Joel Shepherd - Tracato

“Ask him how many men killed these villagers.”

“One,” Aisha translated the reply.

“Does he recognise that man among these prisoners?”

The man straightened, to stare past Rhillian’s shoulder. But before he could approach the clustered prisoners, one of the women started screaming, pointing and wailing. Another man caught her, restraining, but another woman was now pointing at the same prisoner, yelling loudly in Elissian as commotion swept the gathering.

Rhillian indicated, and two talmaad brought the prisoner forward. He was an ordinary-looking man, with a big nose and dark brows. He looked very frightened now, his eyes darting, jaw tight. The women in their emotion were very certain, pointing and shouting and crying. Rhillian took a step for space, drew her blade and took off the man’s head in a flashing stroke. The severed head hit the mud with a heavy smack, then the body, spurting blood. Commotion ceased. Villagers stood in shock. Perhaps they’d expected some kind of trial, or ceremonial punishment. Rhillian had neither time nor inclination. Dead was dead, and the time for subtleties was long passed.

“This is your land now,” Rhillian told them, drawing a cleaning rag along her blade. Aisha translated to the silent onlookers. “Lord Crashuren has no more title here. We abolish it. The land you work, you now own. Soon, when there is peace, Saalshen and Rhodaan will send you some people who can teach you to grow better crops, and become prosperous like the farmers of Rhodaan or Enora. That may take a while, with the war on. Be patient. Saalshen and Rhodaan are your friends, and shall not harm you so long as you do not fight us.”

There was no wild celebrating. There never was. Men and women stood and stared at her as though she’d promised to take them to the moon. Rhillian sighed, resheathed her sword, and mounted her horse.

“What of the prisoners?” Arendelle asked her.

“Give their mail and weapons to the villagers, so they might at least have some protection from the next band that tries to kill them. Escort them back in your own time, I’ll take the horses ahead. I need to see General Zulmaher.”

Arendelle set about organising that, and Rhillian rode out. “They’ll more likely sell the armour for livestock and new roofs,” said Aisha, riding at her side. “Long winters kill more peasants in these places than bandits.” Raggedy children stared at them from doorways. The last snows of winter were barely a month melted, and none looked well fed or healthy.

“Things will be better once this is finished,” Rhillian assured her. “General Zulmaher promised me no more than a month.”

“I’ll wager Regent Arrosh says much the same,” Aisha replied. “They’re cutting it awfully fine, Rhillian. Simply marching back to Rhodaan will take time, and we’re being led further and further north in search of a decisive victory.”

“Arrosh will take well over a month to mount an attack,” Rhillian replied. “The Army of Lenayin won’t arrive for nearly a month, and I doubt King Torvaal will consent to attack before Princess Sofy is married, and the alliance sealed.”

“The Army of Torovan will come sooner,” Aisha replied. “What if they decide to go early?”

“Without the Lenays? Would you throw yourself against the Steel with just Torovans for support?”

“Half the Steel,” Aisha corrected. “The other half are up here in Elisse. It’s the weakest Rhodaani line the Larosans have had a look at in over a century. You don’t think he might risk it?”

“Not with the Enorans ready to take his southern flank if he puts all his force into the Rhodaani line.” Aisha looked unconvinced. “I agree though,” Rhillian admitted. “This war must be finished quickly. Time is limited.”

It was only a short ride from the village to the war. Cresting a hill, it was all laid out before her-a castle ringed by a moat, surrounded on all sides by a glittering silver army. Flames engulfed one of the castle’s towers, clinging to the walls so that the stone itself seemed to burn.

“The artillery’s stopped,” Aisha remarked as they began their descent across sloping paddocks.

“The third regiment is withdrawing,” Rhillian added, pointing to the castle’s far flank. She frowned. “Crashuren must have surrendered. That was fast.”

“Rhodaani artillery will do that.”

Rhillian was unconvinced. This was not merely a war between feudal lords, where peace terms could be arranged and victorious opponents bought off with gold, lands or marriage proposals. This was a war to abolish feudalism in Elisse, as it had been largely abolished in Rhodaan, and completely so in Enora and Ilduur. It was doubtful Family Crashuren would get to keep so much as their castle, and certainly not what surrounded it. The enforcement of feudal rights would become unlawful, punishable by fine, imprisonment or death depending on the nature of the crime. Past crimes would be punished before a trial of peasants and serfs.

Many such lords became very brave, in the face of overwhelming odds, when confronted by the scale of what they had to lose. Not merely their lives, but their entire noble family line of land rights, holdings and taxes. Some had fought to the bitter end, and the blackened ruins of their castles made a smoking line back to the Rhodaani border. Could Crashuren truly have surrendered? From what Rhillian had gathered, he didn’t seem the surrendering type.

General Zulmaher’s encampment was on the lower hillside, perhaps a hundred paces back from the artillery line. Ahead of that, men of the Rhodaani Steel were breaking camp, downing tents and loading wagons. They moved with all the speed and efficiency one came to expect of the Steel. In a short time the third and sixth regiments beneath General Zulmaher would be moving once more, in pursuit of the greater Elissian Army that continued its retreat to the north. A single regiment of the Steel possessed two thousand men. The third and sixth made four, plus another thousand of attached outriders, heavy cavalry and artillery. The logistical precision of it all was a marvel, and Rhillian watched the preparations for departure with a mixture of admiration and trepidation. No serrin could organise so efficiently. Serrin were vague. Humans were impeccably, ruthlessly precise.

Rhillian found General Zulmaher already ahorse, consulting with captains as soldiers took down his tent. Aisha and the rest of the serrin contingent halted to allow Rhillian to ride on alone. She was prepared to await Zulmaher’s invitation to join in, as it was primarily a Rhodaani war, but Zulmaher saw her and waved her alongside.

Several triumphant battles against Rhodaan’s ever-invading foes had made General Zulmaher a popular man with many, though most soldiers had others they favoured more. When the High Table had finally won the acrimonious debate in Council to invade Elisse, Zulmaher had somehow leapt over three of the soldiers’ more popular choices to gain the command. He had many close ties to the Rhodaani feudalists, that elite and powerful group of old families who retained wealth and influence in Rhodaan even after Saalshen’s invasion. Those families had been most reluctant to assault their feudal neighbours (despite their neighbours’ apparent eagerness to assault them) and Zulmaher’s appointment to lead the Rhodaani Steel in battle had been the price paid to overcome feudalist objections in Council. Some Rhodaanis found the appointment disquieting.

“M’Lady Rhillian,” said the general as she reined to his side. “What do you have to report?”

“ Talmaad forces on Crashuren lands now total perhaps a thousand,” Rhillian told him. “Our last count of irregular forces is perhaps a hundred and twenty killed, another seventy captured… I was just involved in an action to pursue another twenty who’d been terrorising the peasant village along the far side of this hill behind us. We killed twelve and captured the other eight.”