“That seems like an admirable problem for a man who needs an army to have,” Bryte pointed out, dryly.
“Oh, it certainly adds to our strength, in many ways,” I agreed. “The problem is that the Tera Alon are poorly organized, unused to the way we make war – though learning quickly – and they are socially at-odds with the bulk of the Alka Alon establishment. They are excited with the novelty and enthusiastic in their dedication, but that novelty also brings uncertainty. It will take a delicate hand to manage that.
“And then there is the issue of the ancient Alka Alon stronghold in the western Kulines, Anas Yartharel. They have traditionally been aloof from human affairs, which is a nice way to say that they prefer not to associate with us filthy mortals. Their lord is a haughty Alkan named Letheran who doesn’t particularly like me. But he needs me. Vanador happens to be standing directly between his city and Korbal’s forces, should they attack the city. That means we’re going to have to have closer relations. Relations that the Alka Alon prefer not to have.”
“That seems a relatively minor issue, my lord, compared to actually facing the shadow,” Brother Bryte pointed out.
I chuckled. “Believe me, Brother, you may change your opinion after a single Alka Alon council.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Prince Tavard? Anas Yartharel? Letheran? Perhaps I should start writing some of this down,” he sighed, and pulled a fresh scrap of parchment to him.
“To the Vanadori it was clear from the founding that in the matter of War the question was when, not if. They became a martial people from the outset by necessity. The gentle hills of the plateau around the great city were purchased with the price of eternal vigilance and preparation for the inevitable battles ahead. When the Spellmonger arrived, it added tremendous security to the fledgling state; but it also ensured that combat would come to them sooner, not later. For it was well known that Korbal’s minions were contending for the twin prizes of Minalan’s head and his incredible Magolith to lay at their fell Master’s feet. Minalan brought protection to Vanador, but with it he brought greater danger.”
From the scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser
Chapter Four
Vanador’s Defense
Vanador was turning into a tidy little town, right before my eyes, I reflected as I walked over to Terleman’s quarters, after my weekly meeting with Gareth. There was still a chill in the air, but it was accompanied by warmer breezes, under the Overhang. After a harsh winter, the first signs of spring were coming to the plateau early.
Men were preparing for the coming season by sharpening what tools they had or constructing more. As the snows melted and the spring floods raged downhill, the ground thawed enough to turn with a spade again, without aid of magic. Plowing season was still weeks away, but the thawing was sufficient to allow construction to begin for the common folk – and there was a lot of it, I realized.
The broad lands around the Anvil transformed from fields and woods of snowy white, dotted by tiny settlements, into a vast muddy swath as hundreds of new homes and shops were built as quickly as possible. Scores of timbering parties left town at dawn to harvest wood and drag it back from the abundant forests, whose budding trees were promising a verdant spring.
The energy for this sudden burst of building came from the Tudrymen, artisans and merchants who’d relocated from their doomed town to Vanador, and who barely had time to create a few cottages and huts to get them through the winter. Now they were eager to begin their new lives in their new town in earnest. They’d spent the winter negotiating for their land allotments with Carmella’s deputy, Afarin, until each was assigned a proper lot within the new town. Now they wanted to improve those properties.
Most of the artisans were located outside of the Overhang, along what would eventually become the lower city’s wall. Carmella had them grouped by discipline or wares, when possible, and had designated certain areas as common for use, like small markets, public privies and wells. That was in addition to the Great Market, just under the point of the Overhang. There were also a surprising number of wide streets planned, I saw, while I examined Gareth’s maps.
As I walked through the muddy streets, I saw that each lot had been staked out the previous summer, then tagged and numbered. The contract the artisan entered into for purchase included generous terms (no money down and two years deferred payments was passing generous) and a reasonable price. But it also included a list of civic rights and responsibilities Pentandra had penned, including duties to provide militia in times of emergency, taxation rates and some odd provisions that seemed unique, even for feudal politics.
