by Tim Stead
He picked a camp site that was not overlooked by anything within the distance of two good bowshots, and where they could be seen from afar. This also meant that they could see clearly any body of men that approached them when it was still a mile distant.
The men laid aside their swords in shifts and threw up a shallow earth rampart around the camp, which was about an acre in size. They carried on enlarging the wall while others unloaded tents and other equipment. By mid afternoon the place was a tented village. Fires burned in front of tents, and the smell of cooking food drifted over the walls. Men stood at guard around the perimeter and others relaxed within the safety of the fortified circle.
Towards evening a group of men rode out from the city. It was difficult to make them out, but they circled in front of the camp, keeping well out of bowshot, and stayed for a quarter of an hour before retiring back into the city. Darius studied them as best he could. They appeared to be well armed, and wore a good deal of plate and mail armour. They rode in good order, so he was inclined to believe that they were the King’s men.
The other lot would not be so well equipped.
As Serhan had explained it to him there were two chief factions fighting in the city. The King, Simon Tarnell, led one faction. He claimed to be the hereditary king of Samara, and traced his line all the way back to the house of Tarnell that had ruled here at the time of the coming of the Faer Karan. The kings-in-waiting of Tarnell’s line had estranged their people, however, by attacking anyone who had dealings with the Faer Karan or their guardsmen. Recently this policy had been abandoned, it seemed, but trust was slow to grow between the King and the people.
When the rumours spread that the Faer Karan had fallen, Tarnell moved to claim the throne of Samara, moving men into the citadel, which was perhaps the only defensible position in the city. But in gaining control of the citadel he had lost control of the city itself. For a place so large the king had very few men, and once the citadel was garrisoned there were precious few left to patrol the streets, and there was no way of controlling people, no courts, no laws, and most of the time nobody to enforce them had they existed.
The people, in their turn, did not want to be ruled by their secondary oppressor. They had disliked the Faer Karan, but could not resist. Tarnell had punished them for doing what they had to do to survive, for living the only way they could. With the Faer Karan gone they switched their resentment onto a figure that they could resist with some success. Many of the city’s people had bows, knives, even swords. Tarnell had lost twenty men before he had tightened up his lines, enlarged his patrols, and begun to exercise caution.
He still lost men, but it became rarer: an odd bowshot out of an alleyway, stones thrown down from a rooftop – it was always hard to catch the attacker. He reacted in the only way he knew. The king’s men broke down doors, threatened people, beat answers to their questions from men whether they knew anything or not. The gentle approach was abandoned
It got worse. The gangs who had formed to attack the king began to lay claim to territories within the city, from a single street of houses to half a city division. They started fighting each other, forming alliances, breaking them. It was a time when ruthless men prospered, if only briefly.
One more ruthless, and perhaps more able than the others, had emerged. He was Hagar Del. Before the eruption of chaos he had been a farrier, and when business was poor had crewed on various fishing boats. By the time the force from White Rock arrived he had consolidated his grip on more than half of Gulltown. He had many followers, but none who were trained in warfare. He was a big man, tall and muscular, bearded, and wore his hair long. He fought with a hammer and a sword, which reminded Darius of the bandit general Bragga.
The first night in the camp Darius was woken by a light touch on his shoulder. He was alert at once.
“What is it?”
“A group is approaching the wall, Colonel.”
“How many?”
“Less than twenty, but more than five. It is hard to tell in the dark.”
He buckled on his sword and made his way carefully to the part of the wall that the man had indicated. It was very dark out there, but the camp fires behind him burned brightly. He knew that it gave whoever was out there an advantage, and made him a target. He stayed low. Whispered greetings came from the other men crouched there.
“Hello in the camp.” It was a voice out of the darkness, so they wanted to talk. That was good.
“I’m listening,” he called back.
“Who are you and why are you here?”
“Who wants to know?” he called back. He thought that he already knew.
There was a brief silence. They were talking amongst themselves.
“We are citizen soldiers of the Gulltown Protectorate,” the answer came at last. So these were Del’s men. They sounded nervous. Not that two hundred guardsmen would make a difference if thrown in on the King’s side, but out in the open these citizen soldiers were no match for the real thing.
“I am Colonel Darius Grand of White Rock,” he called back. “We are here by the will of the Lord Serhan, master of White Rock and conqueror of the Faer Karan. We wish only to talk.”
There was another pause, longer this time. There was clearly some discussion taking place, so it was apparent that Del himself was not among the men. After perhaps two minutes the voice called out again.
“I will come into your camp alone. You will not shoot?”
“I guarantee your safety while you are here. You may leave at any time, or stay as long as you like.”
Another pause. Eventually a figure walked out of the dark into the light of the fires. He was a short, thin man, and as he approached, Darius could see that he was unhealthily thin. His clothes hung off him and his face was gaunt. The man walked steadily towards the wall, only his eyes betraying the concern that he must feel. His only weapon appeared to be a bow slung over one shoulder. Not an impressive fellow, but brave enough.
