Chapter 11: The Next War

  Na’Vanad was a character, to begin with. After Bardom’s time in Stet-Lek, he realized he was forgetting he was playing him. Looking over his shoulder was exhausting, but eventually, he was comfortable as Na’Vanad. He was content knowing he was the hunter.

  “When you address a leader of state, always praise his heritage,” General Wahda had instructed him. “Respect for a man’s bloodline always displays the depth of your knowledge—proving you’re not a narrow-minded fool. The world has enough men like that.”

  “I’ll never host a leader of state,” Bardom said, looking off the mountain to the green forest of the west. “This is wasted training.”

  “Maybe you will,” Wahda said. “Or maybe you’ll be a guest.”

  Bardom groaned.

  “There is more to life than swinging a sword, Bardom,” Wahda said, patting his round belly. “We both know I am no use in training you further in that department!”

  Bardom laughed. Wahda Ratzini was not his true uncle, but he called him as such. Atzulah and Adella were wed so long ago, and the families had been close long before. Wahda knew much, having spent years as a general in Abban L’Ani’s army. When Abban made a decision, there was General Wahda advising him.

  As such, Bardom’s pending knighthood was cause for him to be trained in the ways of nobility, beyond that of his upbringing.

  “Never slouch, it makes people think you’re tired,” Wahda smacked his back.

  Bardom straightened out. “I am tired.”

  “Duty doesn’t care if you’re tired. A knight is always alert. Always ready.”

  “Knights also drink and make women swoon,” Bardom smirked.

  Wahda replied, “Those pleasures may matter to you now, but when you reach my years, you’ll see none of it really mattered. Duty, justice, honor—these are the things that define a knight’s legacy. You are the L’Ani Blood Son. Your father never had a brother, so he was responsible for such duties himself. Atzulah will have you. With all the trouble in this world, he’ll need you. The Lekkians are unruly and barbaric. The Midlands are filled with unusual, argumentative peoples. Among them, Atzulah will need you by his side. Advising, protecting, and honoring him.”

  “Is it so ridiculous that I might not want to do those things?” Bardom said. “I want to adventure and see the world! I’ve barely left this country, never once been on a ship. I could tell you centuries of history, of wars won and lost around the continent, but not a thing seen with my own eyes! Wahda, I want something else. Think of all that I could do—!”

  “For yourself?” Wahda gave him a disappointed look.

  Bardom sat on a boulder and sighed. “Why can’t I just do some things for myself? Why is that so wrong?”

  Wahda took a deep breath. “Because a knight’s duty is to others. They forgo themselves to be something better than ordinary men. To do the selfless things that others just cannot.”

  Bardom nodded slightly, looking to the forests.

  Now, he stared off of Kagarani’s roof, watching the movement of the city. To do the selfless things that others just cannot. Wahda’s words repeated in his mind, like a line from a song.

  “And I shall launch forth like a wolf on the hunt,” he whispered, “soon to be followed by a pack.”

  That made him smile. I ought to write that down.

  “How about another story?” Bardom smirked in the doorway.

  Adella smiled at him, her head finally growing back the hair she’d shaved off. “I’ll never run out of literature, thanks to you.”

  He came over and hugged her, then sat beside her small desk stacked with books.

  “I have to go soon,” Bardom said. “We are leaving the city, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. It might be months. It might be years.”

  “That is a long time,” she looked as if she was calculating what she would do if he did not return quickly.

  “I’ve been scheming,” he confessed. “If things go well—which I have half a mind to think they won’t—then I’ll do my best to send for you.”

  “You’re not a knight anymore,” she whispered. “How can you do that?”

  “Let me worry about that,” he said. “Sir Na’Vanad would be a formidable player in the Lekkian games.”

  “Ah,” she grinned and nodded. “What can I do while you’re gone earning that knighthood?”

  “Gain the trust of Ralu’s most valued Shavuim,” he instructed. “Make friends. Learn. Anything you gain will become useful, I am sure.”

  She nodded. “I’ve already learned much. Did you know they all think you’re Vakin’s son?”

  He teetered his head and grinned. “Some rumors are worth letting spread.”

  “It’s working.”

  “Good,” he said. The two grinned, then silence came between them.