The new buildings were going up quickly, I noted, due to the oversupply of surplus labor at hand. Long lines of workers carrying planks and framing timbers bustled across town in every direction, and the pounding of hammers on dowels echoed across the Overhang. There was plenty of work for all.
Hundreds of former slaves arrived from Tolindir Camp every morning, eager to pitch into the work for a few pennies or even just a heel of bread and promise of future payment. There was plenty to be done, even if there was a shortage of tools. All around me men dug trenches with wooden shovels and iron picks until stone foundations could be properly laid. Mounds of excavated soil piled up like magic. It’s amazing how much dirt ten well-fed men can move, when inspired.
Nor was there a lack of timber. The Wildermen knew how to fell a tree; the axe was ubiquitous in the Magelaw, as tool or weapon, and the region had a history of timbering. Hectares of forest were cleared from the eastern vales to feed Vanador’s voracious appetite for lumber. The trees started falling before their sap began to run, and hundreds of logs were stacked and ready to move by the time the roads had cleared enough to carry them.
A vast common lumberyard just outside of town devoured trees in an uncommon fashion. With magic’s aid, felled trees became usable timber in hours, not weeks. Gareth’s wizards used timbering wands to strip the bark, cut the wood, and then magically kiln it until it was ready for construction. Other wands turned the timber into planks, beams, dowels and all manner of specialized pieces. The heaps of fresh lumber climbed during the day, only to be depleted by the endless line of porters delivering it to sites across town. The little hut that served the magical construction crews was as busy as the beehives, I had seen on a tour, often with a pointed-capped mage at the center directing the flow of both magic and material.
Nor was wood the only industry infecting the town, or assisted by magic. Bricking wands turned the plentiful flagstones the ground seemed to grow into solid foundation blocks in the stoneyards, which were quickly laid and magically mortared into place with melding rods. By the time the first timbers were laid over them, they were as solid as if they’d been carved from bedrock. The long beams that spanned them were just as secure: perfectly planed planks as smooth as if sanded by a carpenter’s apprentice. Enchantments against vermin and rot were no extra charge.
Indeed, there was no higher cost for wizard-cured timber or mage-cut stone than for the traditional variety. I had ensured that by edict. Vanador would be a city of wizards, not a city abused by wizards. The magi who worked the construction trade, both in the Hesian order and independently, charged pre-set fees for their wares, and were required to provide certain services as an expected part of the purchase. They were also instructed to extend lavish credit for construction orders, backed by Carmella, herself.
The Hesian Order was spearheading the development and construction of Vanador, and while the actual coin they were paid up-front barely covered their costs, by midsummer they had become fabulously wealthy, on parchment. Nearly the entire town was in debt to Pentandra for land and Carmella for construction, but the terms were easy.
It was fascinating to watch, I decided as I crossed the muddy street. Gareth was correct. Unlike Sevendor, which had grown like a weed out of the corpse of its previous incarnation, Vanador was virgin territory. It unfolded like the petals of a perfectly pre-planned flower, mag
ic and brute labor and sublime craft conspiring to create a town as quickly as a flower blooms in spring. Cobbled streets were beginning to be laid in the Overhang, extending beyond the center circle to the outskirts. Workmen and laborers grunted and sweated in the chill late winter air while wizards raced between job sites to deliver materials or complete assignments.
It was a busy, eager time full of promise and opportunity. My new coins flowed through the market like a river, providing some industrious folk who’d worked for the promise of payment to be presented with coin long before they’d expected. I waved to a man I’d met – a former yeoman of a Wilderlord, before the invasion – who had toiled ceaselessly for others, just to survive. He was arranging for workers of his own, now that he’d managed to purchase a lot outright from the proceeds of his labor. He was one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of my subjects who were attacking this fresh opportunity with infectious enthusiasm.
