Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Not that he had any idea why the men felt he would frown on them swapping shields with each other, but Darius found the whole effort too hilarious to let in that he knew. Instead, he watched out of the corner of his eye as two soldiers would lean closer, whispering, gesturing to each other’s shields, and then when his back supposedly turned, they’d quickly swap shields. The effort was not unlike two children trading toys when the parents weren’t looking.

  “Shir?” Bohme eyed him sideways, brows drawn up in confusion. “What’sh funny?”

  “Them,” Darius indicated with a subtle jerk of the thumb. “They’ve been swapping shields with each other ever since I got up, and for some reason they feel like they should be sneaky about it. Like I’d care what shield they carry.”

  “Ahhh.” Bohme’s confusion only partially cleared. “But ishn’t that what they’re trained to do? Carry the shield given to them?”

  “No, they’re trained to reach for the shield that they put down in formation,” Darius corrected. “So that if they need to quickly get into a battle formation, they know precisely what shield to reach for, and there’s no confusion about what is whose. As long as they know which shield is theirs to carry, I really, truly don’t care if they swap out beforehand.”

  Bohme gave him a knowing look, brow quirked a little. “But you’re not going to tell them that.”

  “And miss the show? Sands, no.” Darius grinned and bit into the wonderful bread the cooks had doled out that morning.

  Eventually the trading died down a little, enough that they could resume their westward march. Darius contemplated as he rode, eyes darting thoughtfully between a number of different heads.

  Because he’d called for volunteers, only the lower ranking soldiers responded. He had basically no officers. Some of them were enlisted men with no connections, no ability to rise above the basic rank they had. Actually, most of them were. Darius had promoted men in the field on numerous occasions and he felt well within his rights to do it now. He needed to draw a few men out to act as his hands with this many soldiers to command.

  Until yesterday’s skirmish, he’d been hesitant to do so, as he didn’t know these men well enough to judge how well they responded to the unexpected. Kayvion had proven himself adept at not only following orders but leading. The way he’d held the front line with Darius spoke volumes.

  One or two others showed promise as well, from what little he’d seen, but Darius felt confident about Kayvion. Just promoting one person wouldn’t suffice, but he didn’t want to make snap decisions and pay for them later. For now, he’d lean on Bohme and Roshan, as he’d already done. They’d been around him long enough to know how to follow his orders and improvise. At least to some degree. He hesitated over throwing Roshan too far into the fire without anyone more veteran with him. Well, actually, Tolk would have the boy’s back if he needed it. Still, better to ease Roshan into these situations.

  Decided, Darius urged Sohrab into a brief canter before coming alongside Kayvion. The young man glanced up, then saluted. “Sir?”

  “Come away for a moment,” Darius invited, already turning Sohrab to bring them a little ways out from the marching column on the road. Nothing but flat grassland and a few orphaned trees cluttered up the landscape, so Darius had no concerns about being ambushed. And this conversation he needed to have in private. When they were out of earshot, he dropped out of the saddle to face Kayvion directly. “Kayvion, you’re First Footsoldier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No chance of military school or promotion?” Darius had to double check, he didn’t want to step on people’s toes. Kayvion seemed young enough that he might have a backer somewhere that hadn’t gotten him into officer’s school yet, just through bad timing.

  Kayvion’s mouth twisted wryly. “Son of a butcher, sir.”

  And that answered that question. “You’ve proven your mettle in battle, that I can count on you to lead the men around you. I noticed yesterday during the fight that you kept them from breaking the line three times. Right now, I need those qualities. I want to promote you to Sergeant.”

  Those brown eyes nearly crossed. “Sir, that’s three ranks above me!”

  “I need a Sergeant,” Darius repeated patiently. “Someone that everyone here has to listen to, that will act as my right hand. We pulled this group together and left too quickly, Kayvion. I didn’t have time to organize anything or realize until we were already on the road that I literally have no officers with me. You’re not the only one that I’ll promote out here, just the first.”

