Respectant

by Florian Armaselu

  “No he won’t join any of us. In the worst situation, we have to defeat an army of four thousand five hundred.” Codrin raised his forefinger. They are three times stronger than us. And Arad...

  We, Nicolas thought with relief; he was not sure if Codrin would stay. “Will you lead the army?”

  “I won’t let Cleyre down. There are more links than you know between us. Political links.” He smiled at Costa. “And the new Duke was our liaison.”

  “I always wondered where the Duchess got her information. It seems it was from the Wraith of Tolosa.”

  “Cleyre has more sources than you think, Nicolas. In fact, I received more information from her than I delivered to her. We will continue to help each other. We just need a new liaison, as Costa is no longer available for the position. Newly married men tend to stay at home. I still don’t know why. The war now. I want the army to leave today, before noon. Costa will stay behind to lead the garrison and guard his Duchess.”

  “Dornan?” Nicolas asked.

  “He will arrive late today, and sleep well, because he will think we left in a hurry to meet Loxburg, and we will fight him in the morning. While he is still sleeping, I hope.”

  “You will hide nearby,” Costa said.

  “Yes, we will camp in the large forest south of Peyris. Most probably Dornan will camp in front of the main gate, the southern one. No one except us should know about this. Dornan or the Circle must have spies here. Everyone else in the city must know that we have gone to fight Loxburg. Don’t even tell them that Dornan is coming. We must be surprised. And Vlad,” Codrin added after a brief pause, “loosen the net of scouts. Let the traitors reach Dornan. It suits us to let him know of our hasty departure. Watch them, though, so we know who they are. It will be useful to grab them after the battle, too.”

  The morning dawned strange. During the night, a brief rain shower had sprinkled the ground, a few drops more than the usual dew, and fog had enveloped the valley. The sun was not yet in sight, but there was enough light to see. It was the mist which made everything strange. It spread across the land, a seven-foot-thick blanket, stretched almost uniformly over the flat bottom of the valley and the gentle slopes leading down into it. As silent as the mist, Codrin’s army moved out of the forest. An observer high above the ground would see rows of floating heads, arranged in a matrix, the distance between them almost regular. Having helmets of different colors, the heads offered a striking contrast to the white-gray monotony of the mist. An army of floating heads. Unaware of their weird appearance from above, the heads continued their journey down, toward Dornan’s army.

  To an observer on the ground, nothing could be seen until it was too late. Dornan’s sleeping soldiers woke up when the ground trembled to the rhythm of more than a thousand horses trampling everything in their way. They woke up, and they died. Some of them died while they slept. When the last cry died away, and the fog finally lifted, the surviving men surrendered. At the end of the clash, which became known as the Battle of the Mist, Codrin found that he had lost only eleven men. Dornan had lost half of his army, his son and his life.

  Chapter 20 – Codrin

  Vlad brought the hooded prisoner in, escorted by two of his scouts. They had come directly from the camp, so few in Peyris knew about him, and those who did had only seen a hooded figure on its way to be interrogated. The scouts sat the man in front of the long table opposite the six people waiting for him, and Vlad seated himself next to Codrin. The scouts pulled off the prisoner’s hood and left the room.

  “Vasso,” Cleyre said after a brief glance toward Costa, “let’s not make this more disagreeable than necessary. We found you in Dornan’s camp. Who are you working for?”

  “Reymont,” Vasso said, despondently.

  “And the Circle?”

  “And the Circle.”

  “Why did you go to Dornan?”

  “To let him know that your army had left the city.”

  “Tell me what I need to know. I will be more lenient, if you cooperate.”

  “Thank you, Duchess. Octavian and Reymont planned to surrender Peyris to Manuc, the Duke of Loxburg. That’s why they convinced Duke... they convinced Albert to leave the city. Octavian and Reymont were supposed to return and negotiate the surrender.”

  “Why did they want to give Peyris to Manuc?”

  “I don’t know, Duchess. I know only one more thing: they planned to marry you to Duke Loxburg’s son.”

  “Manuc’s son?”

  “Yes, Duchess. I am sorry, but I know nothing more.”

  “You are in high demand, Duchess,” Nicolas said.

