The Argument of Empires (The Corrossan Trilogy Book 1)

by Jacob T. Helvey

  “If you spend enough time with His Highness, you will learn quickly that he makes his own council.” Oranhur whistled to a groom who stood nearby. “Bring us a pair of horses,” he told the freckled boy. The youth nodded and scampered off in the direction of the hitching posts.

  “He seems to listen to the advisors who are with him.” Kareen kept her eyes fixed forward, where the army was assembling. Fifteen thousand men… she hoped it was enough.

  “You mean his grandchildren?” Oranhur asked.

  Kareen gave him a suspicious look. “The Gift of Tirrak passes onto his descendants?” His grandchildren… they would have to be at least three hundred and fifty years old, nearly as old as Hadan himself. But they looked twenty years his senior.

  “No. They aren’t really his grandchildren. It’s just what we call his older descendants. The Emperor has fathered sixty children in his lifetime, many of them early in his reign. He has thousands of descendants, tens of thousands. Renna and Loen just happen to be the oldest ones with any connection to the central family.”

  Kareen nodded. There was little resemblance to speak of, but then again, Renna and Loen were generations removed from Hadan. His blood would be thin as water in their veins.

  The groom brought horses and handed the reigns to Oranhur and Kareen in turn, giving them each a bow as he did. Kareen didn’t think she would have gotten that courtesy a week ago. But after several baths and a new suit of clothes scrounged together from camp followers willing to sell their dresses, she looked decent enough. Not noble, but certainly not like a smelly beggar either.

  Oranhur swung himself onto his saddle and Kareen followed suit. Her dress was slit just for such a purpose. At least she wouldn’t have to look like a fool riding side-saddle. Still, with a dress, riding a horse was never a particularly comfortable experience.

  They set off, descending into the lower portions of the camp. Here, the activity was at its height. Men ran this way and that, gathering supplies and packing tents onto the fleet of ox drawn carts that were needed to move an army of this size.

  “The Cutarans have probably reached the Front by now,” Oranhur said, as they came within sight of the Emperor’s pavilion. “I would bet my life on it. And they will choose to pass in between the camps.”

  “Meaning we won’t spot them.” Kareen concluded.

  “I sent out scouts the day after you arrived. But their reports… some have been spotty, others contradictory. This offensive, this entire war, could be decided by something as simple as whether we go east or west.”

  “Of course,” Oranhur continued. “We can follow the smoke from cook fires, hell, even the smell of them. We can track their footprints if we can find any, or even the leftovers of an abandoned camp.” He sighed. “But there’s hundreds of miles of land to cover out there. I imagine that it will be luck that lets us catch them, before this is all said and done.”

  Kareen still found it strange how quickly Oranhur had taken to her. While Hadan’s advisors, especially Renna, considered her word questionable at the best of times, the bearish general used her as a strange sort of confidant. She had little knowledge of warfare, and lacked any of the political ties and unknowable affiliations that everyone else of rank in the immense camp seemed to possess. Half the time, he just came to vent, as he had already done twice in the week they had known each other.

  “To my untrained mind,” Kareen began. “It seems war relies as much on luck as skill.”

  Oranhur grunted his affirmation. “I know a few self-important bastards—pardon my language—who might disagree with you on that point. Some are even officers in my own army. But for the most part, I agree with you. In history, it is often the rain that soaks the field of battle, or the position of the sun in the sky that can decide the day.”

  “At Telu Ford,” the general continued, sounding as if he was giving a lecture to a group of young officers. “Pedrin used the fall of halflight in the same way. He knew we had archers lying in wait for him if he tried to advance in the open. But in the dark, he managed to deploy his infantry to within spitting distance of our line. I still don’t know how they stayed so quiet. But however he did it, when the sun peaked out from behind Tirrak, we were met by five-thousand screaming Kilrians bearings pikes. It was a slaughter.”

