The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “Captain Tarq reporting in, general,” he announced. “I’m sorry we’re a day late, but we had wounded amongst us and we thought it might be better if we weren’t seen coming in.”

  Garnuk nodded slowly. “Good thinking, Tarq. How many do you bring? And how is this possible?” he added incredulously, shaking his head in wonder.

  Tarq smiled. “I bring twenty-one of our former comrades, general. There was a meeting place that they frequent, once a month, to exchange news and leave warnings from their fellows. Eighteen of these we found there. It’s how they have stayed out of the Usurper’s clutches for so long.”

  The Exile chuckled to himself. Twenty-one warriors! With Koah’s recruits, that made more than thirty new fighters for him to deploy. Garnuk looked out over the sea of faces, all familiar from the distant past.

  “Well done, captain,” he said quietly to Tarq. Then, he raised his voice so that all those present could hear him. “Now, let’s get our new comrades settled. Welcome, my old friends, to Shadow Squadron!"

  Chapter 13:

  The War Begins

  Two days later, the new additions to Shadow Squadron were given their assignments. Two-thirds of the newcomers were dispatched across the Sthan kingdom, tasked with gathering information at various crossroads. The remaining eleven he kept with him at Banta Kodu as a reserve force. If a special opportunity arose, Garnuk wanted to be sure he had the means to take advantage.

  There was another reason Garnuk wanted a small force of his own followers as well. He did not trust the Banuk, just as he knew Chief Carh did not trust him. The eleven vertaga from the old days were also a precaution against treachery. If everything fell apart, they would help him escape the stronghold and relocate to the mountains.

  Once the entirety of Shadow Squadron was deployed, the days settled into a steady routine. Garnuk would rise early and check in with the night shift of guards in the command room. Usually, there was nothing to report, but it never hurt to be cautious. After that, Garnuk and his two captains would break their fast and discuss the reports coming in from the members of Shadow Squadron scattered across the kingdom of men. Then Koah and Tarq would be replaced by Danur, and they would review developments in the Fells. Koah often grumbled about the separate meetings, but Garnuk ignored his disgruntled subordinate. Koah did not need to know how many spies he had in the Fells or what they were up to. And the Banuk tribe certainly did not need to know.

  Tarq took the separate meetings in stride, understanding Garnuk’s need for secrecy. For this Garnuk was grateful. It was good to have at least one second who was unswervingly loyal and ready to carry out his general’s commands.

  By the time the morning intelligence meetings had concluded it was usually time for a midday meal. Then, in the afternoon, Garnuk would sit down by himself and compare the latest news with previous reports, occasionally requesting specific messages which had been sent to the command center. These he would pore over, noting every detail, studying on the meaning of each word.

  There was one such report he kept returning to. It was from one of Danur’s agents, stationed around Dun Carryl to the north. The reports from this camp were often longer and more detailed than the others, due to the higher volume of soldiers in and around Dun Carryl. But there was one disturbing detail that had nothing to do with where soldiers were going or in what numbers.

  One of the spies at Dun Carryl had noticed it just a few days after Koah and Tarq’s recruits had arrived. Several squads of warriors had been returning to Dun Carryl and then leaving again soon after, moving at double time. The returning warriors wore standard equipment, plain shields, weapons, and armor designed for functionality over form.

  But the warriors leaving invariably had unusual symbols painted on their shields.

  The spies at Dun Carryl had not been able to capture a shield, but from their observations they were able to provide Garnuk a crude rendition: a thick horizontal line, two lines slanting down below it, two above. A short, stubby piece hanging down from the middle. The symbol looked rather like a helm in some ways. But any vertag who had ever visited Dun Carryl would know immediately what the simple drawing represented. It was the access canyon that led to the mountain city’s ancient gates, viewed from the flatlands to the west.

