Measure and the Truth

by Doug Niles

  By dawn, he was finished. In the space of eight hours, he had authored a dozen new laws and prepared a detailed statement to be read aloud by a dozen heralds. The announcement would be called out every hour by each of the heralds throughout the day, and every day for the next two weeks. Additional copies were prepared and dispatched by mounted couriers to city rulers in Vingaard, Thelgaard, Solanthus, Garnet, Caergoth, and the lesser towns of the realm.

  The copies completed, the criers headed off to begin their day’s work. By the time they were finished, the people of the city would know that it was a crime to criticize the emperor’s motives as he led Solamnia into the future. It was sedition to discuss the emperor’s actions in a way that would reflect poorly on Jaymes or his officers. Criticizing the government in small groups—any scurrilous gossip against the state—was also a criminal offense.

  It was against the law to interfere with, heckle, or otherwise obstruct an official herald in the conduct of his duties. Removing or tampering with the official scrolls posted around the towns and cities of the realm was an act, not of vandalism, but of rebellion against the state. Those who would publish pamphlets, posters, or newspapers of their own needed to have those publications approved by the emperor—or his local representative, for areas beyond Palanthas—before public dissemination.

  Those who violated the edicts would face a wide variety of sanctions, including imprisonment, public humiliation, loss of property, or worse. True sedition would result in exile or execution. Conversely, the new laws built in many rewards, mostly financial, that allowed loyal citizens who reported on the disloyalty of their neighbors to profit handsomely, often with a portion of the properties seized from the designated rebellious miscreants.

  Satisfied with his long night’s work, the emperor did not go forth to listen to the announcements and observe the reaction of his citizens. He knew what the heralds would say, and he knew the new laws would be obeyed.

  Besides, he was exhausted. When the last crier had left the palace, he devoured a cold breakfast, eating by himself, and went to his private chamber. There, he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers.

  But it was several hours before he could fall asleep.

  Blayne knew he was a captive, utterly under the control of the man in the gray robe, even though no rope or chain had been used to bind him, no gag placed across his mouth to keep him from crying out. He plodded along behind the man without uttering a sound of protest and, despite his profound weariness, without collapsing to the ground. In a sense, it was a relief to turn his life over to another person, to be freed from the terror of flight, of trying to make his way alone through the mountains.

  It was not until dawn broke around him that he began to question everything about the strange experience: his own thoughts and emotions, his remarkable endurance, the sense of cooperation and comfort he felt with the unique man. He was no longer cold, despite the fact that the fellow had made no fire. He was no longer wet, though the air remained damp and dew was heavy on the grass, rocks, and boughs of the surrounding trees. Somehow he felt strong enough to keep going, though he had managed only a few hours of frozen, cramped sleep during all of the previous forty-eight hours.

  And through it all the young nobleman remained strangely content, numb but in a pleasant, almost dreamlike state, as he followed the gray stranger up a grueling and dangerous climb.

  They followed a steep, half-hidden path that Blayne hadn’t even known about, leading away from the placid lake where he had caught the trout. They wended their way up a steep-sided gorge, finally moving through a pass so narrow that they needed to move in single file. Sheer walls of rock rose to the right and left of them, culminating in summits hundreds of feet over their heads. The pass twisted around like a winding corridor, shadowy and cool even though sunlight and blue sky were visible far overhead. In places the cliffs loomed so close that they overhung the path, looking as if they were ready to collapse on them at the merest whisper of sound or swirl of wind.

  But when they finally emerged from the narrow slit of the pass, they arrived in a sheltered valley hitherto unsuspected even by the young nobleman who had grown up hunting and climbing in those mountains. The land before him was flatter and more verdant than any place he knew about in the whole of the Vingaard Range. Not only did he spy farms and mills and clusters of buildings that indicated the existence of several towns, but there were encampments across every bit of level ground, tents as far as the eye could see. A thousand cook fires glowed in the early-morning mist, and a whole army seemed to be living there, going about its morning meals and ablutions in such an utterly secret place.

  “Who are you?” Blayne croaked, finally finding his voice.

  He suddenly found that he again possessed his free will—and that the fatigue of his long flight had caught up with him. He staggered and allowed the stranger to offer him an arm in support.

  “Just a bit farther and all your questions will be answered,” said the man in the gray robe. “For now, it is enough to know that I am a friend to you—and an enemy to the emperor.”

  That was enough to keep him going. An hour later Blayne found himself seated in the parlor of a large house. A beautiful young woman with striking albino features had brought him a cup of hot tea, and he was sipping the liquid gratefully, sitting beside a roaring fire, gradually getting his bearings. The gray man had led him to the house then disappeared somewhere in the back of it. When he returned, when Blayne was nearly done with his tea, he was accompanied by a man in a black shirt and leggings.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” said the young nobleman sincerely. He knew enough about the stranger to believe him when he said they shared the same enemy. “I presume you will tell me more, when you’re ready.”

  The gray man smiled, a kindly expression full of sympathy and understanding. “I appreciate your patience. My name is Hoarst, and this is Captain Blackgaard. It is he who has established the little outpost, and this is his house.”

