The Conqueror

by Louis Shalako

  There was nothing for it but to keep shouting, keep shoving forwards, and begin a furious slashing attack even as the sound from the harbor side dropped and then it was just him and that other man.

  There were others behind the enemy trooper, all madly shouting and clearing their weapons…

  Lowren had him on height, weight and reach and the fellow was desperate to get away. The man had this sick look of desperation on his face as he weakly parried Lowren’s blows. He slammed into the next soldier, who clearly hadn’t been paying attention, and shrieking as Lowren ran him through. Another wild-eyed white face was shouting hoarse words and defending himself from a similar fate. Two more men of Lemni appeared at his side. The clang of steel rang out all around him. There was someone with a crossbow was on the top of the wall. They were giving a good account of himself, as man after man ahead of Lowren dropped before he could even really get to grips with them.

  The screams of wounded and dying men pierced his consciousness and all was a scene of confusion.

  His face and hands were wet with something slippery.

  “Lowren! Lowren! To me! To me!”

  “Here, sire!”

  “At your back, sire! Keep going! Sire. Keep going.”

  His men were with him now, and the small number of troops defending this part of the wall were either dead, running, or heading for the guard towers and their stout doors. Bodies on the ground below attested either to their sheer panic or the fact that his men had simply thrown them headlong...

  Lowren grabbed for the nearest man, the trooper’s chest heaving with the exertion.

  “There’s no one to our left—have our troops locate the next ship to the right. We must link up and concentrate, right here.”

  “Yes, sire!” The man, a soldier vaguely familiar from training and parades, from the short but intense voyage itself, stepped over a half-dozen bodies, none of which were their own men and hurried off along the walkway, taking half a dozen men with him.

  One or two of him men had been cut but looked capable of moving forwards. A fellow soldier was already dressing the forearm of another with clean cotton rags brought for just such a purpose.

  “The rest of you.”

  “Sire!”

  They all shouted at once.

  Several had bloody swords and the rest looked eager enough.

  “I need two men with axes.” These had been issued to the stronger lads, especially those that knew how to use them.

  Two of the group hurriedly sheathed their wet red swords and yanked the cords that held the axes to their shoulders.

  “Sire!”

  “Yes, sire! Here we are!”

  “Take the door off that guard room and be quick about it.”

  If the enemy hadn’t fled, if the enemy had any idea of what they were doing, if they had any kind of a serjeant in that guardroom, at any moment a flurry of crossbow quarrels would come flying out of the upper galleries. Not so much this tower, for they were at the top of the wall already, and there was no one on the parapet, which was twelve feet above their heads. It was those other towers, the ones studding an inner line of walls, one with a road separating them all around the perimeter of the city that concerned him.

  A simple steel helmet and a coat of mail were no match for bows or crossbows, especially at such close range. It couldn’t be more than fifty yards.

  The ringing of axes barely made a dent in the great roar, as of a rushing of winds coming from the harbor. The alien noise, if anything, would add to the confusion, and running soldiers were a notoriously contagious sight. It would take the few enemy troops that escaped some time to regroup and even report. It wouldn’t take long, but he had a half a minute. Lowren strode over to the nearest gap in the crenellations and had a look out there.

  While the ships nearest the city and its seawall were still not involved, and with prompt action they might be saved, Lowren saw that all the fire ships and their immediate victims were fully engulfed. The lurid glare illuminated the small rowing boats as their crews made their exit. His impression was that all or most had gotten away, but it was impossible to properly count them. The excitement might have something to do with that.

  The flames were coming up higher than the tallest tower of the lower level of fortifications. Even as the thought came, one ship in particular sent up a spectacular shower of sparks as a cargo of oil or bitumen took hold and the fire really set to with a will.

  The wind was still north-westerly, but the ships of Sinopus and other neutral powers weren’t targets anyway. The less damage there, the better.

  The high inner walls and the towers overlooking this position must soon become a factor. He must get his men off the top of this wall. He strode back to encourage the men at the tower door, being very careful not to be clipped by a wildly swinging axe.

  “Keep going.” They could already see a bit of light through there.

  If nothing else, the idiots should have doused any lights inside.

  “Here’s a bar, sire.”

  Lowren took the seven-foot bar and yelled at the axe-men to stand back.

  A man threw his axe aside, and it fell clanging onto the roof tiles of shops and houses down below.

  “Let me do it sire—”

  Lowren handed him the crowbar, and with a lunge, the man embedded the point into a smashed bit of white wood beside the latch.

  “I’ll give you ten gold pieces if you can...”

  The door scrunched and went swinging wildly to the left and the axe-man there jumped back, half pulling his sword out of the scabbard.

  The man with the bar was standing there with a look on his face.

  “Sire.”

  “Make it twenty—how tall are you, anyways?”

  The man just laughed.

  “We’ll worry about that later, sire.” The fellow reached out and gave the King a pat on the bicep.

  He and his partner were in the door before even Lowren could think of some suitably-witty remark.

  He followed, quick as a wink, but the quiet in there and the sight of their sides and backs, as they had their ears up against the opposite door, told its own story.