  The symbol itself was of little concern to Garnuk. The Ramshuk’s warriors could paint flowers on their shields for all he cared. But the reason behind the drawing was what concerned him. There was no reason to paint the shields other than to distinguish one group of soldiers from another. And that suggested that the Ramshuk was finally aware of Garnuk’s forces operating in the Fells. The fact that an image of Dun Carryl, the traditional stronghold of all Ramshuks, had been employed lent further credibility to this conclusion.

  How had the Ramshuk found out about Garnuk’s force of spies and warriors so quickly? Garnuk pondered this time and again. All of his spy groups had reported no troubles with enemies, and that they were in position. Perhaps Tarq’s encounter with the hunters had led the Ramshuk to guess at the existence of Garnuk’s force? Or perhaps he was just being cautious, making sure his warriors could tell friend from foe?

  The Exile grappled with these questions for hours at a time, reviewing everything that had happened since his own fateful encounter with the raiding party and the trade caravan. So much had happened since then, good and bad, that he was having a hard time keeping up. Of course, he could not hope to remain hidden forever. Sooner or later, his hand in this war would be discovered. Hopefully the Usurper would be too distracted with fighting the Sthan to care much at that point.

  In the mean time, Garnuk began attempting to predict attacks and raids by the Usurper’s forces, deducing locations and timing from his networks in the Fells. The map centering the table in the command room was copied many times over by his subordinates. Every day, locations of various groups of enemy soldiers were marked, their paths winding through the mountains and towards the cities of men.

  Many were headed towards Ishkabur, enough soldiers for a prolonged siege if Garnuk was any judge. It seemed a little early in the war to commit so many troops, but perhaps the Usurper was hoping to secure the Fells quickly to protect his flank. The only problem was those rams would be needed elsewhere before any invasion of the North could begin. There simply weren’t enough vertaga left in the Fells to fight a war on multiple fronts.

  Garnuk frowned at that, drawing a sheet listing the various forces and their sizes closer to him. He did some rough calculations in his head and scratched at his horns, looking back at the map. More than half of the rams the Usurper had deployed were headed for Ishkabur. And the rest were scattered across the Basin, in groups too small to pose a threat to anything larger than a village.

  Garnuk ran through the numbers again and nodded to himself. Without the Ishkabur force supporting the soldiers in the Fells, the Ramshuk’s warriors were vulnerable. If the Sthan leaders became aware of this and sent their armies south, the war would be short indeed. Far too short for Garnuk to accomplish his own personal goals.

  The Ramshuk needed secrecy and uncertainty to keep his vulnerability hidden, Garnuk decided. It was one thing for the Sthan to know there were vertaga raiding in the Fells. It was another thing entirely to know how many there were and where they were positioned.

  “That is the key,” Garnuk muttered to himself. “Secrecy. And that means the next targets . . . ”

  He stood to lean over the map and get a better look at the Renlor Basin, but was interrupted by heavy footsteps from the front hallway. He looked up and saw Tarq approaching, fully armed and armored. He had been collecting messages outside of Banta Kodu to the north in order to keep the number of unfamiliar faces in the city to a minimum.

  “Any new developments?” Tarq asked as he trudged wearily past Garnuk’s workstation.

  “Perhaps,” Garnuk murmured. “You?”

  “We’ll see,” Tarq grunted, brandishing a stack of reports. “A few from the kingdom, probably just not
ices that they’ve set up camp and are beginning operations.”

  “Hmm,” Garnuk said distractedly. “Let me know if there’s anything important.”

  Tarq chuckled to himself. “I always do. Every morning, general, remember?”

  Garnuk drew in a breath, frowning at the map still.

  Tarq sighed and leaned forward, his smile fading. “Are you on to something?”

  “Maybe,” Garnuk said distractedly. “Tarq, tell me what you see here as far as numbers.”

  The captain leaned over the map. “That’s a lot of soldiers headed for Ishkabur,” he observed.

  “Exactly,” Garnuk agreed. “The Usurper is vulnerable, his forces stretched thin.”

  “Better not let the Sthan get wind of that,” Tarq murmured. “Although, with the number of villages in the Basin they may find out.”