  That settled him, for some reason, and he looked relieved. “General, I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity. Thank you, sir.”

  “Good. Then, Sergeant Kayvion,” Darius grinned at him, breathing a little easier to have a ready man to call upon, “we’ll make this official tonight when we set up camp. For now, feel free to spread the word around. I just wish I had the proper insignia to put on you.”

  “Don’t need ’em, sir,” Kayvion assured, nearly bouncing on his toes. “This group knows me well.”

  There were pros to having a smaller force. Darius acknowledged this with a shrug. “Understand that Roshan is also one of my hands. He’s young, inexperienced, and is going off the theories that I’ve been pounding into his head for the past year. If you see that he needs support, do so.”

  “Understood, sir.” Kayvion went taut for a moment, shifting into stricter military bearing before he relaxed a hair. “Sir? I know you likely have your eyes on a few men at this point, but if I may make a suggestion?”

  Darius had prayed the young soldier had the mettle to speak his mind to his superior officer. Hearing these words answered the prayer. “Go ahead.”

  Kayvion nearly chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before he caught himself. “There is a man that I think would be very…adept at being an officer. Have you met Second Footsoldier Edhard?”

  Running that name through his head, Darius thought he matched it with the right face, although it proved a bit of a challenge to be sure. He’d met more men in the past three days than in the past year combined and his head swam with their faces. “I believe so. Middle-aged man, solid build, muddy hair that likes to stick every direction?”

  “That’s him, sir,” Kayvion confirmed, relaxing a little more since they were on the same page. “He’s been a mentor to most of these men since we came in. He’s like me, has no political connections, but he’s solid. If we’re not quite sure what to do, it’s Edhard we look to for direction.”

  So, an already natural leader in place. Darius would be a fool to pass that up. “Is he good at improvising?”

  “Not sure, sir,” Kayvion admitted slowly, hesitantly, as if not wanting to damage his friend’s chances of a field promotion. “He’s never been given the opportunity to improvise. But he’s good at following orders and taking a chance when he sees one.”

  Even if he didn’t have the creativity and instincts that Darius wanted in his commanders, those were the right qualities to have in field officers. It likely wouldn’t hurt anything to have the man in an official leadership position. “If he doesn’t have any connections, how did he get promoted to Second?”

  “Saved an officer from drowning three years ago, sir.”

  Now that spoke well of the man right there. “So they promoted him as a reward. Interesting. Alright, Kayvion, go fetch the man for me and let me interview him.”

  “Sir.” Kayvion snapped out a salute before jogging back toward the line.

  A thousand marching men didn’t move all that quickly, so Darius expected that he had enough time to conduct a leisurely interview with Edhard as long as they also walked, keeping up with the moving column. He rubbed his hands together, not just in an effort to warm them up a little in the morning cold, but also from anticipation. Maybe he’d have two officers before the day was out.

  Now if only the barbarians let him be long enough to at least break them in a little…no, asking for that much might in
vite Darr’s attention. Darius glumly knew he’d been lucky to avoid a road attack this long. Such fortune likely wouldn’t last past tomorrow.

  Alright, then, let him at least inform the rest of the men of their two new officers. Surely that wasn’t too much to wish for.

  Darr had indeed been listening. Rain and drought, after thirty plus years of life in this world, Darius should’ve known better than to think such things. Stray thoughts like those just invited trouble in through the front door.

  Sohrab spun on his front hooves and lashed out, and this time Darius knew to expect the motion and adjusted easily, leaning slightly forward even as he swung at an attacking barbarian. The attack had come in hard and brutally fast, from all directions—or so it seemed. They’d been crouched and waiting as Darius’s troops marched through the area, waiting in a low copse of trees on either side of the road for them to get partway through. If not for the two sergeants that Darius had promoted this morning, the men would have been in complete disarray under the attack.

  At least he had that going for him.

