Harald-ARC

by David Friedman

  "Not tripped." That brought a laugh from some of the others. From behind them a voice.

  "One answer, others. May I?"

  Broad, medium height, graying hair. He reached out a hand. The boy handed him the sword. The Lady following him took a matching weapon from one of the bystanders.

  "By your leave?" Nobody objecting, the two stepped into the middle of the circle. The attack came at half speed, three blows. The Lady retreated, tripped over an invisible obstacle, fell to her back, sword up. As the point came at her throat her left hand slapped the flat of the blade aside, her sword swung one handed. The two froze, the man's sword pointing at the ground, the Lady's edge against his right side.

  Mikel called out over the sudden silence:

  "Easy enough moving slow like that."

  The man glanced at the Lady. This time the blows came as fast as when the boys were fighting, the result the same.

  "Any faster, need armor." Harald handed the sword back to Hen, turned to go.

  "Show us more."

  He turned back, looked at the faces—most eager—reached out for the sword.

  Mikel felt a hand on his shoulder.

  "Know folk would pay good silver to watch those two at practice."

  He turned, recognized Stephen, behind him the King, both watching the two figures in the ring.

  "My lord." He stopped, hesitated.

  "Yes." He turned back to watch.

  Later, Harald met Leonora emerging from the bath house, hair dripping.

  "Fun; should do it more often."

  She nodded. Hen joined them.

  "That was wonderful. Father says you're riding south to the city. Can I come? I could help with the horses."

  "Up to Yosef. Doesn't need you, glad of the company. Friend I'd like you to meet."

  The next morning they were on the road—Harald, James, Hen and a decade of cats.

  By the end of the second day Hen had lost his awe of the King, discovered a subject of common interest. The next morning they fell to the back of the line of horsemen to discuss it out of his earshot. Hen was half way through the fight by Willow Creek when the King's horse shied to one side.

  Hen shouted "Ware ambush," wheeled his horse, charged at the men coming out of the forest edge. The King's horse bolted down the road. By the time he had it back under control everything was over. Most of the cats, mounted, were clustered around Hen. A moment later two more came out of the woods.

  "Ran."

  "Too late to catch them now. Knute, help James with the horse—arrow in the left rump. Hen?"

  "Is the King all right?"

  "King's fine. His horse has an arrow in it. What about you?"

  Hen looked down.

  "Oh."

  One arrow was standing out of his side, a second in his left shoulder.

  "Let me get you down. Gently, lady mine."

  The gray mare stepped daintily sideways, next to Hen's gelding. Harald lifted the boy out of the saddle, handed him down to one of the two on foot, then dismounted.

  "Was I right? You said—about archers. I knew, but ... "

  "But they didn't. You were right. Why they ran." As he spoke, Harald was reaching into his saddle bag. A moment later he was kneeling by the boy.

  Half an hour later the arrows were out, Hen still, eyes closed, breathing. Harald looked up. Knute gestured at the two horses, the litter between them.

  "Safe to move?"

  "Think so—rib stopped it. Inn's not that far."

  * * *

  Harald listened a moment to the noise of voices in the street outside, poured a last dipper of warm water over himself, climbed out of the wooden tub, dumped in his discarded clothing, stretched. A few minutes of stirring got rid of most of the river mud. He wrung out tunic and drawers, hung them over the back of the bench, pulled on dry clothes, went out into the inn courtyard, damp garments over one arm.

  Waiting for him were two familiar faces. He looked at one, spoke to the other.

  "What are you doing here? Should have him back to Forest Keep by now."

  Knute shrugged: "Not my kid; said he wanted to come south."

  Harald turned to Hen, waited:

  "James...His Majesty...said to visit. Never seen the city, almost there. Besides, you had a friend you wanted me to meet. Keep's boring."

  "Dying is worse. Let me see."

  He led the boy back into the privacy of the bath house, helped him pull off his tunic, looked over the wounds in side and shoulder.

  "Not bad, should still take it easy."

  "I walked the horse all the way—Knute said."

  "All the way home too. Dinner, good night's rest here; I'm too old to go scrambling over rocks. Tomorrow visit your friend James, couple of ladies. Head back, stop by some friends of mine, take care of an errand, back north. Walking."

  A day and a half later, rested and fed, they rode out of the king's castle headed west, Hen quieter than usual. After a while he spoke:

  "It felt like home."

  "Save a man's life, womenfolk are apt to appreciate you."

  "Didn't."

  "He had sense enough to wear mail—not like some I could mention. Arrow can still go through it."

  "Elen was nice." He looked down a moment. "Like mother when I was little."

  "Good lady. No children of her own."

  "The little girl was sweet."

