Chapter 6

The men and women of Cogo's large town stood arrayed on the training ground outside the walls. More than a thousand men and women free and slave stood in the spring air and watched. Before them stood Cogo, Roja and Nuth. Over one arm, Roja held the skin of a lion, decorated with beads of gold and in his hand he held a heavy gold crown. The priest took the skin from Roja and held it aloft. The warriors cheered.

"This is Cogo's village, the greatest village of all Torsland! This is Cogo!" The men cheered again. "I am Roja, champion. I say this man is KING Cogo, king of all Torsland! Do any here deny this?" Only cheering greeted Roja's announcement.

Nuth placed the lion skin over Cogo's shoulders and then took the heavy crown and held it over Cogo's head. The entire village cheered again. The cheering continued as Cogo's head was adorned with the crown.

"HAIL King Cogo!" Roja shouted.

"HAIL!" The crowd shouted back.

"Hail our warlord Roja!" Coga shouted above the acclaim.

The men thrust their spears into the air and shouted as the women yelled. That night in the king's hall, Roja and Cogo talked in quiet tones over the hearth. The men were alone, Cogo's family having been dismissed.

"I have done as you said, Roja. I have let you make me a king. Now the village and this land have a name, the kingdom of Torsland, and I am known as King Cogo Gofnason. A name after my father. But why, Roja ... why are you not the king? You know that I would not stand in your way."

"Cogo." The huge man stirred the fire with a stick as he talked, poking sparks from the logs and watching them die. "I am not here to be a king. I am here to forge the people into a mighty force. Kings and princes of the people have to worry about the harvest, about justice between farmers and the price of a stolen pig. Me, I would kill both farmers and eat the pig."

Cogo laughed, knowing that there was at least some truth in Roja's rough words. "Why do we need to be a mighty force, Roja? What purpose does all this serve?"

"Did you ever listen to the tales of your grandfather? Or to the stories of his father?"

"Of course Roja, all boys do."

"What did the stories say about our people, about our past?"

"The past?" King Cogo Gofnason, the Lord of Tors hall, King of Torsland looked out into the dark hall for a moment. "Do you mean the old legends?"

Roja nodded.

"The legends say we were once a mighty people. That we ruled over all the land. The stories were of magic that lit the darkness, of mighty birds that flew in the sky carrying men. They say..."

A long silence between the two men.

"They say we are mighty ones that came from the stars, and that demons stole our magic and cast us down."

Roja poked the fire again. "And what do the legends tell of the time to come?"

"Just that we will rise up again, against the demons, and we will become mighty." Cogo looked sharply at Roja. "Are you saying that this is what you will do here?"

"Yes." Roja looked steadily at Cogo. "Our power has been stolen from us. I will unite the lands with a mighty army at my back and find the demons. I will fight their evil magic, and I will burn them. When the land is pure again, we will become who we are, a mighty and proud people."

Cogo nodded his head a fraction. "So I thought you might say."

Several minutes passed between them with silence. Then Cogo simply said. "It is best that you do this ... as you intend, without me. I do not believe. But it does not matter that I do not believe. I do know that you are a hero from the legends ... and it is enough that you believe."

Cogo clapped Roja on the back. "You are fierce and terrible, but you never break your word, and you are not unjust. A king could serve no better warlord. Tors-hall and the Kingdom of Torsland will grow wealthy and powerful from your sword. When you need men or gold, they will come to you. This is my word to you, Lord Roja, warlord of all Torsland."

The men clasped hands and then parted. Roja rose and on silent feet walked from the long-hall out into the night air. He paused a moment and looked at the stars in the night sky. Smiling, he walked to his hall where blankets warmed by a fire awaited him.

...

