As military commander of the Eywell Province, Colonel Memas Erdelin’s main responsibility was maintaining Narthani control over the Eywellese Clan, the instrument of which were the three thousand troops under his command. In addition, he had the duty of training the Eywellese to serve as auxiliaries for the coming campaign against the other clans. The Eywellese would carry out large-scale, fast-moving raids and later act as light-cavalry screens and scouts for the main Narthani forces. Keeping control of the Eywellese was frustrating, because they had minimal concepts of coordinated actions in the field and chaffed at following an operation plan’s details. He thought perhaps half of their leaders, particularly the hetman, had some level of understanding; the other half were hopeless, including the hetman’s eldest son.
The staff meeting in Preddi City had started before sunup and was the final session before the Eywellese carried out the first large-scale destructive raid into Moreland. He and Nuthrat Metan, his counterpart in the Selfcell Province, had been the main presenters at today’s meeting. Metan’s assignment was to feint at the Stentese north of Selfcell and carry out raids into the northern border with Moreland. Erdelin’s assignment was to direct similar actions to the central and southern parts of their border with Moreland, plus feints toward Keelan and Gwillamer provinces in the south. The main action was also his responsibility, an aggressive 450-man raid on Moreland towns near the Eywell border.
After Erdelin and Metan gave their reports, the other Narthani leaders needed less time to summarize their parts in the operation: Colonel Erkan Ketin as the headquarters commander in charge of Preddi Province, plus supply and training issues concerning all of the 12,000 Narthani troops on Caedellium; Admiral Morefred Kalcan, who would keep the coastal clans’ attention with sporadic coastal raids and repeated Narthani ship sightings all along the island’s coasts; Assessor Sadek Hizer, on the latest intelligence on Moreland; and High Prelate Mamduk Balcan, reminding all of the others about the importance of converting the Caedelli to the worship of Narth. Although Erdelin thought the idea of any god was for deluded minds, Balcan had authority over religious matters, and even high-ranking military leaders had to be careful.
While General Akuyun commanded the mission on Caedellium, Brigadier Zulfa was the field commander and Erdelin’s direct superior. Privately, Erdelin detested Zulfa and his perceived overweening pride at his descent from a higher caste tribe than Erdelin’s. Even worse, Erdelin acknowledged that Zulfa was sufficiently competent to have Akuyun’s approval. Thus, Erdelin tolerated Zulfa and strove to carry out his assignments in an exemplary manner. There was always the chance Zulfa would befall some misfortune and Erdelin could compete with Ketin and Metan for Zulfa’s position. Such misfortunes were not uncommonly arranged by subordinates in the Narthani army, but the perpetrator had better be successful and clever. Erdelin wouldn’t risk such a venture with Akuyun in overall command; the general wasn’t a commander to be taken lightly.
How Commander Akuyun put up with coordinating the various demands on his role never ceased to amaze Erdelin. Somehow the meetings always ended with all parties thinking their input had been heard and acted on, even if it hadn’t happened. Akuyun was a master at this, and Erdelin, if he had believed in Narth, would have given offerings in thanks for having Akuyun as the mission commander, especially after having served under far worse.
Still, listening to Zulfa, Balcan, and the others for too much of the three-hour meeting had put him on edge. He was grateful for the hard ride to get his mind ready for the meeting later with the Eywellese.
Just Follow the Plan
Six hours later, Erdelin went over the Moreland raid plan with Brander Eywell, the Eywell hetman, his two sons, and several of his boyermen. They had reviewed the plan enough times to annoy the Eywellese, who assumed the Narthani didn’t think them smart enough to remember the details, which was close to the truth. Erdelin was thankful the hetman himself would lead the raid, instead of the older son, an arrogant and stupid argument against oldest sons as automatic heirs to titles and responsibilities.
