Chapter 2: Dust on a Clear Day

Lieutenant Gamelin of High King Kalvan's Western Mounted Rifles pulled his horse up at the break of the ridge. He raised his arm to signal the halt and heard the command shouted by his senior sergeant.

Twenty-five dusty, sweat-soaked troopers pulled up with a creak of leather and a rattle of equipment.

"Take a break! See to your mounts! We'll walk for the next palm-width!" Gamelin's voice was clear and sharp in the early morning sun.

Early in the patrol, Gamelin had forgotten to take a sip of water just before the break and his voice cracked when he called the halt. No one had laughed out loud, but he'd seen the smiles. He would never forget that again! You had to remember the little things as well as the big things. There were so many things to remember as a junior officer!

There was more clatter of gear as everyone climbed down from their horses. Most of these country militia were too tired for anything other than doing what they were told, but a couple of them still grumbled about having to walk so often.

Gamelin smiled to himself. Two days before, he made two of the loudest complainers ride while the others walked. Sure enough, their horses had nearly collapsed before the next break. This desert wasn't the Grass Sea that they were used to. Since then the arid, rugged terrain had kept them mostly quiet. The parched desert and barren mountains had a way of bringing out the worst in anyone, much less militia, even the High King's militia.

Gamelin tended to Hellfire, his well-named black gelding. First he wiped the dust and sweat from the horse's nostrils, then doled out just a little water. Soon they'd be at the river, but it never hurt to be careful. Once he finished taking care of his horse, a quick glance showed the pickets were where they belonged. He leaned against a rock, using Hellfire as a source of shade. He dozed for a couple of minutes.

Count Tellan, the commander at Outpost, had not cared that Gamelin was the eldest son of the Count of Trygath or anything else about Gamelin's past. Only the bare fact that Gamelin had passed out of the High King's Junior Officer School in Hostigos. The Count had made it clear that the mission was what was important and how well he, Gamelin, carried it out. Gamelin had been treated with deference all of his life and it had always left him feeling uncomfortable. This felt comfortable.

What mattered to these soldiers was what kind of a soldier he was, not who his father was. Count Tellan had been quite definite about his requirements for a new officer posted to the frontier: "I want an officer who does what he's told, done in the time he's told to do it in, with no complaints. If you can't do that, then I suggest you get back on that fancy eunuch of a horse and ride east, not west."

Fair enough, Gamelin thought, except about his horse. True, Hellfire was a eunuch and his gear fancy but...

Gamelin had never faulted his father for the decision to neuter Hellfire. The horse had killed two grooms as a yearling and crippled another within a week after gelding. Everyone counted that as an improvement in temper. Still, he and the horse had some sort of communication, as Hellfire did whatever it was that Gamelin wanted him to. Where anyone else would risk their anatomy to kicks or bites or worse, Gamelin experienced either boredom or petulance.

From his older sister discussing the advantages and disadvantages of her various suitors, Gamelin had learned patience in the face of boredom. Having three younger brothers, who, if they put their heads together, could lace their own boots; he had learned the futility of anger and frustration when faced with petulance and stupidity. Patience had been useful there, as well.

So, here he was, commanding his first patrol as a junior lieutenant, more than a moon-quarter away from Outpost! By Galzar, he was going to do his duty and do it right! He was not due back until the end of the moon! On his own! His duty was to patrol from Outpost -- a poor name for a town that was, no matter how descriptive -- southwest until they reached the Dextra River thence southeast, skirting the deep Canyon of the Dextra until they could turn north and return to Outpost. A moon, if you didn't waste any time.

Count Tellan had told Gamelin that he would dock his pay a gold Kalvan for each day past a moon that his patrol was out. Gamelin's regular pay was the least of his income, but it was the principle that mattered. He had no intention of losing anything.

Few folk lived in these mountains and those that did were quiet farmers or herdsmen, not looking for trouble. There was a growing series of nominally independent communities south of the Dextra River, in the area called Two Rivers by the locals. Most were farmers, but some were goat and horse herders, intermixed with a few small traders. The area they lived in was too hard for most and as such was not formally claimed. Nonetheless, when the patrols of the High King came through every moon, they were fed, their horses watered and grain and fresh food was provided for them without demur... and the locals always refused payment.

