Nightlord: Shadows

by Garon Whited

  Tianna, on the other hand, has no problem at all talking to the mountain through the spells I provided. Amber discusses what they need, masons and stonecutters lay out the pattern, and Tianna tells the mountain. She even encourages it to grow faster, zapping that area with life energy and heat; she doesn’t have to worry about frying it! It may even make things go faster to have the stone heated. I must remember to measure the growth rates…

  What does it say about me that I’m putting masons out of business? Or that I worry that I could be? If the mountain can grow anything we want, what’s the point of being a mason? I don’t want them to be out of a job. I also don’t want the kingdom to be totally reliant on the mountain for so much. Maybe the mountain’s range is limited, maybe not, but if it can create “building seeds” the way it created a “bridge seed,” its growth range is really kind of immaterial.

  I think I’m going to have to pass an ordinance or edict or something that says you have to build the building by hand before you can get the mountain to subsume it into a regenerating, solid structure.

  Oh! Another moment of brilliance by my offspring. Amber and Tianna have discovered that the mountain can grow glass—well, sort of. Their new home is between Sparky’s temple and city hall; they put windows everywhere. They experimented a bit and found that the mountain can grow them a nice panel of clear quartz. It works quite well as a window. Given that it’s also pretty darn thick, it almost counts as a piece of transparent wall.

  I would never have thought of it. I grew up under fluorescent lights and in front of TV screens. My current obsession is avoiding sunlight, not letting more in. Naturally, they put in windows long before I would even have considered it.

  I’ve also checked on the bridge seed. It’s grown remarkably quickly, first forming a narrow, delicate extension across the river. Now it’s widening, and bridge pilings are forming up from under the water. It’s obviously not just arching over, but going under the water as well. At the moment, it’s just a walkway, but it widens and gets more support by the hour. Another couple of days and I’d risk walking Bronze across it. Viksagi should have no problem crossing. Now, if only they’ll take the hint and distract Byrne to the north.

  I wonder, can I bribe them or hire them? Paying them seems to be counterintuitive; they don’t want to attack anyone, necessarily, just obtain goods they need. Maybe I should look into it some more.

  We still haven’t found any of Byrne’s cannon. I’m frustrated by this; I’d like to remove them from the board before they even get into play. T’yl assures me that the only reason we haven’t found them is that the wizard-captain of each cannon is diligently maintaining a spell to deflect detection. Once they’re used, we’ll be able to target them with detection spells and lock on to them despite anything they can do. I’m hoping that when we encounter cannon, we won’t have to keep track of them; I’d much rather destroy them.

  Well, I suppose we’ll find them soon enough. I’ve done what I can to minimize their effects. I’m just worried about grapeshot into the regular army; the knights should be fine on their own.

  And the idea of “fine on their own” reminds me. The City Guard in Mochara and in Karvalen are stocking up on arrows. With the majority of the cities’ manpower being diverted off to the west, both of them are much more vulnerable than anyone likes. Mochara has the advantage of two fire-witches and a comparatively small length of wall to defend. Karvalen, on the other hand, is huge. It’s meant for a population in the hundreds of thousands, and that’s just on the surface. Defending it should require only a fraction of the population, but, considering how sparsely populated the place is, it’ll take everyone!

  I’m not against women fighting, but I am against anything that forces them to. It makes me think someone isn’t doing their job. In this case, me.

  But, aside from declaring peace, we don’t really have an option. We’ll have to risk someone doing an end run around us and trying to take the mountain.

  Saturday, July 31st

  Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to war we go!

  It’s traditional—or was, in both Rethven and Zirafel—for an army to set off with a bit of pomp and circumstance. So we paraded out of Karvalen. Horses pranced, men marched, and there was much singing and throwing of flowers.

  Yeah. And some of these people wouldn’t be coming back. I suppose it’s fair to give everyone a fancy sendoff.

  I hate thinking about how many people are going to die.

