Chapter 18: Nine of Ten

The King of Zarthan looked up as his brother-in-law sat down in front of him.

"You wanted me, sire?" Denethon asked.

Freidal nodded. "You've heard about the catastrophe that occurred to King Xyl and his people?"

"Yes, sire."

"The news came to us very fast, much faster than one would expect."

Denethon grinned. "The High King understands how important it is for his words to be heard as quickly as possible as far away as he can reach."

"Exactly. You hold one of the baronies, previously free and now arrogated to Alcibydos of North Port."

"Yes, sire. You asked me not to go north and disabuse Count Alcibydos of his mistake until the right time."

"Go north. I had wished that Countess Noia could ride at your side, but that's not going to happen soon. Denethon, the Ruthani raided Kingston when she was there."

Denethon looked at him, suddenly concerned.

"Exactly. Even the High King isn't sure who the raid was against. Him or Noia. It was bad, Denethon. Very bad."

"Lady Noia?"

Freidal laughed. "You should know my lady wife and her friends better! Lady Noia rallied the shattered defense and destroyed the raiding party. Not before Count Kingston was killed, not before the brigadier commanding the garrison was killed... not before more than five hundred others died.

"The High King has asked Countess Noia to remain in Kingston in command for the better part of a moon until the new Count arrives.

"Or, to put it plainly: Lady Noia won't be here until this fall. Once she is here, I have things that urgently need her attention. Things that will take a moon, if she rushes, two or three if she devotes the time she should."

"You want me to go north by myself?"

"Well, no, not that. Take an army with you. You have a hundred men who rode with you with the God-King's column advancing on Xiphlon. They are the nucleus of your division. Take the entire division."

"Yes, sire!"

"Tell your men that they are headed to South Port. If any man leaves the formation, kill him."

"Indeed so, sire! This won't take long!"

"Yes it will. Once you've settled with Alcibydos, do an about march and head east. Burn every Ruthani village and town you come to, until you meet Captain-General Count Phrames, coming west from Princeton."

For the first time Denethon demurred. "And Alros, sire? What about my wife?"

"If you feel it appropriate, she may accompany you in the field. Understand that certain parties will find her a particularly attractive target. Count Echanistra has said he'd look after her, if things got bad."

Denethon bowed. "I'm uncomfortable leaving you and the queen behind."

"I know. On the other hand, I still have Xitki Quillan! So far they've only tried to kill him once!"

"That'll change, Freidal."

Freidal sighed. "I imagine so. Elspeth is getting close to term. I wish there was a way to change it, to put her someplace where she could safely wait until our child was six. The plague..."

"The plague. The plotters did that! We'll take the battle back to their pawns! Such men will learn to fear our wrath!"

"Kill the men, burn the towns. Try to avoid killing the women and children," Freidal warned. "The plague will kill enough of them as it is."

"It seems to have slowed."

"The season is turning cold early. The High King and Duke Tuck both warn that in the spring it will come back with a vengeance."

"Do I have leave to kill Alcibydos?"

"Yes, if it happens in battle. If he surrenders, you will put him in chains and bring him to me."

"He is one of the plotters. He will die as soon as he's in my power."

"You can't be the one to kill him, unless he's in armed revolt against the crown. The other counts will understand that's their fate if they take up arms against me. But you won't kill him if he surrenders."

"And who will take my word that he killed himself?"

"I will. Alros and Elspeth will. Xitki Quillan will. The High King and Duke Tuck. Lord Denethon, you have quite a few people who believe in your honor."

King Freidal grinned at Denethon. "I have some instructions for you to read later, at your leisure, should Alcibydos come into your hands and should he stay alive. He is one of those my dear wife would very much like to talk to."

Denethon bobbed his head. "I will do as you wish, of course. You understand that if things weren't the way they are, if it was just Alcibydos and myself, he'd die, one way or the other, on the end of my sword?"

"Brother, please, I value you! If you must, shoot the bastard. Don't get too close to him."