There were a few brave settlements a little further south, then an arm of the Great Desert, hundreds of miles of trackless waste. Buried someplace in that vastness were the northern strongholds of the Mexicotal. Nobody had ever marched a column into that desert and returned to tell the tale. Oh, you could take a ship, coastwise, and reach the Heartlands of the Mexicotal God-King's Kingdom. There they were polite enough if you'd brought enough ships, soldiers and cannon. But that was a long way to the south.

The Mexicotal, as they called themselves, had lived in the far south long ago when Gamelin's legendary forbearers had first come to this place from the Land of the Gods. His ancestors had forced the native tribes who originally lived in the new lands they were conquering south and east as they spread across the continent from where they had crossed the Cold Lands. That time was long ago and was mainly known from tales of great battles and brave deeds. This corner, hot, desolate and dry ten months of the year had not appealed to the newcomers and they had stayed further north. Finally his ancestors had pushed on to the Great Ocean to the east. This corner of the world hadn't appealed to many of those who had been forced to move either and they had mostly continued south. The few who survived the journey across the desert regretted their choice as the Mexicotal had enslaved them and used them as sacrificial material in the worship of their God-King.

So the people here had stayed isolated, not worth conquering by his forbearers. The original natives were called the Ruthani, and these were called the "Lost Ruthani" as they had gone a different direction than the rest of their forbearers. Time passed on and the survivors among the Lost Ruthani managed to eke out a bare living, mostly using the new ways stolen from their more successful neighbors. Gradually they had mixed with a few Zarthani, as Gamelin's people called themselves. Trade developed. Fighting cost too much and the fighting had been with people not much richer than they were, but far better armed. There was no point, nothing to be gained. The Lost Ruthani had gradually adopted iron, and then steel tools, long after their cousins who still lived north of the Grass Sea had done so. Horses were a Zarthani transplant and few of the Lost Ruthani had them. This country wasn't nearly as good for horses as Trygath was.

Everything had changed a few hundred years before. A priest of Styphon discovered fireseed and the division between the peoples became as dramatic as when the first iron-armed Zarthani had come off their ships. The priests of Styphon used fireseed to control kings and princes; no weapons or fireseed were traded to the heretical Mexicotal, or even the independent Ruthani in the south and mountain west.

The Mexicotal, never friendly, had quickly grown even less tolerant, ever more jealous of their neighbors to the north. The Mexicotal had vast resources of gold and silver, but above all, they had people. The Mexicotal had not been able to buy more than a few fireseed weapons and even less fireseed. That had not stopped them from coveting these riches or now and then, trying to take them.

The priests of Styphon had not been unduly concerned. The Mexicotal were a long ways off, and were, practically speaking, powerless for all of their resources in men and gold. The Mexicotal would attack with bows and primitive armor, to be met with musket and cannon shot, used by men wearing steel armor. It was never much of a contest.

Then, just a few years ago, a strange foreigner by the name of Kalvan had raised a bloody standard near the Eastern Ocean. Crying "Down Styphon!" he had exploded from Hostigos, a minor principality within Hos-Harphax, a Great Kingdom along the Eastern Ocean, close even, unto the heart of Styphon. The Princedom of Hostigos had suffered under the Ban of Styphon; they had refused to do the will of the Great God Styphon and had been refused Styphon's Holy Miracle, known as fireseed.

Common wisdom said they were doomed.

Kalvan quickly became Lord Kalvan. Lord Kalvan knew how to produce fireseed, something that had until then been reserved for the priests of Styphon. Hostigos began making its own fireseed, and what's more, using it to great effect against their enemies.

Hardly more than two moons passed, with everyone talking about this amazing new prince from a distant land, and then abruptly, he was Great King Kalvan. The armies of three neighboring Princedoms were shattered, the remains of their armies scattered to the winds, the Princes of those Princedoms reduced to flogging their horses in desperate fear for their lives. More battles followed and Styphon's House was broken and the Kingdom of Hos-Harphax destroyed utterly, then completely remade in a new image and form by the new Great King.