  With a sigh, he kissed her forehead, then patted her shoulder. “I have to go. Do one last thing, though.”

  Adella awaited his instruction.

  “Write a list of any man who purchased your time,” he said. “And anyone who does so in the future.”

  Adella nodded emotionlessly. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “But I will.”

  She inhaled and exhaled. “Very well. You’d best go, Shavu-Kara.”

  He glanced around to be sure no one was watching, then bowed to her. “Until we meet again.”

  Exiting the slave quarters, he found Sali brushing the hair of the woman with the broken leg. She was healing well, her spirits seeming high. Sali set down the brush and strode over to him on the side of the street.

  “There are whispers that you’ve swayed my lord to your favor,” Sali said, crossing her arms and smirking.

  “There are whispers that you’ll be serving me now,” he flirted casually.

  She giggled. “Is that so?”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ll need your trust and your information.”

  She closed her lips and raised her eyebrow. “And what do I receive for this service?”

  “Your freedom,” Na’Vanad said. “I guarantee it.”

  Sali gave him a skeptical yet intrigued expression. “How?”

  “That’s for me to execute, and for you to believe,” Na’Vanad said.

  Sali shrugged. “What do you require?”

  “While I’m gone,” he instructed, “spread my legend. I’ll need a reputation if I’m to win the freedom of the Shavuim.”

  “There are Shavuim elsewhere that won’t hear my tall tales,” she noted playfully.

  He smirked. “You know how to get the word out.”

  She accepted the compliment with a smile. “I’ll need just one thing from you.”

  “And what is that?” he asked.

  “What you’re planning,” Sali said, “it’s ambitious, I can tell. But I know you won’t really be able to get my freedom. Instead, I want you to take me into your household when you reach your lofty place.”

  Bardom tsked. “Then I’d lose you in your place of esteem. You’re more useful as Ralu’s slave.”

  “Then take me as a concubine!” Sali rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be here. I have dreams of being more than a whore. Maybe it’s foolish, but I see something in you—and I’m not the only one. Please, let me help you.”

  He patted her shoulder. “The work is far from done. If I live long enough to consider it, I will rescue you from the state you’re in. For now, do as I’ve asked. Tell them of my honor. The stories will flow in naturally—just be sure to exaggerate them enough to convince them.”

  “To convince them,” she mused. “You want to be their savior.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Or perhaps be thought of like a god.”

  “That would certainly help, too,” he did not disagree.

  Deckel was an extraordinary specimen. He hauled equipment onto the wagons, barely breaking a sweat. Bardom strode over, holding the hilt of his sheathed sword elegantly. He couldn’t help falling into his princely body language, despite his plain Shavu uniform. Yashin noticed him as he directed the logistics, not ceasing his directions even though Bardom should have been working.

  “Ready for war, Deck?” Bardom asked.

  “Ah, Na’Va!” he laughed heartily. “Are you ready? You spend so much time away from the training yard! Will you even be ready to lift a sword when we face our enemies?”

  ‘Our enemies…’ Bardom thought. How foolish is he? Doesn’t he know that there is no animosity, no hatred between the two peoples that would make them enemies? It is only that he’s been told to hate them, so he does. I need to make them think for themselves. Why is it not easier?

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  “I answer the call for General Kagarani,” Bardom responded, evading the words Deckel said and suppressing his own thoughts.

  “Good man,” Deckel smiled. “It’ll be a long journey.”

  “Aye.”

  “Two months of travel just to get there,” Deckel shook his head. “How long do you think we’ll camp before we attack?”

  “At least a week,” Yashin said, joining the pair. “Maybe more. Depends on how much opposition we face.”

  “We’ll need time to establish supply lines,” Bardom added. “That’s why we won’t travel faster through the mountains. We’d starve, Deck.”

  “You’re so wise in the ways of warfare,” Deckel remarked. “You amaze me every day, friend.”

  “You honor me,” Bardom said. “Let’s find enough glory on this journey that I may honor you the same.”

  Yashin only rolled his grumpy eyes.

  “So shall it be!” the big man laughed.

  Yashin kept his voice low. “Deck, they need you with the nurses.”

  “Why?”