Puma strode into the cell and Inisa looked up. The prisoner's eyes went immediately back down to the ground. "Up!" Puma commanded.

Inisa stood, her head still bowed.

"Your lucky day, woman! It seems Manistewa is your friend! He's not my friend; he's not my no-blood sister's friend. He's sort of the friend of Duke Tuck, Count Tellan and the High King. I wouldn't try to trade very much on that, if I were you."

"What is it you want?"

"Manistewa has arranged for your ransom. Shuria and I will take you to the place and there give you to your friends. It would please me, Inisa, if at some point you were to violate the parole you will have to give us, so we can kill you. Do I have your parole until you are turned over to your friends?"

"And why should I believe you?"

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"I'm still alive."

"Oh, that was just fond wishes and hopes. You will find that true men and women don't plot to kill babes-in-arms and don't hold those who do with any regard."

"I will pledge my parole to Lord Tuck or Lady Tanda."

"If that's your wish. If I were you, though, I'd pledge it to me. If you pledge yourself to the Duke or his lady, and were to say you were going behind one bush to relieve yourself, and if I were to find you behind another, I'll kill you for the oath breaker you are. Pledge to me and I'll hear your petition about the hairy spider in the first bush."

"Duke Tuck or Lady Tanda," Inisa replied firmly.

Tanda Havra came in. "Pledge your parole!"

Inisa said the traditional words and Tanda Havra nodded. "Then, so be it. If I ever see you again, particularly if my son is at all close, I'll kill you the next instant."

"The sooner I am far, far from this hot, dry, dusty furnace, the better. I have no intention, ever, of returning."

After the first word Tanda Havra had spun on her heel, and the last sentence was half shouted at her vanishing back.

Puma undid the shackles and chains that held Inisa in the room and motioned for her to go first. They went through empty corridors until they were outside. There was a carriage and Puma waved her inside. The curtains were drawn, and Shuria put the team in motion.

"Beside you," Puma told the former prisoner, "is a small bag. It contains some of your possessions from your room. Clothes, mostly. There is also a water jack and some field rations. Please, take a drink from the water jack."

"Why?"

"So you can tell me now if it's poisoned or otherwise not to your liking."

Inisa reached down, took the leather skin and took a drink. "That's vile!" she told Puma.

Puma laughed, and tossed Inisa her own water. "You can trade for mine, if you like."

Inisa looked at her hands in disgust. "This is greasy!"

"Bear fat. Don't worry, I've never known bear fat to go bad. Rancid, yes, but not bad."

Inisa looked around the coach. "How long will the journey take?"

"Half a moon. Two palm-widths in this fine carriage, then you can learn more about how the Ruthani run."

"I am not Ruthani."

"I never suggested you were. Instead, you'll learn how we run. It will be quite educational!"

"Half a moon?" Inisa said with her eyes closed.

"Assuming you don't slow us too much." Puma laughed. "We're taking a short-cut, across the desert. Otherwise it would take a moon."

"And you're not going to kill me?"

"We won't, no -- not so long as you behave. However, we will have to be careful to avoid Ruthani, Zarthani and Hostigi patrols, because they will kill us all. We're from south of the plague line, Inisa. If we can convince them we're wandering around lost in the desert, we might live, but we'd be sent back. If we can't do that, if they think we're deliberately spreading the plague -- why, they'll hang us from the nearest tree or heavy bush."

Inisa turned pale. She averted her head, staring at the leather of the curtains, not wanting to say anything else.

Noia glanced next to her as Count Nicomoth stood, silently staring at the ruin of the citadel of Kingston. Finally he sighed heavily and turned to her. "Countess, I swear to you, had I or any of our regular engineers seen the plans for this position, the work would have stopped instantly and things would have changed."

"It was certainly convenient for our enemies."

"Proper military fortifications aren't necessarily convenient. The idea is to be secure, first. I will arrange for a discussion between one of the High King's investigators and the man who designed this. If I wanted to sabotage a fortification's design, I'd have done it exactly like this."

