remembers being close to the two of them,” said Maera, “but the mother is the mother, a connection hard to break, no matter the history. And then there was the letter.” Gwenda Moreland had sent a letter begging forgiveness, the letter written by Aunt Glynas’s husband, because no Moreland family woman could write, except for Anarynd.

“I think the news about Aunt Tilda was a factor. Something that hit both Anarynd and her mother hard,” said Yozef.

Anarynd had asked Yozef to look for her aunt Tilda, taken into slavery with Anarynd during the Eywellese raid into Moreland. Despite the careful identification of Narthani slaves within Preddi Province, there was no sign of Tilda. The Narthani didn’t keep records of slaves’ original names, and Yozef regretfully told Anarynd her aunt likely was either dead or had been shipped off Caedellium before the Narthani defeat. Anarynd had thanked him and sat by herself on the veranda for two hours before coming to evening meal. Anarynd later wrote the news to Aunt Glynas, sister of both Anarynd’s mother and Aunt Tilda.

“I’m also finding how much I miss Balwis and Wyfor, now that they’re both in Preddi,” said Yozef. “After everything that’s happened, it feels odd not to have them lurking around, watching for dangers.”

“I confess I was uneasy about them both at first,” said Maera. “But, as I’ve heard you phrase it, they tend to grow on you. There’s certainly no question about their loyalty to you. However, while you and I might both miss them, I thank God they’re no longer needed to protect you and the rest of our family.”

“But enough sad reflection,” said Yozef. “I . . . we . . . need to remember not everyone has left or will leave Orosz City. We still have Carnigan and Gwyned. We’ll see them regularly.”

“I glad it’s working out for them. Both seem happy. Carnigan has a position he feels useful filling, and they have their family.”

Carnigan, released from probation and the necessity to serve as Yozef’s bodyguard, had needed a profession. He and Gwyned wed, and a red-headed, ten-pound baby appeared five months later. Tomis Orosz approached Carnigan to serve as the head of a rehabilitation facility for miscreants and minor criminals. Carnigan’s experience, his size and reputation, and his relationship to Yozef Kolsko gave him the gravitas that few sent to the facility would trifle with, and he flourished in the role. Stern and formidable in handling hard cases, the big man was sensitive and forgiving for those who recognized they needed help. Yozef still had not learned what Carnigan had done to be put on probation.

“And Rhaedri,” said Yozef. “He and I manage to talk at least once a sixday.”

Rhaedri Brison stayed in Orosz City. He refused a formal position but became a regular fixture in St. Wyan’s Abbey and continued working on his commentaries. He complained humorously to Yozef that the new ideas Yozef had introduced and the island’s sudden opening to the greater world had made him rethink some of his passages, and he needed another twenty years to finish. Since no one knew his exact age . . . who could guess?

“I wish it hadn’t taken Brak’s death to bring Elian back to us,” said Maera.

Both of them quietly remembered their first meetings with the elderly Abersford couple who could have been beaten down by the toils of life but who held on to their love of each other and their self-respect to perform whatever work was required as well as they could. When Brak Faughn passed, Elian remained in good health. The husband of one of her daughters was a builder who found long-term employment in constructing the new government complex, so Elian moved to Orosz City. That way she could be near her daughter’s family and have a position with the Kolsko household cooking and doing part-time child care. She missed Brak, but memories of him and being busy with family and Kolsko affairs filled her life.

“As happens in life, we’ll meet new people who we’ll become close to,” said Maera. “Eina Saisannin and Reimo Kivalian are only two examples.”

Reimo Kivalian stayed as a military liaison to the clans. He expanded his rushed course in military tactics and was helping plan a more formal military academy with the aid of instructors sent later from Fuomon. He and Yozef engaged in interesting and occasionally rancorous discussions on strategy and tactics. The Fuomi’s personal experience and knowledge of Anyarian military history and theory, coupled with Yozef’s memory of readings, movies, and video games, made for a synthesis with unanticipated future influence. Reimo also helped fill the role of lost Filtin, and they, along with Carnigan and Denes Vegga, became a famous foursome twice a month at the Snarling Graeko 3 pub in Orosz City.