  “They trust your judgment on which ones to bring,” Yashin said.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’ll have to tend to your dumb ass every day!” Yashin barked. “Now get on with it!”

  Deckel scuttled off, frowning, leaving the two alone. Bardom smirked as he stood gallantly, his rags and shabby armor cleaned and slightly updated for the new campaign. By contrast, Yashin looked weathered by time and hardship, his expression always a scowl.

  “You look well,” Bardom said in a positive tone.

  “And you look like a damned tart,” Yashin grumbled.

  “If you mean like a cake, I doubt you’ve ever seen one,” Bardom chuckled.

  “So?” Yashin replied, “I know you look like one.”

  “Ha!” Bardom laughed. “Indeed.”

  “What have you been up to, deceiver?”

  “Sowing the seeds of honor and passion among those who have never known it,” Bardom said. “It’s amazing what acts of kindness can inspire in people.”

  “I’ve yet to see such things with my own eyes,” Yashin said, “so I’ll believe you when I see it.”

  “Impressed, you shall be,” Bardom said confidently.

  Yashin looked over him with an unconvinced gaze. “You must preserve yourself on this campaign,” he said. “Death shall lurk behind every corner. Every day will present its challenges.”

  “I fear no man.”

  “Aye, but you ought to fear diseases that cannot be cured. Knives in the dark from Ralu or the Great Leader. Starvation, thirst, and the wild beasts of the forest. Hmm, yes, I do think you’ll find fear of those dangers. I think you’ll find a whole new world that you’ve never known to fear as a princeling.”

  Bardom conceded that. “Any advice on sanitation?”

  “Clean yourself, clean your armor,” he said. “Don’t get any wounds infected.”

  “Seems basic.”

  “You’ll be sad to see how many of your friends meet early ends because of their laziness,” Yashin said.

  “How many men here understand how disease is spread?” Bardom asked.

  “Very few.”

  “So when they’re told to maintain hygiene…?”

  “They don’t understand why they are doing so,” Yashin replied.

  “Noted.”

  Fighting sleep, Bardom spent much of the evening familiarizing himself with the geopolitical landscape of the West. He spent much of his training learning about the strange people of the East Midlands; their desert ways, and unusual politics hidden beyond the mountains separating them from their western neighbors. The Easterners were called Midani’s. Bardom’s mother was a Midani, of the royal Ma’Tani house. In contrast, the Westerners didn’t have a formal name. They did not have such unity. Their capital city-state of Leislay was the nucleus of the country, adhering to a council of lords from around the land to make decisions.

  Bardom remembered his father going to war with the Westerners over the Intersection of the South. The Westerners called it The Kahl’s Pass, since it unified all peoples like a religion. Abban L’Ani won that war, and the Katanese controlled it until the fall of Katan-Bat. Bardom wondered how much the Westerners would hate to see him, had they known who he was.

  Yashin, for once, admitted that he knew very little about these people, except for what he learned from Kagarani in recent years.

  While Stet-Lek was in the midst of a civil war, Leislay had been trying to unify their leaders. A series of mining operations in the mountainous lands nearby and coastal ports gave them wealth beyond their agriculture and livestock, which had always been plentiful. Now, Leislay’s rule led the West Midlands by a partial representative democracy, where the lord of a city and an elected representative joined in two houses of legislature and decision-making.

  Their efficiency and fairness were admirable, but their skill in combat was hardly praiseworthy when compared to the Lekkians, Katanese, or East Midlands. Their geography generally kept them safe. Treacherous, massive mountains fortified their Eastern border. To the North was the dense forest leading to the uninhabited, frigid region of the Northern Wood. To the South, they had hills and poorly paved roads. As such, the only easy pass was in the southeast, where the borders of the West Midlands, East Midlands, Stet-Lek, and Katan-Bat all met. This location was called the Intersection of the South, and there had been wars fought over its control for generations. Those were Abban L’Ani’s greatest victories.

  It was clear that the Lekkians did not invade Leislay over the years primarily because of the hilly and mountainous terrain, but did not hesitate to mock the westerners anyway. Folklore suggested that the original Lekkians were bred between immigrants who had left the West Midlands and Katan-Bat, so perhaps their dislike for their cousins was born out of jealousy or rivalry. Whatever the reason, Lekkians hated these people, seeing them as weak and foolish.

