by Tony Roberts
Isbel was already speaking as Astiras whirled round, not giving him time to dominate the conversation. She was damned if he was going to belittle her efforts. “A temple in Kornith, Vazil sent a successful plea in order to keep morale in Pelponia up. They are very devout there and the building of one will please them no end.”
“What about military structures? We need those!”
“Astiras!” Isbel cut him short. “A bowyer’s workshop has just been finished there. We have also authorised the enlarging of the mines on Zipria. We need more stone and marble and Zipria has plenty there. Also the new Baron Niksos is happy for us to increase quotas from there.”
“Baron Niksos? I never authorised the granting of any title! Who did that? I’ll have their head.”
“Prince Elas authorised it, with our permission.”
“He did not!”
“He did, too. I mentioned it to you and you just waved it off like you do to most of what I say and told me to sign it; you clearly had other things on your mind.”
“And who is this Baron Niksos? Not a Fokis I hope!”
“Captain Lalaas.”
“Wha-a-at? Is Elas out of his mind? Are you?”
“I’m wondering that these days,” Isbel commented wryly. “It was a reward for saving Amne’s life. Now you do remember her ordeal at the hands of Dragan Purfin, or did that also slip your fading mind?”
“You go too far sometimes, Isbel. Yes I do remember it. But a baronetcy?”
“Oh come on, Astiras! What price do you put on your daughter’s life? If you want to keep abreast of events, then please stop ignoring what I say and take an interest.”
Astiras grumbled and returned his attention to the paper. He held it close to his face. The figures were hard to read. “Improve your handwriting Frendicus, this is appalling scribing. What projects are coming up later this year?”
“I expect the leather tanner here will be finished by then, so we await your decision as to what to build next. Other than that – the building of the stone castle on Romos will be done and Jorqel is already seeking to build garrison quarters within it.”
“Ah, Jorqel, at least he sees the priorities! Very well, it seems clear to me that we’ve got enough money to be able to afford three new companies of imperial spearmen here in Zofela. An extra four hundred and fifty soldiers here will give our enemies something to think about.” He laughed and slapped the sheet against his thigh. “Now Kastania will begin to train up an army worthy of the name!”
Frendicus took the sheet and stared wordlessly at Isbel. She nodded at him in dismissal, so he bowed, backed away and closed the door. Astiras turned to his wife. “No objections, I take it?”
There was a clear challenge in his voice. Isbel shook her head. “If we can afford it then I can’t see why not. I shall send out recruiting posters. Who will be the recruiting officer?”
“Lieutenant Bevil; he’s the senior militia officer here now Vosgaris is absent. Get the scribes to compose a letter and let me see it before it’s sent out.”
Isbel thought for a moment. “Astiras, why don’t you deliver the note to Captain Vosgaris personally? It’s a chance to review the Mazag army and impress General Vanist before they march to battle?”
“And why do you want me out of the way?”
“Oh for Kastan’s sake! Oh very well, think what you like, I’m through with your paranoia.” She slammed the ledger shut and stood angrily by her desk.
Astiras muttered under his breath and left. Isbel puffed out her cheeks and withdrew her letter to Vosgaris from under the ledger, folded it, placed it in a small envelope and then sealed it.
Vosgaris would get her message come what may.
A day later the messenger arrived at the Mazag camp and sought out Vosgaris. The Mazag army was marching up and down, leaving a morass of churned up soil and crushed vegetation. It would take a year for the land to recover. “Sir, Captain!” the messenger called, running at an oblique angle away from the steaming block of soldiers, sweating under the screams of a disciplinarian sergeant.
Vosgaris turned and waited as the messenger ran up to him, halted, saluted and proffered a bundle of papers. Vosgaris nodded and examined them. Imperial seals adorned them all, and one was addressed to him in big official letters, one to General Vanist and one smaller one to him, with a smaller seal on it. His heart skipped a beat as he recognised the empresses’ mark. That one he slipped into his tunic. The other two…..
