Thrall’s Wine
Part Three of Native Silver
Blake Hausladen
Edited by
Deanna Sjolander
Published 2018 by Rook Creek Books, an imprint of Rook Creek LLC
Copyright © 2018 by Blake Hausladen
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Edited by Deanna Sjolander
Cartography by Author
Contents
31. General Leger Mertone
32. Boatswain Soma O’Nropeel
33. General Leger Mertone
34. Boatswain Soma O’Nropeel
35. Crown Prince Evand Yentif
36. Arilas Barok Yentif
37. Madam Dia Yentif
38. Geart Goib
39. Captain Soma O’Nropeel
40. Geart Goib
41. Madam Dia Yentif
42. Arilas Barok Yentif
43. Sikhek
44. Captain Soma O’Nropeel
45. General Leger Mertone
46. Geart Goib
47. General Leger Mertone
48. Captain Soma O’Nropeel
49. General Leger Mertone
50. Captain Soma O’Nropeel
51. Geart Goib
Also by Blake Hausladen
About the Author
Glossary
31
General Leger Mertone
Ten Days of Spring, 1196
“No,” I said to Haton as he started toward me. He was the ninth sympathetic visitor that cool morning in Almidi. “I’m quite done hearing condolences. Not one word.”
“But, Leger, it is already the 7th. I want you to—”
“Rot your eyes, Haton,” I shouted. “You are a bondsman in a military camp of your liege. I recognize you as envoy to this mission, and you therefore outrank all the men here—save me. You will respect this. Remove yourself.”
“Leger—”
“Guardsman, escort Haton back to his tent, and let it be known that twenty lashes awaits the next man who speaks to me without my leave.”
Haton opened his mouth, wisely shut it, and went back the way he came.
“And somebody get this food out of my way,” I said. The tray vanished and I spread the rosters I was drafting across the table.
All the while, six senior Chaukai lieutenants looked on. They’d not said one word.
The rest of the camp was quiet, either sleeping or stuffing their faces. It would be their last such morning for a very long time.
I waved the six forward and turned the rosters around so they could read the names.
“I am reconstituting the companies,” I told them. “You’ll see your names on the top of a page with the word captain next to it. You will convince me by the end of the day that I did not make a mistake in doing so. The names written below yours list the greencoat third of your new companies. I’ve picked your lieutenants. I leave line sergeant assignments to you. The other 200 men you will command will be drawn from the auxiliaries we recruited in Almidi.
“You have until the end of the day to establish your commands and make the auxiliaries ready to start their fifty days of training. We march west in the morning.”
One of them raised his hand, I waved him on, and he asked, “What happens to an auxiliary that cannot make muster?”
“That is the right question, and you should make it clear to every man in your command. If an auxiliary fails to make muster, his family loses the land.”
“Can the family send another man?”
“No. The opportunity lives or dies with them. If they die after making muster, their family has two years to provide another man into service. It was read out loud to each man before they signed. Remind them of it every day and understand that your promotions are contingent upon their success. I will consider every man you dismiss a failure of your leadership. Get out.”
They snatched their rosters and ran.
I followed them out and spent the rest of that day watching them from the hill my tent occupied. On toward early evening a crude brigade camp had formed—supplies and horses organized in the center, four rows of campsites along either side.
I’d picked the right captains. All six of them had finished their fifty days when the Chaukai were only thirty men hiding in the woods. They had each been involved in all nine rounds of training since. I would not say it to them, but any one of them was fit to train men to serve in the Hemari 1st. Their lieutenants, veterans all, explained to the auxiliaries what was expected. They ate a meal together and slept like babes.
I woke to the bellows of the sergeants, smiled, and leapt to the day. My captains were waiting for me outside my tent.
I told them, “You have five days to deliver the regiment to the top of the pass. I expect to review march, formation, and camp twice each day. Are they ready to march now?”
“Yes, sir,” one replied.
“You’re resting the horses?”
“Yes, sir. The recruits are carrying all of the supplies. We’ll start them up the road for afternoon camp and formation drills, with your permission.”
“How were you chosen as senior captain?”
“I was the fastest on the final sprint the day we made muster.”
“Very well. Proceed.”
The order was given and the column started moving. The auxiliaries were a shambles, but each troop was in place and each sergeant was teaching them their lines, lefts, and rights.
It was a success that they were moving before the waking sun crested the horizon, but the few who stole glances at me saw nothing but contempt. The two companies of Tracian regulars that trailed behind us were all smiles. For them, this slow march was a holiday.
My captains and I were the only men on horseback and rode up and down the line all morning. So far, they were in hand.