  “The villages!” Garnuk said, slapping the map with his hand. “Of course. That is what those forces are for. Just like the last war. Even though it didn’t work long term.”

  “The Usurper is going to raze the villages again?” Tarq asked. “Is he just copying you?”

  “Perhaps,” Garnuk allowed. “But perhaps not. Either way, this move makes tactical sense. Emptying the Basin will reduce the Sthan ability to gather intelligence about vertaga movements, and the widespread destruction will sow fear and uncertainty. The only question is, how long will it take and how far will the destruction spread?”

  “Last time we annihilated a small city,” Tarq remembered. “It burned well.”

  Garnuk grinned darkly. “Yes, it did,” he agreed. “There were so few defenders that we hardly suffered any losses. They were fools to attempt to hold the walls.”

  “But brave fools,” Tarq pointed out.

  Garnuk shook his head, disagreeing. “There comes a certain point where bravery does not describe a situation. That battle is one such case. Bravery would be standing against bad odds to give others time to retreat or get clear. But standing against countless, unknown foes and failing so pathetically . . . that I would not call bravery. They abandoned the city, remember?”

  The captain dipped his horned head. “As you say, general,” he replied, a little testily.

  Garnuk waved a clawed hand dismissively. “The past does not matter now though, nor does that battle affect the future so it hardly matters. What matters is understanding our enemy.”

  “Enemies,” Koah broke in, approaching from the back hallway. “We have a great many of those, general, not just one.”

  “Yes,” Garnuk agreed. “We do have a great many enemies. The Usurper. The cursed Sthan king.”

  “Among others,” Tarq agreed.

  “How many groups do we have in the Basin?” Garnuk asked suddenly, shifting the conversation to safer territory. “And where are they stationed?”

  “I have three groups, all along the edge of the Fells,” Tarq rumbled.

  “And I have two along the northern edge of the Basin, in the hills near the two fortresses of men,” Koah added quickly, not to be outdone.

  Garnuk nodded absently. “Send another warrior to each of the camps near the East and West Bank,” he ordered, tapping the spots on the map. “I want constant reports from those areas. Everything in the near future hinges on how the Sthan respond to the village raids. And if there is any response, it will be from these bases.”

  “Will they move to defend the villages?” Tarq wondered, folding his muscled arms across his chest.

  “I wouldn’t,” Garnuk said flatly. “They have too few warriors based on our knowledge. It would only make them more vulnerable to the Usurper’s forces.”

  “Nobody ever said that the Sthan were intelligent though,” Koah grunted with satisfaction, confident in his own superiority.

  But Garnuk knew better, having faced men and failed before. “Underestimating them would be a mistake,” he warned, glaring at Koah and Tarq. “They may be smaller and weaker than our kin, and the spirits do not go with them into battle, but they are cunning devils. They believe us to be little more than beasts, and for some of our warriors that is an accurate description.”

  Koah scowled and shut his mouth, staring at the floor. Tarq shrugged philosophically. He had encountered men before and fought them. In his experience, Garnuk’s words were a far more accurate assessment than Koah’s had been.

  “And they have courage and determination disproportionate to their size,” Garnuk added as an afterthought. “You remember the terrible Gorge Massacre.”

  “Bad luck,” Koah muttered. “That’s all it was.”

  “Some of it, but not all,” Garnuk countered. “A fair amount was good tactics. The human leader chose a good position to make his stand. We could not safely pass and leave him behind us, nor could we assault him in force.”

  “And so we died in droves,” Tarq said bitterly.

  Garnuk nodded reluctantly, anger and shame burning within him. “Yes,” he agreed. “The only reason I speak of this is so that you, my captains, will not make the same mistake I once did: Never underestimate the Sthan.”

  They stood in silence for a long moment, each with their own thoughts. Then, Garnuk turned away from the map abruptly.

  “Dispatch those reinforcements,” he reminded them as he left. “We will speak more of this in our briefing tomorrow.”

  “Aye, general,” Tarq rumbled. Koah made no reply, staring at the map, lost in thought.