  “That one just goes out the other side.” The next guard tower was half a bow-shot away.

  “It seems terribly quiet out there.” The shorter one pointed at a heavy door on the inner or city side. “There’s the stairs over there, sire.”

  “Where’s the tower party?’

  They were right there, six solidly-built young men clad in the most comprehensive armor that Windermere and the Heloi could provide. They each had a small but powerful crossbow, quivers of bolts on their hips, and short swords at their sides. More than anything, they knew how to shoot on the fly and when to go for the eyeballs.

  “Sire! Tower party all present and accounted-for. Give us the word, sire!”

  “All right lads, down you go.”

  One of the axe-men lifted the bolt from its cradle, yanked open the door and stood aside. The next phase began with shouts and the clank and clamor of swords, shields and men in armor. They crashed without hesitation down the circular stairway just as fast as they could go. Next came the two axe-men, one looking a bit sheepish when he realized he had thrown his axe away in his excitement.

  Lowren gave him a look and indicated the door.

  “Sorry, sire.”

  “You’ll know better next time. Back up your partner and let’s get on with it—”

  The sounds of the fire in the harbor dropped off, but even then it didn’t completely go away.

  With another twenty or thirty men following down the stairs in single file, Lowren and the tower party continued their attack.

  If everything went according to plan—and it never did exactly that, approximately thirty-six hundred of the Khan’s finest troops were around there somewhere. In all likelihood they were spilling out of their barracks and billets and making their way at top speed, right for this very spot.

  As for the peo
ple of Sinopus, now that the alarm had been given—and he could clearly hear the bells of the city ringing madly on the other side of those stone walls, hopefully they would quickly figure out which side they were on.

  Otherwise, Lowren and his own little band would be looking at a very long day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They had borrowed the Great Hall of Assembly, dedicated to the municipal government of Sinopus and its narrow hinterland. Lowren would have preferred a much smaller group, but they could hardly ignore the indignant shouts of the people of Sinopus, either.

  He’d never seen so many people in his entire life, not all at one time, not all under one roof that is. Maybe on a field of battle somewhere, but this was a mob. The noise was horrendous. It was an impressive place. He’d never seen anything like it. Although Eleanora’s city was beautiful, it was much smaller and there were no buildings like this one. The walls were polished slabs of a shiny black stone, and the ceiling a hundred feet high with generous clerestory windows on all sides.

  King Lowren, Princess Theodelinda and Barreth, Admiral and commander of the Heloian contingent, sat impassively behind a polished maple slab in high-backed wing chairs embroidered in the arms of Sinopus. Behind each chair stood a magistrate of the small but bustling state, clad in the blue robe of their office. They would give whatever happened here today a legal sanction, and draw up any documents required. They would ultimately be putting their names on there too, but to the victors belonged the spoils, and the honors, of war.

  At least they were getting their city back, and it didn’t pay to be too pushy or too smug sometimes.

  For the moment, they weren’t exactly supplicants, neither were they fully in control—not yet.

  Some of their suggestions as to protocols had been accepted, and for that they must be grateful.

  There was some symbolism involved.

  A few days had gone by, and the men still holding out in the citadel had been given an offer.

  They’d also had a little time to think on it; surrender with honor or fight to the last man.

  Lowren wore a gilt breastplate, an ancient relic from one of his father’s wars, his habitual kilt, a white shirt, and a dark green cloak thrown back from his shoulders. For this occasion he wore the sturdy sandals of an everyday trooper. He wore no helmet. His hair was combed out and squeaky clean after a good hot Sinopean steam-bath. The king was properly shaven as was his wont. His sword lay on the table in front of them by prior agreement amongst themselves. He had been the first on the battlements and the plan was essentially his.

  The diminutive Admiral Barreth, with his short grey beard and emphatic manner, wore a purple robe of state over his naval uniform. He was a parliamentarian and a counselor in his spare time as he put it, and Theo wore polished chain-mail from head to toe, with her long hands bare and without a weapon. She wore golden spurs, which Lowren thought was a nice touch. One could sense the fine hand of her cousin in there somewhere, almost as if she were present herself.

  In the exact centre of the table were a carafe of water in a crystalline decanter and a circle of clean glasses upside down on the tray all around it. There were the usual papers and quills and inkpots common to all such affairs, albeit seldom used. There were bouquets of flowers set on benches behind them, screening them to some extent from view of the men there. They were of symbolic value. In Lowren’s experience, people could get quite thirsty under such circumstances. He had seen men doodle and otherwise make small but useless notes at the negotiating table, desperately playing for time when it had long since run out.

  The longer the siege, the thirstier people got, as it seemed to him. No, it was the mob of unwashed humanity that was different this time. They surrounded the little party on three sides, going up in tiers of elevated seating. In his own lands, or on his own battlefield rather, he never would have allowed it, as such events tended towards hot passions. Things could rapidly get out of hand just when they could have been resolved. The mob could be terribly fickle. Lowren had lost a few battles, none really badly, and had eventually settled every war he had ever been in—to the relative satisfaction of all parties concerned. It would be this way with the Horde, he was convinced. They were here to stay, but then so was he—and so were his new allies. The Horde would learn that lesson, just as they all must. Just as Lowren himself must have had, as he reflected on matters at hand, and it reflected no credit on him to humble a man already defeated.

