by Damien Lake
“Ran into trouble, in all likelihood,” an answer came. He turned to see that it was not the beam responding, but Landon, who had secured the nearest stall and claimed the far wall for his bedroll.
“How much trouble?”
“That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?” Kerwin opined. “You and Dietrik going take the other half or are we going to have to share with the Third’s dog meat?”
“As long as I’m not by the open side here,” Dietrik responded, entering the stall.
“Then you’d better hurry, hadn’t you?”
* * * * *
Evening arrived, though the other half of the squad failed to. Marik took his sword to the courtyard for a practice session, seeing no reason to slacken his training now he had achieved his first goal of qualifying for the band. When you achieve one goal, you set the next. His father had been fond of saying that.
Sennet had taught him an interesting training technique one day when Marik had returned to the armory to ask the weapons master if he remembered Rail. Thoughts of the tall man prominent while he began the training in the dimming light, Marik suddenly recalled Sennet had never answered the original question. A clever segue into this technique had completely distracted the younger man. Marik resolved to track Sennet down when he returned to Kingshome and see the inquiry through.
He concentrated hard. It took several minutes, but eventually he was able to visualize four enemies around him, one on each cardinal point of the compass. Each bore a different weapon and all charged him at once. Through the visualizations and his physical movements he successfully killed the first one, blocked the second, but the third and fourth enemies found their way through his defenses to cut him down. Marik took his beginning stance, looking for a new pattern to defend with while pushing the limits of his combat ability.
The vital key for the technique lay in remembering the weight of real weapons and equipment. That, and keeping the movements of the imaginary foes simple. After endless practice for eightdays, Marik had discovered he could visualize three different foes simultaneously without sacrificing the realism. Then, the longer he exercised mentally, the greater his imagination’s capabilities became, increasing the number of opponents to four while sharpening their movement definition.
Five deaths later he cut down two foes while fending off the third and dying from the fourth. Unexpected applause disrupted his concentration. He opened his eyes to see Landon and Kerwin sitting on an upended water trough for horses, watching him.
Landon said, “You’re not half bad with that sword after all. I’ve never seen you practice.”
“You looked like you were actually fighting someone there,” Kerwin added.
“Sort of. You been there long?”
“A few moments. That was like the sword dancers of the Kello-beii.”
“As if you have ever seen one,” Landon accused. He continued louder over Kerwin’s indignant reply. “Fraser let us know what has transpired.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“A runner came in a few candlemarks after we did. The First and Second ran into light skirmishing against Fielo’s fighters. They had to find an alternate route.”
“Anyone lost?”
“I don’t know. Fraser did not say. Our other half sent word through the runner they would set out early tomorrow and reach us near noon. Dornory sent the runner back to tell them to sit where they are and we’ll meet them.”
“So we’re setting out tomorrow?”
“First light.” Kerwin answered. “We should hit the sack soon.”
“Hmm. Hey, Landon?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been with the Kings for awhile. How serious is this going to be?”
“You mean how bad is the fighting going to get?”
“I suppose.” Marik took the trough’s other end for a seat.
“I was hoping a good show of strength would be the end of it.”
“Not gonna happen this time,” Kerwin chirped.
“Not if they’re challenging armed men, even if we were inside their territory. Looks like Fielo’s ready to deal with anything that arises, or thinks he is. He may simply be jumpy since he knows Dornory is on the warpath about that dam he put across the water. Fielo’s and Dornory’s lines have never liked each other, from what I’ve heard.”
“But what about us?” Marik persisted. “I’ve seen what most of Dornory’s men think of us. We might all be on the same side, except I don’t think we’ll be fighting together.”
Landon smiled grimly. “Cooperation is not always a requirement written into a mercenary’s contract.”
“Yeah! We might be side-by-side, but I’m not trusting my life to any of them! And I know they think the same of me.”
“That’s nothing new,” Kerwin said. “Mercs have always fought for others while being crapped on by their contractors. We always get the worst of it, always get to lead the charge.”
Landon added, “Of course. They come begging to mercenaries for help, then spend them like water across the field. The fewer survivors, the fewer they usually have to pay in the end.”
“Is that normal? Is that what there is to look forward to every season?”
“Perhaps it’s not that bad. I suppose the worst you can say about most lords is that they don’t care one way or the other how badly we’re put through the grinder. Only a few have deliberately put the band’s men in an overly dangerous position in order to minimize their own costs.”
“But we remember them and send them packing the next time they come looking for fighters,” Kerwin finished.
“I was asking because Dornory doesn’t seem to care much about us. I mean, you remember how the border guard didn’t know about us? Fraser had to convince them we really were being employed by his lord before he’d give us any help!”
“That might be for one or two different reasons,” Landon responded. “This is highly important, so Dornory might not have wanted to alert Fielo to the fact he’s building up his forces. An information leak through one of his men might get back to Fielo, or Fielo himself probably has men sniffing around to learn whatever they can and report. By keeping his plans private, Dornory has a chance to maneuver his forces into an advantageous position against Fielo.”