  Kareen had never heard that particular description of the events that had transpired that day. Pedrin Komay had been the best commander the Rebels had. It had been for that reason he had been named King of Kilri and Vashava. A strange, rebellious part of her was proud that one of her countrymen had devised such a cunning plan. But the greater part was disgusted. For all his intelligence, Komay had still been misled by the poison between the pages of the Argument of Empires, driving him to raise arms against his rightful ruler.

  But the man who they approached had paid Komay back in full. Hadan was surrounded by a sea of Highlanders. Each carried their ceremonial weapons with menace, keeping a warry eye on every soldier, camp follower, and errand boy who passed within a hundred paces of the Emperor’s Pavilion where it sat at the edge of the Corrossan camp. They wore their tall helmets proudly and Kareen noted, didn’t bow as she and Oranhur approached. Unlike the rank and file soldiers, who first and foremost reported to their lords, the Highlanders served no one but the Emperor.

  “I still don’t think they trust me,” Kareen told Oranhur, raising her voice enough so that every one of the guards present would be able to hear her. Embarrassment, she was quickly finding, was the best way to deal with people like these self-important guardsmen. Oranhur just smiled as the Highlanders parted to let them through. Many of them gave Kareen foul looks, hands tightening on the hafts of axes. But they would never slight her, not openly, and certainly not if she remained in their master’s good graces.

  Hadan sat in an oak chair at the center of the formation. He drank from a heavy leather cup, the kind that might be carried by a common soldier. Despite the opulence of his seat and the constant tending of servants, he didn’t look to be relaxing. He leaned forward, watching intently as the troops filed by to take up position on the plains east of the camp.

  Oranhur and Kareen dismounted. Hadan turned as they approached and rose to his feet. They bowed as one, eyes towards the ground, hands over their hearts, as was custom. “Rise,” the Emperor told them quickly. It seemed he had little time for formalities today.

  “Your Highness,” Oranhur began. “You mean to go forward with the plan, then?”

  “If Lady Kareen is right, then yes.” Hadan took a last sip from his cup and handed it off to a servant.

  Lady Kareen? When was the last time she had been called something like that? By Livran, most likely. Blessed Tirrak, if only he could be here now. He would be proud to see her serving at Hadan’s side. The thought of him still caused her pain, but not as much as it had only days ago. There was so much to do, so much to be prepared, that she had had precious few moments to dwell on the past. Kareen felt a sting of guilt at that particular realization. She should have been mourning him.

  “Xisa may still be gathering troops,” Oranhur replied, relaying information Kareen had given him a few hours before.

  “That is a risk we will have to take. We can’t wait any longer. You said it yourself.”

  Hadan was right of course. The Cutarans would already be nearing if not past the Front. Within days, Xisa could be wreaking havoc on the army’s supply lines, effectively crippling their ability to mount a successful defense. They had to move now, or not at all.

  “I understand, your Highness. But if we waited another few days, we could have twenty thousand men ready to bring down on Xisa’s head, instead of fifteen.”

  “And she could be thirty miles behind us,” Hadan countered. He took a deep breath. “I have lived four centuries and fought in a hundred battles. I became the ruler of two continents by taking risks, and if I want to hold onto what I have taken, leave somethin
g for my descendants, I can’t stop now. We don’t have a choice. We have to move today.”

  If any other man had uttered the same words as Hadan, Kareen would have thought him boastful. But from the Emperor’s mouth, it sounded humble if anything. He took no pride, no pleasure, in speaking of his exploits. They were simple fact, nothing more.

  He’s trying to secure a legacy, Kareen thought. She had heard the rumors, every Peer had. Hadan was nearing the end of his life.

  It would be decades yet, but he would pass on into the Heavens someday, perhaps in Kareen’s own lifetime. For a man who had lived for so long, he was still a mystery. He had never spoken of how he had received the Gift of Tirrak, had only acknowledged its existence on a few occasions. The stories he could tell if only he sat down with pen and paper…

  “Your Highness,” she finally said, taking a step towards Hadan. “Even outnumbering the Cutarans two-to-one might not be enough. I’ve seen them fight. They are faster and stronger than us. Are we sure the men are ready to face them?”

