| |
Anders had to put his shield up, turning his left hand, last two fingers down, thumb alongside his palm, as arrows tried to hit him. That was his fault, walking out into the battlefield, to confront the giant beast who stood there. Except that, of course, the being wasn’t an animal at all. It was a person.
If one who was clearly getting ready to bite him in two. It was larger than a big ox, by nearly three times, with a massive head and a mouth filled with sharp seeming teeth.
“Hello!” He called out in the tongue of his own birth. It would sound a bit accented to the being in front of him, but should be understandable. “This is a bit far away from Lornistan, isn’t it?”
His tone was affable he thought. Not fearful, either.
The great beast, who wasn’t one of those at all, gave him a look that seemed to carry a grin with it. Like a dog might hold on its face, except done on purpose.
“Someone who can speak properly? Finally! These tiny creatures keep dragging me around on a cart, tying me to it. I could break the ropes, but then they poke me with their sharp sticks. I was supposed to come to the cold north, to fight in a war, but truthfully, I’ve been moving from place to place for nearly a year, not understanding what’s going on at all. You... seem to be on the other side?”
He nodded, since that was simply the truth.
“Yes. Things have changed. Both Rothina and Ganges are on our side now. I’m Anders Brolly. I used to be Farad Ibn Istel. I lived a few miles outside of what is now Lornistan, in fact, over a thousand years ago.”
The big creature gave him a curious look, arrows still falling on Anders, who held his shield in place, and otherwise ignored them. Nothing hit the Lerna, thankfully.
The voice, which was deep, but very clear, came out politely.
“I can’t really just give over, because you say I should. I don’t suppose you can prove you are who you say? I was told to come and do what these men wanted. I’d kind of gotten the impression that one of them was supposed to marry me, to be truthful. Instead, the only poking they give me is with a spear point, as they grunt at me in their strange language. They feed me, but... I think they don’t know I’m a person.”
“That’s less than perfect of them. We, of course, understand that you’re far more than they assume, naturally. Now, proof... Let me...”
He looked around, then waved, intending it for Ganges, who seemed to understand. He walked out onto the battlefield a few moments later. Instead of putting up a shield, he simply walked, the arrows passing through him, instead of landing at all.
When he got about three paces from the Lerna, he called out.
“Saffron? So nice to see you! I wasn’t aware that you were way up here. You’ve met Anders? He’s an old friend of mine.”
“I have. He seems very kind, great-grandfather. Now, am I supposed to turn to this other side? I’m not certain. This man mentioned that we’re on his side, now?”
Ganges looked past them, toward where the King of Yanse, Yarler, was sitting on a golden steed, his armor a rich golden color. He looked good, Anders had to admit. Not handsome, as much as regal.
“That’s right. Though, for the moment, you should probably move to the side, so that no one gets confused and attacks you. It’s too hard to explain that you’re on our side and would be unfair, to have you turn and attack those of Yanse. Your friends, no doubt?”
The Lerna shrugged her vast shoulders, which seemed very much like what Ganges often did.
“Not truly. The language barrier kept us from growing close at all. I’d hoped to meet someone, but... no. Of course, not trusting them, I stayed in my battle form, which I’m certain made that harder for them. I normally look prettier than this.”
Ganges walked with her, to the left of the battle, nothing touching either of them as Anders had to walk backwards, holding his shield, being targeted by arrows the whole time. Then he started fighting again, the arrows being returned from his side of the line, thousands of the enemy falling at once each time one of his arrows fell.
The other war mages were taking nearly as many, so a parley flag was being flown, about ten minutes later. Their side sent a Captain out, to speak to what seemed to be a well-appointed and outfitted knight. Anders only knew that they weren’t supposed to keep fighting, for the time being. When the Captain returned, he failed to speak to Anders at all, going back to the General, who was, after all, in control of their side of things.
Then, after two more exchanges, everyone standing there, not knowing what was going on, the Yansian side laid their weapons on the ground and simply stood there. Surrendering.
They didn’t seem happy with it, but they were standing in piles of bodies, so it seemed like the better plan. Fighting really hadn’t worked for them that well, so far. The men around him cheered, but Anders didn’t bother doing that. He was too tired. Too sick of fighting, to think that it was over yet.
There was a lot more standing then, and finally the army moving out to take the remaining five thousand Yansian knights and soldiers prisoner. They were stripped of their armor, the women set to the side. Even if rape hadn’t been allowed so far, the men started to strip the women of their clothing, beating them and demanding they spread their legs. It was done rudely, as well, and not even in their language.