The Saddle Pass was a dismal waste of old brown rock and wide-open skies. It was barren of anything but the scrub grasses the goatherds grazed upon, and its only feature was the remnants of a road up the dusty slopes. Our pack animals needed care and coaxing, even unloaded as they were. Our Fell Ponies climbed the slope with ease. The stalwart breed enjoyed both the climb and the company of the goatherds. A brotherhood amongst the mountain climbers, it seemed.
My captains did not fail me either. They managed march, camp, and formation twice a day for those five slow days up the pass toward the village of Irdsay. And by the time we reached it, every man knew where to stand and how to take orders. My scouts reported the road ahead was clear.
We made camp there. I sent a request to my Tracian commanders to send up those who knew the lands ahead best and called a meeting of the combined officers’ corps.
I rode forward with them to get my first look down into the Oreol.
The view was like the first look down into Enhedu. The hills rolled down ever greener. Far below, the forest rose. The road down was in even worse repair than the one up the pass, and the only evidence that it was inhabited was a burned-out farmstead.
As it turned out, it was Captain Lenum, the senior of the two Tracian captains who claimed to know the area best. He was a wide-jawed block of a man who did not like being front and center, nor did he seem very interested in the campaign. If there was any among the Tracians who was nursing a grudge against the greencoats for the beating we�
�d given them the previous year, Captain Lenum would be their chief.
I made them suffer through introductions before pointing the reluctant captain northwest to the narrow vista below us. The house and barns there were long ago burnt out and deserted.
“Whose?” I asked him.
“A Cynt family,” he said. “They made a good go of it but were fools for trying. The road serves as the border between the two families, but neither side respects the line for more than a season at a time.”
“Have things quieted now that they are at war with Heneur?”
“No. It’s gotten worse if anything. There’s an entire generation coming of age down there.”
“Which family is causing Heneur the most trouble?”
“The Raydau. They raid across the border and have more men and ships working as corsairs than anyone ought to. Not that the Cynt wouldn’t do the same if they could.”
“Which family enjoys the people’s support?”
“The people? Neither. The Raydau are self-serving raiders, and the Cynt are greedy, wine-soaked cretins. The people, cattle, and fish fit on the same ledger for most of them.”
“What can you tell me of the families?”
“Little that I know as facts. The Cynt are fairly splintered. A mess of cousins sharing rule since their uncle passed some years back. The Raydau are held together by three brothers. I wouldn’t trust any of them.”
“Thank you. Make your men ready to move down in the morning.”
“You can’t march down unannounced unless you mean to make war with both families. We should send messengers. The Oreol cannot be quelled by 2,500 men.”
“We will march straight between them,” I said. “And your company will march vanguard. Gentlemen, see to your men. We start down at first light. It will be full-day marches and full-troop scouts from here.”
The greencoats snapped to. The Tracians disappointed me. The morning was a repeat of their poor showing, and I attached myself to Captain Lenum the rest of the day. I had no intention of suffering the delays of a malcontent, nor let it bloom into something worse.
The quality of the land steadily improved as we continued down, and it was soon enough like Enhedu that several remarked at the similarity. The clouds that pushed upon Mount Wedd were like what we saw all year upon the peninsula—thick, slow-moving monsters that preferred to dump rain and snow by the bucketful. I did not like that my regiment was without proper tents or a full kit of gear and supplies, but both were problems I’d soon remedy. My captains did solve for me the absence of a general’s staff, however. My new staff sergeant and a troop of messengers and bodymen got some good practice that day relaying orders to my captains and managing rosters and provisions.
The borderlands grew odd and eerie. The feral hills rolled down, cut and recut by rivers and streams that seemed they must find a new path every season or perhaps even with each storm. And like haunted gardens, the wild grasses were trampled flat in places or scorched by the burn of a pyre. The horizons, both north and south, were scarred by smoke.
“Their feud is a brutal one,” I said to Captain Lenum, who only shrugged. “What is behind it?”
“How did it start? Hardly matters. It’s been thirty years now. The fathers are dead and the sons and cousins keep it going. If any of them had a thought in their heads, they would’ve figured out the business of war and ended this foolishness long ago. All they do is slap at each other while licking the church’s boot and paying for their absolution.”
“Staff sergeant,” I called and said when he arrived, “Have two troops cut wild flowers. I want a bundle left upon each pyre we pass.”
Captain Lenum held him up. “Be sure they get the colors right.”
The sergeant’s blank expression told us how likely that was.
“Sounds like you’ve volunteered yourself, Captain.”
He cursed under his breath but followed the sergeant. Each of the scorched hillside memorials were soon marked yellow for Cynt dead and purple for the Raydau. I could not tell how the man knew which pyre was which but the purple and yellow bundles that dotted the hills around us were sobering.
Haton rode up into the vacancy at my side. The cold look I gave my nearby bodymen let them know the seriousness of their error. Civilians do not disturb generals.
Haton said, “A noble gesture, leaving the flowers.”