  We must have learned that somewhere, and let us hope the Khan does as well.

  Hence the ceremonial aspect of all of this...if it wasn’t for kings and philosophers, the world would never have gotten this far.

  It was something his father had once told him. Appearances were important, he had reluctantly concluded, once upon a time. Never more so than with kings.

  There was a flat central area with an aisle up the middle directly in front of the table.

  They had row upon row of desks, more like pews really. They came in short blocks so people could come and go. It was a representative assembly. There were curving little bench seats attached to the desks. The seats were all occupied, in fact it was jammed. The people were mostly leaning forward to catch the action. The faces were beaming, still showing fury or emotion. Some were just curious, but none were reflecting the calm impassivity of the conquerors. There were all ages, and sexes, and conditions of life represented here and Lowren could see the value in it, for Sinope was what they called a democracy.

  They weren’t even to be given a governor. This was sort of unprecedented.

  Sinope was a long reach for any one of them, considering their limited resources. Since none of the three conquering states had the power, the ability or the desire to govern the place, to avoid dissension and confusion, the people of Sinopus were to be set free again. The three powers would settle for favored-nation status, reduced fees for port privileges, and other commercial and diplomatic concessions, concessions that both recognized and re-granted Sinope and her citizens their hard-won sovereignty.

  Reduced fees for port privileges, the thought made Lowren smile. His people traded to Sinope, but that was what war was ultimately about, nine times out of ten.

  Let the Khan or some other idiot make it about religion, he thought.

  It was being presented as a friendly rescue, an intervention, upon the pressing solicitations of certain public-spirited but forever to be un-named ‘citizens of Sinopus.’

  They were asking help to restore order…

  It was a finely-calculated thing and Lowren had to give full credit to his senior partners in this well-brokered political and military deal.

  It was a lesson in statecraft and one well worth observing.

  Each allied nation had its flag, prominently displayed, slightly behind and flanking the flag of Sinopus, and each had their color guard, and each had a contingent of troops. Small detachments were lined up behind the trio, with others lined up against the back wall to observe, to intimidate, and to keep order if necessary. They had found a few soldiers and men of Sinopus. Once released from gaol, they had been rapidly adopted and re-equipped. It was this small crew, presumably more loyal to Sinopus than to their benefactors, who lined the back wall of the hall, ready to step forth and symbolically take their rightful places again. Their uniforms were a bit of a hodge-podge, but there they stood.

  Lowren had to give it this much, it was a kind of political theatre. A half an hour and they would be done here.

  “All right. We seem to be ready now.”

  The secretaries, done shuffling papers, backed off and made themselves scarce by the side wall, where they could be ready to scoot forwards and shuffle them some more.

  Theo nodded firmly.

  “I’m getting hungry.”

  Lowren chuckled but Barreth just looked patient—and possibly ready to go home.

  Lowren leaned forwards and looked to Barreth on the far right of the table.

  The gentleman spoke.


  “Yes, let’s get this dog-and-pony-show over with.”

  Some of the most honored, or perhaps merely the rich of the city of Sinopus occupied the front rows. The one on the end got up on a nod from a man in what was to him an unfamiliar uniform, that of one of the Windermere sea-captains. He went to the fifteen-foot tall doors. Two troops of the Heloi, standing there with naked swords held vertically at all times in their right hands, whirled in perfect form and opened them up for him.

  His voice, muffled slightly by being directed outwards, came to the ears of the now-hushed assembly. There were vague echoes from the outer hallway.

  A line of Hordesmen entered the room in single file, looking stunned.

  The voices all around them rose in anger, and fascination, and the room was abuzz. They were all shouting at once. People said some very nasty things as the representatives of the Horde followed the noble of Sinope up to the head table. Lowren felt little hate for them. The people coming up the aisle did their best to studiously ignore it. They stood before the table and then nodded. One man bowed.

  The noble of Sinopus took his elbow in an oddly friendly manner.

  He indicated a chair. He stepped back, went around the escort, and then quietly took his seat again on the end of the front row.

  The one man, forehead already glazed with sweat, took a seat and the others, looking slightly abashed by all the attention, stood behind him, sidling out left and right in a row. The funny thing was, the room wasn’t all that warm, thought Lowren.

  The troops of the Horde, completely unarmed as agreed, glared over the heads of the negotiating party and tried not to say anything stupid.

  It was over.

  They had agreed they would not stand, but otherwise the ceremony would be as brief and as painless as possible. They had accomplished all of their objectives. Nothing more than this was necessary.

  “I am Lowren, King of the Lemni. In the centre is Theodelinda, a cousin and representative of Queen Eleanora of Windemere, and on her right is Barreth, Naval Master-General of the Heloi. She has and he has, and I have, full authority to treat with you or any authorized representative of the Horde. What say you?”