He was brought through the gate and before Darius.
“You are Colonel Grand?”
Close up the man looked weak from starvation, but he did not stoop or bow, and looked the colonel in the eye.
“I am. We shall talk in my tent.”
The man did not move, but held out his hand.
“I am Sam Hekman, officer of the citizen army,” he said.
Darius took his hand and shook it. The grip was surprisingly firm. In spite of himself he found that he liked the look of the man.
They sat in the tent, and Darius had them bring food – a lot of food. He was demonstrating to the man that they were not short of supplies. He saw that his message got through.
“Please,” Darius gestured, “eat, talk. Whatever you wish.”
Hekman put a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He was silent for quite a while.
“I have heard many tales of White Rock,” he said eventually. “If only a few of them are true, then we owe you a debt.”
“I do not know what you have heard.”
“Your master, your lord Serhan, he is real?”
“He is.”
“He has defeated the Faer Karan?” Hekman’s face was well lit in the lamp light, and Darius could see a hunger there greater than any hunger of the flesh. He sensed that everything from now on hung on his answer.
“I was not present. None witnessed the battle,” he replied. “But Gerique is gone, Dragan is gone, the doorkeeper is gone. The Faer Karan lords of all the northern domains have gone. For weeks we have been visiting other Faer Karan fortresses and finding no evidence of them. Serhan says that they joined together to fight him, and all failed in the one battle.”
“You believe it, then?”
“I do.”
“And your lord was unhurt in this battle?”
“He was most gravely injured, but has been able to mend himself. He is quite recovered.”
“So that also is true? He is a mage?”
“He works magic, i
t is certain. We travelled by way of a black door directly from White Rock.”
“You answer me most carefully, colonel Grand, but I like your answers, and I feel you have been honest with me, and even that tells me that your position is strong, and we would be wise to talk to you. I must tell you though, that I do not have the authority to speak for Hagar Del and his protectorate.”
“I did not expect that you would.”
“However, I will tell you my story, and poor as it is, you will be able to glean something useful from it.”
“I have the time to listen, and indeed am keen to hear it.”
“I am a fisherman,” Hekman began. “Or I was. I had my own boat, a fine boat, and it made me a good living, fed my family, gave work to two or three other men. I had a small house, and a drying shed for the fish. I would have been counted as a prosperous man in the days of the Faer Karan.
“Things changed quickly when people believed that they were gone. Tarnell, the one who calls himself King, claimed Samara for his own, but we knew his ways, and none wanted to replace a neglectful tyrant with an attentive one, so there was resistance, and men banded together to resist. The street that I lived in was one of ten claimed by a small band, but they were not good men – no better than the King’s. I spoke out against them, did not do as I was told, and I was taken from my home and put in chains. They used me as a slave, fed me rarely, beat me more often. You can see what they did to me.
“After some weeks of this my luck seemed to change. The men that ruled my street were crushed by Hagar Del. You see, I knew Del before the chaos. He did work for me on my boat from time to time, hauled nets, rowed, steered. I taught him much about the trade because he was strong and quick to learn. In a small way I was his captain. When he found me chained in the basement of the house he released me, fed me, made me an officer. There were so few people that he trusted, and here was I, an old friend, bound to him by gratitude, or so he thought.
“I was indeed grateful. Del was a good deal better than the men he replaced. He saw that brutality alone would not work, though he was not shy of it. Now people can work, trade, feed themselves, but he does not allow his rule to be questioned. I had learned my lesson, and kept quiet. He has support among the people. Not all of them, by any means, but enough to keep him secure.
“What he wants, I cannot say. Perhaps he sees himself as the King of Samara, but I do not think that he has the skill for such a position. He does well enough in Gulltown, but in Morningside, well, he is not subtle enough, and as long as the King holds the citadel he will make no impression on the old town.”
“Do you think that Del knows this?” Darius was surprised that the man would talk so freely about the man who was his commander, but he was going to get all he could out of him.
“In his heart. I think he wants some position of power, now that he has a taste for it, but he also knows that he has limitations. He is not a bad man, colonel, nor a particularly good one, but he is strong and understands the people among whom he lives.”
“How many men does he have?”
“More than the King, but not trained. He would loose badly in an open confrontation.”
“So you think he will talk?”
“I think he wants to, but he is afraid of you and of the King. He will try to appear strong, he will not trust you. He thinks that you are more likely to deal with the King.”
They talked longer, until Darius thought that he had a clear picture of the situation in Gulltown. He would check with others, of course, but he was confident that what Hekman had told him was true, or at least that he believed it to be true.
“You have done me a great service,” he said. “But I am at a loss to know why. What do you want in return? Do you wish to join us?”