  Cleyre smiled briefly, but kept her attention on the prisoner. “What accomplices do you have here?”

  Vasso sighed and gave her three more names; all of them were from the lower ranks, and they knew less than he did, but at least they confirmed Vasso’s version of events.

  “Let’s see the men from Dorna now,” Cleyre said, and she nodded to Codrin. Together with Costa, they had agreed that morning on how to proceed: the Knights from Dorna were his.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Vlad looked, slightly amused, at Codrin.

  “Long Valley?” Codrin asked and Vlad nodded. “Bring him first.”

  Vlad came with two men instead of one: Lovrin and Balint.

  “Lovrin, I did not expect to see you here,” Codrin said, surprised, coming around the table, where they clasped hands. “My Knight of Long Valley,” he presented Lovrin, “and Balint, his Chief Guard.” He clasped hands with the second man. “Sit,” he gestured at the chairs across the table, and went back to his place.

  “Dornan never liked me, after I took Boar’s place; he forced me to join his army.”

  “You killed the Boars?” Nicolas ask, incredulous; Lovrin was maybe a third of Boar’s size.

  “I didn’t, they did,” he pointed at Codrin and Vlad. “And Codrin killed Sharpe, the Black Dervil, too.” Lovrin felt the need to enhance Codrin’s status even more. “Dornan learned that I had sent soldiers to you, in Poenari. On its way to Peyris, his army passed through Long Valley and surrounded my castle. I had to join him, but Lisa sent a courier to you, in Severin, after we left.”

  “Dornan is dead, his son too, and I intend to keep Dorna. You are my Knight, and I need a governor. You are also a skilled Secretary. Are you willing to take over?” Codrin asked.

  “The administrative part, yes, but I am not a fighter.”

  “Balint can be your Chief Guard there, and we will talk about a Spatar later. I may give Damian to you.”

  “Thank you, Codrin.”

  “How is Lisa?”

  “As beautiful as when you left us. Our son is now almost one year old. I would like to talk with Damian and Lisandru. Lisa will ask me about Varia and Livia.”

  “Damian is in Severin. Vlad will bring you later to Lisandru.”

  Codrin knew only one of the other four Knights from Dorna, and he had met him in the past as the Wraith. They were men who understood their interests and agreed to pay allegiance to him. They did not cry for Dornan, but they would not cry for Codrin either, in similar circumstances. After what had happened in Leyona, Codrin knew that well enough, but he also knew that he was stronger and, after Poenari and Severin, his name was now known in Frankis. The Battle of the Mist would enhance his fame even more. All Peyris and the defeated Knights would know that he had lost only eleven men. There were more than sixty wounded too, but nobody talks about the wounded after a battle; they talk about the dead. And glory.

  “Codrin, in the past, I had a good relationship with Manuc. It may be worth talking with him before we go to battle,” Cleyre said, just before they were ready to leave.

  “I would not say no. Who do you think that we can use?”

  “Nicolas knows him well.”

  “I can’t send Nicolas. If things go badly, you may lose your Spatar.”

  “Emich knows him too.”

  “Emich, then. Our preparation for battle will stil
l continue.”

  In the afternoon, the army moved east to confront Loxburg, a different kind of threat, both subtler and stronger. Codrin and Nicolas had seventeen hundred soldiers with them. An hour later, a column coming from Amiuns, and led by Knight Clewin, joined them. Nicolas’s negotiations had brought them three hundred more soldiers. Loxburg had almost five thousand men, at the scouts’ last estimate.

  “I hope that I am not too late,” Clewin said, stopping his horse, in front of Nicolas.

  “Well, you missed yesterday’s party, but we have saved something for you. Loxburg is waiting for us.”

  “So, it’s true.”

  “Yes, and now we need to go, Codrin is waiting for us.”

  “Codrin?” Clewin reacted sharply, his thick brows knitting together. “From Poenari?”

  “Yes, that Codrin. He is leading our army. Cleyre has a good eyes for allies.”

  ***

  “Loxburg will be here in four hours,” Vlad announced in the military council.

