The general introduced him to the Lady of Zel’Kardan. “This is the officer we have chosen to protect your city, Lady Neralan.”
Lady Neralan smiled and said, “Hello, scamp.”
The general was openly surprised by her greeting and even more shocked by his.
Kalin said, “Hi, Lady Nera,” with a laugh as he stepped forward to hug the woman.
“Lieutenant?” the general asked in a bewildered tone.
“Lady Neralan is a friend of my mom’s, Sir. We’ve known each other as long as I’ve can remember.” Turning back to the lady he asked, “Where is Lord Wellin?”
“He died in his sleep last winter, Kal.” Kalin looked sad as she continued. “He’d been sick for a while. It was peaceful.”
“He was a good man. And a good friend.”
The general nodded and said, “I leave you to your duty, Lieutenant Zel’Andral.”
Kalin came to attention and bowed deeply. “Yes, Sir.” He watched the general leave in silence, then turned back toward the lady.
“We’ll set camp on the north side of the bridge. Would east or west be better?”
“West. Most of the people who have settled that side of the river are east of the road. Only one cranky old couple have their mill to the west. Convinced Wellin to give him the land.” She shrugged. “He does mill a lot of the grain on that side of the river, and avoids the toll to bring it over here.”
Kalin bowed and said, “West it is. I’ll be back when I can.”
“Take your time, Kal. You have a lot of responsibility to your men.”
Kalin went and gathered his troops. He smiled when he saw that all of the female archers were once again under his command, as well as three female cavalry troopers.
“All right, troops,” he said loudly, “we set camp on the far side of the river, west of the bridge. Standard camp layout.”
The unit moved together and crossed the bridge in good order. The bridge guardian gave them a sour look, but didn’t say anything. That was Evandian law: the Army didn’t pay tolls.
The west side of the road proved to be high ground, and the camp was set well within the regulation two spans. Kalin made his tour and stopped at the rope around the women’s tents. A tall, broad shouldered young woman came out and said, “Sir, women’s country is ready for inspection, Sir.”
Kalin said, “Very well,” and stepped forward. He checked the tent spacing and nodded his approval. “Well done,” was his only comment as he again crossed the rope.
Kalin made his way to the cook tent and was met with a cup of fresh kava. The cook smiled as he handed it over, then said, “Cook tent and wagon ready for inspection, Sir.”
Kalin sipped his kava and nodded. “They left two of you?” he asked when he saw a young woman in an apron.
The man, a corporal, nodded. “Her first year, Sir. Worked in her parents’ inn her whole life. Brother died, so she’s doing her service so the inn can stay in the family. I think you will be pleased by her cooking.”
“Well enough, Corporal. Is her tent with the other women?”
“No, Sir. She’s here with me and the wagon.”
Kalin shook his head. “Have her set up in women’s country.”
“Sir, that’s not--”
“I’ve already been through one misunderstanding. There will not be a misunderstanding on my watch. Understood?”
The corporal eyed him carefully and said, “Sir, understood, Sir.”
“Carry on, Corporal.” Kalin nodded once and walked away.
That night a woman’s voice whispered, “Need to talk, Sir,” from outside his tent, and he wasn’t surprised to find Willow waiting in the shadows.
He joined her in the darkness and nodded. She said, “Good instinct on the cook, Sir. Corporal Bel’Jerral already had their bedrolls set up together.”
“Did he violate her?”
“No, not yet, but he apparently made it clear that it was going to be part of her education on Army life.” Her voice had a burr to it that set Kalin’s neck-hairs on end.
“She seems a little shy of me, so keep your eyes on her. Any trouble or suspicion of trouble, let me know. And let me handle it.” He wagged a finger at her. “No castrating our cook.”
“You’re no fun,” she groused, but he could see her teeth through her grin.
“Good night, Willow.”
Kalin set the same kind of watches as he had the year before. Archers and Cavalry paired up and spread out. He had enough people that he set two heavy patrols sweeping the area.
The mill was a fair distance from their camp, but Kalin still made a point of checking with the miller and his wife. But only once.