Anders walked forward then, and simply killed the men doing such things, without warning. Ones from his own side. That got the others to stop what they were doing, after the first ten died.
“We do not harm those surrendered in battle. Show respect.”
He readied himself to fight, and wasn’t too shocked when he had to do it. People were made to explode, stumbled back and hit by blasts of lightning, taking about twenty more, over the next minutes. Then they pulled back, with General Coelder riding over. He looked wild eyed, but when he bellowed, it wasn’t with an order to attack Anders.
“Hold or die! We have brokered a peaceful surrender here. Now, you fools, hold! Fall in. Fall in!”
He turned his horse, to face Anders, seeming a bit annoyed.
“Thank you, Master Brolly, we should have this now. If you would see to the safety of these ladies? Perhaps healing? Our apologies, as well?” The tone was uneasy, and when Anders touched his mind, the reason for that was due to fear. He didn’t know if Anders would strike him down for failing to control his forces earlier.
“I will, General Coelder.”
There were over a hundred women, most of them fighters, but some mages and in a few cases, something else that he didn’t understand. They were all happy enough not to be raped and by the time he spoke a dozen lines to them, the others in his group came to stand beside him.
All except Prince Erold, who was busy, treating with the King there.
Depak moved to stand near him, with Princess Salina turned the other way, facing behind them. Her hand in a fist, ready to fight, it seemed. It was fierce looking, her eyes being dark with anger.
Anders waved at the women again.
“We have guards for you, now. Forgive our lateness to this. We... expected better of our men. Truly, they’ve been well behaved, so far. Now, we have healing for any who are harmed and I could get your names? General Coelder also asked that I convey our apologies for what took place here. I am sorry, as is the Kingdom of Istlan.” He bowed then, going low and holding it for nearly a minute.
Finally, the women there did it back. Then, after a while, he started writing and speaking to each lady in turn.
They were tallying names and numbers, as well as doing some light healing, when a rather scared seeming boy of Yanse, dressed in a plain tunic and black loose-fitting trousers walked up to them, his voice shaking.
“I seek Prince Anders Brolly, if it pleases you, my lords?” He spoke his own language, meaning Anders heard and understood him first.
“Here! What may I do for you, Sir?” The young man, who was probably ten or so, turned to him and visibly relaxed.
“I was sent, by your Prince, Erold? He asks for you to come and translate for him, I think? Several there can speak Istlan tongue, but no one does it well enough. Is that well with you?” He swallowed, as if Anders might yell at him for doing his job.
“Certainly. Daren? Jeld? Will you both stay here and guard these ladies? If anyone tries to harm them... Kill the attackers. You as well, Princess Salina?” He spoke in two languages, so that everyone understood the plan.
Then he moved, along with the boy, and interestingly, both Depak Sona and Ganges. The child didn’t seem to think it odd that the two dark skinned men walked along with them.
“I’m Walden. A page here. I just carry messages and all that? My mother works in the kitchen, so she got me in, working here, too. I was never sent to fetch a prince before. I figure they don’t care if I die too much, so put me up for it. This isn’t good, is it? The King surrendered. We’ll probably all die now.”
That was a good thought to have, if not one to set a young mind at ease. Anders didn’t mention that though.
“Probably not the pages. I don’t know about anyone else. Kitchen staff should be fine, too, so that’s you and your mother... I don’t really have a lot of influence that way, myself. Let’s go and see about what’s needed?”
As they walked, Anders covertly pointed at himself, muttering a simple cleansing spell.
“Andersana nisk ona karu, fen.” There was a buzzing sensation as all filth, oil, dead skin and any smudges or blood moved from his skin. The new word pushed that away from his clothing, as well, though it didn’t actually tidy that portion of things, otherwise.
He did that one separately, waving to the side, so that any waste would hit the remnants of some small plants that had been there, probably for decoration, until they had been trampled earlier that day. After that, he changed into a robe, made of silk, in a green color with a woven black design in it. It was fancy, while still leaving him free to move, having trousers that were very flowing.
This was made of his main outfit, leaving the gambeson and mail alone. The muttering went on longer that way, as they walked into the halls of the grand palace, which was, he had to admit, refined. There were bright wall hangings in the front entry to the place, done in bright yellows and blacks, with red highlights. Showing different scenes, indicating old victories in battle.
The boy guiding him, intent on his duty, didn’t seem to notice the alterations Anders made, which probably meant he hadn’t reeked too badly. This showed when they worked into the space more deeply, to show a line of Istlan soldiers, all carrying spears, guarding a single door.
One of the men waved in his direction.
“This is Master Brolly, the war mage. I don’t recognize the other boy.”