Roja sat his saddle patiently listening to the first crickets of evening begin their chirrup call for mates. Behind him he could hear the shift of leather and steel as the men waited on him. The men showed good discipline and were quiet as they waited. Behind and about him well over a thousand warriors waited on his instructions. Out in front of him the trail that they had been following through the deep woods of the high country opened up. Down below them the fertile heart of the Southlands lay. From where they sat the huge farming belt and string of towns was hidden by the clouds and mists that lay over the lowlands as if trying to hide them from Roja and his men. He lightly stroked the neck of his horse and looked at the man Trask mounted at his near left.

"The final count of the muster?" Roja asked.

"Ceric and his men lead three hundreds from the western high country, Lord. They are fed and healthy, ready for battle. My men are numbered at just over four hundreds and we are ready. The men of Turnai total no more than one hundred and a half, and Feltrum of Turnai worries that you will burn his towns because of it."

Roja nodded. "He should."

"The allied villages have mustered fully and send us close to three hundreds. They are ill disciplined but ready. A man named Gormed leads them in your name.

Trask stroked his heavily bearded face with a gloved hand. "And behind us are several hundreds of the followers. They have many leaders, but mostly seek to prey on the leavings of the army. Some hope to find favor and be selected for training."

Roja dismounted and handed the reins to the boy saddled behind him and to his right. He looked at Trask for a moment and then walked out to the edge of a rock overhand that looked down on the hidden valley below.

"Have the men make camp here. Be certain that it is done in good order. Send me the leaders, Trask. And select three men to represent the following rabble. Also bring one of the priests."

Behind Roja men got busily to work. One of the first structures erected was his tent. It was large, well over ten feet on a side, held up from four center poles and held down with full length walls. When it was up, he turned back from looking on the valley below and waved the waiting men into the tent. Once inside, they all squatted down on the rugs in a circle and waited while the priest sang his song of blessing and invoked the guidance of Monos upon them. Trask spread out a map made on clear rawhide, painted and dyed cleverly to show the surrounding lands.

"Before we begin." Roja looked at the men. "I have new orders for the men, and for you. Regarding marching order and the camp."

The warlords looked at Roja with respect and waited.

"From now on, we make camp the same way we eat or live. We make camp all together. No separate camps any more. One large square camp. Picket spiked on the outside. The leader's tents will face the central path down the middle of the camp, and leave space for a muster in the middle. Room for a man to run between each tent. Every tent laid out on a grid, precisely with no deviations. The men camp behind the tents of the leaders in order of rank, with the skirmishers camping closest to the outside perimeter of the camp where they will stand guard and patrol. My captains and I will camp in the same tents as the men. No special privileges. Understood?"

He watched them carefully to see who would argue with him. Predictably, Roja could see upset in the eyes of the older leaders, and quiet acceptance in the younger men who had been brought up inside his system of training. He waited to see if a challenge would emerge. It did not, so he went on.

"The horses and cavalry will bed down in the same areas. Break the horse into units and picket the horses inside the space of the camp. Always build the camp with four exits in the four directions, and make sure one exit is large enough for the horsemen. Clear?"

For a few minutes there were questions from the captains, clarifying his intentions and orders. Roja explained patiently, but when he started to repeat himself he stopped. "Very well then. Starting tomorrow that is the order for the camp. Be sure to get it right. I don't want men flogged for your mistakes."

The men nodded at his words. More than once, Roja had stopped the whipping of a footman and administered the punishment to his captain instead. The leaders knew that Roja demanded far more of them than of the common soldiers.

"Trask."

"Here, Lord Roja."

"Explain the map to us."

"Yes, Lord." Trask scooted himself forward and using a think stick as a pointer, began to go over features of the map in front of them.

"We are here, in the Pass of Swallows. This is the only pass down into the Southlands for over a hundred miles in each direction East and West. We are backed up here in the Northern mountains of Torsmond. Since we have not been opposed in occupying the pass, the first phase of our attack has been a complete success."

Several of the men grunted or applauded at his announcement.