  Knute snorted: "Visits the most beautiful lady in the kingdom, all he notices is the baby."

  "Is she?" Hen looked frankly curious; Harald answered.

  "Beautiful. Brave. More sense than most. Better than James deserves—anyone else I can think of. Pretty baby too—takes after her mother." They rode on in comfortable silence.

  By late afternoon they had left the river valley, following a path that climbed north. On their right a small river, sometimes near, sometimes out of sight. At last Harald stopped, motioned Knute back, rode forward with Hen beside him. On their right the forest fell back, plowed land, meadow. A small house, a barn, a young man pulling weeds. He looked up. Harald called out:

  "How's the fishing?"

  Before he was finished the gray mare was in motion. So was Jon. He absentmindedly fed her a handful of weeds, looked up at her rider. Harald slid off the horse; Jon hugged him, head against the taller man's shoulder.

  "Too long. Brought a friend. About your age."

  Jon looked up, Hen down.

  The next morning, Harald, Hen and Knute went with Jon and his mother to help a neighbor, some miles farther up the little valley, put a new roof on his barn. A dozen families were there already. When the work was done, the householder thanked the visitors for their help. One of the other men asked about news.

  "War. Imperial army coming south."

  "I heard the King drove them back this spring."

  "Bigger army this time. King thinks it's headed for Eston. Don't expect they'll forage this high, but might want to get women, herds, up hill a bit, hide things."

  There was a long silence. One of the men broke it.

  "How sure are you?"

  "Emperor hasn't told me his plans. King thinks they're coming this way. So do I."

  "The King told you?"

  "Knew I was coming up here, thought I should warn you, maybe see what could be done."

  The man looked skeptical. One of the others moved to the front, looked carefully at Harald.

  "Thought I'd seen you before. Last time was Fox Valley. Good advice then—least, we won the battle."

  Harald looked at him carefully:

  "With big Henry, royal spears?"

  The man nodded.

  "Ware archers!"

  The shout was from Knute, the arrow still quivering in the ground a few yards from where Harald stood. The next few seconds were chaos as farmers scattered, Knute ran for his horse, Harald whistled for his. Both men had bows out and arrows knocked by the time the two boys came around the side of the barn into sight, Hen with a bow in his good hand, Jon a quiver of arrows
.

  "Anyone see an arrow?"

  Harald pointed, spoke to Jon.

  "Shooting at your friends is bad manners."

  "It wasn't him; I did it. Sorry."

  Harald looked in puzzlement at Hen, his wounded arm still strapped to his side, the bow in the other.

  "How ... Oh."

  "Jon told me how you shot two Wolves with a broken arm. Never thought it would go all the way over the barn."

  * * *

  Back at Stephen's hold, the first person Harald looked for was Yosef. He found him camped with the province levy.

  "Where's Hen?"

  "Got himself hurt protecting the King from an ambush on the way south—did the right thing, did it fast, wasn't wearing mail. Not bad, started to heal, riding was opening it again. Left him with friends in the hills above Eston valley. Don't expect Imperials will get that far, can move farther up if they do. Anne would have been happy to take him, figured this was safer. Friend his age to keep him out of trouble. Good kid."

  "Never managed with us or 'Bjorn. Think you can do better with other people's kids?"

  Harald turned to the familiar voice, hugged his daughter, held her out at arms length.

  "Iskander didn't decide to keep you for his harem after all? Thought I had it all arranged."

  "Iskander behaved very well. Ever gives you any trouble, threaten to spread the story of how he escaped from the summer palace dressed as a woman. Artos, on the other hand ..."

  "More your type anyway. Everyone safe?"

  "Including your grandson."

  "Figured that was where he was off to. Make himself useful?"

  Caralla hesitated a moment, looked around. Again.

  "Probably saved Kiron's life in the capital. Helpful getting Iskander out. Don't tell him I said so. More later, too; you'll hear when we go up hill."

  When they got to council—the King was already back—"more" turned out to be a detailed account, in writing, of the Imperial army.

  "Stalked one of the officers, held his feet to the fire till he told?"

  Caralla shook her head.

  "Into their camp to beg, do tumbling tricks. Left me a note—said he'd rejoin us this side the ford. Did. Got a handful of coppers and two silvers."

  "Twelve legions, Emperor commanding. Fifty cacades heavy cavalry, forty mixed, no Westkin, another thirty of archers, Bashkai, odds and ends. That's it?" Harald looked up from the paper.

  Caralla nodded.

  Five days later a scout brought more news. The Imperial army had crossed the river.

  * * *

  "You counted ten banners?"

  Kara nodded. The King looked puzzled.

  "I thought there were twelve legions."

  Harald answered: "Were. Question is who's missing."