The man next to him rolled his eyes, but didn’t mention why that was. Anders just waved at the child next to him.
“This is Page Walden. Mark the face in your minds? He’ll need to come and go, but at the same time that fact will almost certainly be used by the people here, to attempt escape or assassination. Try not to harm the boy over it. Any of the other servants, either. Truly, we should find a way to buy their good will. Give them gifts and protection, in these troubled times.”
He was just making conversation, but several of the men seemed to think that sounded about right.
No one stopped him from going to the door, where he simply knocked, using the brass ring there. It wasn’t a thing he was used to, but it made a satisfying clank on the metal below it, and the door opened almost instantly, to show another ten guards inside, all in Istlan colors. They lined the stone walls. Inside the ring made of those bodies, sitting at a finely carved table that was on a raised dais, sat Prince Erold, dressed for battle still, King Yarler, stripped of armor, in what were probably the clothes he’d had on under that and General Coelder.
There was another man there, sitting to the King’s right hand. He had a great white beard, a thin frame that matched Coelder’s and a bitter expression, at the moment. The lines on his face spoke of smiles being at home there, more commonly. His light blue eyes scrapped over Anders when he walked in, taking in information on a fearsome level.
He leaned into the King, whispering, but not that softly. As if they were supposed to overhear what was said.
“This one is a magic user. His raiment is fresh, without loose thread or bit of fluff. It isn’t an illusion. That or it is of a finer kind than I have ever seen. It rubs as he moves, giving off sound. His hair is unkept, but his face and hands perfectly clean. He wears armor under the flowing outer garment, at the same time, and there is a line of a hidden dagger on his right hip. Something long, but not a true sword. There are weapons calluses on his right hand, and on his fingers there are marks of heavy bow use. This, then, is likely the one called War Bow. Anderson Brolly.”
Bowing, he tried to give the man a polite look.
“Anders Brolly. Not Anderson. Everything else was correct. Very well done, Sir. Brilliantly, in fact. May I know your name?” It seemed polite, if all of his secrets were to be laid bare like that at a glance.
He spoke in their language, the King sighing.
“This is my chief councilor, Berit Mourn. I am King Louis Yarler. I was King, at least. Our negotiations here are to see if I keep that title, after my grave mistake, or if I am to be locked in a tower, fed through a slot in the door?”
Anders bowed to the man, using second courtly, since the truth was, for the moment, he was still the King there. That wasn’t going to last, but his disposition wasn’t truly up to him. Then, on standing, he repeated the whole thing, in Istlan, word for word. That way the General would have all of it as well. Prince Erold already spoke some Yansian, so it wasn’t totally lost on him.
He didn’t sit, moving to stand behind Erold and Coelder, instead. Simply repeating things in different languages, when desired. Which was almost every word.
Yarler looked at the table and then brought his head up, defiantly.
“I was approached, some years ago, by a woman. She did wonderous magic, and suggested that she could provide my army with an incredible fighter who would lay waste to the armies of Istlan. She delivered instead a beast that no one understood how to handle. We were committed and so war began. I imagine you know the rest. Except who set us on this path in the first place?”
The General gave the man a look that spoke of possible torture being in the offing to find that secret out, and Prince Erold sighed.
“A woman, with dark skin. Lovely in her way? Calling herself Rothina, or possibly Rotha?”
The King wrinkled his nose, making his blonde facial hair move.
“So you do know of her? Regardless, she set us to war, with the promise of an easy win, and then her creature failed to do much of anything. Except eat. It did a lot of that.” The idea didn’t leave the man seeming pleased.
Anders interjected then.
“The Lerna known as Saffron? So you don’t think poorly of her, she was more than willing to fight on your behalf, though she didn’t seem to enjoy being poked with sticks and spears. No one even tried to teach her to speak your language, which would have made things far easier that way. She seems more than passingly intelligent. That worked out for us, since my understanding is that had she been set on us in battle, Istlan would have lost.” He grinned then. “Also, she was led to believe that she might find a husband, among your people? Clearly, you fell down on that portion of things. She seems most charming.”
He spoke the words twice, with Prince Erold simply going wide eyed, but seeming to believe him. The others, all of them, seemed to think he was jesting with them.
Except that Berit Mourn simply thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“You seem rather serious about this topic. Saffron, you claim the name to be? A true mistake on our part then, not seeing her for what she truly is. Not that it matters now. Please convey our apologies in her direction? If I am to lose my head in the coming days, there’s no reason for others to think me rude in passing.”
Anders smiled at the wordplay and spoke to the man directly, in return.