  Garnuk meanwhile retreated to his quarters. He shut the door, then sank into one of the chairs by the empty fireplace. He looked down at his clawed hands and noticed that they were shaking. From fear or anger he did not know.

  He had known it was a mistake to bring up the slaughter at Ganned’s Gorge. That day would haunt him forever, the day he failed his people.

  The Exile put his horned head in his hands and sighed heavily, remembering. Remembering what had been and could have been – perhaps should have been. Remembered how the triumph at the city of men had turned to bitter and final defeat.

  And now, out of that defeat, the nightmare he now lived had been born.

  So much death, he reflected. So much loss. And for what, to conquer the world? Was such a petty and selfish goal really worth the lives of his kin?

  It had been, at one time. Once, as Ramshuk, Garnuk had believed that the vertaga should rule the world, that all lands should be theirs to roam without fear. He had wanted to better the lives of his people.

  But had he needed to? They seemed happy enough in the mountains, and had been flourishing in their secret lairs. A burgeoning population, certainly, but not a crowded one. Not for some time anyway.

  Maybe the Banuk had the right of it, Garnuk thought. Withdraw and leave the world to its own devices. Stay hidden and safe, prosper in isolation, and live in peace and security. It was a sheltered existence certainly, but also a restricted one. The Banuk did not roam beyond their valley, a restriction that Garnuk knew would chafe with many of his race. No, the Banuk life was not the answer.

  The vertaga would have been discovered eventually, Garnuk knew. The Fells just weren’t big enough to hide an entire race forever. He had accelerated that discovery in hopes of taking men by surprise and failed. Now they had but one option left for their long-term survival: the extinction of the Sthan Kingdom.

  But that was impossible at this time. The vertaga needed to vanish again, regain their strength and numbers. Wait for men to forget, then strike once more and finish the fight for good. The Usurper could not wait though, and he would fail. And so, to save his people and have any hope of final victory, Garnuk knew he had to overthrow his former subordinate.

  “Then vanish,” Garnuk murmured to himself. “Hide, and wait, and watch.” The opportune moment would come, perhaps not in his life, but eventually. But until then the vertaga could live good lives, peaceful lives. In addition, he would have his family back, free of the burdens of being slaves.

  Garnuk recognized that his mistakes had put his race on this path. He had acted too
soon, and failed. The vertaga would need many years, perhaps decades, to recover from his shortsighted blunder. But he owed it to them to fix his mistake, and give them that opportunity. Revenge on his enemies was one thing. Redemption for his one major failure in life, was entirely another.

  A tentative knock came at the door. Garnuk sat up in his chair, his brooding at an end. “Come,” he called over his shoulder.

  He heard the door open and shut quickly, then a few hesitant footsteps.

  “General?” a voice asked tentatively.

  Garnuk turned and looked over his shoulder. “Danur,” he said flatly. “You have news?”

  “Yes, general. I did not think that it should wait until tomorrow’s briefing.”

  “Join me,” Garnuk said, waving to the other chair peremptorily. If this could not wait until tomorrow’s early morning briefing, it must be important.

  Danur sat on the edge of his seat, leaning towards Garnuk. “You sent two of your old friends to Dun Carryl to help my Banuk teams keep watch on the city. In their latest message, they reported something very unusual,” he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible. He slid a piece of parchment across the table. Garnuk picked it up and unfolded it, his curiosity aroused.

  The report was short, no more than a few lines, but those few lines set Garnuk’s agile mind racing from the first words:

  Arasnak has been sighted many times in the last few days, running to and from Dun Carryl to destinations unknown. Each time he appears to stay only long enough to deliver a message to the Ramshuk, then departs. Recommend against engaging, but will attack if that is your order.

  Garnuk skimmed the remainder of the report, then frowned into the fireplace thoughtfully.

  “Arasnak,” he murmured finally, letting the parchment fall to the table in front of him. “The butcher has left Dun Carryl.”

  Danur nodded vigorously. “The spy camp requests advice from you on this matter,” he added. “If half of the things I have heard about the butcher – ”