Bohme had now been around enough soldiers and cooks to know that if you wanted to survive with edible food in the field, you stayed on friendly terms with the cooks. He immediately did an about face and led the way toward the cook fire. Darius carried along as if he didn’t have a care in the world but his eyes watched every nuance of expression as he moved. The men watched, but did not speak, some of them involved in camp chores, some of them just crawling out of tents, others coming in from night watch. They watched, and their expressions said they didn’t know what to make of this situation.
That had to be fixed, and fast, otherwise Darius didn’t stand much of a chance here.
Bohme stopped in front of a fire and Darius picked out the cook easily enough, as he wore a white strip of cloth around his waist, liberally sprinkled with splashes of food, and had a pair of tongs in one hand that he used to flip sausages with. Darius suspected him to be of Arapeen stock because of his blond hair, but his dark brown eyes and strong nose spoke of mixed heritage. The man looked swarthy and competent, with the air of a veteran of more wars than Darius had seen. “Cook?” he greeted.
“That’s me, sir,” the man responded with a grating voice that could cut through glass.
“It was a fine meal, thank you.”
His harsh, craggy features softened a mite under a smile. “Thank you for the words, sir. Can I get another drink for you?”
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” Darius handed over both plate and mug, accepting a new one with glee, as the warmth from the cup seeped into his bare hands. Really, why did it have to be so unreasonably cold up here? It should be warmer than this.
Cook gave him a sideways look and Darius offered an open look, staying firmly planted, body language stating the man was free to satisfy his curiosity. It worked. The man pried his mouth open to ask hesitantly, “Surprised to see you here, General Bresalier.”
“Not as surprised as I am to be here, Cook,” Darius returned in kind, his voice pitched at a volume that would carry further than the man asking the questions. “King Baros sent me a letter nearly two weeks ago requesting my aid. When I heard what you were up against, I came promptly, as I know how fiercesome they are.”
Several men gravitated closer, unobtrusively, as if wanting breakfast. They didn’t fool Darius in the slightest.
Continuing in the same vein, Darius acted as if his words were only addressed to Cook. “General Behnam sat with myself and my staff last night, and we have several plans to defeat the barbarians and drive them north again. But I’m going to need some help. I’ll need a good thousand soldiers to come with me west, to start off with.”
“To do what, sir?” Cook dared to ask.
Darius had a feeling he might like this man. He smiled to show that he didn’t mind the questions. “Two-fold. First, we need to evacuate the citizens out of the area before they can fall under the barbarians’ blades. We’ll also have to destroy all supplies in the area so the barbarians are forced to engage us rather than us chase them all over the countryside.”
Cook nodded, as if this made sense to him. “That be a lot of work for a thousand men, sir.”
“I can’t afford to take more than that, as we need to move fast, and General Behnam needs a certain amount of troops here to do other things with. Besides, I don’t dare bring a large force with me near Serrati’s borders. That will unload a lot of trouble on top of our heads.”
Grimacing, Cook admitted, “Didn’t think of that, sir, but you’re right.”
“This is going to be brutal and harsh work,” Darius admitted honestly, “but do you think you can spread the word for me, Cook? I need volunteers and we need to leave by tomorrow. If any man is willing to go, he can report to General Behnam’s tent or to me directly.”
Cook’s eyes studied Darius keenly for a long moment before ducking his head. “I will, sir.”
“Thank you.” With a last nod to him, Darius wandered off, seemingly at random, not oblivious to the whispers that followed in his wake.
Bohme leaned in to whisper near his ear, “He’ll come with ush.”
“You got that impression too, eh? Yes, I bet he’ll come with us. And likely about half the men that listened to me.” Taking a good draw from his cooling cider, Darius made a snap decision. “Let’s go talk with some more of my soldiers.”
Resigned, Bohme didn’t offer a single protest and just followed.