Eina Saisannin’s temporary role as the Fuomon ambassador to Caedellium became longer term with her family’s relocation to Caedellium, and the two families were frequent dinner companions.

Yozef finished a last bite of a purplish melon whose taste reminded him of strawberries. “Maybe we should check how Anarynd’s making out with the evil witch . . . err . . . her mother.”

Maera giggled. “I know that’s what Ana has called her, but let’s hope she’ll ameliorate that description.”

The Kolsko Family

As the months passed, change continued with the Kolskos. Anarynd gave birth and fulfilled her prediction she would have a son. What she hadn’t predicted was that she would also have a daughter, born thirty minutes before the boy. Afterward, she remembered that twins ran in her mother’s family. When naming time came, everyone again turned to Yozef. The uniqueness of Aragorn and Aeneas led people to expect more novel names, and Yozef was tickled to comply. Also, he wondered who would remember a Joseph Colsco if one day Earth and Anyar came into contact and his journals were lost. His name might be found in Anyar histories, but who would connect Yozef Kolsko with Joseph Colsco? Yet Aragorn and Aeneas already existed. By chance, someone might make a connection using all the names together, so why not add more? Thus, Anarynd’s two children became Odysius and Xena. The variation on Odysseus was too good to pass up, and he’d had a crush on Lucy Lawless, watching her reruns as he entered puberty.

Not that the naming would likely end any time soon. Maera was pregnant again. They had already agreed to name a daughter Anid, in loving memory of Maera’s sister killed during the attack on Keelan Manor. If a son, he would be Linkun. In a frivolous moment, Yozef had considered Achilles, Aesop, and Abraham to keep using names beginning in “A,” but he had quickly quashed the thought. The movie Lincoln with Daniel Day-Lewis was one of his favorites.

Maera gave up on finding a suitable family member to raise Dwyna Killin, the child of Aeneas’s first wet nurse, killed in the assassination attempt on Culich. The Kolsko women and friends would care for Dwyna. No one ever settled exactly who Dwyna’s new parents were, but the role seemed to rotate among Gwyned, Anarynd, Maera, Yozef, and Carnigan.

And how did he feel about this growing family? Stressed at times because he already felt that he didn’t spend enough time with the children. Not that they lacked attention. With two mothers, friends, nurses, and other servants, the household never had a shortage of people to look after the children, just not often the father. Given all the other demands on his time, he tried to resign himself to doing the best he could.

In addition to the children, in his heart of hearts, he still felt ambivalent about marrying Anarynd. It had seemed a rational decision at the time, and he had not resisted long against Maera’s push, but it complicated his life and feelings. There was no reason or easy avenue for him to back out. He never doubted he was fond of her—perhaps more than fond, perhaps love. But it was Maera whom he thought of first when the word wife came to mind. He did his best to treat them equally and to make them believe he valued them the same. He would never know how well he succeeded, but he believed Anarynd was content, though he never convinced himself Maera was fooled.

Not that there weren’t obvious differences between them. Anarynd was content managing the household—more accurately, a manor or an estate—what with the three of them, the children, and a dozen groundskeepers, housekeepers, grooms, nurses, and other assorted people connected to the estate. The flighty and somewhat frivolous young woman who had been Anarynd was gone, replaced by a mature woman who found joy in life mainly restricted to her family and a small number of other friends and relatives. She resisted formal duties as the mother of the future Moreland hetman unless necessary, such as spending one month each year in Moreland Province with Odysius to help solidify his claim. If the current, childless hetman died before Odysius reached adulthood, a regent council would control the Moreland Clan, and Yozef had committed to accompanying the mother and child on the Moreland visits each year—at least, for part of the visit. The reminder that Yozef Kolsko was the boy’s father and the heir’s mother was Kolsko’s wife would do wonders to suppress any tendencies to dispute the planned succession.