“Thank you. Go feed yourself at the camp cuisine station – its Mazag fayre but palatable.”
The messenger departed and Vosgaris ripped open the message to him from the emperor. He read it quickly, re-read it, and hurriedly folded it away. Taking Vanist’s letter with him he rapidly crossed the camp to the central tent and presented himself at the flap. Within moments he was shown in.
“General,” he said before the translator was ready, “official message from the emperor.”
Vanist took the letter suspiciously. He clicked his fingers and the camp scribe scuttled to his side. Vanist opened it and drew out the message. It was in Mazag. He waved the scribe away and read the contents, his eyebrows vanishing into his hairline. “Guard!”
The guard commander snapped to attention. By this time the translator Lakush had arrived and hurriedly spoke into Vosgaris’ ear. Vanist was on his feet and animated. “Call the senior officers to me at once! Rouse the men, get them kitted up, force march in one watch. We are going to war!”
Vosgaris soon returned to his tent, the camp in a turmoil. Men were shouting orders all over the place. Vosgaris waved his two assistants to pack up their belongings and be ready to move out very soon. While all was being packed, he sat in his tent and read Isbel’s letter to him. Vosgaris. I am taking a risk writing to you but I must. Little escapes Astiras’ attention these days but I have managed to smuggle this message out to you. Obviously with the news of the Venn army moving things will be difficult to send further messages but you must continue to report to Astiras as he is expecting them from you. Victory or defeat, look after yourself and stay alive, for I would not wish any harm to befall you.
Even though we may be apart I am thinking of you, and I hope you are doing the same for me. You must send secret messages to me in your missives to the emperor for I will read them too and look for yours in them. Obviously we must be careful but I have left such a message within this, and ask that you use the same system too. Utilise this method; look at the first letter of each sentence and you will see my message to you.
Isbel.
Vosgaris silently spelt out the letters that began each sentence. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U. He smiled and kissed the letter. Clever woman. Sliding the message into his tunic he got up and emerged into the late spring sunshine. The army was assembling in squares, ready to march off in the direction of the Venn army.
Once General Vanist was satisfied all was ready, and Vosgaris and his two men were on equine back and ready to go, the orders were given and the Mazag army set off, marching south-east towards the enemy forces making their way through southern Bragal. Utilising Hushir irregulars, Vanist sent out his eyes and ears before him, hoping they would spot the Venn before their scouts spotted him.
____
Amne was not in the mood to be refused. She stalked down the corridor leading to the stables, an anxious governor and younger brother in her wake. “I told you once and that should be enough, Governor. I am not going to be stopped from travelling to see my father, war or no war. This is Kastanian territory, and the day we cannot move within our own borders for fear of being captured by an invader we should just disband our armies as being pointless!”
“But-but ma’am – I’ve been given specific orders by the emperor! I must follow them, no matter what! Look for yourself, ma’am!” the distressed Olskan thrust the parchment at Amne who stopped, turned, grabbed it and ripped it into pieces before throwing it onto the ground.
“Now you have no orders. Don’t lay a hand on me. I am going
and that’s all that there is to it. Argan, you know better than to argue with me, so don’t waste your time.”
“Sis, you’ve got six guards – what if a Venn raiding party happens upon you?”
Amne faced both of her pursuers, fists on hips. “I’m no strategist, I’ve not studied military matters but I do know geography. The Venn army is south of Zofela. I am north of Zofela, by quite some distance. To pass Zofela any Venn raider must either ride within sight of the fortress in which case they will be intercepted, or they must ride days to either east or west in hostile territory, taking their chances with the local population. As far as I can see, no party under a hundred would have much chance of getting through that! Stop behaving like mother fowls. I will be fine.”
Thetos looked helplessly at Argan. “I’m going to be arrested.”
“No you won’t, Governor. When I get to Zofela I’ll give father a piece of my mind. Don’t fuss so! You’re doing a wonderful job here, and I’ll tell him. Now leave me alone; I’ve said my goodbyes already and I hate dragging those things out any longer than necessary. It’s been lovely visiting you all, but now I must go see father. He’s yet to see my daughters and I want to be back in Kastan before the summer ends.”