  As quickly as the attack came in, it died out, the barbarians no match for trained soldiers with shields and spears. Darius examined the bodies as his own wounded sought treatment, finding these men—and a few women—to be in as bad of shape as the others. All malnourished, too-thin, ragged. Grimly, he moved his wounded into the wagons, what few couldn’t walk, and they trudged on.

  They reached a division point on the highway roughly two days later. If Darius went right, he’d reach the nearest heliograph tower, which he itched to do, as he needed to check for any messages waiting from Behnam. But going left meant reaching the Serrati border in two days, and that took priority over anything else. Besides, he should likely time his visit to the heliograph operator so he could report to Behnam about the Serrati negotiations. For better or worse, the other general needed to know.

  Decided, they went left.

  Signs of barbarians in the area decreased sharply as they approached Serrati’s borders. Darius internally chuckled as he observed this. As crazy and desperate as the barbarians were, even they hesitated to breach Serrati’s borders. Darius didn’t blame them. Tackling Serrati was like challenging a typhoon, or an earthquake, or some other natural disaster. ‘Suicidal’ didn’t begin to cover it.

  Which really made him wonder about the sanity of the previous Sovran kings.

  The nearest town to Serrati was known only as Trader’s Gully, and didn’t actually exist on any map Darius had ever seen. He parked his men there, three hours’ ride away from the Serrati border, because only a truly, epically insane man marched anywhere near Serrati with soldiers in tow. He left Kayvion and Edhard in charge with orders to prepare the town for evacuation and to burn whatever supplies they couldn’t reasonably carry off.

  With the men more or less settled, Darius took Roshan, Bohme, and Tolk with him for Serrati. It might have been something of a risk to take Roshan along, but Darius had never heard of Serrati breaking a parley. Or even attempting to. It gave Roshan a chance to see true military negotiations in action, and such experience would be invaluable in the future. As for the bodyguards, well, there was never a chance of leaving them behind. Even hogtieing them wouldn’t have done the trick.

  They rode at a quick canter, the hooves loud on the packed dirt of the road—loud enough that carrying on a conversation proved impossible. Darius would have had to bellow anything to be heard. He left the silence be as they passed through increasingly rocky terrain, the land sloping up into sharper hills than the rolling grassland they’d been in. True woods appeared as well, just thin lines of trees at first, becoming thicker, and with it all of the forestry sounds of birdsong and insects.

  Darius strictly followed the highway until they curved around a bend and reached the first gate that marked Serrati’s borders. It was nothing more than the gate—no attempt had been made at any sort of fencing along either side—a two story structure of stone, arch in the middle for passage through, Serrati’s crimson and gold banners streaming down the stone on either side. No portcullis or the like sat in the middle of the arch and for good reason. Going through without permission meant death.

  Serrati took border security very, very seriously.

  To Darius’s relief, a delegation of several men in the deep red and tan uniforms of the Serrati National Army stood waiting just outside the gate. Good. Imagining trying to sweet talk his way inside the borders had given Darius nightmares and an upset stomach. He slowed them down to a walk, giving everyone plenty of time to look at each other, not to mention dole out several pointers to Roshan. Gesturing the boy closer, he waited until Roshan’s stirrup overlapped his before speaking. “You see the red uniforms ahead of us? That’s the Serrati National Army. The gold braid around the right shoulders indicates a very highly ranked officer. One loop is normally a commander, two means colonel, three general. Four indicates not only a general but an ambassador.”

  “I see four,” Roshan said, eyes narrowed as he stared ahead.

  Darius also stared at the wizened old man patiently waiting. He almost looked like a veteran businessman, he had that sort of harmless air about him, or he would if you could ignore the uniform. Darius didn’t make the mistake of ignoring the uniform. The man had more medals and ropes of insignia than Darius had ever seen, and he’d had his fair share of encounters with Serrati over the years. “Treat them with absolute military courtesy, keep your chin up, always meet them in the eyes when you speak, and never turn your back on them while talking. If they offer you something, accept it promptly with thanks, no matter what it is.”

