“Don’t look back, Ravir,” the older man sternly ordered the young guardsman who was staring at the prisoners being lined up on the edge of the cliff.
“We’re going to kill them?” asked the man in a hushed voice.
“It’s the law, and you know that, even the reason for it. Don’t tell me you learned nothing during your training,” remarked the one who spoke, keeping his voice low as he thrust Ravir forward with the haft of his spear. “You’ll be the one doing the job a few years from now. “Unless war with the Empire erupts, and we’ll all get fielded into the army.”
“Sorry, Border Constable Wardis. But seeing is miles removed from being taught about the procedure during training,” apologized the young guard, still in a muted tone. “But war again? It’s been eight years since the truce, and we haven’t returned to active conflict.”
“These old ears hear things, Ravir. Fighting had increased in the contested areas - the territories we took, and the ones they captured. It’s not common knowledge, but it’s more than skirmishes. Frequent incidents, according to a few friends. A lot of casualties on both sides. If that’s not war, then people are truly blind.”
Ravir kept his mouth shut. He knew about the previous war: the Varo Empire and its attempt on the Kingdom of Maldea. The choice of the victim made strategic sense. Even the young man knew about that realm’s vast plains once one is past the mountains guarding the border. Though from a map the Constable had shown him, almost every kingdom or empire’s territory was defined by mountains. Ideal for defensive warfare and a barrier in places where soldiers can’t reach. Unfortunately for Maldea, it had fewer mountains than the other kingdoms in the region facing the Varians. Maldea was going to be another Adrona, now a dependency of the Varians.
But the alliance binding the realms facing the western borders of the Varo Empire held firm. Losing Maldea was a threat to the left flank of the nations wary of imperial ambitions. The conquest of Maldea would also mean losing easy access to trade with the eastern kingdoms. Nobody fancied coursing caravans through the xenophobic Faehana Sovran. After crossing an expanse where marauding tribes lie in wait.
“Oh, there’s going to war again. I know you humans. Your souls wilt without it,” came a voice at the rear. It was a familiar one—thickly accented speech, with the singsong lilt of the dartaa, or the forest sovereign race. He turned to the speaker. It was a fellow guard, one who belonged to Ravir’s batch of trainees. Inthas Mavrn. Though even the young man doubted if that was his actual name. An outcast among his people. But a race welcome among the five allied kingdoms.
In contrast, the Varo Empire only trusted humans for its soldiery. Other races, except those belonging to the Alta Dartaa, or the High Forest Sovereigns, were slave fodder. The latter was only tolerated as foreign merchants and teachers in strictly predetermined fields. Non-humanoid races found in the Empire were immediately put to death. Wardis had mentioned it had something to do with the teachings of the predominant religion in the empire. Its sanctimonious and genocidal leeches had the Emperor’s ear.
“Then you better learn human ways of waging war faster, Inthas. It’s far removed from the tactics of your people,” ribbed the Constable with a meaningful chortle.
“I’ve learned a bit. But I can’t understand the preference for mass warfare. Out in the open. Exposed to showers of arrows, the deluge of rocks and unsafe materials, and the leveled lances of those armored horsemen. We fight differently and try to avoid casualties,” insisted the dartaa.
“Heh! Humans try to do it faster and quicker, so the victors who survived could quickly go home. It might be appallingly violent, but it’s effective. It won humans the wars against your race,” grinned Wardis.
“Ah, my race. Still inanely buried in tradition. Still stupidly refusing to change, even after losing almost every territory to you short-lived newcomers,” came the wry observation.
“Put it this way, Inthas. We might be everything you tell stories to your children to scare them straight, but we also forgive and forget quickly. Humans don’t hold grudges except for a few kingdoms like the Varians over these mountains. We even have Stoneborn in our ranks and in our society. Those temperamental bastards are insanely good at business, though. Heard Narik Emberhold got the monopoly on supplying weapons and armor to the guards,” remarked Wardis wonderingly. “I don’t know about other races since they’re not that common up here in the north, though I saw some drakini merchants once. Looked miserable in the cold. But my point is that most human kingdoms don’t care about race. Human or not, they’ll make you a slave if you deserve it or foolish enough to be one. Or make you a general if you’re that good.”
Inthas merely laughed and said that was one reason non-humans avoid the Varians, the Sovran, and a few others. Their discussion was then cut short by a curt order to keep their voices down and mind their jobs. Ravir turned to the speaker and quickly apologized. It was their section leader—a Master Constable. The man was glaring at them. Inthas’s voice was a bit loud, he had to admit. But out here among the trees, Inthas seemed to be carelessly confident.