"This is good news for our future. The path down into the heartland goes through here, and here. These two towns on the way. Icona and Dricena. These two are certainly aware of us by now. I have been told that they did not join the Southern confederation army when a muster was called. If this is true we will have no trouble with them."

He looked up to see the men watching. "If they did join, there could be an ambush waiting for us along the trail down. We have interrogated two merchant wagons and found nothing new."

He shifted and pointed further South on the map. "Here the land opens up and leads down to the plains. Once put of the long pass we will find a lot of maneuver room and plenty of space to make camp. It's between these Western hills, called the Hills of Sobon, and here ... this long defile that leads to the sea that we will find the cities of the plains. The Westernmost city is Sobonant and the Easternmost ... here against the sea, is called Thuvain. South of them in this arc, here ... here. Here and here..." Trask pointed with the stick.

"That's where we will find the bigger cities. Some have over a ten thousand of people in them. Their armies are big, and strong. They have allied together, even though they hate each other ... allied into an army. They are led by the biggest city of them all, Colphors. Colphors and its dependant towns all together have perhaps thirty thousands of people, maybe four thousands of warriors."

"And what do we know of the army, Trask?" This question came from Droff, sitting to the left of Roja. Droff had changed over the last years. His hair had gone grey at the fringes, but he had become lean and thickly muscular. Behind him one of his sons sat quietly, learning.

"We are outnumbered at least four to one, perhaps ten to one ... if all the Southern cities muster." Trask seemed unconcerned. "Their weapons are of the old style, and only their kings and princes are mounted as cavalry. They use their foot as a delaying force, and rely on the horse to carry the day. They use light lance from horse and dismount to fight on foot. Also, some of the cities have chariots."

Several men grumbled at this news. Roja looked up. "Don't be fools. Chariots are easy to defeat. Easy. The first line uses the shield wall, and the second lowers their long spear. No horse ever lived that will charge a spear wall. When the chariot turns, the retired first line fires into them with javelin and bow. The carnage will soothe even your bloodthirsty hearts." Several men laughed.

"What if they ride around us, flank us, Roja?" This question came from Feltrum, a dark and thin man dressed in black leathers from the hill towns of Turnai.

"If you had more of your men here, you would not ask that, Feltrum." The moment stretched a long time between the two men. "But you are here. Never let this happen again."

Feltrum paled, but nodded at Roja's words. "Never, Lord Roja."

"At the next muster, you must provide one hundred and ten men for every hundred called up. If you do not, well..." Roja looked back to the map.

"Yes, my Lord Roja."

"The answer to your question, Feltrum ... is that it is the cavalry's job to stop the chariots from flanking you. If you are flanked though, wheel the line and do as we discussed. Fire into them. Worst case, charge them with spear. Kill the horses."

Feltrum nodded. From the back another man spoke up. "Roja, we are outnumbered maybe ten to one. How do we fight that?"

"Who is that?" Roja looked over.

"Me, lord. Ceric." A tall dark haired man dressed in the old fashioned style of skins half rose to meet Roja's gaze.

"Ceric. Excellent muster of your men. Three hundreds when I expected less of your towns. Good."

"Thank you lord. My men are eager." Ceric smiled.

"Good." Roja straightened up a little. Even sitting he towered over the other men, his presence commanding and unmistakable. "Ceric ... you and your men fight from horse in the old way. You will be our Western flank cavalry. You will see what happens when disciplined lines of foot troops tear into the soft men of the South."

There were several laughs from the men that Roja had campaigned with. "With your help, we will destroy them, just watch. But ... for that to happen," Roja looked around at all the men. "For that to happen, each man must do his part. Exactly as instructed, doing exactly as I say. If you deviate from your role ... even a little ... riding here to make a capture, here to steal baggage, here to torch a hut ... if you betray my trust in you that way..."

The men could almost feel a chill steal over the room as each man imagined for a moment Roja's wrath. "You will regret it. I promise you that." Around him heads nodded.

...