~~~
Darius returned to his tent to find Roshan hanging both his laundry and the boy’s own up on a line nearby. Granted, it was the sort of chore that an apprentice should do for his mentor, but Darius hadn’t thought to tell Roshan it needed doing, so it was impressive Roshan had realized it on his own. As he approached, the boy flashed him a smile, teeth white in his dark skin. “Sir. I had twenty-three men ask to be added to the list of volunteers. I wrote them down for you.” He nodded toward a rolled scroll nearby, held down by a rock.
Picking it up, Darius scanned through it, finding each name written in a clean and legible hand. “Excellent. They came up to talk to you?”
“Everyone somehow knows I’m your apprentice,” Roshan responded with an easy shrug. “No mistaking me for any runner, not with the way I look and the uniform I’m in. While I was doing the laundry, they came up to ask questions. Er, it is alright that I told them the general outline of our plans?”
“Of course,” Darius assured him. “They need to know what they’re volunteering for, after all.”
Relieved, Roshan nodded, throwing the last shirt over the line, straightening it efficiently with a few tugs. “That’s what I thought, sir.”
Looking the clothes over, Darius leaned in to get a good sniff. It smelled of citrus and soap. “You surprise me, Roshan. I didn’t think you knew how to do laundry.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted ruefully, head ducking in a sign of mild embarrassment. “Never had to do it before. But the laundresses here were nice, and they showed me how. It kind of worked out in my favor. Asking for the advice got them to talking to me.”
“People always want to seem to be an expert at something, and to give advice,” Darius agreed. “It’s a sure-fire technique to open people’s mouths. I take it once the women started talking to you, the soldiers felt they could too?”
“Something like that, sir.” Finished with the laundry, he stepped in a little closer to ask in a confidential tone, “How many more men do we need, sir?”
“We’ll have to check with Behnam to get a full tally. I haven’t spoken with him since this morning. Why?” Darius asked, amused. “Are you going to find another chore to do to charm people into going with us?”
Roshan blinked at him with sweet, confused innocence. “But the cooks in the camp need help, sir.”
Snorting a laugh, Darius shook his head. “The Sebresos charm is truly lethal. I’m not sure I should be encouraging you. Let’s go speak with Behnam first, eh, before I unleash you on the camp once again.”
As he and Bohme fell into step with him, Roshan leaned in to whisper, “Sir? There’s a lot of very mixed up versions of why you killed that corrupt king. I think it would do some good if you set the story straight. They’re not sure if you’re loyal to King Baros.”
A thought Darius had not truly considered. He studied Roshan out of the corner of his eye and wondered just when his brother-in-law had grown up enough to realize that the hearts of men were more important than the weapons they wielded. For him to go to such lengths today to charm the soldiers into supporting Darius, it was clear the lesson had implanted itself in him at some point. “You are correct but it’s hard to do it in a camp of this size. Even if I tell the story to one group, they’ll take their own interpretation of it to another, and then it will gain another twist in the next retelling. We can try to correct the matter as we go but don’t be disappointed if various versions still linger.”
Accepting this with a beleaguered nod, Roshan didn’t say anything more, although the way that his mouth pulled down into a f
rown suggested he didn’t like it.
Darius didn’t either, as his apprentice had a good point. Having the real story out there would help him. He didn’t need anyone questioning his loyalties, not now, but eighteen years of war told him that rumor mills rarely got it right and trying to correct every man’s opinion of him was a lost cause in the making. He’d correct what he could and let the rest lay.
When they reached Behnam’s tent, he slapped the side as a warning knock of sorts before ducking inside. “Behnam.”
Looking up from the map on the table, Behnam greeted, “Bresalier. I have a list of volunteers for you. Some five hundred. It’s there,” he jerked his chin to indicate a scroll wrapped up and sitting off to the side of the table.
Darius picked it up and scrolled through it. “I have another four hundred who are willing to join, which is close enough to the manpower that I need. Shall I send word that we leave tomorrow after daybreak?”