However, Anarynd decided knowing more of the island and the world was demanded of the wife of Yozef Kolsko and the future mother of Hetman Moreland. With both spouses’ help, she became the student she had never been.

In many ways, Maera was the mirror of Anarynd. She would do her best to play the roles of mother and home keeper, but for the most part, her outside activities fueled her. Not that she wasn’t an attentive mother, but it didn’t come as naturally as with Anarynd.

Yozef’s ambivalence was echoed elsewhere. In the time between the Battle of Moreland City and the final campaign against the Narthani, eight thousand widows were created, which, along with the normal slight excess of women over men on Anyar, meant women had a difficult time finding husbands. In addition, sixteen thousand children had become fatherless. Before returning to Abersford, Abbot Sistian Beynom took part in a meeting of Caedellium theophists. They discussed several topics, but the one that encouraged multiple marriages for the current generation resulted in what passed for an encyclical on Caedellium. Because neither the Word nor the Commentaries forbade multiple wives, the practice couldn’t be forbidden, but the theophists’ clear intent was to discourage multiple marriages once the normal man/woman ratio returned in the next generation. Yozef didn’t participate in the theophists’ meeting, although when Rhaedri Brison asked his opinion, he told the elderly theophist, and possibly the future declared Septarsh, that he agreed. He didn’t tell Rhaedri that he wondered what to do about the natural imbalance caused by slightly more girl babies than boys—the opposite of on Earth. He suspected that encouraging the practice in the current generation would carry over to a more tolerant view out of simple necessity.

No formal leadership positions existed yet for women on Caedellium, but things would change over time. Yozef had let it be known—“It comes to me” was his exact phrasing—that girls had to receive the same basic education as boys, a mandate resisted by many even if it came from Yozef Kolsko. It was still ingrained in people’s minds that the primary role of a woman was in the home. Yozef knew change couldn’t happen instantly, but he could plant seeds. Schooling was one such seed. Formally making Maera an adviser with a title and her role as chancellor of the University of Caedellium was a second seed.

Yozef appointed women as deans (a new title) to two of the three medical schools under development, including the one in Abersford with Diera Beynom as the dean, along with being president of the campus. The other medical school led by a woman was in Farkesh Province. The latter provided the most local resistance, quickly quashed by Feren Bakalacs, a hetman whom people were wise not to irritate. Yozef would also work to see opportunities open up for women’s leadership roles at more local levels.

The Kolsko household and the Puveys were not the only source of new life. Ceinwyn bore a son. When naming day came in the newly reconsecrated Cathedral of St. Elnor in Preddi City, Balwis rose and declared the baby’s name to be Yozef Preddi. In future years, confusion would reign in many Caedellium classrooms when the teacher called on “Yozef.” There were so many boys with that first name that people commonly used both names: Yozef Preddi, Yozef Manescu, Yozef Hewell, Yozef Sildew, on and on. In some classes, in some provinces, teachers began using full names for all students.

And those classrooms would be full for a generation. In addition to more emphasis on schooling, the number of babies conceived within six months before and after the Battle of Orosz City would require major increases in the number of teachers. Clanspeople everywhere on Caedellium had, like Ceinwyn, grasped for any shred of life with both hands before the battle and afterward.

At Sea

One consequence of both Rintala’s and Akuyun’s reports and personal accounts was that both Narthon and Fuomon searched for Amerika in the same corners of Anyar: the Krinolin continent, the lesser-known coasts of Ganolar, and the Great Ocean covering one hemisphere of Anyar. Chance encounters of enemy ships occurred off islands no one had ever visited, usually resulting in captains keeping a wary distance. On a few occasions, though, cannon fire was exchanged, and one engagement resulted in both ships vanishing. The maps of Anyar improved from records of these voyages, but searches failed to find Amerika.