Everyone I saw seemed happy and industrious. But, despite their hopeful activity, everyone also watched the western horizon with a sense of foreboding.
It was only a matter of time, everyone knew, before the gurvani decided to come reclaim their lost property – the men and women they’d enslaved and then lost. There were still legions of dark warriors, beyond the rivers, and they had already invaded the region once. Keeping them at bay while these good folk could reclaim their own lives was my job, officially. It was their job, in reality. I just had to organize, train and equip them for that task, while they concentrated their energies on their new homes and shops.
That’s what a count does. As the senior military official of a region, he ensures that the knights and nobles have proper fortifications behind which their people could hide in times of emergency, stocked with food and weapons against a crisis. It’s his job to maintain the roads down which armies pass, the bridges which they cross, and it was his responsibility – my responsibility – to make certain they were adequately armed and armored. Not just in Vanador, but across all the Wilderlaw.
Right now, that prospect was gloomy. By my count I had about ten complete fortresses of various sizes (none very large) to protect around one-hundred-fifty to two-hundred thousand people, give or take. The few warriors I had at my command at the moment were only lightly armed, archers or infantry at best, with a spattering of cavalry.
That was problematic. While building towns is fun, it wasn’t my job. My most urgent mission was to shore up the defenses of the Magelaw as quickly as possible. Clear roads not only allowed teams to pull logs across the land, they also allowed legions of nocturnal gurvani access to my relatively unprotected lands. I had to field an army who could credibly oppose them, if any of Gareth’s hard work would pay off. If Gareth’s management of Vanador’s civil affairs gave me hope, discussing the military situation with my staff almost dashed that hope.
I’d hired Mavone as my Constable and head of military intelligence. Sandoval, as my Marshal, was responsible for building that army, directly. Both men were admirably suited to their tasks, but unsuitable as a commander of all the fighting men of the Magelaw . . . such as they were. For the post of Lord Marshal, the military commander of my theoretical forces, I’d chosen Terleman.
Terleman was the kind of warmage every wizard secretly wants to be. The man is handsome. He looks like a stalwart knight, forged out of iron, more at home on a battlefield than anywhere else. Azar looks for personal glory in the fulfillment of combat. Terleman looks for victory. The distinction is important.
It would be Terleman’s job to determine the best strategy to defend Vanador. It was upon him that I would rely to establish fortifications, oversee the recruitment of my army and determine how it was constituted, and see to their equipage and supply, as well as develop an overall defensive strategy. That was a hell of a task, under the circumstances. For anyone else I would have said impossible, but Terleman saw it as a challenge.
Vanador was unique as a town in that it was cut from whole cloth rather than growing slowly over time. The product of necessity and opportunity, the inclusion of so many non-Narasi elements and the oversight of the magi had a tremendous effect on how Vanador developed its unique culture and customs. That would factor into how Terleman designed our defense.
Unlike most Narasi domains, the Magelaw had no restrictions on commoners carrying weapons. The threat of gurvani attack and random banditry prohibited the peasants from relying on the military for their defense. Not that restricting arms would have reduced the peasantry’s recourse to revolt, if they had a mind to – the preferred weapon of the Wilderlands was the long-axe, as useful in war as it was for felling trees. Similarly, the famed power of the Wilderlands bow was developed to deal with the large the wolves and other large predators that had a taste for vital livestock. A lord could not restrict a man’s recourse to a bow when his livelihood depended upon it.
But there was a difference between a yeoman swinging an axe and a warrior, a shepherd defending his herd and a combat archer. The training of the people in arms and requiring their practice is usually the province of the local lord or yeoman, of which we had a dearth. Without the direct oversight of a knight or other military professional, that made the peasantry of the Magelaw uncomfortably democratic, compared to the southern fiefs.
That was the thrust of Terleman’s argument, when I joined him and Mavone at his new house near my own, that afternoon, after his return from Vorone.