“Once again, Hetman,” asserted Erdelin, “the raid needs to move fast and burn as much as possible. We want to test the Morelanders’ speed of response to the raid without getting into any significant fights with them. Move through the countryside, burn as you move, and keep moving. The exceptions are the three towns of . . . ,” Erdelin checked the map on the table they stood around, “Allenford, Lanwith, and Anglin. Don’t spend more time at each town than necessary to burn it to the ground. Kill whomever you find, and be sure to keep scouts out to alert for any large Moreland forces.
“Those three towns are yours to loot. Take some of the younger women and smaller valuables, but only what time and speed of movement allow. Given the pace you’ve assured me you and your men can move, the entire raid should end by the evening of the second day. Are there any final questions?”
“No, Colonel Erdelin, I think we’ve gone over the plan enough times,” said the Eywell hetman, with more than a little sarcasm in his heavily accented voice. Many of the Eywellese and the Selfcellese spoke passable Narthani after years of association, although most, including the hetman, had trouble forcing their native open and soft Caedelli into the guttural sounds of Narthani. The accent reminded Erdelin of Narthani children just learning to speak properly and reinforced the impression of the islanders’ limited mental abilities.
“We don’t believe the Morelanders will risk coming after you into your own territory, but just in case, I’m keeping a thousand of my men in Hanslow on alert to move toward the border, along with the five hundred men you have on standby.”
After the Eywellese left to return to their staging encampment for the raid, Erdelin spoke with Captain Tunak, the Narthani officer assigned to accompany the Eywellese.
“Captain, your assignment on this raid doesn’t include taking direct part in the action— unless absolutely necessary. You’re to observe both the Eywellese and the Morelanders as my eyes for a detailed account of the progress and results. You’ll have fifty men with you, more for your protection than to be used against the Morelanders. The four hundred Eywellese should be more than enough for the raid, assuming they follow directions. Your other assignment is to remind the hetman what the objectives are and what they are not to do. You won’t have overall command, as much as I wish you did, but try to keep the islanders from totally screwing up the plan.”
Captain Tunak didn’t look happy, nor did Erdelin blame him. The sooner they pacified the entire island, the sooner they could quit pretending any islander was an ally instead of the vassal they should be.
The raid was staged from Parthmal, a garrison town near the Moreland border, and left an hour before dawn the next morning. Captain Tunak and his fifty men followed the Eywellese party.
Crossing into Moreland
The raiding party crossed the border into Moreland Province as the sun first peeked from behind the western hills. The three targeted towns all lay within twelve to twenty miles of the border, and the raid would parallel that border and then duck back into Eywell territory after the third town.
A forward party of 300 horsemen pushed ahead over flat to rolling terrain to the outskirts of Allenford, twelve miles from the border. No scouts screened ahead to avoid alerting locals before the main body fell upon the town. Captain Tunak and 25 Narthani accompanied the main party. The remaining 100 Eywellese, 25 Narthani, 50 pack horses, and 5 wagons followed. Although this split the party, the roads and the terrain were clear enough that by the time the trailing group caught up, the sack of the town should be complete or nearly so. They would appropriate other wagons as needed and then move on to the next town. It was during the initial assault on Allenford when the plan started to unravel. A chance musket ball hit Brandor Eywell, a glancing strike along his side. While not immediately critical, it broke a rib, which threatened to puncture a lung. Brandor’s two sons and Captain Tunak stood by when the medicants told the hetman he couldn’t continue.
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Brandor gasped from pain when two men helped him rise to a sitting position. “Biltin, the medicants say I can’t continue, and I’m afraid I have to agree. Plus, there’s the chance I might slow the rest of you down if I can’t keep up. You’ll have to continue without me.”
Biltin Eywell smiled. A chance to lead for most of the raid! “Yes, Father. I can do it. Let the medicants take care of you.”
“Remember the plan and stick to it. No changing anything. Listen to the senior men with you. They have experience and are along on the raid because of that. You must command but listen to them!”