“What do you want?” the man demanded before Kalin had even dismounted.
“I am in command of this detachment and came over to check on you and make sure you are safe.” He carefully didn’t mention his name. It made people nervous.
“No matter to me, soldier boy. You just keep them ruffians outa my fields. Bunch last year cost me a hand of bushels with what they trampled.”
Kalin nodded and replied, “We will make every effort to stay out of your crops, goodman.” With that, he rode away and never looked back. He was afraid of what he might see.
The season remained calm until after the harvest. Kalin and his people helped bring in the sheaves of wheat and barley. It was a novelty for him. It was old hat to most of his people. They laughed and told stories of their childhoods on their parents’ farms.
It wasn’t much later that a whistler-arrow screamed through the sky from the north. Kalin had his people out, ready to repulse an attack, when a single wagon rolled down the road with a ridden horse beside it.
Kalin rode out to meet them. Cavalry Private Bel’Serdal rode alone beside the wagon and addressed Kalin as soon as he was close.
“Sir, these folks say they want to trade for some grain.”
Kalin nodded and said, “Very well. Return to your post.” Looking at the old man driving the wagon, he nodded. “Follow me.”
Kalin led the wagon on the road to the mill. The old man came out again and sneered as Kalin and the wagon stopped.
The man on the wagon said, “We would like to trade for some grain, if you please.”
“And why would I trade with you filthy Farindians?” the miller demanded.
“Won’t you even discuss it?” the younger man on the wagon asked. “We have good furs and home-crafts to offer.”
“No.”
Kalin rode over and looked in the wagon. There were indeed a lot of furs, and the old man turned and flipped them back to reveal a wide variety of carved wooden objects.
Looking at the miller he asked, “What do you want for fifty bags of grain?”
“For them? Hah! A hundred gold crowns.”
An assortment of troopers had followed along to see what was happening, and now a towering infantry private stamped forward.
“You will address Lieutenant Zel’Andral with respect,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice, “or I’ll teach you some manners.”
At the mention of Kalin’s name the Farindians became very nervous, but the miller became even more belligerent.
“So, you’re that one. Heard about you. You’re not heir yet. Just another spoiled Chosen fop.”
Now Kalin dismounted and climbed the steps up to the mill porch. “Watch your mouth, old man.”
“Ha! You don’t dare do anything. All I have to do is complain to the lady about you and you’ll never sit on the throne.”
Now Kalin smiled, but it was not a pleasant thing to see. “Lady Nera is my mom’s friend. But I don’t need her for this. You will provide me with fifty bags of grain. Army price.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Are you refusing to sell to the Army?” Kalin asked with a grin, and the old man went white as milk. It was a serious crime to refuse to sell to the Army. It would cost him his mill.
“Army price is one gold crown for twenty-five bags
of grain,” he said with obvious effort.
Kalin nodded, then looked behind him. “I’ll trade fifty bags of grain for the goods you brought. Fair?”
“Full fair, Prince Lieutenant, Sir,” the old man agreed.
Kalin nodded and said, “Just unload the wagon here, then come around to the back.” Looking at the miller he said, “Fifty sacks of grain, and they better be full sacks. Now.”
Kalin followed the miller while his men helped unload the wagon. Soon, the miller was standing back as a line of infantrymen passed sacks man-to-man and loaded the wagon in minimal time. Less than four spans after they arrived, the two Farindians were traveling north again.
“What should we do with your stuff, Sir?” an infantryman asked.
“Stuff?”
“Yes, Sir. The stuff you bought from that old man?”
Kalin looked thunderstruck for a moment, then whispered, “Gods Below, I didn’t think of that.”
His men laughed at him for a moment, then they put the carved goods in the furs, then four men carried each of the furs back to their camp and put them by Kalin’s tent.
He was standing there staring blankly at his “purchase,” when Willow came to his side.
“What are you going to do with all of this, Sir?” she asked and waved a hand at the assortment in front of them.
Kalin looked bewildered as he said, “I have no idea, Willow. I was angrier at the miller than anything else. I mean, it’s not like I can put it in my room.” He looked at his purchase and shook his head. “The only thing I want to keep is that bear skin. And that will be a gift for Mom and Dad.”