“It will be done, as you say.”
The conversation was darker in the main, going over how to best strip the kingdom, with Yarler suggesting that they simply place another on the throne. A relative of his, perhaps, or even Prince Erold, who would guard those of Yanse as his own. There was a clear plea in the words. Nearly begging, for the people of the land not to be broken for his mistakes. The man didn’t ask for his life. Not even coming at the idea from the side.
They seemed surprised when Prince Erold turned to Anders and spoke, in broken Yansian.
“Send a message to father mine? Pen it, shall I do first, here.”
It took longer to write out than it did to speak the spell, breaking it down carefully. Going directly to the ear of Master Tolan.
The words were rather hard and almost brutal, in the first lines.
We have taken Yanse and they lie broken at our feet. Their King has surrendered in his own person and for his people...
After that was a simple repeating of what had been offered, as for terms. There was no suggestion that the man hurry in any way, but an hour later, still at the table, Master Tolan’s voice spoke in his ear. He had to write the whole message out, hurriedly, since it was long and rather complex in parts.
When it was finished, written in Istlan, both the General and the Prince went over it, their faces serious. Then Prince Erold waved at the paper.
“If you would, Master Brolly?”
The paper was dry under his fingers, and he’d written it, so already had a translation in his head. Some of the phrases had to be spoken differently, in order to be understood, which had been interesting enough to him that he’d already worked most of them out. A game of sorts, that he often engaged in, when standing around doing little to nothing.
“This is the word of King Mathias Caldas, of Istlan. King Yarler is requested to swear fealty to both Mathias and Istlan. For a time of ten years, one part in ten of all coin, all grains, all new born animals of the field or barn and any goods or other commodities are to be given over to Istlan, on the last day of harvest.” There was a hiss, from the King, but not his man, who simply stared at Anders so intently he feared they were going to fight, later.
Erold waved for him to continue.
“In addition, Yanse is not to have a standing army, for a time of twenty years. Nobles may have forces in their own areas, for common defense. Levies may be trained, but the army must disband, for that time. Watchers will be posted to see to the application of these demands.”
The King sighed then and shook his head.
“I have to agree, then, for my people. Is there more?”
There was, of course.
“Istlan and her forces will prevent, where possible, the abuse of any of Yanse who do not offer harm to them, in the future.”
That was the entirety of the thing, except for the ending, which was a hope for peace between their lands and an official acceptance that the war was over.
Sneering, seeming ready to balk, King Yarler nodded.
“May we send acceptance then? This will need to be explained to my people. It’s a hard punishment, but better than a war to the death of every poor plow boy and milk maid. Will you do this for us, Warbow?”
He bowed, then repeated the words to Prince Erold, who smiled. It was forced, but he helped to write the message out, suggesting pleasing phrases. Then they all witnessed the King of Yanse kneeling, and swearing to both Istlan and King Mathias. If the man was disgruntled over the act, embarrassed and humiliated, he still spoke the words and, when Anders touched his mind, seemed to mean them. For the moment.
That there would be resistance to the new rules was also part of what was going on, inside his mind. The man also didn’t think he could win, at all. Even killing King Mathias wasn’t going to be enough to sway what had already been agreed to.
Still, holding his kingdom, and his life, as well as that of his sons and daughters, was enough. His last wife had died, trying to have their fourth child, not two years before. For the moment. The councilor standing next to him didn’t bend the knee for Istlan or her King at all. His mind was also seeking holes in the demands made. Oddly, the man felt that the simple wording and gentle terms acted on the side of Istlan, not Yanse.
A thing that Anders could work out for himself.
If they were too harsh, the people would fight, even to the death, since that would be what came anyway. Taking one tenth of all wealth each year would make it harder for their prior enemies to raise forces against them, and would make life a bit harder on the common people, and the nobles, but it wouldn’t break them. Ten years was a long time, but not so much so that the end was out of sight. Most people who were alive would see the fine lifted, and their normal lives return.
Most people would simply bristle under the yoke, knowing their turn under it would be over, in time. Then, of course, the next thing would land on them. That was the way of life, after all.
Prince Erold stood up then, meaning General Coelder did the same thing. Anders had stayed on his feet, marking him as a guard there, or a servant. The army men had been standing the whole time as well. The shifting was ignored, but all of them were doing that kind of thing. Standing for hours on end was work, after all. Even for fit people used to fighting.
The Prince turned and bowed to the King of Yanse.
“We will leave men here, to guard you. Will you be sending missives and giving a public address, to explain things to your people?”
Once translated, the man, rather stiffly replied.