Above Anyar

In the months following the Narthani defeat, another entity underwent changes. Whether the AI circling Anyar was sentient could be argued, but either way, it made a decision—the second one it had been obligated to make concerning the small island west of the continents. For the second time, it had observed major battles on the island. The difference this time was that the number of participants was much greater than previous. Triggered subroutines required more information, and a cloaked drone had been deployed to the island to provide more detailed data—the first time the AI had utilized that resource. Before returning to orbit, the drone, operated by a lesser AI, reported flashes of fire that its databases correlated with hydrocarbon-based incendiary devices, what appeared to be minefields, and the utilization of a hot-air balloon.

A message was dispatched to the AI’s creators, along with relevant recordings and notification that the geosynchronous orbit of an observation satellite had been changed to allow constant direct overhead monitoring of the island. The final change in the AI’s routine reported to its creators was the intent for periodic instead of ad hoc updates on the island.

On that island, a minor change, one that existed only for a few minutes on three occasions before reverting to previous states, occurred at several locations on Caedellium. Egg-shaped, mineral- or crystalline-appearing structures sitting with two-thirds of their oval shapes extending out of rock emitted a low hum and grew slightly warmer. A series of flickers passed from the apex to the rock base. However, no human witnessed the changes. A yellow murvor took to flight, squawking when the round surface it had landed on gave it a small shock, and a guinea pig–sized Anyarian mammal that approached to investigate a humming, turned and ran off when its hairs raised from electrostatic charges.

Epilogue

To others, an enigma paced the room, the click of his heels on the polished plank floor synchronized to alternate heartbeats. Yet he didn’t think of himself as an enigma but as an imposter.

None of them knew the truth. How could they? Or maybe he was a mirage, something they wanted to exist so badly that nothing would shake their unwavering belief.

A light appeared in the corner of his vision. He turned his head toward the source—a full moon peeking through an open window. The second moon had already set. The scent of coralin vine flowers, pungent and sweet, wafted into the room. Once he’d thought the odor alien, but now he pulled the aroma deep into his lungs, anchoring himself.

“If I could just once see the one big moon again, the one I was born under, or smell jasmine or pines,” he whispered to the gathering early evening light. In past times, such longing had been a probing knife, though those days were gone.

“We’ll be ready in a few minutes,” called a woman’s voice from the next room.

“That’s fine,” he responded.

Take all the time you want, he thought. Take forever, or go without me.

All he had wanted when he first awoke on Anyar was to be back on Earth. Then, when he came to accept that this was going to be his life, he wanted to find a place to live out his life with a degree of security, comfort, and some meaning. The latter, he thought, would be to introduce knowledge he brought with him from Earth. The early times, when he miraculously produced ether and kerosene, both helped the people here and brought him lifestyle security.

This Yozef Kolsko found himself with a big and growing family. Not for the first time, he wondered whether, if he had a choice, he would opt to go back to the old Joseph Colsco or remain Yozef Kolsko with all that entailed. The answer was not automatic. He had no doubt that here he made a difference, while on Earth his time would most likely have passed with little notice in the grand scheme of history. He felt satisfaction that here he could see his impact.

He also found himself, at moments, enjoying his status and worrying about enjoying it too much. He had given up denying he was a Septarsh, which only fueled the growing legend. He had once overheard hetmen Skouks and Bultecki talking during a meeting break. Skouks commented that Yozef had finally quit denying he was a Septarsh, which showed that he truly was one. Either way, Yozef’s words would not change their minds. And who was he to say? The story was that Septarshes seldom, if ever, admitted God spoke to them and that what they believed about themselves was irrelevant. They were vessels through whom God spoke to the people. If the criterion was that the Septarsh changed the world for the better, then did he not qualify, no matter his own beliefs? Would his acting the role eventually change him so that he believed it and acted accordingly? Would he still be the same person, and would that make any difference?

He still waited for the rest of the family. Gwyned and Elian were helping, but it was a once-in-a-generation event, and Maera and Anarynd would have everyone looking perfect—at least, to their judgment.