The leaders talked long into the evening. Roja watched them as they worked their way through his planning. He saw them steal furtive glances at him, the new men, trying to judge what was real and unreal about him. He was impossibly large for a man of the North, that much of the legend they could see to be true. But for the other parts, that he had divine wisdom, that he knew the secrets of battle, that the gods whispered to him ... even that he was the bastard son of Monos born of a wild woman of the woods, raised by eagles, come to lead them to glory ... of these things, only time would tell.

He watched them talk, their hair in straggly braids, smelling unwashed, some of horse, some of dirt. The men of the far North had painted faces and wore only furs and leathers. Others rubbed rancid fats into their hair to keep it in place and out of their faces. Their beards were wild and untrimmed for the most part, or separated into braids and adorned with bits of silver and gold wire. His men wore cloth in layers, but even so ... they carried fetish items and prayed under their breath to gods of hearth and field. Their dirt and ignorance did not offend him. These were his men, and he would lead them. There was time.

"Enough." He said. "It grows late and you chew this like a grandmother on a bone. Tomorrow will bring what tomorrow brings. Muster early, prepare cold food, be ready to march." Roja stood. "Good night ... go to your tents and dream of warm Southern women complaining underneath you."

The men laughed and filed out. Trask was the last to leave, and Roja held him back by the arm. The two men spoke for a few minutes in hushed tones, and Roja handed Trask a bag of coin. Trask nodded and left. Soon Roja walked to his small tent. He closed his eyes and let tomorrow come to him as it would.

...

The army woke and began to move early in the morning. It moved in segments, like some kind of massive inch worm. The cavalry units of the far North were disorganized in breaking camp and getting moving. By the time that they were eating, Roja and his footmen were already on the trail. In between these two extremes the rest of the army began moving. Roja had his men move slowly, to give time to the entire column to form up. As they rode along, Roja commented to Trask and the other men from Gofnand that the rest would soon learn how to march. The men laughed knowingly. Two days of switchbacks down the pass of Swallows brought the army to the outskirts of Icona. The men could see farther down the pass to the smoke of Dricena and further still out onto the plains that opened up on the heartlands. It was almost as if they could smell the battles to come. The men were eager for a fight, and Roja had to restrain his leaders at several points to prevent them from charging forward recklessly to challenge the towns ahead. Outside Icona the men confronted stout walls made of stone reinforced timber, and wide and strong double gates. Inside the town a fortified but small stone keep occupied the pride of place. Town elders and warriors on horseback awaited them as they arrived.

"Hail!" Cried out one of the men on horseback. He was dressed in the fine cloths and woven fabrics of the Southlands. His bronze armor was polished to a high shine, and even his horse was partially armored in bronze. Roja's eyes lit up slightly to see the size and strength of the horse. Out of a corner of his eye, Roja watched one of the little marsh frogs hop patiently between two water filled hoof prints, oblivious to the events of the day.

"Hail." Roja cried and spurred his smaller Northern pony forward. Trask rode forward with him, but at a distance. The two men met between the armies. Roja watched as the Southerner took off his gleaming helmet.

"I am Thuras, champion of Icona. Welcome strangers. What brings you and your army to our city?"

"I am Roja, warlord of all of Torsland, champion of Gofnand." Roja sniffed and took in the air of the city. Cooking fires and pine warred with offal and the stink of men for his attention.

"We have heard that you Northerners call yourselves by these names now. Torsland?"

"Yes." Roja replied. "We have united all the Northern towns." Roja flicked a speck of dirt off of the pommel of his saddle.

"By the sword." Thuras said.

"By the sword." Roja nodded.

"And now?" Thuras said shifting in his seat, weighed down by the heavy and hot armor he wore to confront this menace to his lands.

"Now we will unite the Southlands." Roja smiled.

The other man laughed. He rubbed his face for a second, and laughed again. "Unite the South. By the sword?"