Captain Tunak was anxious. This wasn’t a contingency covered with him by Colonel Erdelin. He knew the colonel thought the father marginally reliable and didn’t trust the sons. If this had happened before they reached Allensford, Tunak might have insisted they abort the raid. Now, they were committed . . . or were they? The Morelanders didn’t know the original plan, so the Eywelleses could finish sacking Allenford and return, having partly completed the objectives. After weighing the factors and remembering Erdelin’s reservations about the son, he made a decision and hoped his superior would later approve.
“Hetman Eywell, it would be best to finish here in Allensford and return to Eywell territory. The raid will have successfully shocked the Morelanders, so hitting the other two towns is not an absolute necessity.”
Biltin Eywell flushed at the implied insult—that with the hetman incapacitated, he wasn’t trusted to complete the raid. “Hetman Eywell’s already decided,” he bit off, scowling at the Narthani officer.
The hetman also scowled, at his son. He read into the Narthani’s suggestion a lack of confidence in the son, one the hetman himself shared at times. What if Biltin showed himself incompetent? He didn’t want the Narthani to lose confidence in the entire clan, due to actions of any one member, even if that person was his presumed heir. Yet this was their first major opportunity to strike at the hated Morelanders. For years, Brandor had pressed for stronger action against both Moreland and Keelan, but the Narthani had constrained them. He knew the Narthani didn’t keep him fully informed of their plans, so who knew when another such opportunity would arise to pay back past indignities?
“No,” he said finally, giving his son a stern look. “The raid will continue as planned.”
Tunak had no further options. He didn’t command the raid, and his fifty men couldn’t force four hundred Eywellese to retire once their hetman decided to continue.
“As you wish, Hetman,” Tunak said. “As long as the operation is carried out as ordered by Colonel Erdelin.” The last words were accompanied by a look straight at the son.
The sack of Allensford was completed, while the decision was made to continue under Biltin Eywell’s command. Hetman Eywell returned to Hanslow in a wagon with a 25-man escort. In two hours, the Eywellese burned the entire town, killed more than 300 of its citizens, took 31 women prisoners, and filled 3 wagons with valuables. By mid-morning they were on the move again, this time toward Lanwith, the next target and twenty miles distant.
Lanwith
It was a typical day for the 420 citizens of Lanwith, along with another 70 Morelanders living nearby or in town on various types of business. The earlier showers had passed, and clear skies to the southeast promised a sunny day.
Shopkeepers talked to customers, the abbey’s only medicant tended a series of citizens with various complaints, and the abbey’s school had been in session for more than three hours. A stern seventy-year-old Brother Skanston ruled the fifteen boys attending. Brother Skanston had tried in vain for decades to convince more of the boys’ families to send their sons for education and attempted equally in vain to get permission for a few of the girls. Girls were a rarity in Moreland schools. He knew other clans, such as Keelan and Stent, paid more attention to education, but the Moreland Clan didn’t value time spent away from farm, shop, and home.
As mayor of Lanwith, Dwelfin Camron spent entirely too much time dealing with minutiae—or so he told himself—ever since being appointed to the post by Hetman Moreland fourteen years ago. His wife knew better. Daily involvement in numerous community issues was her husband’s greatest pleasure. Whether because he enjoyed the feeling of authority it gave, or because he truly was conscientious about the people of Lanwith, even his wife was never sure. Either way, he performed well enough that the position had remained Dwelfin’s these many years. His tenure was about to end.
Twelve-year-old Mylin Naernwill brought water to his father and two older brothers working in their farm’s wheat field. They were a mile from the edge of Lanwith and had been at work before sunrise. Although farming was constant hard work, it was the only life Mylin knew, and he couldn’t imagine any other. Everyone in the family knew that one day Mylin would leave to start his own farm. The eldest brother would inherit the family farm, once the father died, and would be obligated to help Mylin and the middle brother in starting out on their own. His mother and two sisters, one older and one younger than Mylin, were at the farmhouse doing what women do while men did what men did. His older brother would never inherit the farm.