  There was one caveat: Westerners were not considered to be one people. In the south, they were much the same as Lekkians, eating similar food, residing amongst similar flora, and living much the same way as Lekkians, just without the fanatical loyalty to their dictator. In the north, they were herdsmen who favored the bow and arrow, but also composed fantastic poems meant to be sung, of all tones, for all occasions. In the middle of the region was a heterogeneous society of cultures, where many on the continent found refuge from uncertain lives. Bardom himself once considered living there temporarily, thinking that Leislay had the answers he was longing for. Now, he feared the answers he might find there.

  Among the groups living in the West was a radical group of pro-Rontisil militants who considered themselves ethnically Lekkian. They were called the Divine Message, portraying Rontisil as a vengeful god, prepared to inflict punishment on the non-believers. Countering them were a group of extreme opposition, called the Rightful Pillars, who were more often northern men, found around the capital, skirmishing with the Divine Message. The conflicts had been poorly mediated by the Leislay government, with Rontisil’s own proxies influencing the conflicts in the south. Tilling the soil made the region unstable—ripe for conquering. They would not need the surprise that they used to take Katan-Bat. The thought made Bardom’s stomach turn.

  Among the extremists were government elements, planted to keep a watch on the groups while they formulated a response. Inevitable war with the Lekkians had left them in a perpetual state of panic, which was made only worse by the fall of Abban L’Ani and his country. One such individual being reported on was called The Rasper, a mysterious general, infamous for his loyal and disciplined men. He was one of the only lords in Leislay who truly cared about military might. The Rightful Pillars were glad to have him.

  However, instead of readying for a fight, the people were preparing to evacuate northward to escape the destruction Rontisil would bring. Bardom agreed with their assessment—better to be a refugee than a slave.

  Their politics stalled into arguing and scheming, based on Kagarani’s reports. It made sense to Bardom—powerful people made powerless had a habit of panicking. He was almost glad he didn’t have to see his father fall into that.

  A culture of enlightenment, merchant-rule, and ignorant foreign policy sealed Leislay’s fate. Those who had raised their children with education and art, while those who had little clung to religion. The Westerners had nothing clear to unify around, and now an unstoppable force was coming straight toward them, planning to exploit this weakness in their nation. In Leislay, there was no one vision for their future, no direction beyond what already was. With no unity, no common belief in a leader, they shall fragment.

  Bardom considered, thinking, if they’re unprepared for the fight when we reach the city, they will have no chance at victory.

  It was the cost of being an intellectual place rather than a realized power. Their complacency would be their own undoing. Peace had made them too soft, too unready for the harshness that the Lekkians used as their fuel.

  In comparison, Easterners would be a more challenging conquest, Bardom knew. Bardom suspected that the ruthlessness in him came from his Ma’Tani side, rather than the L’Ani side. That hot desert could never be defeated. The elements always won. The Easterners still felt they were fighting it, even as they called it home.

  From what Bardom recalled, the Westerners were not weak fighters. They were well-trained and understood battle strategy, with enough quality leaders to weather a fierce storm. However, the Lekkia invasion forced the question of just how large a war they could really survive. Facing the combined might of Kagarani’s forces and Ralu’s bombardment would be a steep task if they reached the city, especially if the aid of the Divine Message led to an easy road toward Leislay—a scheme years in the making.

  Look how I think of these conquests without a moment’s hesitation, Bardom admonished himself as he returned the books he’d been reading on Leislay. I served this realm once. Now I will help burn it. I will hate myself until this dirty business is done, but Rontisil must fall. I will do everything I must to make that happen.

  While leaving Kagarani’s library, Bardom noticed the lord standing on a balcony smoking a pipe, looking at the stars. He glanced at Bardom and waved for him to come up.

  “You look tired, my lord,” Bardom said.

  “Sleep eludes me,” Kagarani said. “What keeps you up at this late hour?”

  “Trying to understand the enemy, my lord,” he replied.

  Kagarani sat and crossed one leg over the other as he puffed a cloud from his pipe, relaxing against the balcony wall. Bardom looked up at the many stars, the small lights more numerous than he could count.