“I must humble myself in public as well? That wasn’t what I heard in the agreement.”
Erold laughed, which didn’t go over very well, the men, both of them, seeming ready to take offense.
“Not at all. You swore to Istlan and her King. You’re one of us now. That means you won’t be required to grovel or demean yourself for our entertainment. I only meant that it would be best for your people to understand things, quickly. Just to prevent future issues that might arise?”
The words were polite, but didn’t make the men relax at all. Instead, they simply stood, as Prince Erold and General Coelder left the room. The soldiers in their dark red and gray-black walked out as well. Marching, in a very official fashion. Anders simply stood there, waiting for the rest to leave. Smiling at the two men there, gently. Trying to seem compassionate.
The King of Yanse stared at him then, seeming afraid, for a moment.
“You are to be our guard then, Warbow? Our watcher?”
“Not that I know of. I just wanted to add a few words.” He regarded the men coolly, for a moment. Dispassionately. “This is a low day for you, but the building blocks of a good future were left to you. Hold to your word, and you will rise in power again. It will be tempting to plot and plan, perhaps thinking that murder or dark magics can return you to what you were, faster. That won’t be happening. At the same time, if you simply do the right thing, for your people and yourself, and keep your word, you will be fine. The only cost of this... Mistake, will be in the lives lost in battle.”
He bowed and backed away then, toward the door.
“A thing that I fear I will pay for as well. Let’s not have war again? I would rather find the people of Yanse as my friends.”
Laughing, darkly, the King threw off a lazy bow.
“Well, we’ll see if that happens? I don’t know if I can do that, with you, Warbow. Too many died at your hands, for friendship. Perhaps with your King, though?”
That was about the best that Anders could hope for, even if there was a rebuke in it.
“Understood. I will leave your lands, as soon as I am allowed, given that? Perhaps it would be best if I not be required to return, any time soon?” He was tired and it showed in his voice.
Yarler sneered at him.
“Is that a threat, boy?”
“Yes. I can see that your people will think me a monster, for what I have been forced to do. The problem with that is, of course, that I actually am. I know that war is bad for people, but I don’t have troubled dreams at night. Tens of thousands, perhaps a hundred thousand, of your people have fallen to me, personally. We don’t want it to be more than that. I don’t. We don’t have to be personal friends for you to make this loss into, if not a victory, then at least a lesser thing. Over time.”
The King growled at him then, actually making a guttural noise, deep in his throat.
“Leave here, Anders Brolly. If I see you again...”
He shrugged, since the time for being courteous was, it seemed, over.
“Then perhaps you’ll be more polite? This was a hard day, for everyone. I won’t hold your feelings against you, given that. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave?”
The large man, who was easily a head and a half taller than Anders was, seemed ready to fight, or at least call out in anger at the boy in front of him. His man, Mourn, touched his arm, but didn’t speak at all. It was enough, and the man waved him away.
“Forgive me. Go then, as you please, Brolly. Perhaps we will speak again, in less heated times?”
With a nod, he backed from the room, then got ready to fight, when the door closed. No men stood to guard the people inside the room, however. Not until he was all the way outside the castle, some minutes later, did he find anyone with a weapon, who seemed to be watching anything.
He walked back to where the women had been being kept, but they were all gone. No one knew where the prisoners had gone at all. He had to move into a trance to find out what was going on, which was simple enough, really. Those who had been defeated had been stripped of weapons and armor and sent home. To their families. The ladies were in that group as well.
Many of the people in the area were frightened, but the city around the castle wasn’t deserted, since there was, suddenly, coin to be made. Soldiers flush with full purses were willing to buy a lot of different things.
So he walked down the road, toward the feeling of where his people were staging. Some minutes later he caught up with General Coelder and Prince Erold. The twenty guards they had as well. From the talk, they didn’t get to leave, so were sleeping outside, under the sky, that night. At least the poor soldiers were. Anders didn’t even have to make a house, one having been brought into existence for them already. From the way it was laid out, Princess Salina was the culprit on that one.
When he got in, she frowned at him.
“So, we have won a war. Why am I not happier about this? I keep thinking of those I killed. They haunt me, when I close my eyes.”
He simply nodded.
“That is the price of being a Great One, I fear. One of them. You must carry the weight of those who you must climb upon to become great in the first place. It is never battle that makes you great. It’s what you do after it that shows who you truly are.”
The others there seemed to think he was being rude, but Depak Sona, sitting on the floor, to the side of the room, simply nodded. His face perfectly blank. It meant a lot, coming from a man who had been called Great One for over sixty years. Nothing more was said about the topic.