Willow stepped forward and pulled the fur up. “It’s very soft. They did a good job. I’m sure your parents will love it. But what about the rest?”
“Want anything?” he asked.
“We already fell off that cliff, Lieutenant. If you are going to offer it up, offer it to everyone.” Then she smiled impishly and picked up a carved falcon. “But I will take first pick.”
Kalin laughed, the raised his voice and said, “If anyone wants any of this stuff, you are welcome to it.” He took the bear skin into his tent, then walked to the cook tent and grabbed some bread and kava.
The young cook came to his side and asked, “Is there anything you need, Sir?”
“No. There’s a bunch of stuff outside my tent. Go see if you want any of it.”
The girl looked frightened and glanced over her shoulder, then bowed and left. Moments later the corporal came out and muttered, “Where did that lazy slut go?”
“Corporal,” Kalin said in a near growl, “watch your mouth.” The corporal seemed startled when he saw Kalin. “She is following my orders.”
“Sir, she, um--”
“Be very careful, corporal, or you may make private again real fast. Understood?”
“Sir, you see--”
“I see very well. You have a little power over that young woman and think you can use it to get what you want. Let me disabuse you of that notion. She, like you, are under my command. I am giving you a direct order: leave her alone. Failure to obey that order is punishable by Courts Martial. Do you understand me, Corporal?”
“S-Sir, yes, Sir.”
Kalin finished his kava in one gulp and left the tent. He didn’t start chuckling until he was well away.
It was the next day when Lady Neralan came to their camp. She was escorted directly to Kalin. An infantryman announced her, and Kalin came to his feet, then bowed. “How may I be of service, Lady Nera?”
“What did you do to old Barton?” she demanded in an exasperated tone.
“Who?”
“Barton Bel’Dertan. The miller,” she said, waving her hand toward the west. “He came to me complaining that you had robbed him.”
Kalin started sniggering, then chortling, then laughing loudly and slapping his leg. Lady Neralan watched him with a bemused expression on her face until he finally calmed down.
“Lady Nera,” he gasped, then explained what he’d done. “Those bags of grain may well prevent a raid. Well worth two crowns by my way of thinking.”
“He’s claiming you gave away Army grain.”
Kalin shook his head. “Army price, my gold. If feeding those people saves even one of my troopers, it is worth twice the price. Besides, look at this.” He lifted the bear hide. “How much do you think this is worth?”
She fingered the soft hide and nodded. “Six, maybe seven silver.”
“They had a whole wagon load of furs and carved items. This is all I kept, and it’s for Mom and Dad.”
“Where did the rest go?”
Kalin shrugged. “I let my troopers have it all except that hide. Lady Nera, those people are just trying to survive. If they can do work like this, I think they deserve to.”
“Agreed,” she said with a sharp nod. “I have to agree, Kal. How much longer do you think you will be here?”
“Not long. We were already back at the fort this time last year.”
“Very well. Love to your parents. And to you, scamp.” She hugged him and headed back to her city.
The general arrived three days later. “Any trouble, Lieutenant Zel’Andral?”
“No, Sir! The only Farindians we saw came to trade.”
“Yes, we heard about that. Apparently, your father was injured just after he heard about it.”
Kalin was instantly concerned. “Injured? How bad? Is he all right, Sir?” he demanded, suddenly a little boy again, terrified that something bad happened to his dad.
“Yes, Lieutenant, he’s fine. As I understand it, he was laughing so hard he fell out of his chair and hit his elbow on the floor.”
Kalin was both embarrassed and relieved. “Yes, that sounds like dad.”
The force picked up Dahral at the city of Milton. He was somber, and Kalin waited until they were alone to ask why. Dahral shook his head sadly.
“It was bad, Kal.”
“Farindians?”
“No. Evandians. The worst kind of Chosen you can imagine.”
Kalin sat forward and said, “Tell me.”
“It started out as a pretty standard assignment.”
* * *
“Lieutenant Zel’Fordal, I am leaving you in charge of Milton,” Lord General Zel’Faran said as he faced Dahral.