"Dralm taught, Galzar sent!" everyone said. The priests of Styphon had been unspeakably vile and cruel. Most people, even Great Kings, had paid them lip service only and had taken pleasure at their discomfiture and rejoiced when they were overthrown.

But the other Great Kings did not take kindly to anything else Great King Kalvan did. The new Great King was a genius with weapons, strategy and tactics. His new rifles shot further, straighter, faster and cheaper than anyone else's. His cannon were light, mobile enough to keep up with cavalry over almost any kind of ground. They also shot further, straighter, etc.

The way Lord Kalvan treated his soldiers was nearly as revolutionary as his weaponry. Mercenaries were employed, but only reluctantly, usually only after they surrendered to his arms. Individual mercenaries were given grants of land and settled as new yeomen and minor barons. Later they took Great King Kalvan's colors in the fashion of yeoman soldiery rather than mercenaries. By the time the spring thaws sent the rivers gushing in their banks, and not a few over their banks, Great King Kalvan had done something no other Great King had ever done more than dream of -- he'd neutralized nearly half of all of the mercenaries in the Seven Great Kingdoms.

The other Great Kings organized to attack him in concert, only to find that once again while they were sitting and talking, Great King Kalvan was doing. Everyone had known that Great King Kalvan did not tolerate slavery and serfdom and had abolished both in his lands.

Kalvan, with the proceeds from his success against Styphon's House, started purchasing empty land and livestock. Any soldierly family man, anywhere, could petition the Great King for the Soldier's Reward -- a horse or mule and two cows and a piece of land six hundred paces on a side. All a man had to do was have a wife, pledge repayment of ten gold Kalvans over twenty years and pledge not to take up arms against Great King Kalvan. There had been no pledge that said they couldn't take up arms for the new Great King. Most did. Ex-slaves and ex-serfs were particularly welcome.

The result had been hard and bitter for some of the former Great Kings, but they finally recognized a High King, someone whom they all, however unwilling, gave precedence to. The resulting peace had lasted nearly seven years now.

Gamelin stopped daydreaming, stood, and raised his arm and shouted. The men of his patrol troop shook themselves from the ground, formed up and once again began moving forward, now walking and leading their horses. They were finally coming out of the mountains, nearing the Wen'rotos River.

Gamelin still had a little time for thinking as he walked, careful watching where he put his feet.

Twice in the last fifty years the Mexicotal had come north in force. The last time had been eight years before, thinking to catch the High King still disorganized from his conquests.

It had taken almost a year for the High King's Army to come west, but he had sent one of his chief generals, Captain-General Harmakros, in his stead. Harmakros' First Mounted Rifles had stopped the Mexicotal and when the main force and the High King arrived, they sent the Mexicotal reeling back to the south after a moon of hard campaigning and two great battles. The Mexicotal had never been a match for the weapons of Styphon and faced with the weapons and tactics of the High King, the struggle had been brief, bloody and decisive.

The fighting, though, could start up again tomorrow. Or today. That was something that Count Tellan had emphasized before Gamelin had left on patrol. The Mexicotal had never loved any of the Northerners and the High King had hurt them badly. Rumors were afloat that the Kingdom of Zarthan on the Western Ocean was going to combine with the Mexicotal to attack the High King.

The Kingdom of Zarthan was the lands their ancestors had first conquered. After many hundreds of years of fighting, the last of the Ruthani, the natives were driven eastward. The Kingdom of Zarthan had some of the most fertile farmland anywhere, plus mild weather and gentle rains. A great many people had been born, and there was a steady push eastwards. It had taken Gamelin's ancestors a very long time to subdue the continent, and in truth, there were parts not that subdued. But that was then and this was now! Now something amazing had happened!

Lord Kalvan, the High King! Now there was a man! The High King had shaken the whole world! And in shaking it, brought down the House of the Great God, Styphon, tossing the armies of the false god aside like twigs in a great freshet. Great Kings had found it easier to join the High King than fight him. It was far safer to swallow one's pride than lose one's head. Galzar knew, there had been enough examples of what happened if pride exceeded caution. And the High King's Mercy was as famous as his vengeance.