“If you will. I’ve sent a message ahead to the Serrati border that you’ll be coming over to talk to them and to kindly have an ambassador meet you.”
“I appreciate it. Any word from Arape?”
“Confirmation your Night Raiders have arrived. They’re now requesting orders.”
Turning, Darius asked Roshan, “Find Navid for me and bring him here.”
“Yes, sir!”
Behnam cocked an eyebrow. “You intend to send Navid out to them?”
“I need someone on site that knows our plans, how I think, and can comfortably command a mercenary force. That’s Navid. If something unexpected happens—and you know as well as I do that war is nothing but the unexpected—then we need a man on site that can adjust our plans on the fly.”
Behnam gave a provisional inclination of the head. “I can’t argue that. You didn’t mention sending any of your commanders out last night, is all.”
“It’s something I realized belatedly this morning.” Darius had kicked himself for it, too, as he really should have thought a little more ahead on that quarter. “I blame the lack of sleep for my almost idiocy. I’ll send a platoon with him to make sure that he has enough protection to get there. We don’t know where all the barbarians are, after all.”
“True, true.” Behnam stared at the map again, a forlorn look on his face that made him look a decade older. “While you’re gone, I have to evacuate as much of the area as I can and start torching the place. I have to say I don’t look forward to it.”
“Neither do I, my friend.” Darius stared out the tent flap, taking in the thriving marks of spring and knowing it would soon be pockmarked with blackened fields. “Neither do I.”
Some sort of word went around the camp fires that night and by dawn Darius didn’t have the nine hundred plus men he expected, but something closer to eleven hundred. He didn’t question it as he frankly needed every hand that he could get. They lined up on the road, packs of supplies on their backs, wagons loaded with food, driven by soldiers and cooks, each man with a grim set to his face. Some of the carts stood not fully loaded, only partially full of supplies, as Darius had ordered. Those carts would be used to ferry civilians to safety, if they didn’t have the means or strength to make the journey without help. Darius had the rotten premonition they wouldn’t be enough, but he could only take so much from Behnam. The man had to face the bulk of the country, not just the sidelines Darius would undertake.
Kaveh and Ramin stayed with Behnam, to assist and take command there. Darius took only Roshan, Tolk, and Bohme with him. Tolk understood that under no circumstances was he to leave Roshan’s side, and if the situation became dangerous, his only priority lay in getting the boy to safety as quickly as possible. If anything happened to the teen, Darius would never be able to live with himself.
And if he dared to return home alone, Amalah would kill him.
Tasking Roshan to lead the way, Darius instead rode up and down the lines of marching men, speaking to as many as he could. They were shy at first, not sure how to speak to a general, but he encouraged and charmed them, until at last one brave soul asked a question. Darius answered it promptly, without any deflection. After that, they grew bolder, asking for the plan, of what to expect, and Darius answered every one that he could.
By the time sunset came, he called a halt and they made a quick camp, none of them reaching for the tents, as they didn’t have the time or energy to care if they had a roof tonight. The skies were clear, if cold, so no storms threatened them. Darius caught more than one man huddling under the blankets with a fellow soldier and didn’t blame them. They’d freeze without that added body warmth. In fact, he and Roshan might need to share a bedroll tonight, if they wanted to get any sleep at all.
He walked out toward the perimeter and stopped near the soldier standing sentry. “Kayvion, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” The man answered smartly, with a sharp salute, belying the impression that he was a young soldier. Darius had thought him so, because he looked barely older than Roshan, but that confident air and military bearing said he’d been in service for more than a handful of years. Perhaps he had a bit of a baby face.
“Alright out here?” Darius asked, partly worried about him freezing, partly to keep open the lines of communication he’d started this morning.
“I’ll keep moving to ward the cold off, sir,” Kayvion assured him with a grim smile. “My brother’s here as well, he’ll share blankets with me when my watch is over.”