He waved then, behind them.

"That, Countess, that is what truly concerns me."

That was the bustling town of Kingston that had pretty much put the raid behind them. They'd buried their dead, they'd mourned them, and then went about their work. With exception of the citadel all of the damage had been repaired.

"I've been learning a lot about construction," she replied with a smile.

"I can see that. You have done very well, Countess! Very well indeed! I will fill the High King's ears with your praises."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Oh, more good than bad. Now, however, it is time for you to continue on west. It's a sad thing, our duty, Countess. We have to do things quickly that we really wish we could have drawn out." He waved at the town. "You have an eye for layout and design. I'm impressed. It bespeaks of more than casual interest."

"They'd been hurt, hurt badly," Noia explained. "It didn't seem proper not to do my best."

"Well, you've done quite well. That just means, though, that in the end, it's harder to leave."

Noia grimaced. She'd already learned that. The people here were capable, willing, loyal, hard working -- dozens of endearing, enduring traits that anyone would cherish. To be placed over them, even for such a short time, had been a heady thing.

He faced her. "I'm truly sorry it took us so long to reach here, Countess."

"The plague came to Xiphlon, I understand," Noia told him.

"Yes. We were stopped well short of the city, and then we rode north, then west again. Horses, instead of the steam puller. My lady, the High King commands that I hurry you west, before the plague gets here.

"Brigadier Teucritas has organized a party of nearly a thousand men. They will see you safely to Outpost."

"That seems... excessive."

"More so than you imagine. Even as we stand here, a force of about ten thousand of the High King's finest heavy cavalry departed from north of here, heading west, under Brigadier Count Phrames. As late in the season as it is, the Northern Ruthani will come to realize the error of their ways. Count Phrames will be burning all of their villages and towns he comes across."

"In the face of the coming winter?"

"Exactly. Many towns and villages will be destroyed, but not many people. The soldiers will be intent on destruction of buildings and crops, not the people. Quite a lot of refugees will go west, filled with wailing and lamentations about the terrible Hostigi behind them. A great many of the Northern Ruthani will go hungry this winter, but I don't think many will starve."

"I prefer a sea battle," Noia told him.

He laughed. "And you've been in how many?"

She sighed. "None."

"Well, you've fought in two of my sort of battles. Twice we've dealt them stinging defeats, even though the cost to us was high as well. Everyone says that your natural element is the sea. Countess! Like many, I'm looking forward to tales of your victories on the water!"

Noia blushed. "At the Wagon Box fight, Gryllos saw their mistakes and used them against the God-King's soldiers. Here, I only saw them coming at me and reacted. One day, Count, I too will make a mistake."

He laughed. "Countess! At Three Hills I was charged with building artillery emplacements for Brigadier Markos. A third of those positions, Countess, a full third, never fired a shot! They were in the wrong places! It was as if I'd blown up a third of our artillery and artillerymen on that hill."

"But your army won the battle, yes?"

"Yes. Afterwards, Count Phrames, the man who commanded the artillery heard one of the infantry officers complain about the placement of those guns. The count looked the officer in the eye and asked, 'What if they'd tried to flank you on your left? Without guns in position, the day could have been lost. It was insurance.'"

He sniffed. "Countess, those guns weren't insurance. I was told to dig artillery emplacements to defend the tip of a long thin hill that ran north and south. The standard plan in that case was a third to the left, a third in the center and third on the right. Simple. Except there were thickets on the left, impenetrable brambles. There was no chance they'd have come from that direction. It was a mistake on my part that turned out not to matter."

Again he waved to where, a moon ago, so many Ruthani raiders had died. "They made a mistake that mattered and you did something right that mattered. That is the way of battle. You learn, each and every time you can from what happens."

"I'll remember that," she told him.

He laughed. "Oh, I don't think you'll be remembering something you didn't already know. A lot of my fellow officers are unhappy that so many younger officers are doing well. I'm not unhappy and I'm certain the High King isn't either. We have many enemies, and the only way we can beat them is to take the battle to them vigorously. We haven't done enough of that, but that's slowly changing. And it's not the older officers doing the changing; it's you young squirts. Good for you!"