After the Mexicotal had been driven back, a great peace had fallen across the whole world. Only Zarthan, far away on the coast of the Western ocean refused to join the High King's liegemen. And it was there that the remnants of False Styphon had taken refuge.

Tremosh, Great King of Zarthan, aided by Lomax, the new Supreme Priest of Styphon, had taken the events under consideration and reached the conclusion that the High King fought only in defense. They realized that if they refrained from attacking him, they could bide their time in peace.

Everyone was amazed that the High King's Peace had lasted for more than a half decade. Everyone knew that Tremosh and Lomax spent every waking moment (and probably a lot of sleep) plotting against the High King. Someday they would try to regain what Styphon had lost. Many hoped that the few doddering remnants of False Styphon were too tired and demoralized to ever aspire to their former greatness; Zarthan had been great long ago but no one really thought much of them any more.

But that was the view in the East, far from these lands. Here the danger was an immediate, dangerous presence, hovering just beyond the western and southern horizons.

That was why Gamelin was patrolling this territory. The High King felt that so long as he remained strong and prepared and let everyone know it, his enemies would realize that they couldn't win and so they wouldn't try. It had worked so far, but not even the High King expected it to work much longer. But that didn't mean his soldiers didn't stay alert and on watch.

The column descended out of the last of the hills on an easy trail and again Gamelin was pleased with himself. Most of his men, no doubt, thought it was an accident that they were walking downhill, but he had been timing this for days. The path was certainly ridable, but the flat lands before the river were covered with broken lava, a difficult trip for a laden horse. They would reach the river in time for the High Sun break and then they could cross the river well rested, both men and horses.

Taking care of the men and horses wasn't something he'd learned at the High King's school for officers, although it was certainly taught there. The Trygathi were the world's greatest horsemen and Gamelin counted himself as one of the best in all of Trygath. Taking care of your horse and yourself was something Trygathi learned sucking on their mother's teat. As for taking care of the troops who were his responsibility: his father had more than once striped his back when he had erred learning that!

A movement in the brush in front of him shattered Gamelin's reverie.

One of the Ruthani scouts, a short dusky man named Tendai, appeared in front of Gamelin, stepping from between a pair of bushes.

"Lord Gamelin, as we approached the river, we saw a flash of light from armor, from the other side of the river. Tubai remains on watch," the scout reported. The column had come to a halt with the advent of the scout.

The two scouts were brothers, local folk, who lived near Outpost. They disdained the use of horses, being able to travel as fast as men on horseback. Count Tellan had told him so; Gamelin had privately doubted it. But, no longer.

"Return to the river and keep watch. Wait until we come up and we'll cover your crossing," Gamelin ordered.

The scout frowned; obviously, whoever went across first would be subject to the most risk. "I'll send a couple troopers with you as well," Gamelin continued. The other nodded and as abruptly as he had appeared, vanished back into the brush.

"Sergeant Tremos!" Gamelin called. The newest sergeant at Outpost came running up to the newest officer. "The scouts have seen something suspicious on the other side of the river. Take three men and all of the packhorses. Make your way to the little hill over there." Gamelin pointed at a small rocky knoll a quarter mile away. "If everything is okay, we will flash the mirrors three-one-three, and you rejoin us at once. Anything else, or if you have not seen the flashes by the time the sun is so," Gamelin pointed two palm-widths past High Sun, "You will return with all speed to Outpost and report to Count Tellan."

Gamelin looked at the sergeant for a moment and then added, "Take your time getting to the hill. No dust." The other saluted and gathered his men and animals and headed away.

Armor was an important bit of intelligence. Hunters could easily be out here, but the locals didn't have anything in the way of armor. Armor, though, was something soldiers would wear.

"Sergeant Vosper!" The other of his two sergeants, an old veteran, had already moved up to his elbow a few moments before.

"Lord Gamelin," the other reported smartly.

"Have everyone see to their priming. Pick four men for point duty and put them about three hundred paces to our front, mounted and well apart. The rest of us will stay in a dismounted column of twos until we get closer to the river. Then we'll form a skirmish line abreast, still dismounted. We'll advance that way to the river. Caution everyone about raising dust."

Chapter 3 »