The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2)

by Olan Thorensen

  Culich didn’t say it also gave her something to do for the next few days.

  Abersford Muster

  Scarcely an hour later, a semaphore message arrived at the Abersford station over the spur line Yozef had had installed. Even though it was Godsday, Yozef was in a workshop, along with several of his workers. He figured if they were dedicated enough to be working on their rest day, the least he could do was show up to support them and see how it was going, though Maera made him promise he’d be home well before evening meal.

  A worker was about to test the latest attempt at making a steam cylinder when a messenger rode up to where they stood outside the shop, behind a thick six-foot-high barricade, in case the trial run went bad, as had happened before and was the reason one corner of the main shop had been recently rebuilt.

  He read the message once. Then again, and the third iteration was when it sunk in. Culich wanted him to accompany an army to help fight the Narthani? Not something high on Yozef’s list of things he wanted to do. The one experience was more than enough for a lifetime. A combined flashback and flash forward rose unbidden, involving him standing in front of a Narthani horse charge, firing a musket at an infinite number of sword- and lance-bearing Narthani on huge horses breathing fire. Which would be the one to skewer him?

  He thanked the messenger, who informed him the hetman expected a response. Yozef asked the messenger to follow him home. There, he went in the house and, without speaking, gave Maera the message.

  Maybe she’ll tell me I don’t have to go. Or that I’m more important here. Or anything not involving me turning into a shish kabob.

  He was disappointed.

  “Naturally, Father expects you to help push back the Narthani.”

  Not the response Yozef hoped for, and not in her satisfied voice. She immediately focused on what he needed to take with him and started giving the Faughns orders. It somehow didn’t seem the appropriate moment to tell his militant, pregnant wife that going to fight the Narthani was low on his wish list.

  “Brak, saddle a horse.”

  As if there are options. Seabiscuit’s still the only nag I trust not to throw me first chance.

  “Elian, lay out several sets of clothes—rugged ones.”

  What? Best for a battle? Something to deflect sharp objects? How about wearing a tank? Or body armor?

  “Weapons. I’ll get them ready,” Maera finished.

  I’m more likely to hurt myself than scare any Narthani.

  Maera acted energized. Within thirty minutes, she handed Brak a pack to tie behind Seabiscuit’s saddle. “There are extra clothes, rain gear, a blanket, water, and dry sausage and crackers.”

  Maera accompanied Yozef to Abersford. The 160 men gathered in the town square consisted of Vegga’s dragoons, Yozef’s artillery crews, and three wagons, one of which held four medicants, including Diera Beynom. Carnigan was there. He seemed to take it all in stride and looked perversely happy at the prospect of killing Narthani. Maera surprised Yozef when she collared Carnigan and Wyfor Kales, Yozef’s instructor on blade fighting, and in Yozef’s presence told them in no uncertain terms to be sure her husband got back in one piece. It wasn’t quite explicit but sounded to Yozef as if she got the message across to come back with him or not at all. Carnigan grinned and Kales grunted. Yozef felt reassured.

  Well, maybe she does care about me. Or doesn’t want to bother with a replacement.

  Yozef didn’t expect a demonstrative farewell from Maera. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Take care of yourself, Yozef. Listen to Carnigan and Wyfor, and don’t get yourself killed.” With a hug and a quick kiss, she left, never looking back.

  He was afraid, frustrated, and guilty: afraid of finding himself once more pulled into a battle; frustrated that as much as he wanted to bid the party good fortune and run home, he was trapped by expectations of how he should behave; and guilty at the thought of sending the artillery crews he’d organized and trained to fight without him.

  When satisfied everything was ready, Denes asked Abbot Sistian to lead the hundreds of family and friends seeing them off in a prayer for their safe return. They left, keeping a steady pace without pushing the horses too hard, and reached Caernford well after midnight. Yozef made the ride, he and Seabiscuit bracketed by Carnigan’s and Wyfor’s horses, never noticing the aching rear buffered by adrenaline.