  He turned to Kara:

  "See the First—Sunburst Gold on red?"

  She shook her head.

  "Thought so. Bet the other's Fourteenth or Fifteenth. Banner's ..."

  She interrupted: "Fourteenth isn't there. Rest fit 'Bjorn's list."

  Harald nodded:

  "Got the news. Wants to be sure, gets back to the western capital, someone to open the door."

  "What news?" This time it was Stephen.

  "Few weeks back, Second Prince got out of where the Old Man put him. Must have made it home. First is Emperor's old legion; headed for the capital. Fourteenth is out of the east, no ties to the princes. Put it in the pass, make sure Artos and Iskander don't come visiting."

  He nodded at Caralla.

  "Next ten won't be so easy."

  Valley And Plains

  Be not over wary, but wary enough

  Two weeks later the Emperor's tent was pitched at the forest's edge within sight of the royal castle. Its owner sat silent, watching the legions make camp. Only when all the commanders had arrived did he speak:

  "The first question is where are the Karls and their allies? Vija?"

  The scout commander bowed, thought a moment: "Coming south, their army was growing, maybe levies coming in. Five thousand heavies, it could have been more. Two, three hundred cats. A thousand of the damn mounted archers.

  "A lot of them fell back up the valley—too narrow to count numbers. The King's banner went the same way. Nobody is left outside the walls so they must all be inside—castle or city.

  "I have a better count of what was left on the plain—we had room to see them. A few hundred heavies, a few hundred cats, more Order. Not much of an army—our cavalry pushed, they fell back."

  "Garth?"

  "I left the camp at the valley mouth yesterday morning. Legion commanders there say all they've seen are a few cats. Cavalry want to deal with them, catch any levies still coming in."

  A tall man sitting in the rear of the tent looked up, spoke:

  "The King is in the castle—you can see his flag from here. The provinces won't be happy to assemble, go into battle, without him. Lords aren't all the best of friends."

  "Anyone else?" Nobody responded; the Emperor summed up.

  "Our best guess is that Harald has a few hundred cats, a few hundred heavies, a thousand mounted archers out on the plain. The King in the castle and whoever's commanding in the city have four or five thousand dismounted cavalry between them, a thousand Order archers, maybe more. It won't be easy, but we should be able to deal with them."

  The tall man spoke again:

  "Eston has a few hundred trained crossbow men, more archers, lots of militia—numbers, not much armor or training. The mayor and the city guard captain in command. Castle garrison—James is young, doesn't know much, but he might listen to his captains." He fell silent. The Emperor nodded, continued:

  "We have two sieges to run. Third, you're senior, in charge of this one. Twentieth, the city is your problem—take a look at cutting their water. Both of you report to me, messages daily if I'm at the other siege.

  "Garth, you and Vija start back today for the valley mouth. If I had time I'd talk to Justin myself, but it's a day's ride and more. Here's what I want you to tell him:

  "Our best guess is that Harald doesn't have much of an army out on the plain—a few hundred cats, less than a thousand heavies, a few more coming in if our friend is wrong about the provinces. Maybe a thousand mounted archers, probably less.

  "There are a lot more cats on the far side of the mountains. That's why Vija has scouts half way across the plain. We might lose a few, but leatherbacks outrun cats. My guess is the Vales fought a hard campaign their side of the mountains this spring, sent Harald and a few hundred men, and that's probably it. If he asks for more and they don't come there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

  "My best guess is he isn't getting much more. Best guess, our cavalry outnumber him four to one, maybe more. When the cavalry commanders hear that, they might decide it's their chance for glory.

  "Justin's senior in the western force. He's a day's ride from here; I can't hold his hand. Tell him from me, our best guess is still a guess—in twenty years we've made a lot of wrong guesses. If he smashes the Karl cavalry out on the plains, we still have to win here. If he loses our cavalry trying, we have a problem. Not a good time to take chances, not a good commander to take them against. If he has to fight, he should use cavalry and legions both—if our guesses are wrong Harald might have more cavalry than we do. Questions?"

  Garth thought a moment: "Your Majesty's best guess is that Harald has only a small army but Justin is not to risk his force on that or let the cavalry commanders risk theirs. If it comes to a fight, he is to use both his legions and the cavalry together."

  "Correct. Go tell him."

  * * *

  "I know you can ride and shoot. If I point out that you don't have a war coat you'll borrow a lamella each off two hundred cats to make one with—and one of them will get an arrow through the hole."

  Asbjorn looked at his grandfather with suspicion.

  "But you are not trained to fight as part of a decade; learning in the middle of a battl
e can get other people killed. Besides, putting you in the line would be a waste—more useful doing other things."