  Tort, fortunately, will not be one of them. Both she and T’yl are staying in the kingdom. T’yl will be the Magician of Mochara and Tort will be the Magician of Karvalen. If anyone does try to attack either city, a magician in residence could be vital. T’yl was quite pleased to not go off to war. Tort was somewhat less than pleased. She did acknowledge that she was the Royal Magician, however, and that her place was to defend the capitol. But she wasn’t gracious about it.

  I soothed her a bit. She was also going to be my chief link to the intelligence apparatus—the sand table, the communications mirrors, all that. I would need someone to talk to in Karvalen who could talk to the other cities. I would also need someone to operate the table and either relay information or share their eyes when we finally came to battle. Someone I trusted. She liked that somewhat better.

  Outside Karvalen, we loaded up a lot of infantry into the canal boats and sent them south while the rest marched along. The canal boats came back and picked up a second load about halfway through the march. It was a long way to Baret and a longer way to Byrne’s current southern border; every little bit of rest would help in the long run. Or long march.

  We went through the parade routine again in Mochara and picked up the majority of our supply wagons before hitting the road to Baret. Going up into the Eastrange was a struggle; I think I need to have the angle of the road decreased and a couple of switchbacks put in to make the going easier.

  Kelvin didn’t like my road. It was too narrow for his tastes, forcing us to string out too far along it. It also had too little in the way of cover. Anyone who got there ahead of us could find several places to lay an ambush. I listened attentively to his complaints and put an instruction spell into the road to handle his complaints and the steepness of the grade. It might not do us any good today, but he might be happier with it on the way back.

  Our progress was still quicker than Kelvin projected. While we had enough horses to have mounts for all the knights, most of them were using their horses to give rides, mainly to the boys who accompanied us. Women were generally aboard the supply wagons, except for the few that intended to be combatants. When we stopped for rest breaks and in the evening, my knights moved through the troops, casting spells to encourage sore muscles to grow and develop more quickly. They’ve even poked the wizards’ corps and prompted them to do the same. The wizards snapped right into it, possibly from embarrassment that armored lunks are doing the wizards’ job for them. Thomen might have had a few words with his guild, too. He doesn’t like being embarrassed.

  I’m a lousy king. But if I’ve done anything right, anything to be proud of, my knights are in that category.

  We camped outside Baret for a while and discovered that the various princes had been thoughtful. Our supplies were waiting, most of which were actually useful. For example, while it might be all right to camp under the stars in fair weather, when it rains a tent is a very good friend. We didn’t have enough to go around until we reached Baret. We also found out that our trail rations left a lot to be desired. Then we needed more shoes, and better ones. More shovels for field latrines. And a hundred little things that diminish the misery of an army on the march.

  If I ever arrange for decent roads in Rethven, I’ll see about bicycles. Just moving troops is a massive operation.

  I did check with Prince Banler about wagons. If they could spare enough of them, we could just duplicate what Bronze did when we hauled people out of Rethven. Link up a lot of wagons like railroad cars and hitch them to the iron horse�
�well, bronze horse—and let her pull them anywhere. But Baret needs its wagons; they don’t have a lot of spare wagons just lying around. We got a couple, just for asking, and we’ll put them to good use, but not enough to create a troop train.

  We also met our allied troops from Baret. The troops from Baret are soldiers, not militia, but we’re about as well-equipped as they are. There were some odd looks at the weaponry; everyone has a shield, a sling, a spear, and a sharmi. We had to explain our organizational system. The sergeants have a sort of Mohawk-like thing on their helmets; higher ranks have a small spike with colored ribbons. But everybody is armed for fighting at any range—missile, polearm, and close combat. They may be meant to fight at a specific range—there were over six hundred bowmen, for example—but have weapons, just in case.

  As for our training, there have been some incidents of high spirits and rivalry between the rank and file, but it’s all been relatively friendly. We’re allies, after all. My militiamen are learning a lot about being soldiers, but nobody has anything critical to say about their fighting skills.

  I think Baret’s soldiers like my army.

