The Last King's Amulet pof-1

by Chris Northern

  The commander's tent was lit from within already and I was not the first to arrive. Gatren Orans, the commander's aide, was standing just inside the doorway. “Mistletoe,” he told me before I had to ask for the day's password. There was no guarantee that the command staff would arrive and leave at the same time so this was one of those small duties that devolved to the aide. Other than that he stayed close to the commander and watched what he did, sometimes asked why he did it, and ran such small chores as the commander saw fit to entrust him with.

  Knowing the password meant that my purpose here was served, there would be no daily orders for me, no briefing on a special task. Still, I had to wait until Tulian acknowledged and then dismissed me. It rankled. He was my aunt's son, my cousin and only three or four years older than me. He finished what he was saying, nothing important, and dismissed the commander he'd been instructing. Then he acknowledged my presence with a nod and beckoned me forward, which was a surprise.

  “You have spent too much time with the healers. If you are going to dine with the sorcerers spread yourself about a bit.”

  Okay. Well that was a surprise, too. “Yes sir.”

  “That's all.”

  I saluted and left and thought about it on the way back. Who cared? They were my charges, and no more than that. My duties were to keep them happy and protect the battle mages on the battlefield, the healers having whole centuries intent on keeping them safe in their own self interest. The battle mages jealous of my attention to their rivals? No way. Probably no way. I'd spoken to them very briefly and they had spoken to me even more briefly. They had shown no indication that they were the least interested in me, and there was little reason why they should be, unless they were worried that I might do a sloppy job of protecting them if I didn't like them. It didn't wash. I reviewed the four in my mind, Tall and Fat and Old and their student, Thin. I didn't even know their names. I wondered if they knew mine. It was one more thing to mull over and leave semi-resolved. I'd prefer to have an answer that I could promptly forget about, but life is rarely that simple. Some things that happen you never understand.

  I was still mulling it over while I gobbled down a bowl of porridge and supped a mug of tea. By the time I was done the camp was roused and we were off for another day of riding at walking pace and trotting when the soldiers were ordered to double-time. Anyone who wasn't fit now would be fit by the time we arrived. My body had not stopped protesting at the harsh treatment but I had tried to stop paying attention to it. I would toughen up soon enough – and Meran had appeared with ointment to rub into my legs, butt and back each night. Some nobles would have their slaves do it, some slaves would offer, and doubtless there were those who would make play of it. Meran had just tossed the jar onto my bed and left. Can't say I blame him. I tried to imagine how he would have responded if I'd ordered him to do the job for me and his imagined response made me laugh aloud. Kerral gave me a funny look which I affected not to notice. Still, the sudden laugh had unsettled even me. I didn't think I was under that much pressure but I had a nagging feeling that there were too many things going on that I didn't get. Sapphire's regular features and sharp blue eyes came unbidden to mind. The evening before he had brought my father's loans to my tent, guided by Meran who made it clear with his facial expression and shrug that Sapphire had insisted on delivering them in person. It was late. I had eaten and returned to my tent to find them there, waiting. They had followed me inside and Sapphire had placed the armor and weapons on my camp desk which was just up to taking the weight. I was put out by the lateness of the hour. It would have been more polite to visit earlier.

  “Do you know the contents of the letter you delivered?”

  He had turned his head and stared pointedly at Meran who had in turn looked to me for instruction, leaving my tent with clear reluctance as soon as I dismissed him.

  “Well?”

  “I was there when he wrote it.”

  He was a freedman. He didn't have to be more than courteous. There were a few customs about these things. It would be normal for him to use the phrase “young master” as I was my fathers son and it acknowledged the fact that I had some authority over him in my father's name, that I was due a share of the deference and loyalty he owed my father. The fact that he didn't use it, even once, told me something.

  “Did he have any verbal message for me?”

  “Not that he entrusted to me.”

  “Why are you traveling with the army?”

  He held my gaze, neither arrogant nor defendant. “My Patron so instructed me.”

  I didn't let my annoyance show. “What is your mission?”

  “I am under instructions to discuss my mission with no one.”

  “Then I have no need to speak with you further.”

  “It was my understanding that your father intended that I travel with you,” he looked around the tent as though deciding where to sleep.

  “That was not asked of me.”

  He didn't respond.

  “You are not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  “Your father instructed me not to discuss my purpose with anyone.”

  “Then get out.”

  He had given a slight bow, and then, making his disapproval of my decision obvious, he had left.

  I had called Meran in and told him to watch Sapphire and report anything unusual. Only then had I unpacked the weapons and armor and inspected them. They were good kit and I was content with them, but that didn't make up for my unease concerning Sapphire and I wished that my father had confided in me. So far as I knew our family had no interests in the north and no connections with any of the Gerrian tribes. It seemed unlikely that his mission was related to the imprisonment of Orelia's betrothed. That was not family business. Her family or his own family should take care of that. Why had she asked me? We had been betrothed once, but clearly that was very much a thing of the past. I was a little put out that she had chosen to ask me to help her, but also a little proud that she felt she could trust me. Clearly her family was doing nothing. Well, the two were not yet married, so her family had no obligation. But what were his family doing? She had told me, after I'd calmed down enough to ask, that he was Tahal Samant. The Samants were a noble enough family, but a series of reverses had left them small and no longer seriously wealthy. Still, they must be doing something to free their son. I wish I had thought to ask what, and why, if the matter was in his family's hands, she had felt the need to ask me for help?