  “Most have fought Cutarans before,” Oranhur interjected. “Not in such large numbers, but they have fought them. Yes, they may be stronger, but we have horses and steel, two things the Cutarans have never been able to counter.”

  Hadan nodded. “We have Delvers as well. There are more than a dozen in my retinue alone.”

  Kareen thought of the strange man who had led her off the plains. Were these the men the Emperor spoke of, or something different all together? She still hadn’t managed to sum up the courage to ask, and probably never would. A man as old as Hadan had to have more than a few secrets.

  “Xisa-” she began.

  “Will be taken care of,” Hadan assured her. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned, letting his cloak catch the wind coming off the plains. He looked like some ancient hero, torn right from the pages of legend.

  He is ancient, Kareen thought. Still, she couldn’t be sure he was a hero.

  * * *

  It felt strange, Kareen thought, to be marching onto the plains that only days ago had come close to taking her life. She rode at the center of the formation, only a hundred paces or so from Hadan and his retinue, Oranhur at her side. Ahead, the army marched in a column that stretched into the distance. Fifteen thousand men was no small force.

  Oranhur wasn’t much company. For the most part, he remained silent, always watching, afraid of an ambush. “Nine times out of ten,” he had told her, “you won’t see the Cutarans ‘til they’re close enough to spit on you.”

  She’d had more than enough experience with Cutaran ambushes, but Kareen didn’t think that was Xisa’s style. She would seek to defeat them in a single battle. As she had shown time and time again while Kareen had been her captive, she was not one for half-measures. She would seek their total destruction, given the chance.

  Day turned to night and still they marched. The army grew sluggish. Men fell behind in the ranks, and it was only the shouted orders of their officers that were keeping many going. Oranhur and the other lords were driving their men hard, and this was only the first day. What if they were out on the plains for weeks? Would they let them drop dead from exhaustion?

  To the east, Kareen thought she could hear a sound. It was distant, like a buzzing just beyond hearing. “Do you hear that, general?” Kareen asked, looking to the horizon. There was a group of shapes moving in the distance, barely visible in soft blue light of Tirrak, but yes, they were there.

  “Cutarans?” asked one of the knights riding at their side. He placed his helmet on his head and let his hand fall to the sword at his belt.

  Oranhur smiled, excitement in his voice. “No, those are horns. The scouts have spotted something.”

  He motioned to the cavalrymen around him. “With me! We’re riding out to meet them!”

  The men nodded and formed up at his rear. “Are you sure that’s safe?” Kareen asked. “They could be pursued, ambushed-”

  “Every moment we waste worrying about our safety is a moment the Cutarans could be using to march further behind our lines.”

  “But you told the Emperor-”

  He held up a hand. “I know what I told the Emperor! There is a difference. We are expendable. He is not.”

  Kareen nodded. It made as much sense as anything else in this war. “In that case, I’m coming with you.” She didn’t know what possessed her to do something so foolish. Remember what happened to Livran, she told herself.

  Kareen expected Oranhur to argue with her, to tell her that a scouting party was no place for a noble lady. Instead, he simply nodded and gathered his men into formation. Kareen could only guess that in the general’s homeland, women were harder and that more was expected of them. There were certainly enough in the Highlanders to support her theory.

  Oranhur, Kareen, and the general’s bodyguards rode out to meet the scouts at a quick trot, Tirrak lighting their way. The party were armed as mounted archers in the style of Toashani noblemen. Dragoons, they were called. Although they could shoot from the saddle like the tribesman of the Kelil Desert, their more cumbersome recurve longbows were better used dismounted.

  “Report!” Oranhur ordered as the two groups met. The leader of the scouts, a fresh-faced youth in a suit of light chainmail and open faced helmet gave Kareen a quick and puzzled look before turning his attention back to the general.