  The campaign tent, which had once belonged to Duke Stefan, was three times as big as the one Codrin had inherited from Mohor. His own tent was being used by Vlad’s scouts. Despite its size, the duke’s tent was almost full. Codrin’s army of two thousand had four times more captains and Knights than Mohor or Codrin had had in the past. The army was drawn up at the entrance of a valley, three hundred feet wide, having two narrow ends.

  “That’s not enough time to finish our preparations,” Boldur said.

  “How much time do you need?” Codrin asked.

  “Eight hours.”

  “I will return in half an hour. Vlad, come with me,” Codrin said and left the tent, leaving behind some puzzled captains.

  “He is a strange man,” Clewin whispered to Nicolas.

  “Well, he is, but in a good way. For years, I knew him as the Wraith of Tolosa.”

  “I thought the Wraith was a man called Tudor.”

  “Yes, Tudor is Codrin, and Codrin is Tudor.”

  “Strange.” Clewin shrugged. I was expecting Nicolas to lead the army. No one told me that Codrin was here. “What is Boldur up to? I didn’t see anything that looked like a trap.”

  “They left Peyris before us. We did not have much time to talk, but Codrin said that he is cutting some trees down. I think he wants to slow Manuc’s exit from the valley.” He pointed to the forest at the end of the field behind the tent. “If we can keep them in a tight field, they can’t use their advantage in numbers.”

  A hundred paces away from the camp, Codrin stopped and hid behind an old oak. “Guard me, Vlad.” Eyes closed, he let his mind wander west, toward Loxburg’s army. He flew over the forest, following the road, and soon found himself at the limit of his Farsight. Less than two miles, he thought. It’s not enough. He came out of his trance, opened his eyes and fixed on a lonely peak some twenty miles away. This time, he entered in the trance eyes open, staying focused on the peak. His mind moved away, farther and farther. Pain lanced through his head and he moaned, but he forced himself to continue. Almost at the foot of the peak, he could no longer endure the pain and stopped, then came out of his trance. Something warm ran down his face, and touching it, he found his fingers red with blood from his nose.

  “Are you well?” Vlad asked, his eyes fixed on Codrin.

  “Yes. Give me two minutes. I have found a good place, twelve miles from here.” He recovered and wiped the blood from his face with a handkerchief. Some blood had dripped onto the pelerine he wore over his ring mail, but the dark blue color more or less masked the spots.

  “We will split up,” Codrin said from the door of the tent. “Boldur will stay here, with all the men he needs, to finish the trap. We will leave now. There is a place, twelve miles from here, on the road from the west. We will wait for Loxburg there and delay him.”

  From the ground, things looked different than from the height Codrin had flown in his Farsight trance, but he recognized the place easily enough. Nature had played a strange game with the land. From above, the ridges looked like a giant fork with two tines, forty feet tall and three hundred feet long. The road led upward between the tines. There was a narrow, potholed saddle to the east, from which they entered between the parallel ridges. Five horses could ride abreast, and that was Codrin’s main problem; there was no easy way to retreat. The place was mostly surrounded by forest. The lower, western part of the fork was a long stretch of grass that sloped away and down, for about six hundred paces.

  “Not a bad place. Who found it?” Nicolas asked Codrin.

  “The scouts. Nicolas, you will lead the right wing. Take Clewin, three more Knights and four hundred men. Vlaicu, you will lead the left wing. Valer will join you with fifty of his men. Take two hundred more soldiers from our men and a hundred fifty from Dorna. Vlad, place a hundred archers on the right-hand ridge; and put messengers in place for the archers and both wings. You will stay with me. Both wings will hide in the forest behind the ridges, south and north of them. You will attack their flanks after his army engages us in the center. This place is narrow and they will have to stretch out in a long column. We need to make them retreat, and then we do the same. The terrain behind us is too rugged for a swift retreat, so we will make a detour to the right while the archers protect us. Get the wings in place now,” he looked at Nicolas and Vlaicu, “and come back here. Then we just have to wait for Loxburg. Vlad, let his scouts come closer to find us. I am expecting him to stop and asses the battlefield. May be he will think his men are too tired and will wait for tomorrow to attack us, and we can go back without giving battle.”

  Duke Manuc of Loxburg halted his army three miles away from the fork; his scouts swarmed the area, followed at a distance by Vlad’s.