I said nothing. My strategy was designed to confuse and delay the actions of the families. The graciousness of the gesture was accidental.
He said, “Darmia loved wild flowers.”
“Never say her name again to me unless you want a broken jaw.”
“Leger, you don’t know that she betrayed you. Darmia was—”
I hit him flush on the cheek. He collapsed backward out of the saddle and struck the ground hard. Blood leaked from the wide gash along his cheek onto his tunica. He blinked up at me, barely conscious. I’d failed to break his jaw, but that was also accidental.
“Next time I will kill you,” I said, and my bodymen hurried him away.
Captain Lenum and the sergeant rejoined me after a time. I asked for their report, and the captain said, “Both families have spotted us.”
“Good. Guesses as to what they will do?”
“They’ll ride out and piss in your ear to start. Then ride straight over you if they think they have the numbers. Your flowers will matter to most but not the roughs who patrol out here.”
“How far are we from the coast?” I asked.
Captain Lenum said, “Two days’ march. It should be possible to see the ocean from here on a clear day. We should also see the Cynt town of Spowdol and the Raydau town of Osburth before long. “The Oreol is rich, but there is not much more to it than this narrow strip of green between the mountain and the sea.”
It was tricky ground, just there. The trees had gotten thicker, and the hills rolled up and down enough to easily confuse. Ambush was the game they played.
“Staff sergeant, order all companies to square up around that hill. Move the supply train to the summit. Captain Lenum and I will secure a route across.”
The move began at once, and we bore slightly south of west as we sought a way through the tangle of hillocks. Our scouts found a way across, and we marched it at the quick. Our change in posture did not go unnoticed.
A patchy militia of Raydau men rode in first. The only mark of their office or allegiance was the purple pennant upon one man’s spear, but I did not get to meet him. They turned back after getting a look at us without a word said.
The Cynt were not as quick to send anyone out, and we were almost to the base of the broad, heavily-forested hill when they did. It was only a trio of men who approached, but they rode sleek roans and carried fine horn-stocked bows. They also came to a halt in our path as though they had every intention of asserting themselves as the lords of the borderlands.
I dreamt for a long moment of having a full division behind me and smashing the men of the Oreol aside on my way down the coast. To march into Wilgmuth—to relieve Wilgmuth and defeat Aderan—nothing would please me more.
But what was to stop me? These petty men? They could be dealt with in more ways than the point of a sword.
“Who are you, then?” the lead rider shouted at me.
Captain Lenum whispered, “He’s one of the cousins.” It wasn’t immediately apparent how the captain knew this, but I came to it quick enough. The man’s hair was peculiarly long and every bit as preened and combed as the manes and tails of their horses. It was a very arrogant and old-fashioned style. I’d not seen it since my early years of service. The Oreol was living in another era.
I waited to see if the Cynt man would tire of my lack of reply and introduce himself. He was instead, quite content to stare at me. My regiment looked on.
“I am General Leger Mertone,” I said across the hundred paces between us. “Bondsman to Arilas Prince Barok Yentif and the commander of the army that will secure peace in the Oreol.”
“Secure the peace? From whom do you presume to have the authority to take such an action?”
“From Lord Bayen’s Sword upon the Earth, the Exaltier Vall Yentif, whose family won the surrender of these lands from the Pormes. Who are you, sir?”
“Detree Cynt, steward of this district. These are my lands by birthright.”
“Do you refute the claim the Pormes had upon these lands? I bear documents that describe you as the tenant, not the liege of these lands.”
“I do, and you will remove yourself at once.”
“Do you make this declaration of war against the Yentif on behalf of all the Cynt or just the men of your district?”
“What? No, sir … I … What is it you want from me, Leger Mertone?”
“I will have your allegiance to Barok Yentif and the rents owed him for the lands you use.”
“My what? You are brave to say such a thing. What are you? 2,o00 men? You will not find us as easy to break as the men of Heneur or Trace. You are not Hemari, nor do I think you could call any to the Oreol to aid you. You’d best go home before you get hurt.”
“Then rally your district and dislodge me. Absent that, I expect the Cynt and the Raydau to pay to me their respects and their rents.”
Detree Cynt could think of nothing else to say, so spat and rode off.
“Staff Sergeant,” I called. “I want breastworks in place around the camp by nightfall. Captain, establish a proper picket around the base of the hill and find me a crew to dig a well.”
The captain went with speed that rivaled the young sergeant, and all six companies moved with the same relish. I dismounted and walked a circuit around the hill while the men set to work. It was a beautiful place. I could just discern the blue of the ocean through the mists that hung above the descending roll of hills, untouched by plow or axe. The air was clean from the rain, the trees had embraced the spring, and a distance away a great swarm of red-tailed hawks circled lazily above a wide forest of oak and maple. It is a rich land that can boast such a dance of hunters.
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