  The order came down the line to pick up the pace, the shout of the centurions of each cohort ringing out together to confirm the command, and I was forced to pay attention to my horse until she got the pace right and seemed happy enough to continue it without my attention. The day was wearing on and I had nothing much to do but worry and fret. How fast was Sheo traveling? Would he succeed in his purpose? How well would he do? What were the Samant family doing about their lost sheep? What was Sapphire's mission? I had no answers and it all just nagged at me. I have never much liked waiting. I resolved to write a letter to the Samant family head, who was named Irian and was Tahal's great uncle if I remembered correctly. I would tell him only that I had become aware of the situation and would try to find a way to help their son should an opportunity arise while I was in the north. The response might tell me something even if they did not open their plans to me. I could get an answer as early as the next evening if I wrote the letter tonight.

  12

  The battle mages had set out an extra chair for me.

  The tall battle mage smiled as I joined them, indicating the empty chair. “Please take a seat, Sumto. I am Larner Harrat, as you doubtless already know.” I didn't.

  The small table beside the chair already held a large goblet of a deep red wine. I didn't touch it. I might take a sip later, or I might not. I had been drinking watered wine but I could tell at a glance this was not watered. I'm not saying I didn't want the drink, but I was being disciplined about it and to my surprise I wasn't that both
ered about it. My boozing days might not be over but they were over for now, which is what counted in my mind. I felt virtuous as I sat down and thanked my host.

  “These are Abrat and Hettar. And the student is Ferrian.”

  I greeted them all and received casual replies. First names. Very informal all of a sudden, I thought. Very friendly. I had recognized the family name Harrat, but only just. A new noble family, small and fairly insignificant. I guessed the others were of even smaller and more obscure families, knights perhaps. Technically nobles and so entitled to buy stone, and some knights were wealthy enough to buy stone and training. It was a route to greater wealth. A battle mage's time in an army counted as military service, the first step on the ladder of magistracies that lead to high office. More usually the colleges were careers for those nobles who were from big and powerful families but not of the main line; it was a way to get more power into the family as the colleges themselves had one seat on the assembly of patrons reserved for their highest ranking member. A matter they sorted out amongst themselves according to rules that were not made public. Also, of course, a family member who was a powerful sorcerer was a useful ally, though the colleges had first claim on such an individual's loyalty.

  “Thank you for your hospitality.” It seemed the polite thing to say and I hoped I would get some insight into why their attitude had changed from edge of rude, through indifference to this.

  “You are welcome, of course. If you and your men are to protect us on the battlefield, it seems only right that we be well acquainted.”

  “So that I am motivated to do a good job?”

  Larner smiled thinly. “Just so.”

  It was a lie. I knew it was a lie and so did he. We were six men, our duties were a courtesy and little more. A battle mage isn't in much immediate danger on the field and they are, after all, battle mages. They can look after themselves. They didn't need us. I had been making a joke. Why would he leap on such an obvious untruth? Did everybody think I was stupid?

  “I'm sure you are all quite experienced and able to keep yourselves out of harm's way.”

  His smiled stayed frozen. “By way of contrast, I understand this is your first military expedition.”

  “First practical experience, yes.”

  “Oh? Is there any other kind?” The fat one, Abrat, chipped in.

  “Much of war is strategy, tactics and mistakes. Knowledge, in fact. I read a great deal.”

  The old one, Hettar, hunched forward, eyes bright. “Who have you read, young man?”

  “Everyone,” I told him, truthfully. “I have read everything there is to read on the subject in every language I know.”

  Hettar was smiling openly now, “And whose ideas do you most respect?”

  “Mine.”

  He laughed out loud and his companions joined him more politely.

  “Tell us about them, please,” by his tone it was clear that Abrat expected to hear nothing new. He might as well have asked me outright not to speak on the subject.

  “Every encounter should have a purpose and it is not my purpose here to share the product of my cogitations on the subject.”

  “Ha!” Hettar couldn't restrain himself. “So, this is an encounter! We are at odds! Who's winning?”

  I smiled in as light-hearted a way as I could manage. “Maybe it is my purpose that we negotiate a truce, or an alliance.”

  Hettar turned to Larner. “Told you he wasn't stupid.”

  Larner shrugged. “Let's call it a truce and have some dinner. Duck in an orange sauce,” the food began to appear even as he spoke, “and a few other nibbles. Water?”

  I was never going to make a point of it, but confirmed to the slave who served me that water would be welcome.