  The next day, Yozef never spoke with Culich to get a hint about why he was there. He wondered if it was simply one of those “all hands on deck” things, and he was now one of the “hands” because he was part of the family. He caught only brief glimpses of Breda. Most of the time he waited with the other Abersford men, which included sleeping on the ground both nights—whether by intent for him to be among the men or because the Keelans forgot about him now being part of the family, he didn’t know.

  When they left Caernford, Yozef admitted it was an impressive sight. The road to Moreland only fit three horses abreast or one wagon, so the column stretched more than a mile. Yozef and his two caretakers were part of a group of about fifty attached to the hetman—personal guards, advisors, senior commanders, and the head medicant and theophist from St. Tomo’s.

  As far as he could tell, the closest to organization of the men was that groups of 50 to 100 had a leader whom Yozef hoped knew what he was doing. Other than that, it resembled a mob. They took all day to reach the Moreland border. By then, they had met up with another 600 Keelanders, 400 Gwillamese, and 600 Mittackese. The 2,200 heavily armed horsemen, 500 extra mounts, and 90 to 100 wagons of supplies and support personnel, such as medicants and cooks, were out of an epic, one Yozef would have preferred to watch in a theater, rather than be a part of.

  Carnigan didn’t help by commenting that some of the wagons containing grain for the horses would carry the dead and the wounded back to Keelan once the wagons were empty.

  Moreland City

  How far the complete force stretched was not apparent until, from one crest, Yozef looked back and could see the column disappear into the distance over another hill two miles away. When they bivouacked for the evening, the column divided itself into groups of about two hundred and set up temporary camps for staking the horses, eating, and sleeping on the ground or in tents, using the Caedellium version of ponchos made of water-repellant animal hide. The next morning, they were up at the first hint of light to be fed and on the road by the time Yozef could identify the face next to him.

  As they crossed the Keelan/Moreland border, Yozef noticed piles of fresh horse dung already flattened by the first fifty horses. He suddenly had a feeling of wonder imagining what it must be like at the end of the column, where the accumulated shit of 3,000 horses carpeted the roadbed. He almost insanely giggled, hoping the local farmers took advantage of the unexpected plethora of fertilizer.

  When they were within twenty miles of the Moreland capital, the land flattened and the column spread out into the adjacent fields. One advantage was that traffic in the other directions could use the flanking areas, instead of waiting for the Tri-Clan column to pass. That reverse traffic consisted of wagons loaded with belongings, Yozef assumed fleeing for some hoped-for safety elsewhere, and single riders on lathered horses—probably messengers going who knew where with whatever messages. Every hour or so, a messenger or a small group of riders would stop at the Keelan hetman’s grouping and race back where they’d come from.

  He knew they’d arrived when they came upon the first encampments of other clans. Carnigan and Denes explained which ones. First Hewell, then Adris and Orosz. Four riders, two of whom carried green flags with red Xs, stopped at the head of the column and spoke with Culich, who in turn spoke with aides. The flagmen directed them to a bivouac area set aside for the Tri-Clans, within sight of Moreland City’s walls. It took an hour for the entire column to move into their area and most of another hour to set up an encampment in the same groupings as on the road. Horses were watered and fed on grain they’d brought from Keelan. Men were fed hot ste
w of some undetermined meat and loaves of the usual dark bread. Yozef was surprised at how fast cooking fires were set up and already-cooked stew heated to boiling. By then it was dark, and all were told to sleep, the implication being that tomorrow might see a battle. A few simple tents appeared, although most of the men would sleep again on the ground that night.

  It was not quite light enough to read the next morning when Denes came and said Culich wanted Yozef to accompany them to a hetman conference being held in a large farmhouse a mile from the city and approximately in the middle of the encampments.

  “Nine clans came,” said Denes. “Hetman Keelan is surprised so many. I hope it’s enough to turn back the Narthani.”

  Forty-eight men were crowded into the room: ten hetmen, plus other clan members. Yozef did a quick count, as he and Denes stood along a back wall. The hetmen sat in chairs around a rectangular table in the center of the room. One of the occupied chairs was larger than the other nine.