As soon as their superior turned his back, Inthas smirked and asked in a whisper what has gotten Master Constable Tarmo’s balls in a twist. The job’s over, and he didn’t sense any danger. Then Inthas stopped and reconsidered. The wind was blowing south; he went sure about the north. But he didn’t scent any strange spoor in the wind. The statement got Wardis sniggering.
“That trait makes your kind excellent scouts, but human trackers are a close second. That reliance on your noses lost you a lot of battles once we learned how to manipulate your strengths,” remarked the Constable.
“True. And your human breeding habits. You multiply like rabbits. Losing to humans was inevitable. You were too damned many,” laughed Inthas, though he kept his voice low.
“And cut Tarmo some slack. He’s a fourth-generation Varian. The grandfather was the one who became a citizen. Hates the Empire, but understands the reason behind the ancient royal decree,” whispered Wardis.
“I didn’t know that,” Ravir butted in.
“At least, these escapees headed west. If they took to the sea, that would mean crucifixion if caught by the Empire or sold as slaves by those island merchants of Fenkan. And no quick death either. They let the sharks take those that don’t make the grade.”
***
The column reached the receiving station, a stone fort, without issues. One family tried to make a break for it and ended up being skewered by arrows and spears. The 4th Section, in charge of inspecting that part of the line, was sent to discipline quarters. The eight men moved slowly as they headed to the office of the Disciplinary Adjutant. They knew what was waiting for them. Five lashes each and forfeiture of half of the week’s pay.
“More for us then,” remarked Wardis, indirectly referring to the fact that the section also lost its right in the sharing about to occur. The punishment was a given.
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The refugees’ belongings, now slaves, would be picked over by the official representing the kingdom’s treasury. Then the Captain and the fort commander get to choose what they want. The rest is set aside for the company, and the remaining plunder divided according to rank. As the bureaucrats in charge of the royal slave enclaves and their armed attendants took charge of the captives, the company waited outside the fort. From what Ravir knew, all they were waiting for are their wages and the distribution of goods, or money, since merchants were waiting inside to bid on the repossessed items. He didn’t expect much. Those of low rank got the dregs of the fruits of the venture.
Then the young guardsman noticed a column of cavalry approaching. Regular soldiers, but higher in military reputation than ordinary infantry. It comprised about twenty-four men. When they arrived, the horsemen positioned themselves some distance from the guards, and three went inside the fort. Officers, concluded Ravir. The elaborate armor, gaudy plumes, and haughty demeanor gave them away. Then he heard Wardis curse.
“Damn those horsefuckers. I wonder how they knew we got a new batch,” swore the Constable in a low voice. “They must have a mage talking with the ones who accompanied us.”
“Why are they here?” asked the curious Ravir.
“Women. They’ll get the unmarried ones. The ones they fancy. Soldiers at the front have needs other than food and water,” replied Wardis.
“They can do that?”
“Those are slaves now. Unattached females get to service our soldiers. Though they’re allowed to take only one for every five such women, and only those approved by the royal representative. Fucking nobles also want their share,” said the Constable in disgust. Ravir couldn’t tell if the tone was of outrage or envy.
“As I said before, you humans breed like rabbits. It’s all sex and violence to you,” piped up Inthas smugly.
***
Ravir was quiet as the trio walked toward the King’s Way, the main road traversing the entire realm. The young man lived about an hour down the road. The others had lodgings in an establishment catering specifically to guardsmen another hour farther along the highway. Horses were a luxury the trio couldn’t afford, and walking on flat ground was nothing. They were accustomed to the craggy terrain of the Widow’s Range.
The King’s Way connected every major thoroughfare of the realm. It was well-maintained, a necessity for a kingdom under threat. Parts of it, those near the capital of Inglomere, were positively ancient. Yet as the domain expanded, so did the highway. Considering it had reached the Widow’s Range, the collection of massive peaks marking the border with the Varo Empire, it was a magnificent engineering achievement. Forts and outposts could be found along its length, and even the young man knew that a line of fortifications barred the way to Inglomere. A second line of defense mandated by history and war.
Traffic was heavy on the main highway. A long line of stalled wagons and carriages were lined up on their side of the road. Ravir noticed that the movement of pedestrians and horsemen remained unimpeded. Only the larger conveyances were affected. A quick query by Wardis revealed that several destroyed large carts blocked the road, and dead bodies were scattered among the remains of the doomed merchant convoy. A marauding band of giants from the forest on the other side of the road was blamed, and a company of rangers was already hunting them down. But workers had not finished cleaning up the mess.
The young guardsman was surprised. It was the first time he’d heard of such a blatant attack. They could have only come from the mountains bordering the valley, but such creatures usually kept to themselves. The Kingdom knew about their presence, yet chose to ignore them. Sending forces to inhospitable terrain, against such dangerous foes, was insane. Even the realm wasn’t familiar with the area after millennia of effort. Expeditions had been mounted and lost. From what his grandfather had told him, only four such ventures had survivors, and they were half dead or raving mad when they crawled back to the lowlands.