  “I’ve hunted these mountains all my life and never even knew there was a valley like this up here. I can’t understand how it has gone undiscovered so long.”

  “I can tell you that this is a very magical place,” said the captain. “Through the centuries many dragons have flown overhead, some carrying human riders. And yet, when they look down, they spot only glaciers and barren rock. It is an illusion of nature, one which I gratefully used to my advantage.”

  Blayne looked bluntly from one man to the other. “You are enemies of the emperor? Do you know that he has killed my father, bombarded my home? I will devote the rest of my life to vengeance. If you can use my services, I will gladly join your force.”

  Blackgaard chuckled. “My force is quite large enough, don’t you think?” he said dismissively.

  The young nobleman’s heart sank, but he could only nod. “I could tell as we approached that you must have thousands of men. Well-trained, well-equipped men. A not inconsiderable army. But why do you have them here, locked up in the mountains?”

  “Picture where we are, in your head. What do you see?” prodded Hoarst.

  “You’re in the high Vingaard Mountains … maybe twenty miles north of the High Clerist’s Pass. Is that right?”

  “More like fifteen miles,” Blackgaard corrected. “Hard mountain miles, but there is a certain route that will take us there. I have men excavating a concealed road even as we speak, to allow us to cross the steepest parts of the trail.”

  “I see, you could strike at the emperor there, cut him off from the plains! But … can’t you use my help? I know how to wield a sword, even to command a company. I led the attack that destroyed two of his terrible cannons!”

  “I had heard of that attack,” the captain said. “It was well done. But no, I do not need you to join the ranks of my army.”

  “I understand your dismay,” Hoarst said as Blayne slumped back in his chair. “But don’t despair. You can help us greatly—in another capacity, not
as a swordsman in the Black Army.”

  “What do you want? Tell me, whatever it is, I’ll do it!” blurted the young man.

  “Have you heard of the Legion of Steel?” asked Blackgaard gently.

  Blayne nodded. “An ancient sect of the Solamnic Knighthood, as I recall. They used to be active in the cities, helped to ensure that no one leader became too powerful … too enamored of his own …” His voice trailed off, and he nodded. “They were dedicated to preventing someone like the emperor from seizing too much authority and control!” he realized.

  “You are correct in almost every respect,” Hoarst said. “You only err in assuming that they are gone, a part of the past.”

  “Do you mean they still exist?”

  “They exist, and they strive to limit the emperor’s power in every way they can. They operate a cell in Palanthas that is desperate for fresh blood. Especially noble members, young men who have been trained in the ways of the Solamnic Code.”

  “People like me! They could certainly use my contacts in the city. Yes—by all means! Let me find the legion, offer them my help. Together we can bring down Jaymes Markham. Send me to them, and I will tell them of your army, your position here in the mountains.

  “I admire your passion,” said Captain Blackgaard. “Now we must talk of your circumspection.”

  “Please, explain what you mean,” urged Blayne, eager to do whatever he could to win the approval of the men.

  “It is better for us all if the legion doesn’t learn of our existence until the time is right. Indeed, no one in Palanthas must know. The emperor has too many ways of learning what’s going on in his city, and even a whisper of suspicion could be enough to thwart our plans.”

  “I understand. Your secret is safe with me,” pledged the Vingaard nobleman.

  “Yes,” said Hoarst quite confidently. “I’m sure it is.”

  “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “You will go to Palanthas and make contact with the Legion of Steel. There is a man in the Westgate garrison, an archer named Billings, who can assist you. Tell him the truth—that you have evaded the emperor’s minions in Vingaard and crossed the mountains on foot. That you would like to work with the legion to stop the man who destroyed your home.”

  “Without mentioning you or your operations here in the valley?” Blayne asked, and the other two nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”

  “That is no more than I expected you to say,” Hoarst noted, obviously pleased. “Now you must rest and restore your strength. In another day or two, we will see you on your way.”

  General Dayr worked on a message to the emperor, trying unsuccessfully to couch Dram Feldspar’s refusal in gentler terms than the dwarf had used. In the end, however, it was a hopeless task, and with a sigh he simply wrote to Jaymes and matter-of-factly described the meeting in New Compound. He finished the letter, dusted it with sand to dry the ink, and was sealing the scroll when his son came up to his study in Thelgaard Keep.

  “There’s a courier just arrived from Palanthas,” Franz reported. “He says he brings an important message from the emperor.”

  “I’ll see him at once,” said the general.

  A short time later, he was unrolling a hefty pack of scrolls, five sheets all rolled together and placed in one tube. The courier had been dismissed to get a meal and some well-deserved rest—he had made the ride in less than ten days—and only the general’s son was present as Dayr read the first scroll. He put it aside without comment, but his heart was sinking as Franz picked it up and started to read. Before he was halfway through the second scroll, Dayr heard Franz’s snort of outrage.

  “That’s enough!” snapped the older man. “These are direct orders from the leader of the nation!”

  “Orders to gag the mouths of his own people!” Franz snapped back. “Whoever heard of passing laws that prohibit talking! Maybe next he will ban eating? Or having babies?”

