Robert Adams - Trumpets of War

Peering nearsightedly at a sheaf of notes he had brought to the briefing, the gangly, snubnosed man finally brushed his thinning hair back from off his forehead and said, “Gentlemen, the lands of the House of Ahndros provided well for centuries. The principal exports were maize, some wheat, tree fruits, cider and cider vinegar, swine, cheese, freshwater pearls and some cotton and cottonseed oil. As is to be expected, of course, the exports during the . . . ahh, disturbances of the last fifteen or twenty years have been negligible to nil, but the potential and the lands still remain.

“There is but one real city in the duchy, although there are, or rather used to be, quite a number of towns—some walled, some not—and villages, most of the latter abutting the holds of noblemen. The lands were marched over, overrun and sacked repeatedly during the bad times, there as everywhere else, naturally; I would assume that all the villages and unwalled towns fell and were burned, or were abandoned and later burned—that’s what happened elsewhere.

“At least one of the walled towns, which happened to be fortunately situated—defensively speaking—held out through it all, never falling to any assault. Ahndropolis, however, was not so lucky. Bare months before Zastros marched through, headed westward, showing his strength and garnering more, a ragtag collection of broken noblemen, sometime soldiers, gutter-scrapings, rural bandits and the like besieged the city, finally undermined part of a wall, then stormed and almost took it. They finally were driven out, but it was, I understand, a close and a very chancy thing, and the survivors were still skulking about the duchy when Zastros came marching through. He killed some and dragooned the others into his force, then marched on.

“It was during that affray that the then thoheeks and most of his near relations died, either of wounds or starvation or disease. After Zastros was gone, the city folk asked the husband of their late thoheeks’ grand-niece to come and be their city-lord, and he left his hold and walled town and did so. He has held it ever since, it and the duchy, too, though he has never come here to be confirmed in either his actual civil rank or that he has assumed.

“Now, the city of Ahndropolis is but slightly smaller than is this Mehseepolis; however, it is not so naturally defensible, being built on lower ground and protected by the river on only two sides. Those who have recently been there say that the undermined section of wall has been rebuilt—the foundations sunk clear down to bedrock, this time, so the townsfolk aver—and that the defenses have been made somewhat stronger in other small ways, too. Engines of several sorts are said to be evident upon the walls and defensive towers.

“This all could bode ill for an attacking army, save for one thing: The losses of people in the last twenty years have been stupendous, and unless soldiers are hired on and brought from beyond the lands here in question, that young would-be lordling simply will lack the armed men to defend so long a circuit of walls and other defenses. Therefore, it is my considered opinion that, seeing the force brought in against him, he will make to treat rather than simply slam his gates and fight.”

Tomos Gonsalos was as good as his word, the force was ready to march by the end of that week . . . but it was nearing the end of the next week before Thoheeks-designate Hahkmukos and his virtual caravan of wheeled transport, pack animals, retainers and servants were sufficiently organized to join the column of troops.

Tomos Gonsalos raged and swore, then sought out Hahkmukos himself. “My lord,” he began as calmly as he could force himself to do, under the circumstances, “surely there has been an error somewhere along the line. No less than nineteen wagons have drawn up outside my camp—one of them being a pavilion-on-wheels almost as large as that one of the late Zastros and drawn by a full score span of oxen—a pack train of half the size of my forces’ remuda, nearly a hundred armed retainers and God alone knows how many menservants, boy servants, cooks, grooms, oxmen, drivers and catamites.”

Hahkmukos smiled languidly and sipped at a goblet of hot spiced wine. “Oh, there is no mistake, my good Sub-strahteegos, I only am taking along enough for my basic comfort, this time. I can send for everything else when once your troops have killed all my enemies and I am safe within my city and duchy, you see.”

Tomos bit his sometimes intemperate tongue, hard, and took several deep breaths. “My lord, whether or not you travel comfortably is truly of no consequence to this purely military movement, the planning of which is solely my province. A good proportion of Council’s army is being tied up in emplacing you in your city and duchy, you know, and the less time it is so tied up, the better for all concerned.”

Hahkmukos sighed, his smile departed. He shoved the barely pubescent boy who had been lying beside him on the couch off onto the floor and swung his legs around so that he sat on the side of the couch. Sourly, he said, “One would suppose that there is a point you will get to eventually, Karaleen . . . ?”

Tomos gritted his teeth. “There’s a point, right enough, my lord. The point is this: Satan will be chipping ice to cool his wine from out the main streets of Hell before I allow you to retard the march of my force with your huge excesses of baggage, transport, animals and retainers! You may place a wagon with my trains—not your pavilion, either, just a normal-sized wagon drawn by no more than three pairs of mules. You may bring your troop of mercenaries, but only if you are willing to place them whenever the need arises under the command of Captain Thoheeks Portos, who is to be overall commander of this force.”

Hahkmukos suddenly went as white as his ruffled silken shirt. “P . . . Portos! No, please, my lord Tomos, not Portos! The man hates me. I . . . never have I done aught to him, you understand, he ... he just hates me irrationally.”

The red-haired Karaleen officer smiled grimly, feeling an amused contempt for the man and his obvious funk. “Oh, no, you flatter yourself, my lord. Captain Thoheeks Portos does not consider you to be worth hating ... no, he simply despises you. And there is nothing at all irrational to that feeling, not that I can see, not after he told me just why he feels as he does.

“However, he is a good soldier, an obedient and most loyal officer. Despite his rather strong feelings about you, despite his misgivings, despite his presentiments that Council may have erred in your case, might have confirmed the wrong claimant to the duchy, he will follow my orders and force the folk of that duchy to accept you as their new overlord. After this meeting this morning, I am beginning to believe his presentiments, my lord. I agree that perhaps Council did err in the case of your confirmation; you clearly are just not of true thoheeks caliber.”

He spun on his heel and had strode almost to the door before he half turned and said, “Good day ... my lord.” His tone, the longish pause and the accompanying near-sneer were the closest he would allow himself to come to actual insult.

He had been back in his headquarters for some two hours when none other than Thoheeks Grahvos himself came pounding up on a lathered horse, to rein up, swing down out of the saddle, throw the reins to a soldier and come stamping up the steps and into the building, his face dark and worried-looking.

Alone with the sub-strahteegos in his office, the thoheeks waved away the proffered goblet of wine, declined to sit and demanded, “Now what in hell did you say to Thoheeks Hahkmukos that got his bowels into such an uproar, boy? Were I you, I’d take care to guard my back and hire a food-taster—men in the mood he’s just now in often seek out and retain assassins, you know. He seems to think that you and Portos are conspiring to get onto Ahndros lands, hire away his troop of mercenaries, then just turn him out and let his enemies butcher him.”