Dahral was already stiffly at attention, so he simply answered, “Yes, Sir!”
The general nodded. “We are leaving young Kenelan Zel’Corval with you as well. His father is an ax man, and that is all he’s taught the boy. See if you can get him up to at least proficient with the sword while you are here.”
“I will do my best, Sir,” Dahral replied, then bowed. The general returned the bow and walked back to the column while Dahral turned to face his men.
“Lieutenant Zel’Corval, take charge of the foot troops and support staff.” He grinned because he had been given a cook sergeant and two privates. “Set camp on the north-west side of the bridge. I will take the mounted troops to the north-east side. All right, people, you all heard me. Cross the bridge and set camp.”
The troops marched across the bridge with the supply wagon bringing up the rear. Dahral quietly directed his mounted troops to set a long camp and put the picket line between the tents and the river for protection.
Dahral crossed the road to where Lieutenant Zel’Corval was shouting orders. He walked up behind the younger man and said, “Lieutenant, a word, if you please.”
“What!” the lieutenant shouted as he turned around. His face was flushed and he was panting for some reason.
Dahral suppressed the urge to backhand him off his feet. Instead he said, “Lieutenant Zel’Corval, I thought the orders we received were clear. We are to set a long camp with the men in individual tents to make us appear to be a larger force. Reset your camp to be a long camp.”
“I am setting camp per the infantry manual, Lieutenant. And watch your tone with me. I am Kenelan Randahl Derval Zel’Corval, Heir of Zel’Corval, and don’t y
ou forget it.”
Dahral snarled, “You are not heir yet, you insolent pup. Not until you honorably complete your two years. I, however, am Heir by Right of Zel’Fordal, seventeenth in line to the crown of Evandia, and your commanding officer. You will follow the orders you have been given, or your brother will be the heir of Zel’Corval because you will not be eligible to hold your lands. Do I make myself clear, Junior Lieutenant Zel’Corval?”
Kenelan stood shocked still. No one had ever stood up to him like that. No one had ever been higher in the Chosen hierarchy, yet Dahral Zel’Fordal was. He was a peer of the crown. A member of the highest strata of their society. All he could do was say, “Yes, Sir,” before turning around to start screaming at his infantry and archers to reset their camp.
Dahral just shook his head as he walked back across the road. He muttered, “Fool,” as he made his way to his tent. Soon, within the two-span time frame that was commonly demanded, Kenelan stopped outside the tent and loudly reported, “Lieutenant Zel’Fordal, Infantry and Archers’ camp is ready for inspection.”
Dahral stood and straightened his uniform before walking out to face his subordinate. “Very good, Lieutenant Zel’Corval. Lead on.” The two crossed the road and Dahral saw what he expected: a perfectly ordered long camp.
“Very good, Lieutenant. Do you know if the cooks have made kava yet?”
“Sir, yes, Sir.” He paused for a moment before adding, “They are camped around the wagon and didn’t have to reposition with the rest.”
They went to the cook tent and Dahral led Kenelan to the big urns rather than waiting to be served. “Don’t disturb the cooks if you don’t have to. Makes for late meals,” Dahral explained. “Our men will tolerate a lot, but not late meals.”
Kenelan growled, “They will tolerate whatever we tell them to tolerate.”
“No,” Dahral replied softly. “These men, our men, will not. Our men deserve and will receive our respect, from the good Sergeant Kel’Berdan to young Private Del’Estan. Our lives depend on these men. If there is an attack, the safety of Milton and its people will depend on them. There is no one who isn’t vital to our mission. And the mission is everything.”
“We are Chosen lords,” Kenelan replied softly.
“We are lieutenants, just one step more valuable than mules in the eyes of the Army. Our only real value lies in how well we can lead our men in the defense of Evandia. That is all we are here for. Those men may die under our leadership. If that happens, don’t expect a medal. Expect to stand in front of the general to explain why you let his men die. Why you, Lieutenant, allowed men you were sent to lead, die.”
The Coravian Conflict (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 5) Page 33