He turned from the window and strode to stand before a full-length mirror framed in fine-grained kaskor wood. A stranger stared back, wearing a plain but finely tailored dark brown suit of clothes, each piece carefully made by the best of their trades on the island. Others had wanted a more ornate ensemble, but Yozef had insisted on plain. He won that fight but didn’t try to argue against the quality of the items, which would have equaled a year’s income of most island families. He couldn’t win all arguments and knew he shouldn’t try.

He looked at the mirror again. The man in the reflection had brown hair. It had darkened in the first year after his arrival, now with only streaks of the original color left. How his hair had darkened, he didn’t know, although he assumed it was tied to what the Watchers had done to him. He saw a medium-height man with a sturdy physique—very different from his doppelganger on Earth.

A scar ran from the edge of his forehead to above the right ear, the combination of two different wounds, one gotten at Moreland City and the other at Orosz City. He had a noticeable limp when both men turned sideways for complementary side views. They each raised one hand to gently stroke their head scars, while their other hands reached down to rub the shins below the knees.

“Nothing we can do about the head scars,” the medicants had told him. “The limp and ache in your leg will fade with time, although you may notice them during cold and damp weather.”

Not mentioned was the third scar, angry across his right side. The injury had healed after he nearly died. He remembered all three times: the first impact on his leg and the pain that came only later; a searing sensation as a jagged wood fragment slashed his head; and the flash of light and then darkness, awakening to agony. Scars and a limp as lifelong companions, the scars always visible and the limp and ache recurring enough for him to remember how he got them.

At this moment, those eyes were almost . . . sad. He looked into his future, and it wasn’t what he would have planned for himself. The time at Abersford, after he initially accepted that his life would be on this alien planet and up through his marriage to Maera and when the Narthani threat forced their move, was the most contented time of his life. Even now, he often hesitated to think they were the happiest times—after all, what was happiness?

He knew he would never regain that time. He would have been perfectly content living out his life in Abersford. His enterprises, friends, the abbey, his retreat cottage, the secret places he found west of the town and the abbey, and Maera.

Although that fantasy was gone, he tried to hold on to a small piece of it. He had already told everyone that he would be going on a retreat to his cottage for two or three sixdays every year. It would be included with visits to Caernford, St. Sidryn’s, and the shops still in Abersford and to see his son Aragorn so the boy would have a connection to his father. In truth, he valued the time at the expanded cottage the most. To his discomfort, it came above the desire to see Aragorn.

He would never finish his ledgers. His memory still held more snapshots of texts than he could write down if he worked full time the rest of his life. He had worked on his clearest memories, usually classes he had found most interesting. However, he found that if he concentrated, he could often recover textbook sections he had assumed were missing in his recall or entirely new readings he hadn’t thought part of his enhanced memory. Disconcerted, he realized only recently the sporadic nature of the recall. Text that he previously envisioned clearly now occasionally vanished, and previous gaps were suddenly filled. It worried him that the effect wasn’t constant.

He struggled to find an hour a day to write—too often failing. He told himself he had already transferred or written down enough to push Anyar science centuries ahead of where it would have been, yet that didn’t seem to satisfy him. The personal ledgers were another matter. After describing how he came to Anyar, they turned into a detailed diary. Someday it would be an invaluable record of these years—once it was translated.

He had four sets of ledgers. For science, there was his memory recall of texts—in English. These he translated into a second set in Caedelli. A third set was his diary, and the fourth set consisted of facts about, and the history of, humans on Earth. No one on Anyar would know the contents of the English sets in his lifetime. He had also worked on an English-Caedelli grammar and dictionary—enough that once others had access, they would be able to translate the unbelievable tale of how the mysterious Yozef Kolsko was in reality an otherwise unremarkable chemistry graduate student from a planet called Earth somewhere else in the galaxy. He would attempt to pass on the journals to someone to keep them safe. He’d tried and failed, yet, to come up with criteria to reveal them.

More voices. Soon they would come for him. He looked deep into the eyes in the mirror, eyes that could hold anyone’s focus: a rare pale color that in different lights changed chameleon-like among shades of blue, gray, and sometimes an unidentifiable hue, unsettling the object of their attention. Not that he realized the effect.