“If Fielo has men digging around, they already know about us and Dornory’s preparations.”
“Right,” agreed Kerwin. “But he doesn’t want to blow whatever intelligence network he’s set up against Dornory, so he’ll pretend he doesn’t know.”
Landon carried the thought. “And since Dornory certainly has his own intelligence system running, if Fielo acts overtly on what he’s learned, Dornory might find out how he learned it and break up Fielo’s spies.”
Marik walked hesitantly through this confusing maze. “So, Dornory keeps quiet and causes us extra trouble so Fielo won’t know we’re here. Fielo’s knows were here anyway, but pretends he doesn’t so Dornory won’t know he knows. But Dornory knows because of his own informers, but has to pretend he doesn’t so Fielo won’t find out about them. How stupid! If everyone knows anyway, why not tell his men to expect us and save us the trouble?”
“Because,” Landon explained, “if the knowledge is common, Fielo can react to our presence openly by rearranging his men in a manner that would be threatening if it was done without the provocation.”
“But you know he’s doing that anyway! You think he’s not going to react to a threat against him?”
“Of course not, but now he has to do it covertly, and that hampers what he can do.”
“My head’s starting to hurt!”
“Welcome to the real world of warfare.” Landon waited a moment before offering his advice. “I find it’s best to think about any situation like an onion.”
“What?” This made no sense Marik could see.
“An onion. A battle itself may be simple, yet surrounding the battle, before and after, are many different layers of politics and intrigue. You h
ave to learn how see beneath the different layers if you want to live long.”
Shaking his head slightly, Marik hazarded, “So this battle will be the heart of your onion?”
“No, not at all. I suppose I phrased it wrong. The battles themselves may have as many layers as the plotting going on around it.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Think of the city you passed through. You told us about it and how you felt. To use it as an example, and a very simple one at that, start at the bottom with the thieves who always exist in any large city. They plot and conspire to steal what they can for personal profit. One layer up is the local lords who set plans in motion to stop and capture them so they can protect their own valuables. Further up, the king is instigating his own programs for stopping crime. The lords respond by twisting the new laws to their benefit while presenting a pure face to the court. The thieves change their tactics to suit the new actions by the wealthy and scrape off a cut for themselves of the new profits earned by the twisting of the new laws. Then they start all over.”
Marik rubbed his head, trying to think in a straight line and failing.
“That’s an obvious example, and more circular than layered, but it serves to illustrate my point. Beneath what you can see is always another layer of intrigue. And once you perceive that one, then you must look for the layer that is deeper still. It’s not a game you learn all at once. Ponder it for awhile. It’s a way of thinking that can help you in most things you do.”
“What was the other reason?” Marik asked in an effort to break his head free of chaotic tangles. “You said there were more than one.”
“Oh, that? Dornory might be a bungling commander who doesn’t tell his men anything.”
“What?”
“It’s a fine line between stupidity and intelligent tactical decisions.”
“So he’s either a fool or a genius? What kind of sense does that make?”
“War often does not. I’ve at times wondered how many complete fools ended up victorious in the histories through sheer dumb luck.”
Kerwin yawned widely. “As fascinating as the inner workings of spycraft is, I’m going to sleep. We’re breaking camp early tomorrow.”
“I’ll let you go first then so you don’t step on me.”
“You should have been quicker if you didn’t want to get stuck in the doorway, Marik. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The two left, leaving Marik in the deepening dark, thinking of onions and pondering Landon’s words.
* * * * *
Kerwin kicked him awake the next morning when leaving the stall. The stable roused itself, and Marik heard from farther down the row a high-pitched, pain-filled voice exclaim, “Ow! Damn it! You just stepped on my balls!”
“Then get them out of my way,” floated the disinterested reply. Grateful that Kerwin seemed more considerate, he rose with stiff muscles. Soon everyone left Dornshold for the road.
They reunited with the first two units when the sun reached its zenith that afternoon. The mercenaries had been relegated to the rear of Dornory’s line so they spent the morning eating dust kicked up by hundreds of feet before them. In a land beset by years of drought, there was an awful lot of dust to kick up.
As a result, the moods of Marik and his friends were little better than those of the squad mates they had come to rejoin. Once the force resumed its trek, the reason for Earnell’s delayed arrival quickly spread.
They had been traveling south down Vineyard Road as planned, unaware Fielo had created patrol units numbering twenty rovers each who were looking for signs of belligerence from Dornory. The rovers knew who the mercenaries must be, though forgoed an immediate attack since they were outnumbered.
Instead they fell back on guerilla tactics, performing strike and dash offensives meant to harass Dornory’s fighters. No lives were lost at first. The Kings had been forced to abandon the road in several controlled retreats to look for alternate passage. Once a second rover patrol joined the first, they made a stronger attack that pushed the half-squad further and harder.