"Yes. By the sword if required. By peace and alliance if possible."

From behind Thuras a smaller man dressed in rich clothes rode slightly farther up and spoke. "Your army is big for a Northern force. Perhaps it is as you say and you have united the North. But even so, your army of barbarians is not big enough to fight all the Southlands. I am Kovara, councellor to the Prince of Icona. What do you offer that would ally our peoples and provide sanctuary here against our brothers to the South?" His words were smooth but cynical.

"You do not understand." Roja replied. "Your only choice, the only thing for you to consider is this ... can you stand against us? Can you fight my army off or will you submit? If you open your doors to me now, I will not enslave your women, I will not slaughter your men and boys. If you resist, I will make such an example of you that Dricena will be clear about its choices. All of the South will know of your fate." Roja smiled broadly at the two men.

The smaller man rode up and spoke softly to Thuras. Thuras turned to Roja and said. "Give us some time to speak to the Prince and we will bring you an answer."

Roja nodded. "Of course. You have until the sun is high in the sky."

The two men rode back to their force, and then the men of the city rode back behind the walls. Roja and Trask watched them depart.

"Prepare the men for battle." Roja said to Trask with a feral grin.

"My lord?" Trask looked at him.

"Oh, we give them the time promised, but I heard what Kovara said to Thuras. They will seek to hold out behind their walls until their messengers reach Dricena and the two armies can crush us in between."

Trask snorted at the notion. Roja wheeled his horse and rode back to the line of men, Trask following. "Dispatch the scouts!" He shouted. "Tell them that they will get a silver coin for every messenger's head they bring to me!"

Soon the boys and the pony scouts dispersed down the trails and disappeared into the woods and bracken. Back at the main line of the force, Trask laughed and turned to Droff. "Those men have never tried to catch one of our boys on a pony. I wager that they bring us five heads!"

Droff shouted a laugh and slapped his thigh. "You're on! One gold bit says that they bring two or three. The Southrons must wise up before five!" The men around them laughed.

...

When the sun was high overhead, the town signaled their answer to Roja with an arrow that flew high from the wall and buried itself in the dirt some yards away from the gate. When the scout that Roja signaled to returned with the arrow, all could see that a rawhide thong had been used to tie a note to the shaft. The note was unrolled to reveal the single script character for 'war'.

Roja turned to the men behind him and shouted. "War!" The men cheered in a frenzy.

Not far away down the broken trail road, the men could see a teen-aged lad riding for all he was worth. Arriving at the front line, he threw himself off his pony and rather gracelessly tumbled to his feet. Rising, he fumbled at his saddle and a still warm head rolled out of it. The man's eyes were open and his hair was oiled and trimmed.

"He didn't know ... didn't know how to fight." The boy panted. "Our herdsmen are more dangerous." Behind him, men laughed and the boy blushed.

Roja looked it over. Then he smiled at the boy who stood nervously in front of his hero. "Good. Well done. Collect your coin ... and then go kill another one. Kill enough and one of the camp women will probably come to you."

The boy nodded his head in a tiny bow and afraid to say more ran off blushing again. Roja smiled and turned to Trask. "Give me fifty thousand lads like that and in ten years all the lands of the world will be under our fist."

Trask smiled and laughed.

...

The men made camp facing the town. Orders were given to double fortify the back of the camp, the side that would face Dricena. Pickets spread out into the woods to prevent the people of the town from coming and going. The men could tell that Roja had no wish to lay in a long siege of the small town, nor could he leave it behind the army. All of the leaders knew that the town would be taken by storm. The only question they had is how Roja planned to take it.

Roja gathered the captains together in the large command tent that evening as the summer sun began to set. In the background they could hear the sounds of the well disciplined camp. The watch commanders calling the count of the troops, the sounds of practice sword drills, the grunting and calling of men wrestling, all these sounds and many more filled the air as the commanders sat down over a cold meat and watered wine dinner.