“Well, I guess I’ll be in bed, and this parade would still be here,” laughed Wardis. “But I wonder who beat back the attack?”
The Constable went straight to the first uniformed soul who crossed their path and got his answers. His two companions waited by the roadside, beside an ornate carriage. Ravir saw the lone passenger gazing at him. A woman, with a thin veil over her face. Inthas noticed and elbowed the young man.
“An admirer, Ravir. A rich grandee, too. And alone,” whispered his companion with gleeful amusement.
“Why don’t you do the honors instead?” blurted Ravir. The woman’s stare was making him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being teased about such things, and from all indications, the woman wasn’t just a wealthy merchant’s wife. A coat of arms was emblazoned on the carriage door.
“Human women? No thanks,” replied Inthas with mock horror. “We prefer our own kind. Not to be insulting, but we find the females of your race unappetizing.”
“Forget what I said,” replied Ravir. “She’s evidently a royal. We’re worms to her.”
Inthas looked at the young man.
“Me, maybe. Wardis, definitely. But you, you’re not bad looking, and the training had built up your body. You’re what your kind would describe as a strapping young buck, or bull. I forgot the term. You get the idea. And here’s a secret. Women of royalty are bored. Their husbands are usually in the capital, or somewhere else, banging young maidens. Fact of life. Even among my kind,” replied Inthas self-assuredly.
As the two were talking, the elderly coachman dismounted and walked to them. Then he handed Ravir a small folded piece of parchment. The young guardsman stared at the messenger, waiting for an explanation.
“An invitation from my lady, good sir. Our estate isn’t that far from here, if you’re interested. A good day to you both,” said the fellow, but not before giving Ravir a wink.
He could hear his companion’s barely controlled snigger. Instead of wracking Inthas with the butt of his spear, he suppressed the instinct and walked to meet Wardis, who was on his way back.
“It was the Headhunter Company. The ones who were to take over our shift. It was providential they were on their way to the fort when those marauders showed up. It’s now up to the forest rangers giving chase to that murderous band. They have better odds of success against those giants,” described the man. “But the band hit a trade convoy unlucky enough to be passing when the bandits reached the King’s Way.”
“Well, our stud here got an invitation from one of those carriages while we were waiting,” said Inthas, indicating with a nod the specific conveyance.
“House Warros. I heard rumors about the lady. A man-eater. But it also wouldn’t do to ignore such a missive. Royals take insults personally. Enjoy yourself, Ravir. Don’t expect too much. She tires of her lovers quite fast. You’ll go home with a small pouch of crowns, an aching back, and a drained libido. Not bad for three days’ work. You’re on furlough, anyway,” grinned the Constable.
Ravir was nonplussed. He had not even read the note yet, and lewd comments accompanied by meaningful snigger already were being tossed in his direction. Shaking his head at the antics of the pair, he opened the folded paper. All it mentioned was a date, a time, and an instruction to use the garden entrance. He was expected the following night. Unfortunately for the young man, Inthas had snuck behind him and was also looking at its contents.
“Ah, to be young again!” exclaimed his companion, who then glanced at Wardis. “And I was comparing my good friend here to our beloved Constable. I am excluded, of course. My age is young for my race. A mere 146 years old. Not even wet behind these pointed ears.”
His loud laughter followed. Wardis merely smiled and didn’t even attempt to read the note. He already guessed what it said.
“Mind my warning, lad. Enjoy yourself. But don’t include your heart and soul in the bargain. I heard she’s good-looking for her years. With an appetite like that, no wonder the lord of the manor fled to more manageable pastures,” warned the older man. “She’s going to wring you dry, Ravir, though it’s going to be the fun kind.”
With that comment, Inthas let loose with more guffaws. The focus of their teasing said nothing and continued walking. There wasn’t any point in countering Inthas. It would just be adding fuel to the fellow’s amusement. After several seconds, he heard Wardis tell their companion to calm down. Inthas was getting loud, and would eventually attract attention despite the noise of the parade of impatient travelers.
“Well, lad, give my regards to your grandpa,” said Wardis when they reached a narrow lane leading from the highway. A quick glance showed the young guardsman that the traffic on the road had started moving, albeit slowly. Ravir’s grandfather lived close to the border bastion, on land granted to him by the Crown. He had tried asking what merited such reward, but the old man remained obstinately silent. Wardis knew, but the young man expected the Constable to be a tougher proposition than his grandfather.
“See you in three days, my fine strapping friend,” grinned the dartaa. Ravir gave a weak smile and waved goodbye. The old man would be full of questions about my first patrol, he mused. It was going to be a long night.
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