  Five’ll get me ten he’s the Moreland hetman. Denes had said he was a jerk.

  He looked it: arrogant eyes, a shorter-than-average trimmed beard that contrasted with a pompadour-like head of gray hair, and enough jewelry and embroidery on his cloak to remind Yozef of a strutting peacock.

  Mr. Pompadour rose to his feet, surveyed the room as if he were doing an inspection, and spoke. “First of all, Moreland wishes to thank all of you for answering our invitation to help drive Narthani from Moreland lands.”

  Now I know he’s a jerk. And stupid. It’s like he’s doing all the others a favor by allowing them to fight for him.

  The hetmen whose faces Yozef could see remained expressionless. Yozef suspected they all knew the Moreland hetman and weren’t surprised by the opening remark. They wasted the next half hour with the same meaningless blather Yozef had seen in meetings on Earth, each hetman introducing himself, although everyone obviously knew the others, thanking Moreland for its hospitality, swearing death to all Narthani, boasting about what they would do to these evil invaders, blah, blah, blah. Yozef wished he could leave and come back when they were through posturing.

  It was Culich who got them down to business.

  “Gynfor, please give us the current situation. Exactly where are the Narthani and what are they doing?”

  The Moreland hetman frowned, and Yozef wondered whether it was because Culich used his first name or because he had more posturing to do before getting down to real business.

  “They are encamped southwest of here.” He motioned to another Morelander. “Caedem, open up the map.” A dark-haired young man with a Van Dyke beard pulled a folded sheet of paper out of a satchel and opened it onto the table.

  Denes whispered to Yozef, “That’s Caedem Moreland, younger son of the hetman. Sitting next to him is Owain Moreland, the hetman’s older son.”

  Yozef thought the younger son looked normal. The older brother had some of the same in-your-face arrogance of the father, although, instead of the big hairdo, his brown hair was lank and disorderly.

  When the map was laid out, the Moreland hetman pointed with a finger to Moreland City. The map covered approximately twenty miles on all sides of the city. “Here’s Moreland City, and the Narthani bastards are right now camped six miles southwest. We’re right here . . .” He moved his finger to an arc between the city and the Narthani army, closer to the city.

  “That close?” asked one of the younger hetmen, a sharp-eyed balding man with a trim beard. “How fast have they been moving? They could be on us early tomorrow morning!”

  “That’s Welman Stent, hetman of Clan Stent,” Denes whispered.

  Moreland hesitated, then leaned on the map with his right hand while answering Stent. “I think they are having second thoughts now that they see the clans coming to help us drive them back. They haven’t moved the last two days.”

  “Haven’t moved!” exclaimed the youngest of the hetman, a man of his early twenties.

  “Lordum Hewell, Clan Hewell,” Denes said quietly.

  Moreland ignored Hewell, a slight not to be missed, which raised a flush on Hewell’s face when Moreland continued.

  “They reached their current position three days ago, encamped, and haven’t moved since. I think our only decision is whether we give them more time to withdraw or attack them immediately. I offer the first alternative only to show I am open to discussion. My belief is we attack and destroy them. Now that most of their men are out in the open, it is our chance to end the Narthani threat, once and for all.”

  Yozef could see from the hetmen’s expressions that none were as enthusiastic as Moreland for a battle with the Narthani.

  One of the more elderly hetman, a short man in his late fifties or early sixties with an unkempt long gray beard and medium-length gray hair swept back, raised a hand to signal he wished to speak, which he did without waiting for Moreland to acknowledge him.

  “I thought your first messages said that they crossed into Moreland five days ago. Have they been stopping like this other places?”

  “No, they continued until their current location,” replied Moreland.

  “That means they were only traveling about six to eight miles a day, even before they stopped. That doesn’t make sense. An invader would want to keep pushing to retain surprise and overwhelm Moreland before help from other clans arrived.”

  “Again,” said Moreland, “they’re afraid of getting too committed.”