  “I’m hearing we’ll have several small militias confronting us,” Kagarani said. “The Divine Message does not have great enough numbers to defeat them in an open battle. I’ve ordered messengers to warn the militias to retreat to the city. I wonder if they’ll listen.”

  “It is hard to abandon one’s home,” Bardom answered.

  Kagarani glanced up. “And is your home here? Or still in the east?”

  Bardom smirked. “I’ll defer to my previous answer.”

  Kagarani chuckled lightly. “Funny. You do have the tongue of a politician when you wish it. Other times, the tongue of an arrogant fool.” He raised his hands. “Amazingly, never the tongue of a slave.”

  Bardom held silent for a while, then looked over the balcony to casually escape Kagarani’s stare. “You don’t really care who I was,” he said. “And if I told you, it would only disappoint you at how little it would help your plans.”

  Kagarani looked off with him. “It’s odd having a man like you. I’m not used to my underlings being smarter than me. Certainly not my Shavuim.”

  “Your compliments are unnecessary.”

  “I do not say it as a compliment,” Kagarani said. “Rather as a warning. It is better for you to keep a low profile for a higher rank, rather than dancing with princesses and killing lecherous knights.”

  Bardom scowled, but Kagarani raised an eyebrow, contesting the feigned indignity of the accusation.

  “I do not intend to cause you trouble, lord,” he said. “It seems that many other pressures are pushing along my disobedience.”

  “On the road, it will be more disciplined,” Kagarani said. “I’m not worried about you on the road. I think you’ll be quite good at war.”

  “I appreciate the kind words.”

  “You understand that if we survive the attack on Leislay, we will be immediately marching eastward,” the general said. “There will be no rest on the road.”

  “I intend to see it through, nonetheless.”

  “It will be difficult,” Kagarani said. “More difficult than Katan-Bat.”

  “I don’t think anything could have been more difficult than my survival in Katan-Bat,” Bardom said.

  Kagarani smirked and nodded. “Still, it will be miserable.”

  “You sound like a man already accepting his death, lord,” Bardom remarked. “Why?

  “And why shouldn’t I?” Kagarani asked, exhaling another puff of smoke.

  Bardom paused. “Because, of all the people in this wretched place, you are still the best of its leaders.”

  Kagarani lowered his pipe and looked at him with an amazed glance. “You really believe that?”

  “You are the only general here who treats his Shavuim with respect,” he said. “Without you, I’d be dead. I don’t believe any of the other self-serving lords, sniveling at the feet of the Great Leader, have half the guts you do. Maybe that means you are still a bad man, but not a monster. You only play a monster’s game.”

  Kagarani grinned. “I believe I should say, ‘thank you.’”

  Bardom actually smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Did Vakin say anything to you before the ambush?” Kagarani asked. “Did he warn you of anything?”

  Bardom thought about it for a moment, considering what Kagarani might want to hear. He settled on the following.

  “He had mentioned how he wished you and he had made amends,” Bardom said. “He mentioned it two days before he died. He hoped to congratulate you on your victory over the L’Anis.”

  “I’m sure he would’ve been jealous. You know, after Bardom defeated him in battle,” Kagarani sighed.

  “Perhaps,” Bardom replied.

  “Did he mention Laila?” Kagarani pressed.

  Bardom frowned. “The princess?”

  Kagarani nodded.

  Bardom raised an eyebrow. “Why would he?”

  Kagarani shrugged and shook his head. “Old entanglements. That girl has changed since I raised her. I wonder if the two conspired.”

  Bardom studied the warlord. “What would unite the two?”

  Kagarani snorted a laugh, then grinned at Bardom as if he thought he was making a joke. “The Kahlists, of course.”

  Bardom said nothing. Are there still Kahlists here?

  “Don’t think about it too much, I probably shouldn’t say those things.” The general dumped his pipe and stood up. “We should both sleep." Our advance force will be leaving tomorrow. The rest of us will follow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bardom saluted him. It was easy to respect this man, compared to the other dreadful generals. He was more openly human. That was why the others wanted to prey on him. That was why Rontisil feared him. That was why it pained Bardom so much that he was responsible for occupying Katan-Bat.