“Smart of you. I’m planning on sharing blankets with my brother as well for the same reason. Curse this unseasonable cold, it’s bad enough to see your breath out here.”
Kayvion blinked at him. “Brother, sir?”
Darius shared his confusion for a split second. “Oh, right, none of you know up here. Roshan is my brother-in-law, my wife’s only brother, in fact. Part of our marriage agreement with her family was that I would mentor him.”
Understanding lit the man’s tired face. “If it’s not too forward to say, sir, that was smart of them.”
“Not at all,” Darius responded, flattered at this response. “I admit I hadn’t thought to take a student until they asked it of me. But I really should have.” Turning back out to the night, he saw nothing but pitch blackness beyond the range of the fires in the camp. Behind him, he could hear the men making dinner, doing the bare minimum of camp chores and settling immediately into their blankets to stay warm. Most of them didn’t even take their boots off. This far west, the farms and towns were few and far between, and it literally felt like no one else was about. “Kayvion.”
“Sir.”
“I don’t expect the barbarians near us for another two days,” Darius said honestly, still staring steadfastly into the darkness. “But they’re a terrible enemy precisely because they’re unpredictable. Please stay alert. Make sure the next man on the watch knows to stay alert as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Kayvion hesitated before asking, “Sir? They say you’re the only general that ever defeated the barbarians in recent history. Is that true?”
“It’s why King Baros called for me,” Darius answered simply. Finally turning away, he looked at the soldier and wondered what he saw, what he thought of Darius. The flicker of firelight gave him so little to go on, most of the man’s face covered in shadows. In the end, it didn’t really matter, as long as Kayvion answered when Darius called. “Have you already eaten?”
“No, sir, but Cook promised to bring everyone on watch a plate.”
“Good enough.” Clapping the man on the shoulder, Darius turned and headed for the center of camp, where his own bedroll waited. Hopefully they would have a night of peace and uninterrupted sleep.
They’d need it.
~~~
Darius’s luck broke at the worst possible moment. Of course. Darr loved to mess with him, after all.
They’d come across a small town that morning, nothing more than thirty houses and a few businesses, and started evacuating. Darius had half of them on the road, the other half
still packing and loading what they could, when the first barbarian appeared from around a copse of trees. The alarm instantly went up and Darius swore, loud and viciously, even as he kneed Sohrab around and headed for the north entrance to the town.
“FORM RANKS!” he bellowed as he rode. Then he swore, realized his mistake, and kicked himself repeatedly. He couldn’t afford to have all of his soldiers go toward the enemy, he’d leave the refugees on the road unprotected. At the same time, he had no ready commander to pass that task onto, as he’d left his staff behind him. Thinking fast, he went to the next person that no one would question: “Roshan!”
The boy appeared from a side street, taking a precious minute to reach his side, the bay stallion under him prancing in place. “Sir!” he greeted smartly.
“Take three squads and make sure that the refugees are guarded until they’re well away from here. Have one squad escort them directly back to Behnam’s camp.”
“Yes, sir.” Roshan immediately set his heels to the stallion’s flanks, yelling commands as he went.
For a moment, Darius’s chest swelled with pride for his brother. Roshan had definitely come into his own if he could so easily accept command from Darius and act in a dangerous situation like this. He’d have to write home at some point and sing the boy’s accolades.
Shaking the thought aside to deal with later, he turned his attention back to the moment. All Darius had with him, aside from the cooks, were infantry. Spearmen, to be precise. They fell into their ranks with the ease of long practice, shields overlapping, spears at the ready. Darius stopped just behind the first rank and watched, breath harsh in his chest, blood singing in anticipation. They didn’t have much cover available directly behind them, just four buildings, all of them constructed from rock and thatch. In a pinch, it would help, but the barbarians never stumbled when it came to in-street fighting. Certainly the three streets this little place boasted wouldn’t do anything to deter them, if Darius’s men tried falling back.
Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2) Page 11