  “I told you—that’s enough,” declared Dayr, standing and confronting his glaring son. The general had not progressed even halfway through the several scrolls, but he had seen enough to realize that Jaymes was presenting him with a whole new set of laws, legislation that would create criminal activity out of a number of simple things the people of Solamnia, of all Krynn, had long taken for granted. How the people would react to those laws, he couldn’t predict, but he was determined to bring his own son to heel before Franz said, or did, something that could be construed as treasonous.

  “Are you really going to post these laws, Father?” demanded the captain. “As if what happened to Vingaard Keep wasn’t enough—now he tries to control the conversations that go on in the marketplaces, in the taverns?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about it!” Dayr retorted, drawing a look of surprise from his son. “But I will not tolerate treason in my own household. You will watch your tongue, or you will leave. Now!”

  “Maybe you don’t know what to do about it,” Franz said, his tone contemptuous, “but my own decision is easy.” He stalked to the door, pulled it open, and pivoted to glare at his father.

  “Goodbye,” he said, walking away.

  The Nightmaster had provided Ankhar with a detailed map, and with a little help from Laka, the half-giant had studied the map until he was pretty sure he understood what all the pictures, symbols, colors, and lines depicted. He thought of employing some of the flying draconians to get a more firsthand report, but in the end he decided not to risk allowing them to be seen.

  Besides, the enemy layout was actually rather basic. The knights had established a series of picket forts along the borderlands with Lemish. They were garrisoned by only a company or two apiece and were meant to serve as tripwires to alert their comrades if anything untoward happened from the wilderness to the south. The map, and the dark priest’s counsel, showed Ankhar that a very large force of Solamnic Knights, including cavalry, archers, and infantry numbering in the thousands, was posted in a permanent camp some ten miles north of the border. That force was expected to mobilize and come to the rescue of any of the garrison posts in the event of a cross-border incursion.

  Based on that knowledge, and his long experience fighting the knights, Ankhar had formed a plan to surprise and confound them. He gathered his captains together at the edge of the Lemish forest and explained the plan to them. The big ogres were there, and Rib Chewer the warg rider was there, as well as the chief of the draconians, Guilder. The latter’s slender, reptilian body seemed to spark and pulse with its own kind of internal lights, and as a consequence, even the biggest ogres gave him a wide berth.

  The headstrong ogres, knowing that the enemy lay in camps just over the horizon, were all in favor of bursting from the woods, charging north at full speed, and overrunning any outpost of Solamnics that they encountered on the way. Bullhorn and Heart Eater both advocated that tactic, but the half-giant was grateful that the veteran Bloodgutter—his new general—persuaded his fellow ogres to at least listen to Ankhar’s strategy.

  “You see fort out there?” the half-giant demanded, silencing the others with a glare, barely holding his exasperation in check.

  They were clustered behind a curtain of foliage, vines and creepers and swamp flowers that blocked them from view as they gazed out over the open ground to the north. Less than a mile away, they could spy the knights’ outpost—a small, square compound protected by a wall of logs. Several men rode horses in a lazy patrol outside the wall, and a lofty tower, also erected out of logs, allowed a handful of lookouts to get a commanding view.

  “Yes,” growled Heart Eater sullenly. “My axers could rush out and destroy it before humans have time to turn around!”

  “My clubs could smash it to pieces!” Bullhorn added. “Kill everyone!”

  “I know that!” Ankhar retorted. “But there are ten forts like that. All along here, by Lemish woods. Not strong forts, but strong enough.”

  “If not strong, why we not kill them right away?” pressed Bullhorn.


  “Because men in those forts want us to attack them. That’s why they are there! Sure, we wipe out fort, but not before men in fort light signal fire, put up big smoke cloud. Horses ride away, tell everyone we attack.”

  “Smoke cloud not scare me!” declared Heart Eater.

  “Smoke not to scare you—smoke is to call knights from big camp. They see smoke, they ride out and attack us.”

  “Then we kill them!” Bullhorn concluded. “After we smash fort.”

  “Listen! Just listen!” Ankhar drew a deep breath. He looked at Laka, and she raised her talisman, rattling the skull with the glowing emerald eyes, and that produced a general silence. “Lots and lots of knights are in big camp. Many soldiers sleep; they live there. They not watch for us because these forts are here. But tonight, there is no moon. We go—all of us go—between two forts, very quiet. We march all night, and come to big camp. We attack there, when the sun comes up, and kill many, many knights.”

  He exhaled, finally sensing that he had their attention. “Then we come back and smash all the forts,” he concluded.

  “All right. We try your plan,” Heart Eater said, nodding and scratching his bulging chin.

  “And what about my flyers?” Guilder, the aurak, wondered gutturally.

  “I have a plan for them: they fly over knights’ camp and land on other side, where horses are. Scare all the horses, and the knights cannot ride.”

  Guilder nodded, hissing his approval. Bullhorn, too, agreed with the plan, and at last the scheme was set. The great column gathered at the edge of the woods, still concealed by the dense foliage. With some difficulty, the captains persuaded their troops to wait for the signal to move out.