  “Maybe,” said a hefty hetman in his middle thirties with shoulder-length brown hair and a full, neatly trimmed beard, “but this feels bad. As if they have something planned.”

  “Even if they do,” another hetman spoke up, “we still have to decide what we’re going to do. I agree with caution, but if Hetman Moreland is correct, this may be, as he says, our best chance to rid Caedellium of them.”

  A tall, lean hetman with salt-and-pepper hair spoke for the first time. “Hetman Moreland, I’ve heard rumors that most of their men are on foot. Is this true?”

  “Teresz Bultecki,” Denes murmured. “One of the northern clans. He’s one of the more reasonable hetmen from the north. Some of the others have been as much trouble as the Narthani, though not for some years, since the conclaves have stopped most raids and fighting between clans.”

  A chorus of exclamations and sighs swept through the room: “On foot!”

  “Are they insane? We’ll ride them down!”

  “Is that true?”

  “No horses at all?”

  “We should attack at once!”

  Moreland finally called them all to settle down with a snide expression. “That is one reason I’m so confident. And yes, there’s some truth to the rumor, although it’s not completely accurate. As far as we can estimate, they have two to three thousand horsemen and another five to six thousand on foot.”

  “That would explain how slow they’ve been,” said Stent.

  “Not completely,” cautioned Hewell. “Even on foot, they should have covered more than six miles a day. And that certainly doesn’t explain sitting where they are the last two days.”

  Yozef leaned into Denes’s ear. “Good infantry can cover twenty-five miles a day, even over broken country.”

  Denes whispered back, “What’s infantry?”

  Yozef had unconsciously used the English word. He couldn’t think of a comparable Caedellium one.

  “Men fighting on foot. Like our dragoons, except without horses at all.”

  “I can see fighting on foot with towns or forts and, of course, where horses can’t go. Why are the Narthani not mounted? Could they not have enough horses?”

  Yozef shook his head, while thinking, Oh shit. I keep forgetting the Caedelli have no history of army maneuvering or the capabilities of infantry.

  Stent voiced Denes’s question to Yozef. “Maybe they don’t have enough horses to mount all their men?”

  “Unlikely,” said Culich. “Within the three provinces they control, there are more than enough horses. No, this is deliberate
and agrees with reports we’re gotten from escaped slaves. The Narthani have many of their fighters on foot and clustered together in groups of hundreds.”

  Yozef was mumbling and cursing to himself—at least, he thought it was to himself.

  Denes nudged him. “What is it, Yozef? What’re you thinking?”

  Denes didn’t wait for an answer and made his way to Culich’s chair, leaned over, and whispered in an ear.

  Culich’s expression didn’t change, nor did he look in Yozef’s direction, but he spoke over the general hubbub. “Hetman Moreland, the Narthani horsemen we’ve seen were armed with muskets, swords, and lances, and I understand the Narthani coastal raiders are armed in the same, except for shorter spears. Can you tell us if these Narthani on foot are armed in the same fashion?”

  “Some of the footmen have muskets. The odd thing is that others have spears much longer than we’ve seen before. There’s no way they can throw such long spears any distance or fight with them, so it’s a puzzle.”

  Mixed muskets and pikes, thought Yozef. And probably formed in blocks like smaller versions of the Spanish tercios that evolved as musket and cannon fire developed on Earth. Each block can defend in all directions and provide support for adjacent blocks.

  Culich listened to the answer, then said, “Can we take a few minutes to let us all gather our thoughts before continuing? I would also like to consult with my advisors.” The session had been going for only an hour, and Moreland looked surprised at the need to break the discussion so soon. With a sour look, he agreed to begin again at the top of the next hour.

  Culich rose and walked out the door, followed by Lewis, Kennrick, and Denes, who came back to Yozef, still standing against the rear wall and wondering what was next.

  “Come,” said Denes, “you need to tell Culich what you told me.” Denes gripped his left elbow and forced-marched him out of the still crowded room. The Keelan group was standing under a large shade tree about forty feet from the house.