Chapter 7

Three teams of horses and their attendants were required to pull down the mighty gates of the town of Dricena. Trask reminded the Prince of Dricena that the town needed no gates against the Northmen, and that the army of the North would be happy to provide for the security of the town. Inside the town, Roja and his men left the Prince and his family in place in the keep itself, and merely tore down a trio of back to back buildings that were surrounded by a usable wall. This newly open area became the headquarters of the army. Guards on the gates and walls were replaced, and within days a caravan of young sons and other family members of the ruling elite made its way to the North for fosterage.

During the first few days the citizens of Dricena feared for looting and rapine, but the iron discipline of Roja and his commanders was more than sufficient to keep the men of the army of Torsland in check. The commanders knew that their men itched to despoil the town and its women, but none dared go against Roja's will, once he had personally beaten a man to death who had violated a girl of the town. Although the townsfolk secretly worried about the future, for the moment they were glad of the discipline shown.

Weeks passed as Roja's men prepared for what was to come. Each day he worked with his commanders, talking over the possible battle sites, talking through basic military maneuvers. The men worked hard each day. He kept them far too exhausted to make trouble. When possible, men from the town were recruited into existing units. Many boys were attracted to the gleam of new steel and the martial air of the army. Handfuls of men drifted down the Pass of swallows from the North, drawn by the lure of glory and the tales of conquest. Sometimes they could be integrated into the army, other times they met their end in the dust of the challenge field. Finally the day came that Roja had spoken of to his men. The couriers and messengers of the Southern Alliance cities approached Dricena. The messengers did not know that they had been watched for miles by sharp eyed boys who hid in the tall grasses unmoving. They did not hear the difference between the chirp of real crickets and birds and the signals of the scouts that surrounded them. They never knew the danger that they were in, for these things were unknown to the men of the South. In the South battle was a thing that armies engaged in, and was a matter of pride and caste. The messengers and their hangers-on had no idea how much they would learn in the time to come, nor how costly those lessons would be.

Trask and Roja awaited the men, riding high on the big mounts of the South. The horses were new to the Northmen, and Roja had to instruct the men in the differences between heavy cavalry and light. His captains were happy to be mounted on the big beasts. Roja and Trask sat quietly on their mounts, waiting for the men of the South to break the silence. Behind them a hundred men sat a-saddle their smaller ponies. The southerners approached within several yards, and then stopped. They glanced at each other, and then a tall and thin man dressed in the rich reds and blues of the city of Colphors cleared his throat. When he did so, a smaller and fatter man, sweating in the early summer heat and dressed in the deep blue of the city of Thuvain glanced at him and then spoke.

"Greetings, my Lords." The man from Thuvain said, his brass and gold bracelets tinkling as he made a half-bow in his saddle. With a gesture, a quartet of men dressed in the fashion of field slaves struggled up with a large chest suspended from oak poles. The men set the chest down and then crouched down beside it.

"The lords of the Southern cities greet you and present you with this token of our esteem." He gestured again, and the slaves pulled the chest open. Gold plates, goblets of silver, strings of freshwater pearls, and small, dark jewels could be seen inside.

"Please accept this from us. I am Wulonta, and I speak for the Princes of Thuvain and as a part of the Southern Alliance, I speak for all the South."

Trask smiled briefly at the man and then replied. "I am Trask. I am the army commander for all the forces of Torsland and the city of Dricena. I speak for Lord Roja as well." He pointed at the chest with his riding crop. "Keep your treasure. We do not need it. Our men prefer water to wine, cotton to silk, and the free air of the North to the politics and corruption of the South." He smiled. "Certainly you do not think that a chest of baubles will sway us?"

"Of course not, Lord Trask. It is simply a gesture." Wulonta's face reflected a brief grimace, and then he waved at the slaves, who closed the chest and took it away, back from where it had come. "It was not meant to offend." A brief frown crossed his face, and then he continued.

"Will you invite us in to meet with you, Lord Trask? We have much to discuss."

Trask looked at the man evenly. "What do we have to discuss, 'lord' Wulonta?"

"Why, the future ... my Lord." Wulonta smiled, and the men around him nodded, all except the man from Colphors.