"So, tomorrow at first light, we'll move out?" Noia asked.

"No. That's a self-serving lie. The full moon will rise nearly a palm-width after the sun goes down. We'll call you as soon as the sun has gone, you'll be on your way a palm-width later."

"I wish you the very best," Noia told him.

"And I, you. Death to our enemies! Victory to our arms! Honor to the Gods!"

"Hear! Hear!" Noia said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Why wasn't the prospect of returning home more palatable?

The signal lieutenant appeared and walked towards them. Noia braced herself. The expression on the man's face was grim. He handed Noia a message form, and one just like it to Count Nicomoth.

Noia read the words. Long before she finished her tears were staining the page as they flowed in uninterrupted rivers down her cheeks.

Denethon wiped tears from his eyes; the smoke wasn't getting any better. "You're sure they got the message? Oath to Galzar and all of that?"

Captain Stenmon nodded. "They got it. They told us to go do something rude."

"They have no walls, they have maybe two or three guns. I have a hundred. I have ten thousand men and he has barely two hundred left to him; the rest have run."

"Alcibydos says you will destroy North Port, not him."

Denethon turned to his aide. "The artillery is in position?"

"Yes, sir. Major Philitas commands on the southern spit, his lieutenant on the northern. Twenty guns each. There are just two sea-going ships in the harbor. They cannot possibly survive the artillery to escape seaward."

"And I assume Alcibydos can see those guns?"

"Yes, General!"

"Then why doesn't the man surrender?"

There was a sudden sound from the town a few hundred yards ahead of them. Then a burst of rifle fire, very short-lived. Finally, silence once again.

"There's more smoke, sir," his aide whispered.

"I can see that. I can't take the army into a burning city! That would be crazy! He can't stay in a burning city, that would be crazy! Tell everyone to prepare for them to make a sortie! Try to take a few prisoners."

There was a ground-rattling boom and everyone looked up. A huge ball of flame, smoke and dust rose over the city. A heartbeat later another and another, then more still, six in all.

Denethon stared in shock at the ruin that had once been North Port, a fair holding for any count. Then came another explosion, larger than any of the others, followed by three more, one after another. Those were much further away. It was impossible to see exactly what had exploded, but the last four explosions had been quite far off -- about the distance to the spits of sand he'd sent his artillery to.

"Captain Stenmon, pass the word. Nine of ten men in the army are to down their weapons and take up fire fighting equipment. They are to advance under the cover of the other tenth to see if they can rescue anyone from that pit of Styphon's Hell!"

It took four days to put the fires out and even then, smoke still rose from places where the flames continued to smolder. Perhaps ten thousand had lived in North Port when the old count had died, another fifteen thousand in the surround. Now, the shattered remnants were only a few hundred.

And Count Alcibydos and the two ships that had been in the harbor had vanished into the smoke. It was a comforting thought to believe that he died in the explosions and fire, but Denethon doubted it.

Alros had been a pillar of strength, striding through the ruins of the town, seeing to the few survivors, doing what she could to succor them. It was, Denethon thought, a terrible thing to see -- the gratitude on the survivors' faces for the simplest acts of kindness.

There was no way to have heliographic communication to Baytown, so he'd sent a half dozen gallopers, plus a stronger party north, to Echanistra.

On the fourth day after the destruction, Count Echanistra joined him, walking through the destruction with the same look of horror that all of them had.

"Why, Denethon? Why? He destroyed the heart of his county! What kind of insane man would do that?"

"It was a county he was about to lose, and he had to know it would be his younger sister who would replace him. This is just a very, very expensive form of poisoning the well."

"Usually a displaced count will visit some of his peers, looking for support. Not even the most demented would join him after this!"

"Count, I have to think that this was more than foolish pique, that the man had a plan. I can't imagine what that is, but is it a coincidence that North Port now closely resembles the heartlands of King Xyl?"