  Kelvin and I welcomed Huler, the captain of Baret’s army. He was one of those big men that ooze authority and power simply from his physical presence. He looked as though he could handle himself, too; I had no doubt he regularly pummeled people on the practice field. His horse was in the same scale—a requirement for a man that massive, especially in the plate-and-scale armor. He commanded the force that was attached to us, so we brought him into our council tent and discussed plans with him.

  He proved that big and strong does not mean stupid. There was a lot more to Huler than muscles, although he had plenty of those.

  Seldar got out the maps and assisted Kelvin; Torvil and Kammen flanked me, just in case someone invisible might try to sneak up from behind. As Kelvin unrolled the maps—I duplicated a lot of satellite photography onto large sheets of our lovely, glorious paper—Huler leaned down to stare at them, amazed at the level of detail.

  “How is this possible?” he asked. “These are the finest drawings I have ever seen!”

  “It’s easy when you have a flying carpet and a professional painter,” I lied. “It just takes a long time.”

  “These are wonderful! You can even make out the roads through the forest, the bridges, even the fords!”

  “I’m proud of them. Kelvin? Do you want to discuss the idea?”

  “Of course, Sire.” He turned to Huler. “You’ve heard about the new weapons Byrne is using?”

  “The thunder-rams?”

  “Those, yes.”

  “Yes, I have heard. I have never seen one.”

  “We have one much like theirs. We will be demonstrating it for your men so they will know what to expect.”

  “Good. Men fear what they do not understand.”

  I blinked at Huler. That was my first clue at how smart he was. I should have expected smarts, of course; he had a position of authority under Banler. Banler didn’t strike me as the type to tolerate idiots.

  Kelvin smoothed the map and pointed at Verthyn.

  “It is our understanding that this is as far north as we may go without fear of meeting Byrne troops.”

  “Yes, I think so. Verthyn has not yet been attacked, but I would not be surprised to find Byrne spies and saboteurs roaming farther south.”

  “How far is Verthyn?” I asked.

  “Your Majesty,” Huler replied, bowing slightly. “On foot, a determined man might make the trip in six days, with fair weather. An army? Perhaps ten days, if everything goes perfectly; more likely fifteen. I presume we’ll be stopping at towns along the way for supplies?”

  I remembered back to the days when Raeth, Bouger, and I were riding from Eastgate—now Vathula—to Crag Keep. We took our time because we were in no hurry and had a lot of things to teach each other. I, for one, needed the weapons drills, which cut into our travel time. Then there was the rain and the rougher terrain, which cut down our speed… so, yes, his estimate seemed about right.

  I lamented the lack of real roads yet again; dirt tracks just aren’t the same. We just don’t get as far as I keep expecting. Come to that, there really isn’t all that far to go. Rethven is only one small kingdom in a very large world. It just feels larger because it takes so long to get anywhere.

  “Yes, I think we will. But we can reach Verthyn in two weeks?”

  “I think it likely, yes, Your Majesty, if any sky gods grant us their favor.”

  “Any thoughts on whether Verthyn will welcome us or shoot at us?”

  Huler scratched at his jaw for a moment, looking up at the canvas ceiling.

  “Hard to say, Your Majesty. If I saw that lot of us camped on my doorstep, I’d have to give serious thought to smiling and taking it like a man. In their position, I’d only fight if I didn’t have a choice. That doesn’t mean they can be trusted, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “So, what do you think of this idea? We march north. We see if Verthyn wants to be a vassal to Byrne or a free city. What are the possibilities?”

  Huler thought about it for several seconds.

  “They could be willing to help us, understanding that they won’t be a vassal state to Byrne. That could go a lot of ways, from letting us through to feeding us to contributing troops. Or, they could hide behind their walls and wait for us to do the work. We’d get through their territory, at least. Or, by the time we get there, Byrne might have taken the city, or Verthyn might have negotiated a deal. That’s pretty much the same for us, either way: That’s when the fighting starts.” He paused, appeared to count on his fingers for a moment, and looked at me. “Have I missed anything, Your Majesty?”