He remembered himself as young, with an unassuming form, a confident pleased-with-himself manner, a secure and comfortable future, and no urge for noble commitments. A man who knew his place in life and was content. In contrast, while the man in the mirror might appear young, a closer look belied the impression. Not that the face was older, merely more lived. A determined face, a face with responsibilities, with resignation, with apprehension, a face foreseeing an unchosen future.

The man standing before the mirror remembered who he had been, while part of the man in the mirror longed for the same, someone with a quiet, unexciting life. Someone without monumental responsibilities. A different life from that of the man in the mirror, a man who had seen much, accomplished much, and lived thirty years in the last five. He was a man who knew his life would not be quiet. It would be a meaningful life, one with joys and darkness, a life of making a difference, but also a life of burdens as heavy as a mountain. Both men recognized an irrevocable moment; after today, there would be no turning back. The parting smile needed no words because the men knew they would not see each other again. A smile of melancholy farewell. As they stared at each other, the man before the mirror morphed until the two men became one. He shifted his shoulders to adjust the new suit of clothes.

Voices again. The women’s voices he recognized, one in particular. She and others had told him this day was stirring, exhilarating, inspirational, and other words holding no weight for him. They were words he didn’t want to hear, words whispering “duty,” even if not voiced. She chided him for behaving as if it were an appointment to have his teeth pulled. In her annoyed remonstrations, she would never understand the depth of his reluctance. His acceptance would never be matched by any yearning for what others assumed for him—or themselves.

The relatively few pieces of his attire meant that he was the first to be ready. Maera and Anarynd would take considerably more time, both for themselves and to supervise readying the four children. In addition to their three, Aragorn would be there. Bronwyn and her entire family had traveled from Abersford for the occasion—along with tens of thousands from all over the island.

Not nearly as many had come to Orosz City for the event as had been sheltered there during the invasion, but those who were here were concentrated in a natural bowl that had been specifically developed as an outdoor amphitheater for the occasion. Yozef had visited the site the previous day, curious about where the event would take place. He saw enough torches to account for a small forest and enough kerosene lanterns to light every building in Orosz City. At the center stood three twenty-foot-tall menorah-shaped bronze structures made from captured Narthani cannon. Each menorah had twenty-one large lanterns—a lantern for each clan. Yozef had voiced disappointment about losing the cannon, but the objects were intended to be historical artifacts that would travel to each clan on a rotation.

Yozef had attempted to dampen the ceremonial plans, but he accepted the recognition needed for such a major change in Caedellium culture. Maera had told him so, along with Anarynd, Culich, Rhaedri, Sistian, on and on—and of course, Carnigan several times.

The same people and a third of the hetmen had countered his hesitancy in accepting. After it was first proposed, he’d refused outright, but he finally became resigned to the arguments from all members of the now-lapsed War Council, other hetmen, the Fuomi leaders, Maera and Anarynd, and the cruelest betrayal—Carnigan. His own preferences ended up being shunted so far into the background, he struggled to find them.

When everyone was ready, they would take a carriage to the amphitheater, escorted by representatives and banners of every clan. At the amphitheater, a program would commence with speeches, music, and, at the end, the formal recognition of Yozef Kolsko, Paramount Hetman of Caedellium, a step above all clan hetmen, and leader of eight hundred thousand people whose language he didn’t speak five years ago, with the potential to push the entire planet’s civilization centuries ahead.

No one had defined exactly what were the duties and powers of the office and the title. He remembered seeing a PBS series about the Adams family—presidents, not ghouls. John Adams was the first vice president and presided over the Senate. As here, there were no rules or traditions to guide the new Senate. Adams either made them up as they went along or insisted the members make decisions that became powers and traditions. Yozef knew that he would be doing the same. His stock with the Caedelli and the hetmen was such that at least for some time, he could probably dictate traditions that would last. He would have to be careful and not take advantage of the opportunity to be frivolous. Not that he felt jolly at all that he could foresee. Call it intuition. Call it intelligent extrapolation. Call it clairvoyance. Call it pessimism. Whatever it was, he thought he could see into his future.

