Douglas Niles: Measure and the Truth

“Better, and cheaper, to have the Clerists do it than to invest in a hundred candles,” Markus commented, as Jaymes nodded approvingly. He approached the maps and studied the terrain that he already knew by heart.

“Now, we will emerge from the mountains here and approach Vingaard from the west. Dayr and the Crown army are coming up from the south.”

It wasn’t until several hours later, when the emperor was alone in his room, that he took out the scroll from the rebel leader at Vingaard Keep. The time was late, since the planning session had run long into the night, but he needed only a few hours of sleep before rising with the dawn. He allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction; he was as hale as he had been as a young man; four hours of slumber always made him feel rested and invigorated.

Jaymes ignited a few extra candles; his eyes, alas, were not as keen as they had been even a few years before. He broke the wax seal on the scroll, unrolled it, and read the message.

My Dear Emperor, Uniter of Solamnia,

I beg you to hear my words, and to grant me the privilege of a parley. We in Vingaard are more than willing to give the nation, and yourself, the due fruits of our prosperity. The benefits we have already gained-simply with the increase of trade over the pass that you yourself traverse at this moment-have dramatically improved the quality of life in our humble river town.

I also beg Your Excellency’s forgiveness for the fact that our misunderstanding has progressed to this distressing state. I assure you that it was never my intention to challenge the authority of the State, or of the Emperor.

I will present myself to you on the road before my city. I will bear no weapon, nor bring more than a small party of loyal attendants to meet with you. I merely seek a means to resolve this issue that allows me to salvage an element of pride.

In Greater Solamnia, there is certainly treasure for all!

Your Devoted Servant,

Kerrigan

No expression marked the emperor’s face as he finished the short, polite missive. But he frowned slightly before touching the corner of the scroll to the flame of one of the candles.

The dry material caught immediately, flared into bright light, and burned very quickly. Jaymes dropped it on the stone floor and went to bed. He was sound asleep before it had stopped smoldering.

The three great towers of Vingaard Keep rose above the plain like a triple-peaked summit standing alone on a small island. The great Vingaard River, nearly a mile wide there, curled and meandered to the east of the ancient fortress. A smaller tributary, Apple Creek, guarded the southern approach to the castle and surrounding town. Apple Creek was a raging torrent as it rose in the heights near the crest of the Vingaard Mountains, but where it meandered across the plain to join the mighty river, it was merely a wide, sluggish stream with a muddy bottom and swampy, reed-choked banks. The waterway was not deep, though the soft bed made it a major impediment to the maneuvering of an army.

The Palanthian Legion marched out of the mountains and approached the keep along a road that followed the south bank of the creek. Soon after they had started across the plains, a message from General Dayr arrived, reporting the reasonable progress of the Crown Army. A day later, and ten miles short of Vingaard, Jaymes called a halt, putting his army into a fortified camp.

There was a sturdy span called the Stonebridge over the Apple, well downstream from where the legion camped, but none of the emperor’s officers questioned his decision. The bridge and its approaches were within catapult range of the fortress, and if in fact this looming confrontation came to be, that was not a location for any sensible soldier. Besides, there was a ford near their camp, where the banks were dry and the bottom of the creek was lined with a bed of boulders and gravel-the only such crossing until they reached the mouth of the stream and the ancient bridge.

General Weaver, the legion’s tactical leader under Jaymes’s overall command, joined the emperor on a low hill overlooking Apple Creek. In the distance they could see the elegant trio of spires of the keep. “Any word from General Dayr?” asked Weaver.

“The Crown Army is only a day’s march south of the keep,” Jaymes replied. “As I expected, they are making good time. He’s crossed over to the west bank of the river. What have you learned about the situation in our immediate neighborhood?”

The emperor gestured to a nearby grove of apple trees, and beyond it the vast stretch of airy woodland that extended for miles along the other side of the creek.

“The scouts have returned. They report a full regiment of pikemen in that grove, ready to block any attempt at fording. They have archers and heavy infantry to back them.”

“We’d certainly outnumber them,” Jaymes noted.

“Oh, of course,” Weaver replied. “But it would be a bloody crossing.”

“Well, maybe we won’t have to shed blood. Any word from Lord Kerrigan regarding the parley?”

“I dispatched the message to the keep as you requested, Excellency, but there hasn’t been-oh, wait. Here comes my man, Baylor-the one I sent with the message.”

The two commanders rested easily in their saddles as the lone rider urged his horse to a gallop and up the gentle slope to the hilltop. He saluted briskly; Weaver returned the formal gesture, while Jaymes nodded.

“Lord Kerrigan accepts your offer of parley, Excellency,” Baylor said, addressing the emperor. “He questioned me strictly on the guarantee of safe passage to your headquarters, and naturally I pledged to him that you gave your word he and his party would be allowed to come and go in safety.”

“Go on,” Jaymes said.

“He will arrive an hour before sunset, and wishes to discuss the possibility of ending this dispute in an amicable fashion. He sends assurances that he does not wish to challenge your ultimate dominion of the empire, and merely wants to negotiate some of the fine points of governance.”

“Very well,” replied the new emperor of Solamnia. He looked at the sky, squinting at the western sun. “We’ll see him in a few hours, then. And then we shall see what we shall see.”

Lord Kerrigan was a tall, hearty duke with an ursine aspect and, under most circumstances, a hearty, infectious laugh. His red hair fanned across his shoulders in a cascade of curls, and his cheeks and nose flushed, either from exposure to the air as he rode the few miles out to the army’s camp or-more likely-from an excessive fondness of strong drink and rich food.

He was accompanied by a knight in a black tunic adorned with the red rose, an elderly priest of Kiri-Jolith, and a younger man in a silk shirt and elegant riding boots. A quick search, supervised by Sergeant Ian of the Freemen, ascertained that none of the three was armed, and the pickets stood aside to let their horses advance, at a walk, toward the table and chairs set up outside the emperor’s headquarters tent.

“The young fellow-that’s his son, Sir Blayne,” Weaver said quietly, standing next to Jaymes as they awaited the truce party’s approach. “A good knight-served five years in the legion. Smarter than his father, I’d say. Back then he was a bit hotheaded, though.”

The four men rode nearly to the circle before reining in. Stewards took their bridles as they dismounted in unison. Kerrigan stepped forward, his eyes frank and inquiring as he advanced toward the emperor. He began to extend his hand until something in Jaymes’s face caused him to halt. Instead, he straightened.

“Excellency. Thank you for hearing my parley.” His voice was friendly, though his expression had grown watchful and guarded.