  I looked at Kelvin. He shook his head. I noticed he had a fresh haircut, trimmed down close and impossible to grab. I realized why that style was suddenly popular among the footsloggers.

  “Sire,” Kelvin said, “I agree with Huler’s estimation.”

  “So, what’s more important? Getting there in a hurry, or arriving ready to fight?”

  Huler and Kelvin looked at each other and Huler gestured, indicating that he deferred to Kelvin.

  “Arrive ready to fight,” Kelvin said. Huler nodded agreement.

  “Then let’s sort ourselves out and get going.”

  Wednesday, August 4th

  We practically flew from Karvalen to Mochara to Baret. We crawled from Baret to Wexbry.

  They don’t have much shipping on the Caladar. It’s mostly fast and deep, with numerous tributaries coming down from the Eastrange. I still found myself wondering if there were enough boats to make it worthwhile to ship troops instead of march them. There weren’t, but I thought about it.

  One consolation was the knowledge that I was now dealing with something fairly straightforward. Not assassination attempts, not spying—magical or otherwise—nor even political maneuvering. As much as I despised the idea that people were marching somewhere to kill and be killed, at least it was direct and forthright. Armies would meet; blood would be spilled; someone would emerge the victor.

  It’s a sad thing to think of war as simple and straightforward. It really isn’t, except by comparison.

  So we slogged along, singing songs as we went. I shan’t relate them, except to say that Tyma and/or her father apparently wrote a couple specifically for marching, then saved them until the day we went to war. I tried like hell to pretend I wasn’t embarrassed when Tyma got people to sing them. She accompanied us; her father was too old for a long march and stayed at home.

  On the plus side, nobody made any comments about my height. Nice of them, I thought. I do look silly on a horse the size of Bronze. The scale is off and it just looks wrong.

  When we reached Wexbry, we were welcomed with a fair amount of courtesy and ceremony. I had to trade polite nothings when we met the envoys from Wexbry, outside the walls, and more polite nothings at dinner with Prince Gorin—a spare man with sharp eyes, a sardonic smile, and
no patience whatsoever. He maintained a solid diplomatic face in public; he became much less tolerant of stupidity and slowness in private. I liked him, or respected him, since he struck me as a very no-nonsense sort of ruler. I doubted he was much loved, but he was definitely in charge and determined to do his best for his people.

  The next morning, we purchased some heavily-discounted supplies—not exactly a “contribution,” but the final cost was hardly more than a token payment. We pressed on northward.

  And it began to rain.

  Wagons don’t like rain. Pedestrians don’t like it, either. The rivers of mud—excuse me, “roads”—turned into barely-passable tracks. Wagons got stuck on a regular basis, requiring either a laborious process of extraction or Bronze pushing them free.

  I suspect people love my horse more than they love me. In one day, she earned the eternal gratitude of thousands of mud-spattered men. I counted no less than forty-three men who checked on Bronze when we were making camp, just to see if she needed to be brushed down or cleaned up. Remember, that’s forty-three men who marched all day in ankle-deep mud, ate cold trail rations, and planned to camp out overnight before doing it again. People don’t do that kind of thing lightly.

  Tomorrow, we should be in sight of Philemon; Prince Larsus sent out scouts to find us. They were very helpful in that they gave us an idea of how much farther we had to go through the mud.

  Roads. Dammit. If I ever have the chance to rearrange the Rethven infrastructure, they’re getting paved roads. Maybe canals, too. I hate mud, and everyone with me hates mud. I bet I could declare we’re paving the road as we go, just so we don’t shlorp along, and they would cheer. Even at worst, they wouldn’t complain.

  Sunday, August 8th

  We made it to Philemon. It’s not a large place. I would have called it a town, not a city, but they seem to be very proud of themselves—much like Mochara—so I’m treating them with all due respect. They’re very militant, though, which jibed well with the report of Larsus’ desire to Take Over the World. He wasn’t about to. He just didn’t have enough force to do it. But it was a dangerous little city, all the same.