Douglas Niles: Measure and the Truth

“I want two companies of lancers on the road well before dark tonight. The rest of the Crown Army marches north with the dawn. Can you see to that?”

“I have four companies in garrison right now; two of them can depart by noon. And the muster has already sounded, so the rest of the men should reach the stables before evening.”

Dayr turned to his son. “And the White Riders? When will they be ready to move out?”

“Within the day, sir. But Father-that is, General-what is the objective? Are we going to make war?”

General Dayr sighed. “Right now, we’re going to show the knights of Vingaard the emperor means business. They’ll see an army coming out of the mountains and another ready to cross the river.”

“And then?”

“And then, I hope, they’ll have the wisdom to yield to the emperor’s will,” replied Dayr grimly.

The road connecting Palanthas to the rest of Solamnia-and all the continent beyond-had been dramatically improved during the past two years. It was wider, paved with smooth stones in the places where wear and erosion had worn it away, and graded out over some of the steeper climbs. Nothing could change the fact that the road had to climb high through the steep Vingaard Rrange-the High Clerist’s Pass was nearly two miles above sea level-but the emperor’s dwarf engineers had done a magnificent job of making the highway as efficient and passable as could be.

With the aid of the explosive devices they were still mastering, the road crew had chiseled away at overhangs and ledges, broadened the shoulders, even carved deep notches out of some of the rolling ridges. One result of the improvements had been a dramatic increase in overland trade. Although the great city of Palanthas was first and foremost a seaport, the amount of goods leaving and arriving along the mountain road had increased threefold in the past year.

As the legion marched southward from Palanthas, they came upon more than a dozen trade caravans during the four days it took to reach the summit of the pass. Those mercantile processions pulled off to the side to allow the soldiers to pass. Some enterprising traders hastily established roadside markets, and the soldiers quickly purchased food, drink, and trinkets. The emperor was a strict disciplinarian, but he instructed his officers to allow these transactions to continue-so long as the men quickly resumed the march and maintained a double-time pace for an hour to make up for the delay.

Finally, the crest of the pass was before them. Despite the best efforts of the dwarf road builders, the highway passed through a series of sharp switchbacks during the final ascent, so the soldiers in the front looked down onto the heads of the men in the middle and tail end of the column. Even with the steep climb, the pace of the march continued unabated, and the men sang marching songs as they at last reached the high point of the long climb.

The fortress called the High Clerist’s Tower commanded the only gap through the rugged sawblade that was the crest of the Vingaard Range. Most of the army column simply marched past the place, the men staring up at the lofty towers silhouetted against the stark blue sky, then continuing on with the relief of travelers who have completed a long ascent. As there was precious little level ground in the vicinity of the mighty keep, most of the troops headed down toward bivouacs five or six miles below the crest, on the flatland known as the Wings of Habbakuk.

But some of the army did stop at the tower, including the command party. Jaymes Markham rode into the small, deep courtyard and examined the high stone buttresses. This place had been savagely mauled in several wars, but-by his order-the damage had been repaired, and in fact the stout defenses of the ancient bastion had been strengthened by the addition of a curtain wall across the southern approach. A quartet of exterior towers had also been erected, with one pair overlooking the approach to the fortress from the canyon to the north and another pair commanding the road as it fell between the narrow gorge approaching the south gate.

The commander of the tower’s garrison, General Markus, waited in the courtyard for the emperor’s party. The Rose Knight, who had been one of the first to serve Jaymes, saluted him crisply. Markus was hailed by Jaymes as he dismounted and whisked the dust of the mountain road off of his cape.

“You’ve arranged for the feeding of the army in bivouac?” Jaymes asked immediately.

“Yes, my lord. My kitchen staff has set up camp between the Wings, and the men will get a hot meal tonight, and tomorrow morning.”

The emperor nodded. “Good. Hold the second courtyard for the bombards; I’ll want to inspect them when they arrive, and they need to be secured behind the walls for the time being.”

“Here they come now, my lord,” reported Sergeant Ian of the Freemen, as the first of the big wagons rumbled beneath the portcullis and entered the courtyard.

A team of eight oxen hauled the mammoth conveyance, which was built more sturdily than a heavy freight wagon. The axles were steel, the rims of the huge wheels banded with the same hard metal, while no less than thirty stout spokes supported each wheel on its hub. The bombard rested in the wagon bed, the barrel-its gaping mouth more than a foot wide-slightly elevated and extending to the rear beyond the body of the wagon. Dark steel bands ringed the heavy beams that formed the long tube, while an iron screw supported the bombard midway down its length. The screw could be adjusted to raise the barrel. Shifting the weapon’s aim to the left or the right could be accomplished only by turning the wagon itself.

Markus was busy issuing orders as the second bombard rumbled into the fortress and an adjacent portcullis rattled upward, opening passage to another, similarly small courtyard nearby.

“All three of them will fit in there,” the general said. “And there’s a stable just beyond, so that the oxen can be tended.”

Jaymes nodded, his mind already moving on to other matters. He leaned back and stared up at the lofty tower that was the centerpiece of the keep. The parapets once damaged by Chaos Armies and dragon overlords were newly intact and gleaming. A banner flew from the highest pinnacle, snapping straight in the high mountain wind, proudly bearing proof that it was a citadel of the Solamnic Knighthood. Three symbols in black-the Crown, Rose, and Sword-were etched against a background of snowy white. Each side tower-and they were numerous-held another flagpole with images showing the company heraldry, clerical affiliation, or other symbolic indications of tradition and authority.

“I have the maps arranged as you requested,” Markus explained as he accompanied the emperor into the lower hall of the multilevel keep. “I’ve taken the liberty of placing them in the dining hall so that we can have dinner as you make your plan.”

“ Refine my plan,” corrected Jaymes. “But the hall should work nicely.”

Markus lowered his voice as the two men passed through an anteroom, and the press of aides and guards discreetly fell in behind them. “I have received a letter just this morning, Excellency. From Lord Kerrigan, in Vingaard. He has enclosed a message for you with the request that I deliver it, when possible.”

Jaymes nodded, and the general passed over a small scroll, a fine skin rolled into a tight tube no fatter than his little finger. The wax seal, bearing the imprint of an eagle, was unbroken.

The general waited for a moment, but the emperor made no move to open the parchment in his presence. Rather, Jaymes followed Markus into a vaulted dining room, where, as promised, a series of maps were laid across several tables. The chamber was deep within the interior of the fortress, but several chandeliers blazed brightly enough to simulate full daylight. Jaymes looked up at the crystal objects and observed that the light was magical in nature.