She turned and went on her way. Thetos went to go after her but Argan put a hand on his arm. “Governor, let her go. You’ve done all you can to persuade her not to go. My sister isn’t someone to stand up to.”
The governor grimaced. “Young prince, I’m more concerned as to the reaction from the emperor.”
“You heard Amne; she’s going to exonerate you.” Argan pulled a slight face at using one of Mr. Sen’s popular words. He thought it sounded a touch pompous. He didn’t want to start sounding like him! “I’ll speak up for you too. Come on, let’s get back to your incredibly boring lesson on guild structure and how to govern them. It’s far safer than trying to argue with my sister.”
Thetos grunted, then smiled slightly. “You’ve got that right, sire. Very well, we can speak of it as we go.” He cleared his throat and began. “The trick is to either keep them at one another’s throats, or to make them think you favour each of them at the expense of their rivals.”
Argan listened attentively as Thetos went on to explain the intricacies of guild politics. While they returned to Thetos’ day room, Amne got to the stables and breathed out long and loud. Men! Did they all think she was made of glass? Was she thirty or thirteen? Flicking a stray strand of hair behind her left ear, she went up to the nearest waiting wagon. The guard sergeant was standing smartly by the head of the left hand equine. “All ready to go, your highness?”
“Indeed. Open the gates and we shall set off for Zofela. How many days journey do you think it will be?”
The sergeant rubbed his square chin slowly. “Maybe twenty, twenty-five?”
“Very well.” It wasn’t to her liking but there was no choice; the wagons wouldn’t go beyond a certain pace and besides, she had the children to consider. They had enjoyed their time in Turslenka and with their uncle, Argan, but now they were going on another adventure north to the scary land of Bragal. Their grandfather and grandmother awaited them there, people they had heard a lot about but had never seen.
They hadn’t been told about the war.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The rain had stopped, the ground was damp but beginning to dry out. The land was shaped like a bow, thick in the middle and tapering at the ends, curving up and eventually vanishing. The valley was long and green, with stands of timber on the upper slopes, but the lowest part was clear of any such growth. Here the Mazag army stood, waiting for the enemy to move.
Banners fluttered in the morning breeze, a warm, drying wind. Spear points reflected the climbing sun as it lifted itself over the hills to the east, eagerly wanting to see the day’s action.
Vosgaris sat in his saddle eyeing the Venn army arrayed on the opposite slope. They were numerous, grouped in ‘battles’ of spearmen, two squares deep, a central mass of soldiers designed to roll over an enemy. The flanks were, predictably, made up of heavy cavalry, arranged in huge groups of armoured knights. Standing in front of the spearmen were the missile troops, archers and the newer crossbowmen, waiting patiently for the command to start loosing off.
Vosgaris wondered how Vanist would defeat an enemy that appeared to more than match them in numbers, and was comprised of the same type of troops as the Mazag army. In fact the Venn seemed to have the edge in cavalry. Vanist had more archers, many of whom were from Kral, Venn territory, but they had no love for their conquerors and had defected in large numbers. They saw Kastania as being too weak to stand up to Venn, so they had entered Mazag service.
Vanist also had a number of Kral irregulars, axemen, armed with fearsome double-handled weapons that could take the head of an equine off with one blow. They were lightly armoured, so were vulnerable, particularly against cavalry.
Vosgaris had sent a letter off to Zofela that morning, stating that battle was about to commence, and he would send another once the struggle had ended – if he survived, he added to himself. He was sited off to one side of the command group, easily identifiable with their pennants, flags and colourful array of armour and barding. Messengers stood ready to relay orders by the side of Vanist and his senior officers. Vosgaris was away from their immediate circle as he was not important nor involved with the decision making. He was there merely as a guest, and observer.