The half-squad finally crossed the border between baronies only to be mistaken for an invading force under Fielo’s banner by the uninformed border guards. That misunderstanding had finally been corrected, but the final tally since entering Fielo’s barony stood at three men dead and forty-four broken tempers.
A verbal battle between the two sergeants, the lieutenant and the captain of Dornory’s forces died after the lord stepped in to end it. Lieutenant Earnell spent the remaining afternoon looking like an approaching thunderstorm.
They marched all that day and the next two as well, stopping only when evening settled. The border was three miles further to the north. Five of Dornory’s men were dispatched to collect news from the border stations.
Marik spent the evenings visualizing enemies during his practices, pushing himself to find a way to take all four down without being killed by their current attack patterns. He thought he could take three now, except the effort to push his body to those limits, to achieve the speed and strength required to defeat them, quickly drained him. In battle, wasting his energy so rapidly would be a serious mistake, leaving him exhausted soon after the swords clashed.
He worked until sweat streamed down his face, concentrating his all on the exercises to purge his mind of the convoluted loops and twists resulting from the conversation with Landon and Kerwin. His own logic was simple. Trying to think in intrigue like a noble was irritating if not downright impossible.
Lieutenant Earnell had promised the men duty assignments the next day, pending information the runners brought from the border guards. Marik stopped to rest. Whether the unit penetrated Fielo’s lands tomorrow or not, he would be ready.
* * * * *
The Fourth Unit spent the day searching for rovers and found a group of seventeen near noon. Fraser called everyone carrying bows forward. Only five men were so equipped, Landon and Hayden included. They drew and fired.
No matter what the bards claimed, an arrow flying through the air is hardly a flash of lightning. Already aware of the hostile forces, the rovers were prepared for assault and had spread enough not to get in each other’s way. They watched the thin flight coming, casually able to either step aside or catch them on their shields without difficulty.
Marik remembered Mylor’s comments about bows on the battlefield. Bows are great in large battles with opponents covering the field. They cut down the numbers of the opposition while you suffer no losses except in your arrow supply. They’re also good if your archer squad is large in number, but not so good if you only have a handful and the enemy is few.
He saw the proof with his own eyes. Marik wondered how often he would be hearing the man’s voice in memory.
The rovers attempted to retreat to a wooded area a mile behind them. Fraser refused to let them go. Judging by the reports from the first two units, they would stage harassment strikes at inopportune times if they escaped. He ordered the Fourth Unit to pursue.
It became a strange chase, or it seemed strange to Marik since it was his first time in such. Neither group rode horses and each carried heavy equipment so they dared not run unless they wanted to spend all their energy at once. This resulted in a trot on both sides.
Fraser urged the unit faster to close the distance between the two groups. The Kings fired as they went, unable to aim accurately due to their movement, but the rovers could not dodge as nimbly either. Every arrow missed though they kept the rovers jumping. The archers marked where the arrows fell so they could snatch them when they strode past. Most rovers carried bows they were unable to use; that would require stopping to turn and fire. They chose to maintain the run instead.
The Fourth finally caught up when they reached the tree line. At Fraser’s call the unit drew their weapons, then charged the last few yards under a battle cry.
Fielo’s rovers wanted no part of it. Close combat was outside their specialty and their leader commanded them to scat
ter. Like a flock of birds startled from a field, the rovers broke to fly every direction into the covering trees. Most made it, except three were slow or befouled by obstacles. Those men were forced to fight the mercenaries who set upon them. They lasted only moments. None got in so much as a scratch on the three Ninth Squad men who cut them down.
Fraser faced a new decision. He wavered only a moment before delivering orders. The men regrouped and pursued the rovers into the trees, staying close together if far enough apart to keep off each other’s toes. They entered the woods to begin hunting.
It quickly became a cat and mouse game with no quick resolution. Marik wondered if Fraser had made the right decision while they darted through the trees. Their quarry was far better suited to this terrain than the open fields and had decided to fight back.
The rovers spread across the woods, only one man here and there, scattered everywhere. While the mercenaries searched and dashed from tree to tree, they had to dodge occasional arrows streaking at them from cover, flying from any direction. Among the trees the arrows seemed to part the air much faster than before.
A sound from a thick berrybush bramble alerted Marik to danger. He stepped back quickly before a shaft pierced the skin of the tree he had been standing near. His already quickened heart hammered faster as he glanced at the thick bark chips gouged from the trunk. Marik judged it impossible to penetrate the thorny brambles while dodging arrows at the same time. Instead he called to Edwin, who crept through the trees on the far side.
Edwin turned to see Marik waving an arm while hiding behind a tree, pointing frantically toward the berry patch he approached. He looked closer, distinguishing a figure in a brown cloak with fallen leaves stuck fast to it who struggled to withdraw from the ensnaring thorns. Without hesitation, Edwin shot the man before he could free himself or draw the sword laying beside him.
After ensuring the man’s death, he flashed Marik an all-clear sign. They both resumed their hunt for the remaining rovers.