  “Emich,” Codrin said, “take five men and Fate’s banner and go to Manuc. Here is a letter from Cleyre. You know what to say. Let’s hope that he is still the man she thinks he is. Now we must wait,” he said, his eyes following Emich, riding away. The white flag of Fate, with hand and quill, waved in the wind. The hand and the feather were Fate’s symbols; the goddess’s hand writing everyone’s fate.

  Half a mile down from their position, a team of three scouts came out of the forest, onto the visible part of the road, riding at a full gallop. Codrin looked at Vlad, who frowned; it was not normal; usually the scouts stayed in the forest.

  “Our delegation was slaughtered,” the team lead said, without dismounting. “All six of them. A mile from here.”

  “Did you see what happened?” Codrin asked, a triangular crease burrowed between his eyebrows.

  “Twenty men came out of the forest and attacked them. They wore no colors. There were two teams of scouts from Loxburg between us and Emich. Our second team is still in the area; maybe their team will leave, and we can look at the tracks.”

  “They wore no colors,” Codrin said, rubbing his chin. “Strange.”

  “Loxburg attacked them,” Clewin said. “We have fought him for many years. The man has no honor. He used men without colors to hide the fact he attacked a delegation under the protection of Fate’s banner.”

  “What do you think, Nicolas?” Codrin asked, and Clewin reddened; he recognized the polite snub.

  “He is a tricky man, but to attack Fate’s banner...”

  “Vlad, send two large scout teams, through the forest. Twenty-five strong. Take more men from Valer, if you need to. Follow their scouts and see what you can read on the ground. When the main battle ends, we will hunt the assassins. I want them dead.”

  Vlad returned faster than expected, and he stopped his horse abruptly in front of Codrin. “Manuc is coming. He will be here in half an hour. The infantry is slowing him a bit. We had no chance to examine the scene, his vanguard was too close.”

  “Knights, captains, to your places,” Codrin ordered, and took his place in front of the army, Lisandru and Pintea forming the Triangle behind him.

  Manuc halted his army at the edge of the forest, and his thousand infantry moved to o
ccupy the center. They formed a deep line, a hundred men in each rank, their halberds and long spears making them look like a huge hedgehog. On the sides of the hedgehog, two squads of riders took up position. There was space on each flank for about twenty riders abreast.

  “I don’t like this,” Codrin murmured. “It will be a slow attack, driven by the infantry. That will force us to attack the spearmen. There will be too many casualties.” He was calculating if it was better to sound the retreat while he still had time, when the sound of horses trampling the ground came from the right wing. They turned abruptly and saw three hundred riders cantering down the valley. On the tips of their raised swords, Codrin could see their helmets. The sign of treason. Clewin’s men had betrayed them and joined Loxburg. What kind of Seer am I, if I could not foresee this? “Send the couriers. Nicolas and Vlaicu must retreat now. The half rear of the main group will retreat too, through the saddle. Warn the archers to be ready. They will move back at the same time as we do.”

  Down in the valley, Clewin’s men joined Loxburg. They need to reorganize, Codrin thought, following everything with his spyglass. That will delay them, and give my wings enough time to retreat. I need the right flank free, so we can retreat through there. The path around the ridge is narrow, and it will not allow more than ten riders abreast. That will take time. Manuc has reordered his forces, with Clewin on our right. He still plans to attack with the infantry. That suits us, now. I wonder what Clewin told him; he knows all our plans. Our old plans. They are advancing.

  “Vlad, take your bow, and ride behind Lisandru. See if you can take down Clewin. Be ready to ride!” he shouted, twenty minutes after the couriers had left, and moved closer to the left flank of his army. “Follow my Triangle at a hundred paces. When I turn right, you turn too. I will raise my sword. Ride, now!”

  He rode down at a slow canter, followed by Lisandru and Pintea, with Vlad behind them. The infantry was more than a thousand paces in front from him. Going up the slope, Manuc’s and Clewin’s riders moved at the same slow speed as the foot soldiers. After three hundred paces, Codrin moved to a full gallop. After a hundred paces more, he raised his sword, turning abruptly to the right. A hundred paces behind him, the riders turned right too, in a wider arc.