He had so much to do! Not just his journals and all the ongoing projects. How he would accomplish everything he wished would be difficult on Caedellium with the island’s current or projected infrastructure. Steam engines, railroads, wire and wireless telegraph, a real chemical industry, pushing scientific and medical knowledge as fast as the people of Anyar could absorb it, and carefully edging the Caedelli and others toward social and political reforms. He would do what he could to spread knowledge beyond Caedellium, both to advance the entire planet and to make the island a less attractive target. The Narthani were not the only potential people to worry about. Yozef had not spent as much time with Gaya, the Landoliner, as he wanted, but from what he learned, the Landolin political entities, while among the most cultured on Anyar, had a superiority complex and ruthlessness just below a smoother surface. Then there was the Iraquinik Confederation, an alliance of feudal nations that might have been a serious threat to the rest of Anyar if their attention didn’t focus on the Narthani.

His ruminations were interrupted when the rest of the family flowed into the main hall. Maera and Anarynd wore identical dresses of two shades of green with white trimmings. They knew green was his favorite color and had dressed the same to emphasize their unity as his wives. The children were carried by nurses to prevent the mothers from having their carefully crafted appearances disturbed—an affectation neither of them would have normally considered, except for the importance of the occasion.

Questions. There would always be questions: Did all this really happen? Am I insane? Has it been nothing more than a dream? A nightmare? Who am I? Do I even exist? Will there ever be answers? Who really are the Watchers? Will I ever encounter them again? Will I find more clues about the other aliens that transplanted Earth life forms to Anyar? Have I seen the last of the Narthani? Was being cast among the Caedelli serendipity? What if I had been found on a shore of Narthon or somewhere else on Anyar? If it’s all been real, were there other survivors, and what happened to them? Are there transplanted humans on other planets? Will I ever be able to reveal where I came from? A wry smile followed the questions, and a gentle shake of head attested to his expectation. He doubted there would be many answers.

Again, not for the first time, he smiled at himself. He knew such internal dialogues would continue the rest of his life. He would always feel a degree of sadness about never quite fitting his roles. But such reservations aside, it would be a good life. He would accomplish much. Caedellium would prosper, and he would leave children who would pass on the nano-elements the Watchers had given him to save him after the plane collision. Someday his journals would be translated, and the people of Anyar would learn of their unsuspected place in the universe. The Narthani were still out there, believing in their destiny to rule the entire planet—something would have to be done about them. He had universities to build, journals to write, island clans to mold into a unified structure, a family—it was going to be a busy life.

THE END OF BOOK 4

Major Characters

Adris, Klyngo. Hetman of the Adris Clan

Akuyun, Okan. Commander of the Narthani mission to conquer Caedellium

Akuyun, Rabia. Wife of Okan

Avan, Kamil. Narthani general; Gullar’s second-in-command

Bakalacs, Feren. Hetman of the Farkesh Clan

Balcan, Mamduk. Narthani religious prelate

Beynom, Cadwulf. Mathematics scholastic; son of Diera and Sistian; friend and employee of Yozef.

Beynom, Diera. A medicant; abbess of St. Sidryn’s abbey; wife of Sistian

Beynom, Sistian. A theophist; abbot of St. Sidryn’s abbey; husband of Diera

Bevans, Zitwyn. Hetman of the Bevans Clan

Bolwyn, Elton. A medicant at St. Sidryn’s abbey

Brell, Owill. Keelander head of the Military Intelligence Unit

Brison, Rhaedri. Most respected theophist on Caedellium

Bultecki, Teresz. Hetman of the Bultecki Clan

Dimir, Ekram. Narthani admiral

Elsworth, Abelard. Abbot of St. Xyllos abbey; temporary Moreland Clan leader

Faughns, Brak and Elian. Elderly home staff couple of Yozef’s

Fuller, Filtin. Skilled worker and friend to Yozef

Gaya, Rhanjur. Landolin diplomat

Gullar, Dursun. Narthani Marshal, commander of the Twenty-Ninth Corps

Gwillamer, Cadoc. Hetman of the Gwillamer Clan

Harlie. Name given by Yozef to the alien artificial intelligence created to interact with Yozef