  Roshan nodded seriously. “Yes, sir.”

  “And absolutely do not stay on your horse. Demount as soon as I do.” Darius ran all of that through his head and couldn’t think of anything else to add, although he had a feeling he’d forgotten something. Hopefully it wouldn’t prove to be catastrophic.

  But they were out of time. Darius had to dismount now, otherwise he risked insulting the delegation waiting for them. He swung out of Sohrab’s saddle and walked forward, reins casually in one hand, stopping five feet away before offering a sharp salute. “I am General Darius Bresalier of Niotan.”

  The other general shared a speaking look with the three other officers waiting with him before stepping forward and returning the salute. “General of the Army Vogel Sherrett.”

  Darius nearly swallowed his tongue. He was literally speaking to the most highly ranked military officer in all of Serrati?! “A pleasure, sir.”

  “Forgive me, General Bresalier, but we need to clarify this point before we move on. You introduce yourself as a general from Niotan, not the Sovran?”

  “I am of Niotan,” Darius responded carefully, oh so carefully, as every word suddenly had triple the weight it had before, “but Queen Tresea has allowed the Sovran to borrow my services during their crisis. King Baros has authorized me to speak with his Voice and has given me command of his army.”

  “I see.” Sherrett’s tone said he did indeed see but didn’t at the same time. “Your message to us was quite urgent, General Bresalier, but contained no details.”

  “The reason I am here is two-fold, sir. First, to give you a detailed report about the Roran barbarians’ invasion into the Sovran and what I know about their whereabouts and movements.”

  Sherrett’s brows rose an nth degree. “I am always delighted with intelligence on my enemy’s movements, sir, but why are you offering it?”

  “As nothing more than a professional courtesy,” Darius responded promptly. He’d anticipated that question and already formed an answer to it. “I know that your borders’ strength is up to the task of repelling all attempts at infiltration, but surprise attacks are never pleasant to deal with. I also wanted to clarify that the Roran barbarians are not under any order or control from the Sovran by giving you this information.”

  A brief, taut silence fell. Sherrett’s dark eyes glittered for a moment as he stared at Darius then dippe
d his head in a small nod. “Considering how the Sovran has occasionally…employed…the barbarians to fight in their wars, I appreciate the clarification.”

  Darius’s heart started beating uncontrollably. Oh sands, Darr take it, had Serrati assumed that the barbarians were in fact a clandestine attack on them? Had the Sovran once again almost become embroiled in a war on multiple fronts? Darius felt a trickle of sweat prick his spine as it rolled down his back. That had been entirely too close for comfort. “I was afraid you would see their attacks the wrong way, sir. In fact, the barbarians invaded the Sovran via three different avenues some weeks ago and has thrown much of its countries in confusion.”

  “Hence why you were summoned.” Sherrett gave a raspy chuckle, sounding anything but amused. His mouth flickered upward in an approximation of a smile. Or perhaps what a smile would be if it was held up against a wall and forced to plead for its life. “Oh come now, General, don’t be surprised. We know very well that the only officer the Sovran had that defeated the barbarians was you. And you did it on multiple occasions, no less. Of course they would call for you the moment this trouble hit.”

  Not knowing what to say to that, Darius forced a smile on his face. “I am glad to see you’ve been informed about me, at least. It saves us a little time. Sir, the other reason I’m here is to give you an offer.”

  “Do tell,” Sharrett encouraged in a near growl.

  “In order to drive the barbarians eastward, where I want them, I need to implement a scorched earth policy. And to do that, I need to evacuate the citizens out of the area and to a safer place. Anyone centrally located will have no trouble evacuating into Arape. But the ones closer to your border…” Darius trailed off suggestively.

  “They will not make it.” Sherrett stared at him, calculating. “You want us to give them sanctuary.”

  “I do, sir.” Darius held his breath. The art of negotiations was to suggest, lead, but never demand. That was especially true when dealing with Serrati.