  Round one. A draw I could live with. I'd learned something and so had they. One, they knew full well who I was and had different opinions about me. Two, they wanted to know more, hence the round-about invitation. Three was just a question, why did they want to know more and why now? Sapphire was my father's tool and the day after Sapphire arrived they wanted to talk to me for the first time; was he meddling? And what had they learned; that I wasn't actually mentally impaired? I might be merely arrogant. They hadn't learned much. Not yet.

  I ate some duck, drank a little water.

  “What do you think of Urindas Het's Military Commentary?” Abrat brought the subject back to my arrogant assertion, clearly probing.

  “The general who seeks to win makes many calculations before the battle is fought. The general who is to lose makes but few calculations beforehand. Many calculations lead to victory, few lead to defeat.” I shrugged. “Elementary in many ways, but one wonders how he thinks that anyone can know how well an enemy general has thought things through. True, he speaks of intelligence gathering and disinformation but the fact is unless we have faced an opponent before and have experience of him we cannot possibly know how well or poorly he will do the job. So, what is Urindas actually saying? Try and think of everything? Make as many plans as you can? Nothing a functioning mentality would overlook. Much of his work is on that level.”

  Abrat was glowering. “You would say more?”

  If I were inclined I would say that all the calculations in a general's mind are worthless unless his command structure, indeed every single man, has a clear idea of what is to be achieved in the conflict. Units can get separated, the situation can change, and communications can break down, and take time even if they don't fail. If a separated unit has a clear understanding of what needs doing it doesn't matter if they haven't an officer left, they can still assess the situation and act to achieve the objective. Urindas speaks always as though the only person who has to know what is planned is the general. All the calculation in the world is useless if it only exists in the general's head. Not that it would be possible to share everything with everybody, but as much as they can understand and are likely to need should be drummed into their heads right down to the last soldier.

  “In direct contradiction to what I am thinking, no. But then, I am not in command of an army.”

  “Nor are you likely to face us in a battle,” Larner commented dryly.

  “But I will be in competition with my peers. Why should I put my ideas in the public domain?”

  “At twenty-two you suddenly decided to begin the career you should already be some years into? Do you have in mind a wholly military career, like your uncle?”

  “I intend to be what I am to the best of my abilities, no more and no less.”

  Hettar nodded approval. “A patron of the city.”

  It is what I intended. I intended to succeed. And I would. However, I did not intend to bask in my father's pride. Or in that of anyone else. I did not intend to make friends or be loved. I intended to succeed as much as I needed to in order to be left alone to please myself. It was a short term plan, not a lifelong projection.

  13

  “Strawberries.”

  Gatren's disinterested voice giving me the password for the day as I entered the commander's tent had become familiar to me, a part of the daily routine. He always leaned forward slightly and pitched his voice for my ears alone. Pointless as everyone there would know the password.

  I ignored him, as usual, and a stepped a little further into the tent to wait to be acknowledged. In four days I had once more slipped into the expectation of a prompt dismissal to deal with my already assigned task – to do nothing, in other words. Again I was slightly surprised when beckoned to come forward.

  “Sumto Cerulian, take command of the right flank for the day.”

  I saluted and acknowledged the order, was dismissed and left. I didn't ask the reason, there could be many, ranging from a stomach bug to verbal dispatches that only a commander could be entrusted with. The commanders to hand were for Tul to use as he saw fit, changing their assignments every day if he felt inclined to do so.

  Over breakfast I told Kerral to look after things and asked him where the hell I would find my command
and who would likely be their captain. He did not disappoint me.

  “The knight Yebratt Shaheel will be with the vanguard by the time we are ready to march.”

  I didn't berate him for stating the obvious fact that the captain, indeed all of the horsemen, would be knights. That is what equestes means, after all, of the equestrian rank. Pretty well off, basically, and of noble birth or raised to the nobility, though that happened rarely enough to be truly notable.

  I guessed that he thought I should know who it would be and he was right. “I'll pick your brains about the complete command structure later, Kerral. I should know, and I don't.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  I found Yebratt just where Kerral had said he'd be waiting for me. He was a big, friendly man with ginger hair and, unusually, sported a beard. He saluted with a grin. “Orders sir?”

  I couldn't help returning his easy grin. “I think we will string out in two's a half mile out at hundred yard intervals and have two pairs take vantage runs from the lead and circle to the rear where it seems appropriate.”

  “Sounds good! Password?”

  “Strawberries.”

  14

  I passed the morning in the company of Yebratt Shaheel pleasantly enough. Twice we rode to high ground and circled back to the rear of the column, taking the opportunity to vary the pace. He was a talker and I let him talk. He told me of his family, origins, intended career, bearing in mind that the higher offices were barred to him by reason of finance. To be a member of the patron's assembly you have to be of a certain class and have the money to back it up, a million in silver to be exact. A knight must have a personal fortune of a hundred thousand. We have no barriers to how you make the money, we don't care where the money comes from. A slave can become a freedman, and the son of a freedman is a free man and a free man can aspire to the equestes. Yebratt had designs on the assembly of patrons for himself or his son and I lauded his ambition.