Havant, Esyl (a.k.a. Istem Sokulu). Narthani spy

Hewell, Lordum. Hetman of the Hewell Clan

Hizer, Sadek. Narthani assessor reporting directly to the Narthani High Command

Jurna, Jomzik. Narthani colonel taking Erdelin’s place

Kalcan, Morfred. Narthani naval commander

Kales, Wyfor. Abersford citizen; Yozef’s tutor for blade fighting and occasional bodyguard

Keelan, Breda. Wife of Culich; mother of Maera

Keelan, Anid. Third daughter of Culich and Breda. Deceased.

Keelan, Ceinwyn. Second daughter of Culich and Breda

Keelan, Culich. Hetman of Clan Keelan; father of Maera

Keelan, Maera. Eldest daughter of Culich and Breda; wife of Yozef

Keelan, Mared. Youngest daughter of Culich and Breda

Kennrick, Pedr. Adviser to Hetman Culich Keelan

Ketin, Erkan. Narthani colonel

Kivalian, Reimo. Fuomi marine commander

Kolsko, Yozef (a.k.a. Joseph Colsco). California chemistry graduate student who boards an ill-fated flight to a conference and meets an unimagined future

Kyllo, Vilho. Fuomi navy commodore

Langor, Roblyn. Hetman of the Selfcell clan

Linton (Merton), Bronwyn. Owner of a farm near Abersford; mother of Aragorn, Yozef’s son

Luwis, Vortig. Adviser to Hetman Culich Keelan

Luwis, Mulron. Son of Vortig Luwis; commander of the Caernford garrison

Metan, Nuthrat. Narthani colonel

Mittack, Hulwyn. Hetman of the Mittack Clan

Moreland, Anarynd (a.k.a. Ana). Friend of Maera Keelan, related to the Moreland Clan hetman.

Orosz, Tomis. Hetman of the Orosz Clan

Preddi, Balwis. Escaped Preddi clansman who takes the Preddi name; guard for Yozef

Puvey, Carnigan. Physically imposing guard and friend of Yozef

Reese, Braithe. Wet nurse to Aeneas. Wife of Gowlin

Reese, Gowlin. Guard to Kolsko family. Husband of Braithe

Rintala, Jaako. Commander of the Fuomi mission to Caedellium

Saisannin, Eina. Fuomi diplomat and adviser to Rintala

Stent, Welman. Hetman of the Stent Clan; a senior commander of the clan fighting forces

Swavebroke, Harmon. Hetman of the Swavebroke Clan

Tuzere, Nizam. Narthani civilian administrator

Vega, Denes. Magistrate and sheriff-equivalent in the town of Abersford; a senior commander of the clan fighting forces

Vorwich, Longnor. Keelan Clan boyerman (district chief) of Abersford and the St. Sidryn’s area

Walstyn, Gwyned. Ex-Narthani slave; friend of Anarynd

Watchers. Name given by Yozef to the aliens whose spacecraft destroyed his plane to Chicago. Creators of AI Harlie

Zulfa, Aivacs. Brigadier; commander of the Narthani group troops on Caedellium

About the Author

Olan Thorensen is a pen name. He’s a long-time science fiction fan (emphasis on ‘long’) who has 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, and 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.

Please email me with any comments at olanthorensen@gmail.com or through my web site at olanthorensen.com where color maps of Anyar are available. I promise to read all emails, though I won’t be able to answer personally every one.

Reviews

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Acknowledgments

Thanks to my wife, Kathleen, for encouragement, tolerating my sequestering away for endless hours writing and revising, and for reading drafts. Thanks to editors Felicia Sullivan and Patricia Waldygo. Proofing by Jessica Meigs. Cover by Damonza.com.