Chapter Eight

They were only a day removed from the killing of Shah Guranji. Few details were known. The assassins had snuck in dressed as servants during the party. They were thought to be from an eastern clan, but that wasn’t certain. None had survived the violence, and Vastrum employed no necromancers. The men had been killed by the Shah’s guard and the small group of fast-acting cavalry officers of the 13th. They hadn’t been fast enough to save the Shah. Some infantry officers tried to congratulate them on their valour. Havor had none of it. They’d only done their duty, and besides, they’d failed. The truth was, the Shah was dead before anyone knew what was happening. His was the first scream they’d heard.

There was no time to stop and think on it, however. Dryden mechanically went through the motions of fulfilling his various duties. He spent a few hours inspecting the horses, their tackle, and the food supply. He was accompanied by Stablemaster Reed and the regiment’s quartermaster, Lieutenant Upton. They led Dryden through the inspections. The quartermaster was a short man, with a thick face; not fat, but thick and brutish, with eyebrows that jutted out and an oversized chin. He had beady brown eyes. He was a commoner, risen from the ranks, he had originally been a sergeant. He was a punctual man, extremely accurate and honest in his role. There were problems with the inspection of course, the regiment had been used hard over the last few months, and there were lame horses, worn tackle in need of replacing, some portion of the hay had rotted, and they would quickly become short on feed for the horses if more was not acquired quickly. But the report was better than Dryden had hoped. When they were done he sent Upton to secure more feed for the horses. They’d have time for that. Reed, he sent to tend to the hooves of the lame horses and to have them reshod as needed. These were all regular needs of the regiment, but he tried to instil an urgency in the men. They would need to be in fighting shape, likely for an extended campaign, and quickly.

The main stables were outside the fort, many horses were housed inside of it, but those were mostly for officers. There simply wasn’t room for the hundreds of horses that the army needed inside the Red Fort. As he walked up the road and approached the looming gate of the huge crimson-coloured fort, he heard a call from behind to clear the road. He stood aside and watched as a small column of horsemen rode up to the gate at a trot. The lead man bore a white flag and another bore a huge flag that streamed behind which was brightly coloured and upon which was a crest of three swords in a circle surrounded by scribbly writing that Dryden could not read. The men were dressed in dark blue robes and their faces were covered. Except for one man. The man at the back of the column was dressed in the light blue and grey uniform of a Fyrin officer. Fyranis, the enemy of Vastrum. Once it had been a part of the empire, an old part, but a century ago it had rebelled. Now it was the military equal, or at least nearly so, of Vastrum. Dryden knew they envied Vastrum’s monopoly of aethium here in Vurun. Other magical substances could give a wizard power, such as gris or salvenium, but none had the potency of the aethium when it came to waging war. Furthermore, as Dryden understood it, many other catalysts had unpleasant side effects. Aethium was something all armies desired. But since their taking of Vurun a decade past, only Vastrum controlled it.

Once the riders had passed Dryden hurried after them. He turned right inside the gate and jogged up the steps to find that Havor was already coming down them himself.

“With me, Major.” His commander said, passing him quickly, “We have the warlord’s emissary to attend. General Blackwater has called for his command staff. I want you there with me. We must see what these blackguards are about.”

Dryden followed him, “Sir, it can’t be a coincidence that they appear the day after the Shah is killed.”

“Indeed.” As they walked Havor questioned him on the state of the horse, “Are they fit for battle?”

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“The horses need rest, and I’ve sent Upton to acquire more feed. We could fight tomorrow, but a prolonged campaign would present a challenge.”

“What of the men?”

“Fit and eager.” He answered, and it was true. The men were angry over Zundak and the Shah. They wanted action.

Some of the infantry who manned the Red Fort had gathered to watch the party of the emissary. They had practically circled the group that was dismounting, and sergeants were pushing them back and shouting at them to get in line. General Belfair appeared on a balcony above the throng and bellowed out at them for order, “They’re here under truce!” He shouted. Immediately there was quiet and men began to obey. The men were ushered into a door that led to General Blackwater’s personal quarters.

Havor and Dryden followed along with two other colonels that were in charge of other regiments. Dryden recognized one of them as Colonel Gorst, one of the infantry commanders. Together they came into a large lounge, a kind of sitting room with couches, chairs, and a large desk at one end, behind which sat Blackwater. General Blackwater the venerable leader of Vastrum’s army here in Vurun. Everyone was seated and the emissary was introduced.

The emissary’s guards stood at the back of the room. The emissary was a man named Kal’kuris Dravetta. He was a dark-skinned man with curly black hair and a gaunt long face that looked almost malnourished. His eyes were gold and burned with intensity. A second man who was introduced was the Fyrin officer. He was Jaqu Rovan, an official of the Fyrin army that controlled the land-locked and sparse colonies northwest of Vurun. He was darkly tanned and dirty from the road, but he had a neatly trimmed moustache and two bright blue eyes that lit his face despite the grime of the road. He said nothing, simply sat in a chair and observed.

They needed no translator. Kal’kuris spoke decent enough Vastrum, “I am here on behalf of his magnificence, the true lord of Vurun, his holiness, the lord of all the east, the lord of the mountains and of the desert and of the steppe, lord of the lands of the wind, ruler of this land: King Kurush. He has a message. The usurper is dead. You are finished here. Leave now with your lives, spare the city and the people. The curse he has placed on the valley will only increase while you are here. He is coming. You cannot win. It is only because of his most generous mercy that he allows you to leave. He…”

General Blackwater scoffed and interrupted, “Sir, I daresay, you overstate your position here. Guranji was no usurper, he was the rightful king of Vurun. Your army is on the other side of the Shan and winter is nearly here. You are in no position to demand anything. We will stay here as long as the rightful ruler of this city asks us to stay.”

“Guranji is dead. My king is the only king. His army comes with speed. One week is what he gives you. It is enough. Take what is given.” The emissary spoke calmly.

Blackwater scoffed again and sputtered, completely at a loss for words.

General Belfair interjected, “Sir, you cannot expect that this is an offer, which we will accept. I think you see that.”

“So I told my lord, but he insisted. He is a generous king.”

“You should take it.” Another voice interjected. It was Jaqu, the Fyrin.

“What is a Fyrin doing here, might I ask?” Belfair rounded on him, “I was content to let you sit there and observe, but since you’ve spoken, I demand to know.”

“I’m a neutral observer in this conflict.”

“Neutral?” Blackwater sputtered, stood from his desk suddenly, teetered, and fell back into his chair again.

“Yes. I am not here to fight, merely to observe. Kurush does not require our help, he will crush your army well enough all on his own. I only offered my honest advice. Even being your adversary, I must say that I would hate to see so much bloodshed. Your families are here, are they not? Fighting your men on the field of battle is one thing… But please think of your women and children. Leave now, while you have time.” The man said. To Dryden’s ear, the man sounded quite earnest.

Belfair scoffed again, “We beat your lot bloody a dozen times when we took this place. We’ll do it again to keep it.” He directed his anger at the emissary.

“Is that what I should tell my king?” The gaunt man asked, his voice deep and sad.

It was General Blackwater who answered, “Tell your lord that we respectfully decline his offer.” The man sounded tired.

The emissary and the Fyrin man stood, bowed, and went to leave. Before he exited the room Kal’kuris turned back and when he spoke he sounded genuinely sad, “I am sorry. I will try to protect your women and children in what is to come. I can only try. War makes no promises.” Then he was gone out the door, and silence reigned among the men of Vastrum.