"The future, 'lord' Wulonta?" Trask smiled briefly. "The future is simple. War. Your cities will submit to our rule, through either throwing open their gates as the wise lords of Dricena have done, or through conquest. Icona has tasted the bitter drink of conquest, and the bones of her streets lay exposed to the skies. Crows feast on her lords, and coyotes converse with her wise."

"But..." The fat man began.

Trask looked at all the messengers and interrupted Wulonta. "All of you. Send your messages in the night when your masters from Thuvain and Colphors will not see you. Let us know whether to burn your cities or welcome you as brothers. Let your Princes and Kings know that we are coming ... let them know that we ask for little."

"My Lord, this is most improper..." Wulonta sputtered.

"Enough, southerner. Muster your army or throw open your gates. It matters not. We will crush your armies if you field them. We are the army of prophecy, and you will not stand in our path." And with that, Roja and Trash wheeled their horses and rode back to the city, leaving the messengers alone in the midst of the dust of the road.

When they had returned to their encampment and were sitting in the command tent, Trask drew off his helmet and looked at Roja. "Lord Roja, I followed your commands, but I still do not understand. Will this not anger them and firm their resolve? Would it not have been better to play the game of wining them and appeasing them?"

"It would." Roja grunted, settling down on the carpet and pulling a goblet of watered wine to himself. "It would ... it what we wanted was to slowly pull their alliance apart, and to be bogged down in politics for months to come. It would waste the summer months."

He drank a deep drought and then handed the goblet to Trask. "No. I want them afraid and rushing. Our army is ready and trained. They are many in number but not trained as an army. I want them to come to us, upset at our barbarity and eager for a fight. Some of them will be scared of us, and others will think us stupid and weak. Both work for us."

"How, Lord?"

"Just as the small bribe we paid to one corrupt man of this town helped secure his voice speaking what we wanted, so will fear have the tongues of these armies weaken their men. When they meet us on the field of battle and find we are not weak, some will scatter. It will weaken their lines. Others we will offer payment to betray their honor. Some will take it and not betray their lords, but others will take it and do our bidding. There will be chaos."

Trask nodded. "And chaos will give us the field."

"No Trask. Our might at arms will take the field, but the fewer townsmen we kill, the better. The more crushing the victory, the better. The more they think us gods of war, the easier the peace." Roja smiled and took the cup back. "Remember ... all this warfare is about the peace to come."

"Yes, Lord." Trask said, and nodded.

The Lesser Prince Komol of Colphors thought that the gathering of the Princes and Councilors of the South looked like nothing so much as a cluster of mushrooms growing out of a fine tablecloth as he approached on horseback. The slaves and servants of the mighty held large sun-screening parasols above them while others fanned them in the hot summer sun. The men were dressed lightly in fine silks and light colors appropriate to the weather and sat in delicate chairs scattered in a rough circle on a huge and ornately woven rug. He dismounted his big horse and approached the gathered men. He noted that Councilor Montors, the master of his city's delegation was already seated. Montors had left an open chair to the right and slightly behind where he was seated. Komol bowed to the assembled men briefly as he walked under the umbrellas and took his seat near Montors. The tall and thin older man looked at him with a careful gaze as he approached. Conversation dropped and then stopped as he sat. Unnoticed by any of them, three small metal dragonflies alighted on the parasols as Komol sat.

Montors fanned himself with a spray of peacock feathers held in an ornate gold clasp and nodded. "Prince Komol. How lovely to see you. You grace our modest assembly with your fair presence far too infrequently." Montors' eyes were hard under his false smile, and both men knew that his words would be far different were they uttered in private. Councilor Montors despised it that he was in out in the field with the army, and did not hide the fact.

"What news do you bring?" Montors asked, turning to look at the younger man.

"Yes, what news?" This from Wulonta of Thuvain. All of the men were looking at him now.

"They are moving." Komol said.

"What? Where?" Several men asked at once.

"More of our scouts have gone missing again, so it will be hard for us to say exactly."

"I am sure that these men do not need to be burdened with the details of your inability to manage your scouts properly, Oh Prince." Montors grimaced. "What of their army?"

For a moment, Komol looked as if he wanted to react to the older man's goading, but held his peace. "We know from our people left in Dricena that they intend to strike quickly. None of them know where though. Their army marched at first light this morning, and looks to be moving towards Sobonant."