Count Echanistra started to speak and then stopped. He looked at Denethon, then back at the ruins of the town. "They want this for all of us?"

"If we don't submit, yes."

"Never! I will never submit! I will fight with the last breath in my body!"

"The question, Count, is how many of us will do that, and how many will look at this and see the death and destruction of all that they and theirs have built over centuries? They aren't going to wish this on their people. Some will, in fact, go to any length to avoid it -- including treason."

"And they would be fools! Any count who held his county in such little regard as Alcibydos did... how is he going to treat those of allies, if he feels the county needs to be destroyed? It won't matter in the least to him."

"It is something we need to communicate to all men," Denethon told him.

"And Noia?"

Denethon paled. "I would not want to be the one to tell her what has happened. That will be the High King, I imagine. She was last in Kingston, doing brave deeds. Soon, I expect, she'll ride out of one of the fogs here and see this."

He looked at the much older count. "You understand, sir, my orders were to march east as soon as Alcibydos was thrown down. I've exceeded my orders."

Count Echanistra waved his hand, as if it was the merest detail -- as in truth it was. Freidal, had he been here, would have ordered the same things that Denethon had ordered.

"I cannot have my soldiers occupy North Port," the old count told Denethon. "So, I'll give three thousand of them to you. You leave three thousand of yours here. March east and burn the Ruthani out. Every last one of them. Leave not the sorriest mud and wattle lean-to."

Thus it was that most of a moon later Denethon stood on a small hill, looking east at the first Ruthani village they'd come to. There was a cluster of about twenty homes, built along Zarthani lines, not Ruthani.

"The men are in position, General," Stenmon told him.

"Wait," Denethon replied, continuing to study the village.

"It will be full light soon. The men will be going out to the fields. Many of them might escape."

"Wait!" Denethon said impatiently.

What had they talked about? That the plotters wanted a war between Hostigos and Zarthan... that if the two kings were killed in ambush, the war would happen, and it would be left until later to sort out what really happened.

Ruthani were viciously raiding the small towns and villages along the coast. Mostly, these days, they raided empty buildings, because the inhabitants had fled to the towns for protection.

And yet, here was a village less than a moon from the coast and it looked like a picture of bucolic innocence.

"Stenmon, would you ask Lady Alros to join me?"

The man bobbed his head and ran back to the tent Denethon and Alros shared. He was pretty sure he'd hear about risks when he got back to Baytown, but Alros had insisted and he'd agreed.

She joined him in a moment. "I am, my dearest love, going to do something very stupid," he told her.

She looked at the village, then at Denethon. "It's too peaceful, yes?"

"Yes."

"A trick?"

"I told you what I was going to do was stupid. Yet, our scouts have watched for a full day. The men go to the fields; the women stay in the village, doing the hard work. It's possible more soldiers lie in wait, but our scouts have found no signs of them.

"So yes, I'm going to walk down there."

"Do be careful, Denethon."

He grinned. "Always. Ever since you said you'd marry me, I've been careful."

She laughed at that, and waved him on.

Denethon stripped out of his armor, deciding to carry only a shotgun. He walked down the hill, just as the men were coming out of the village.

Two of them stepped in front of him. "I thought you Zarthani weren't going to trade with us any more?" the lead man said brusquely.

"Do I look like a trader?" Denethon said reasonably.

"Do we look like folk with anything to trade?" one of the two men asked. "Why are you here?"

"I'm curious."

"Curious about what?"

"What do you hear of our goings on, of late?"

The man shrugged. "You got your war against the southern folk who might once have been Ruthani. You're getting your asses kicked. You're too busy to trade with us, and we don't have much you want anyway."

Denethon sighed, long and hard.

"And if I told you that this war was even shorter than the one before, what would you say?"

"That you make an easy brag."

"If we were at war with the Mexicotal, the King could never have been able to spare thousands of soldiers to march against the Ruthani raiding our cities and towns in the north."