Tilda Purcells hadn’t needed to come to Lanwith that day. The real purpose of the trip was to get her niece Anarynd Moreland out and about for a few hours. Tilda’s oldest sister, Anarynd’s mother, Gwenda, was far too timid, as far as Tilda was concerned. Tilda wished that Gwenda asserted herself more. Men might be ordained by God to be the head of the family, but that didn’t mean women didn’t have the right to respect and their opinions listened to. Of course, being fair to her sister, Tilda had to admit it was easy to give advice since she wasn’t married to Brym Moreland and didn’t have to deal with that ass every day. Tilda never forgot to give thanksgiving at Godsday services for her own husband. Of the four sisters in the family, Tilda considered herself the most fortunate in husbands, although her sister Glynas’s husband, Balamus, compared well.
The current discord in Gwenda’s family originated from Anarynd’s refusal several months previously to be courted by the oldest son of an elderly boyerman, the son a widower with two daughters. While Brym thought the marriage would be advantageous to the family, Anarynd took one look at the squat, snaggle-toothed, balding man of forty-six years and walked out of the first meeting arranged by Brym, who had predictably exploded at Anarynd after making profuse apologies to the would-be suitor.
Relations between father and daughter had never been warm, and when Brym retaliated by refusing Anarynd permission to attend Maera’s wedding, the ensuing screaming match between both parties reverberated throughout the family. Anarynd hadn’t spoken to her father for several months and swore she never would again.
It had been Glynas who convinced Anarynd to meet the latest potential suitor in the vain hope of improving family relations. Surprising all, including Anarynd, was that the young man who visited was pleasant and earnest. Not the husband of her dreams, but she was tired to the bone of being shopped around by her father. Harwyn Moreland was a distant cousin, third or fourth removed, and the second son of a boyerman of an eastern Moreland district. The eldest son had been married to two women during a ten-year period, and neither marriage had produced a child. Thus, it was likely the second son or one of his sons would eventually become boyerman. The district was prosperous and Harwyn’s family wealthy in lands and herds, so a marriage promised significant coin and animal stock to Brym Moreland.
Anarynd’s ability to refuse numerous potential husbands was as far as she could go. She’d known she’d have to eventually accept one of them, and whether it was Harwyn himself who convinced her or her weariness of the process and family tension, even she wasn’t sure. While nothing was official yet, Anarynd told Harwyn privately that she was favorably inclined. A visit to Harwyn’s family was arranged, and, if it went well, Anarynd foresaw a marriage within a few months, one where she would be out of her father’s control, and Maera would be there.
It had taken extensive persuasion for Brym to allow Anarynd
to accompany her aunt to Lanwith. Tilda’s argument was that keeping the girl cooped up wouldn’t improve their relationship, and now that the girl seemed favorably inclined to a marriage, it would be smart of Brym to relax how sternly he treated her.
Anarynd had become surprisingly strong-willed the last few years, a development Brym blamed on the influence of that damned Keelan daughter. He’d never approved of the friendship between the two young girls. However, even with long-standing animosity between Moreland and Keelan, it hadn’t been feasible to prevent their communications and yearly visits. After all, a hetman was still a hetman, even if from a despised clan.
Tilda and Anarynd arrived in Lanwith by carriage just before noon. They left the driver with the carriage and strolled through the town, browsing the shops and the stalls. Maybe Anarynd would find something Tilda could buy her to improve her mood. It was a kind and thoughtful invitation by a concerned aunt—but a fateful invitation.
The Naernwill farm was the closest to Lanwith and in the path of the Eywellese. The terrain between Allensford and Lanwith discouraged farming, and the Eywellese moved too fast for warnings to reach Lanwith. Mylin was the first to notice something out of the ordinary.
“Look, Father. What’s that? A storm coming?”
The father looked up to see a dust cloud rising from behind a hill on the road that ran next to the farm. There was no wind. The four of them stared, as the cloud grew. Only when the first riders appeared over the crest of the hill a half-mile away did he recognize a large body of riders moving fast. He had a bad feeling and ordered his sons to run back to the farmhouse.
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 28