Several of the men muttered to themselves at this news, and one man rose as if to depart, his face looking stricken.

"Prince Ignant!" Councilor Montors said firmly.

Glancing at Montors, the man from Sobonant slowly sat again under the gaze of several of the men,

"Shall I dispatch riders to Sobonant, Lord Montors?" Komol asked.

"Yes, send several ... since you have such trouble keeping them alive."

"Yes, Lord Montors." Komol waved to one of his men outside the tent. The man entered and they whispered to each other for a long moment. As they did so, the volume of conversation among the gathered leaders rose. When Komol looked up again as his man left, they quieted themselves slowly.

"We believe that they march with well under two or maybe two and a half thousand men. Most of those men are on foot, equipped with sword and shield. Most of perhaps ... five hundred are on horse and carry spears. The horse seem to be split into two wings on either side of their line of march."

"Is that all?" Montors asked.

"No, my lord." Komol replied, his eyes slowly looking over the men in the circle.

"Well, what else?"

"Their army has virtually no baggage train. They march very light. Their food is in light wagons, and they have left almost all of their camp followers in Dricena. They are making very good time." Komol grimaced.

"So you are saying that they will starve on the march?"

"No, Lord Montors. I believe that they intend to march straight to Sobonant and take it. I believe that they are so confident in their arms that they believe they need no baggage train."

A murmur ran through the men at Komol's words. Montors allowed the men to speak to each other for a few moments, and then gestured for quiet.

"If that is so, then we have an excellent opportunity, do we not ... Prince?"

"My Lord?"

"Should we not move the army in behind their line of march and force battle upon them once they near the city?" Montors smiled.

"That is what would seem to make sense, yes my Lord."

The younger man hesitated for a moment, and then almost under his breath spoke again. "But..."

"But? Prince?" This came from one of the councilors from the city of Nondar, a vassal city of Colphors.

"But what if that is exactly what their warlord wants? To force us to battle?"

"You give these barbarians far too much credit, Prince." Councilor Wulonta of Thuvain said. "I have met them. You have not. They dress in skins and leathers. They are unwashed and unlettered. Their minds are simple and brutal, incapable of any real military strategy."

The man warmed to his topic and stood. "We should circle behind them, just as Lord Montors has said. These men may possess a kind of simple and brutal discipline that comes from their incessant fighting and tribal history, but our numbers and the depth of our military wisdom," Here he nodded to Montors and a two or three other of the older men present. "The depth of our military wisdom and our martial tradition will certainly overmatch any barbarity they present, no matter how uncivilized. We outnumber them almost four to one. I say we should circle behind them, wait until their backs are against the city, and destroy them." He sat down.

"Well said." Councilor Montors said. "So, it is decided?"

Montors looked around the circle at the senior advisors and councilors from the Southern cities. Slowly, each of the senior men nodded. Last to agree was Ignant who looked a long time at Prince Komol, then shook his head and nodded at last.

"Good." Councilor Montors turned and looked at Prince Komol. "Prepare the men, we will march."

Komol stood and nodded, his face set and unreadable. "Yes, My Lord."

Roja's men marched slowly for several days. The men camped early each evening, making a fortified camp each time. Roja and Trask demanded that the men build simple trenching and spear defenses each night before any man could eat. The camp was inspected each evening, and discipline was tight. The men marched on grain gruel and dried beef, they washed this down with thin wine and clear water that had been boiled. Roja had them march slowly on purpose, and the men laughed amongst themselves at night in camp as they saw the wisdom of it, for the Southern army was terribly slow on the march. Each day they rose before dawn to the sound of horns, and broke camp by sections. Roja and Trask awarded men coins and favors for those that broke or built the camp the fastest. Each night in camp, each morning was an opportunity for training and not one moment was lost to the Northern commanders.

With each passing day the Southern army drew closer until the men knew that the Southerners stood between them and home. When this became common knowledge amongst the men, there was some fear and grumbling. That evening in camp Roja addressed them. The commanders and section leaders drew the men up in squares in the center of the camp, and got the men to settle down, sitting hip to hip with each other. As Roja came forward a cheer began and he waved at the men.