The house was barely habitable, due to the lack of furniture and accessories. It was grand enough, a long, spacious hall with a kitchen shed in the back and chambers for him and his servants. But it had all the charm of a barracks. It wasn’t a lack of attention or thrift; that was just Terleman’s way. He was a utilitarian, at heart, and had little interest in pointless decoration. Instead, his chamber was filled with the written tools of our trade, as well as maps and list after list of men and supplies. If Gareth’s office told a hopeful story of prosperous growth, Terleman’s declared how dire our military situation was.
“So how was Vorone, and my fellow Count?” I inquired, after he had greeted me and brought me into his chamber. Mavone already waited there with wine.
“Count Markadine is preparing to lose a castle, and perhaps a tithe of his lands this summer, I’m afraid,” Terleman reported. “We had several long conferences to discuss our mutual foes, and any potential assistance we could be to each other. Alas, there is little we can do to help, I think. Markadine agrees.”
“I didn’t think there would be, but I appreciate you inquiring,” I said, a little glumly. Markadine had been granted the entirety of the Wilderlaw as his palatinate, essentially everything south of Vorone and north of the Narrows. In some ways, he was better defended than we were. Most of his castles were spared the initial invasion, and many landless Wilderlords from the north had joined him, rather than continue serving under a wizard. “How does he see his chances?” I asked, wary of the answer.
“He knows he’s going to lose his castle,” Terleman replied, matter-of-factly. “He does not intend to make the transaction cheap, for the gurvani who threaten it. They are commanded by a Nemovort, now, though we do not know yet which one.”
“Does it much matter?” I asked. I intended the question to be rhetorical, but Mavone jumped on it.
“Actually, it matters quite a bit,” he reasoned. “We’ve had personal encounters with far too many of them, now, but we have enough knowledge to determine that not all undead horrors are equal in power. And they differ widely in temperament,” he reminded me. “I’ve been cataloging the names, powers, strengths and positions of our foes in Korbal’s ranks. I think knowing which we face could prove telling.”
“Some would be easier to beat than others,” Terleman agreed. “Some are warriors, some are scholars, some are mere henchmen cursed with immortality as Korbal’s slave. Each present their own weaknesses,” he said, confidently. “We need every advantage we have, considering our resources.”
Both Mavone and I nodded at t
hat. We were aware of the problem.
It wasn’t that we entirely lacked for military men – between the warmagi from Tudry, the remaining Wilderlords, elements of the Alshari Third Commando who had settled around Vanador and the gentlemen-adventurers and outright mercenaries who had found their way to the Anvil, there were plenty of fighting men wandering around. They just weren’t necessarily in charge of the fortunes of the people, nor profiting from them. They weren’t organized, or properly commanded. Indeed, they were essentially looking for the same opportunities in their field that the artisans and peasants sought in theirs. That made a huge difference in Terleman’s approach.
“We have no real military forces,” Terleman explained. “Not in any real unified command. At need we can technically call upon your vassals for support, but the fact is that your vassals just don’t have the trained men we need, nor the means to equip them. And they are far too few, spread out over to vast a country, to protect us effectively, as they stand.”
“I don’t want to depend on an expensive professional army,” I warned, as Mavone rifled through his parchments, looking for something.
“You won’t have to,” Terleman assured. “Not a large one, at any rate. Most counts don’t rely on professionals for the bulk of their troops unless they are incompetent. We have a few vital points that need to be controlled, for the defense of the land. A few fords and passes must be defended. There are fortifications that must be manned. We must employ a competent officer corps. And we have sufficient warriors for that. But beyond that, I think we can get by with a part-time army,” he proposed.
“From where?” Mavone prompted. “You’ve seen the peasants who toil out there. Some are strong, but they don’t know how to fight. Not in an army.”
“We train them,” Terleman agreed. “If we establish a core force of professionals this spring, then augment them with trainees we cycle through postings all summer, by autumn they’ll at least know how to march and hold a spear.
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