“Ah, now that is a tempting offer,” Hekman replied, smiling,” if only for the food. But I have a family, and Samara is my home. All I want is for the fighting to stop, and to look forward to a peaceful time. I have trader friends, and they hear many tales, but all the ones from White Rock are the same. They say that there is prosperity there, and justice. Give me this and I will be well paid indeed.”
The sound of running feet from outside the tent brought Darius to the tent flap just as a guardsman arrived.
“Colonel,” the man was out of breath, excited. “A large group of men has arrived from the north. They are still some way off, but carry lights. About a hundred, maybe two, it is hard to tell,” he added in response to Darius’s unspoken question.
Darius walked quickly to the northern side of the camp, aware that Hekman was following him, but by the time he got there the issue had been resolved. One of his officers, seeing him approach, called down to him.
“It is men sent by White Rock, colonel,” he said. “One hundred and fifty guardsmen from Stone Island to reinforce us.”
“Tell them I will meet them at the gate,” he called back. He walked again, and Hekman appeared at his side.
“You grow stronger, colonel,” he said.
“I expect more,” he replied. “There are at least three more domains that have promised troops to our cause.”
“And your cause is peace?”
“The stronger the force, the less fighting it must do,” he replied. “Give me ten thousand men and there would be no more wars.”
They met the new troops at the gate. Darius welcomed their commander, who named himself as Captain Horlor.
“I am glad to see you captain,” he said.
“Indeed I am glad to be here,” the man said. “I bring news, also.”
“From White Rock?”
“From all the northern domains. You may expect another four hundred men in the next few days, and it will be the greatest force of guardsmen ever assembled. They do not think your rank sufficient to command such a force.”
“Colonel not high enough? Then they will send a lord?”
“You misunderstand, sir. They have raised your rank. You are now to be titled General Grand, commander of the army of the northern domains.” Captain Horlor smiled. “Congratulations, General.”
Darius shook his head.
“It is unprecedented,” he said.
“Not so, my General,” the man seemed to relish using the title. “In the days when men were free it was not unusual for such a rank to be given to the commander of an army. We are again in the days of free men.”
Secretly he was pleased. Only a few days ago he had been a guard captain. Now he was a General. It meant nothing, of course. He was still the same man, still had the same job to do, but perhaps it would help in dealing with the King. He might take a general less lightly than a captain.
“So be it,” he said. “However, with all these extra men we will have to increase the size of the camp. Draw thirty men from the White Rock contingent and pick twenty of your own. Get them started on extending the walls. Four hour shifts. I don’t want them too tired to fight.”
“At once, General.”
Horlor was gone.
“General Grand,” Hekman said. He, too, sounded like he was tasting the words. “I will be sure to tell Del.”
“If you must.”
“General, you said that I was free to go at any time, and I think that I must go now. If my men have not run away I will have to get them back to Gulltown before sunrise. We would not do so well if the King’s men caught us out in the open at dawn.”
“I understand. Of course, you may go now as you wish.”
He made sure that Hekman got through the gates unmolested and returned to his tent. He needed sleep.
But seven hundred and fifty men – it was the equivalent of the entire guard force of White Rock, or Oceans Gate.
General Darius Grand. He smiled. He slept.
45 Borbonil
He had to admit that things were going well. Messengers from White Rock came and went, but so far Darius had needed no help. He still awaited the promised four hundred men, but word had spread in the city, and there had been two more
visits from Hagar Del’s men in the dead of night; one from Sam Hekman and a second from a man who said that he was Del’s lieutenant. The man had been aggressive, but Darius had shown him respect, and eventually he had softened and begun to talk, revealing something of what Del wanted.
The King’s men had been around the camp during the day. Their first visit had been less promising than Hekman’s. The officer in charge of the group had come in with three heavily armed men and strutted round the camp like a bristling dog looking for someone to bite.
“You have no authority here,” he snapped at Darius.
“And yet I am here. You cannot afford to attack me even now – your losses would weaken the King’s hand even if you were to win, and I grow stronger every day.”
“The King has commanded you to go. White Rock has no business here.”
“My lord Serhan commands me to stay. You will forgive me if I see that as a higher authority.”
“You cannot impose your will on Samara.”
“You are fortunate indeed that my lord does not wish it so.”
“These tales you tell of his victory over the Faer Karan – I do not believe it. I think as the king does that they came to some end of their own devising, fought amongst themselves, or left for some reason that we do not as yet understand.”
“You may believe what you wish, Captain, but I know that some in your ranks see the truth for what it is, and you must realise that you cannot hold on to power with so few men.”
“Then why do you not join with us? With a thousand men we could stamp out all resistance and bring peace to the city.”
“If my lord Serhan will not impose his will on the city, I am certain that he will not impose the King’s.”
“So you offer no solution. We must prevail by force of arms.”
“We offer the chance of a solution, captain. We offer you the opportunity to talk with your enemies in safety – for all sides – so that you may understand how a resolution may be reached.”
The captain glowered at Darius. The General could see that he was not a man much given to talking or to compromise, but he knew that others were.