He was also there to learn from both sides as to their tactics. The Venn might have adapted their tactics following their recent reverses, so it would be interesting to see what they would do on this day. He was also there to spy on Mazag tactics and the quality of their army, for Kastania and Mazag may not always be allies, and nobody knew what the future held.
Lakush sidled his mount alongside Vosgaris’. “Both sides seem well matched, do they not?”
“Seems so, yes. They have more cavalry, you more missile troops. I think the foot soldiers are reasonably equal in numbers.”
“Tell me, Captain, what would you do, as a Kastanian general, if you were here instead of us with these troops?”
Vosgaris leaned on the pommel of his saddle and surveyed the neatly arrayed enemy troops. “Hit them hard with missiles, wipe out their skirmishers, then stand hard here and await their attack, loosing missiles into their ranks, thinning their numbers as much as possible.”
“Hah, as I suspected,” Lakush sneered. “A defensive posture. We were told that would be your natural attitude. You would not attack?”
“No – their cavalry would sweep round the flanks and cause havoc behind you. I’d post spearmen in the flanks protecting your cavalry, and when theirs attacked, pin them on your spearpoints and crush them from the flanks and behind with the mounted troops. Once their cavalry had been destroyed, and their missile troops decimated, then you could advance in one huge line at them.”
“Is that how you are taught in your so-called ‘academies’?”
Vosgaris glanced at the mocking Mazag officer. “It has stood us in good stead over the centuries.”
“But not recently, or why would you now need our help?”
The Kastanian officer acknowledged that fact with a slight nod. “Our recent ills have been down to short-sighted policies brought in by mediocre rulers and fools. They have all been swept away. Rest assured, Captain, once we rebuild our armies, we shall be able to stand on our own feet rather than have to rely on our honourable allies.”
Lakush smiled. “You have just enough to defend your cities; you cannot defend your frontiers. My general says any army could march in and lay waste to whole regions. Any nation that allows this does not deserve respect from anyone.”
“Yet Mazag respects our alliance.”
“We respect the alliance yes, not necessarily the people whom it represents. So, do you think Mazag will triumph today?”
“Of course you will; you are harder and braver. Talian morale is notoriously fragile; deliver one hard blow
to one important area and they will shatter like glass.”
Lakush chuckled and wheeled away. He turned his head. “Watch and learn, ally.”
Vosgaris silently watched the translator gallop back to Vanist and exchange a few words with the general, who looked at Vosgaris and nodded once or twice. Clearly they were discussing what he had said. He sighed and looked back across the valley to the red and white bannered Venn lines. The academies of which Lakush had mentioned had gone; cut during the reigns of the Duras and Fokis emperors as being unnecessary expenditure. A foolish and short-sighted policy that had only resulted in a decaying of the standard of officers entering military service.
The money saved had been taken by the emperors and dished out to their sycophants and cronies as lavish bribes, ensuring their support at Council meetings. These emperors had bought support at the cost of ruining the army, thus hastening the decline. For every defeat these same emperors had turned on the cash-strapped military and blamed them for every fault and dismissed the frustrated officers who protested, replacing them with these same sycophants and cronies, many of whom had no military experience at all. Defeat had followed defeat, and was the prelude to anticipated defeat. Morale had collapsed and the size of armies cut as funds dried up due to lost territories and war.
Vosgaris wondered at the incredibly stupid policies of these people. Exactly what did they truly hope these would achieve?
Movement. Vosgaris’ mind switched to the present. The Mazag force was advancing down the slope. Vosgaris gently nudged his steed with his heels and the animal obediently walked forward, following the backs of the spear company in front of him. He looked left and right and was impressed by the spectacle of lines of men advancing, grim determination on their faces.
It had been a case of manoeuvring the army into a place where they could block the Venn progress. Days had been spent with General Vanist studying the reports of his scouts riding back and forth, and raging when they didn’t return, having fallen in skirmishes with their opposite numbers. Enough scouts had been sent though for a good picture to emerge and when the invaders had turned north-west their options had been reduced and the intercept point decided.