"Soldiers!" He said into the silence of their listening. "Some of you have fear on you now that the Southmen are between you and home. Some of you are concerned that there is no clear line of retreat." He let his words hang for a moment.

"Well. That's a stupid way to think." He laughed and as he did so, many laughed with him. "If that's the way you're thinking, you've forgotten a few things."

Roja put his hands on his hips and turned slowly to take in all the men. "Have you forgotten that WE are the wolves, and they are the SHEEP?"

More men laughed, and some shouted out. "No!"

"These men march with a baggage train that is longer than our entire order of battle! They carry beds and tents the size of houses to war!"

"You fools!" Roja laughed to take the sting out of his words. "In a few days you will begin to see who they are and who we are. Just wait." He paused again for a moment as if contemplating some new thought.

"Oh, by the way..." He rubbed his chin and smiled broadly. "Did you know that they brought along women in their train? I wonder what's about to happen to those women?"

All over the camp, men began laughing and whispering to each other. Roja waved an arm, and from the side lines of the camp captains and lieutenants began to bring the men watered wine in jugs.

"Drink, men. You have earned it by your good discipline. There can be no fighting tonight, nor are you off watch. But enjoy yourselves and sleep well. Tomorrow the fun begins!"

After two more days had passed, the Southern army began to approach the North within engagement distance. The Southern men could see that this seemed to throw the smaller Northern force off their stride some, and everyone noticed that the Northern forces turned off their line of march and began to head upslope towards the Western hills.

"Now we have them!" Wulonta cried to Prince Komol as the Princes and Councilors gathered that evening. Wulonta was in high spirits, striding into the circle of the leadership, wine goblet in hand. "Their back is against the hills, and we can wait them out. They will starve and we will force them to battle."

"Fool." Komol said under his breath, and then looked up to make certain that none had heard him. Only his lieutenant had though, and Komol dismissed the man. Forcing a smile, he asked. "Are you certain, Lord Councilor? What if this is simply a ruse on their part to bring us to battle?"

"Bring US to battle? Us? Prince Komol, we've been marching full out for over a week chasing them. Their men are exhausted by now, and hungry too I wager." The fat man was so pleased with himself that he bounced lightly on his toes. "No indeed, your caution is good in a younger commander, but those of us with greater experience can see that their doom is upon them. Vaunted Northern army indeed ... why, battle will soon be joined and their threat eliminated."

Komol simply nodded and continued to force a smile. The leadership of the Southern army met long into the night, discussing plans on how they would build a coalition to invade the North, and how the northlands might be divided up amongst the Southern city states. Komol watched Montors smoothly work his way among the politicians, building consensus for the bright future that was upon them.

As evening turned to night, Komol found himself faced with Prince Ignant of Sobonant. He looked the smaller man over as he approached.

"A word with you, Prince Komol?"

"Of course, Lord Ignant."

The prince of Sobonant drew Komol away and out of the hearing of the other men. "How many scouts and messengers have you lost, so far?"

"More than twenty, Lord Ignant."

"Yet before this engagement, you were reckoned as a master of scouts, were you not, Lord Komol?"

"I am not Lord Komol. That is my father, Prince. I am barely a prince of the city."

"Of course, Prince." The small man ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair. "But you were?"

"Yes, my Lord. I had some regard as a captain of scouts."

"Why then, if I may be so bold as to ask, have you lost so many?"

Komol nodded, as if to himself. "Yes. I'll tell you. Their men are like ghosts. They hide in the tall grasses unmoving. They use bows that shoot farther and flatter than ours. They use their new metal, harder than ours and lighter. Their scouts work in teams. They crawl on their bellies in the dirt for an hour just to get close enough for a shot at my men, and when they take that shot, they hit. They ignore the rules of warfare ... they attack at night, they... " He paused. "They fight like demons, that's why."

The smaller man nodded his head and grimaced. "And us running them to ground? Like this, here up near the hills?"

"Let me ask you, Lord Ignant." Komol closed his eyes slowly and then opened them again against the fatigue he had begun to feel so deeply a week ago and which now threatened to sap his will. "They march with light baggage. Word has it that they struck at Icona like lightning from the clear sky. Why are we, who are burdened with a baggage train half a league long ... we, who carry tents and women and cattle and catamites priests and ... And Singers!" He spat the last out. "Why are we able to catch them?"