  “We found a camp, four miles east,” he said in a heavy though educated Toashani accent. He pointed back the way his party had come. “No smoke, not even a smell of the stuff.” He looked worried. “It has to be three days old, at the least. I have men searching it right now, sir. Perhaps we can find tracks or rubbish. Something we could use to puzzle out the direction in which they were headed.”

  Oranhur nodded. “Take me there.”

  The man opened his mouth to respond. He would probably try to give Oranhur the same warnings Kareen had expected she would receive. The officer must have thought better of it though, because he closed his mouth and gave a crisp salute. “You heard the general!” he said to his men. “Let’s move out!”

  * * *

  Away from the plodding pace of the army, it took less than an hour for them to reach the abandoned campsite, some miles off the dirt track. The leader of the scouts hadn’t lied. The camp was clearly old. Wind had swept away the ashes from long dead fires, covering the wide depression that had once housed the Cutaran contingent in a fine layer of soot.

  The men who had been left behind had already dismounted, half of them picking through cook fires and piles of trash by the light of small lanterns, the others setting up a defensive perimeter, bows strung and arrows at the ready.

  “Have we found anything?!” the young officer who led the group shouted to no one in particular. He took his horse down into the camp at a slow gallop. Kareen and Oranhur followed, surrounded by their bodyguards. Most of the hard-faced men hadn’t taken their hands from their swords since leaving the army.

  “Footprints!” one of the soldiers replied. He was an older man, a veteran from his scared face and stained chainmail, whose mismatched links spoke of many hasty repairs. “The ground here was soft when they came through.” He kneeled down and pointed at several half-hidden imprints in the soil.

  “Any leading away from the camp?” Oranhur asked.

  He shook his head. “This is the lowest point for a mile around. The ground here is packed clay. Rain runs off it like roof tiles, and it’s hard enough that most of the prints are rough, shallow.”

  Oranhur nodded. “And why we can’t find more of them up above?” He turned to Kareen. “You know more of the Cutarans than anyone here. Did they use carts, pack animals, anything that might leave heavy prints?”

  Kareen thought back to the first and only time she had seen the Cutarans move camp. “Yes, they used carts, hand pulled.”

  “Look for shallow depressions,” Oran
hur told the scouts. “Cutarans are strong, but they’re not oxen. If the carts could be pulled by hand, they wouldn’t leave deep tracks.”

  The older man saluted. “Yes, sir.” He ran off to tell the others.

  “Damn,” Oranhur cursed, wheeling his horse to survey the depression. “It’s massive. We could house half the soldiers on the continent in a lakebed this size.”

  Kareen remembered the clumps of tents the Cutarans had laid, set apart from one another. “This was the size of the camp to which we were taken,” she said. “Maybe a little larger.” She pointed to the cook fires, spread randomly across the landscape. “From what I could tell, the Cutarans would split into family units when they made camp. It makes their presence seem larger than it actually is.”

  “A primitive system, my lady,” the Toashani commander commented. He still seemed slightly intimidated by her presence, but at least he was speaking to her directly for a change. Was it that unusual to have a woman out on an expedition like this? He cleared his throat and diverted his gaze. “Hardly what I’d call efficient.”

  “They’re a primitive people,” Kareen said in reply. “But more sophisticated than we give them credit for. Don’t underestimate them, especially not Xisa.”

  “We’ve found something!” one of the scouts called from the lip of the depression. Hands went to blades and quivers, but when it was clear there was nothing amiss, Oranhur put his horse into a full gallop towards the edge of the abandoned camp. Kareen followed, kicking her own mount forward to where a group of men were crouched.

  “We’d have missed it without your help, my lady,” said the older man from before as they came to a halt beside him. “Tracks, leading that way, made by wheels.”

  Kareen dismounted and went onto her knees, hoping to get a better look. They were staring at a spot cleared of ash and blades of grass. Yes, there was something there alright, a pair of shallow divot in the ground, each perhaps a hand’s span across. Just like the carts she had seen dragged by the Cutaran children.