“Well, I am not going to be leading my command anywhere, they’re going to be hunkering down here in camp along with you and yours. I’m simply riding up there with a couple of my relatives to pay a friendly call on a fellow-barbarian chief and chew the fat with him.”
Bralos shook his head. “Captain, you are not a barbarian, not in any way such; those people up there are, and they all hate Ehleenohee. Most likely, if ride you insist, you’ll be riding to your death in those hills.”
“Oh, but I am a barbarian,” Vawn assured him. “I and my kindred are no whit different from the folk of those mountain tribes, Bralos. Yes, they ate most Ehleenee … but with good and sufficient reasons: not only did your ancestors drive theirs from the rich lands that you now hold, but your race and theirs have been more or less at war over lands ever since. It is precisely because those tribes and I are both racially and linguistically akin that I think I can talk them around to helping us eradicate a common menace: those damned bandit raiders.
“I will be taking along two prairiecats to scout and act as both hidden guards and messengers. Should both of them come back without me or any of my party, then you may be certain that none of us will ever come back and that whatever else is done about these bandits up here will be fully in your hands; Lieutenant Sub-chief Bili Vawn, my half brother, has orders to completely subordinate himself and his force to you and abide by your decisions.”
“Is there nothing that I can do or say to dissuade you from this suicidal folly?” asked Bralos despairingly.
“Did I think it certain suicide, I’d not be doing it,” Vawn assured him. “Let’s just call it a calculated risk, a quality with which warfare is riddled. But I’ve dealt with mountain tribes quite often, up north, in Kehnooryos Ehlahs, learned to speak their dialects and respect their cultures. I know and you know full well that some new something must be introduced to end this seemingly endless little war of attrition against the bandits, and I think that with a bit of help from my far-distant cousins, that new strategy can be speedily accomplished.”
“But … to so risk your very life … ?” Bralos began.
Vawn laughed. “Friend Bralos, I and you and every other officer and trooper and clansman of this or any other force risks life each time a horse is forked or an attack is ordered or shining steel is drawn or arrows fly.
“Now, I must bid you a good night and seek my blankets.” He stood up and reached for his cloak. “Dawn always comes early, it seems.”
Captain Chief Pawl Vawn of Vawn had succeeded in his aims, returned from his mountain mission with presents and a dozen warrior-guides out of the Maginiz Tribe. Then, for over a week, the force had carefully herded the chary bandits, avoiding combat as much as possible, but heading the foe in a chosen direction until, at last, the earlier-chosen time and place was reached. Then Bralos and Vawn threw every effective against the concentrated band: Bralos’ Ehleen squadron, Vawn’s Horseclansmen, some twoscore armed retainers and hunters on loan from the local thoheeksee and the dozen Maginiz fighters.
It was of course a running, mounted fight from its inception, both sides being horsemen, and as usual when the bandits had had enough, they began to stream over the nearby border. But presently, frantic, desperate men began to spur-rake frothing horses back over that selfsame border, many of them hotly pursued by grim, well-armed mountain tribesmen, both ahorse and afoot and all with certain blood-soaked scores to be settled.
Not many of the largish band survived, and of those who did, the ones who were marched south in chains considered themselves extremely blessed with good fortune, for even the gelding and branding and life of slavery toward which they were being driven was far preferable to the sure fates of those survivors who had been claimed by the tribes of the mountains.
The force and their captives happened to return to the camp below Mehseepolis at a time while the Grand Strahteegos and most of the rest of the army were away somewhere in the east persuading a thoheeks to be reasonable and seek confirmation of his inherited title from Council rather than trying to proclaim himself King and successor to Zastros. Pahvlos’ absence had left Sub-strahteegos Tomos Gonsalos in full command of the camp and such forces as remained therein.
Chapter IV
Grand Strahteegos Pahvlos the Warlike and the army still were absent on campaign when Lieutenant Vahrohnos Bralos of Yohyültönpolis returned from thirty days’ leave, during which time he had been invested with his newly purchased civil rank and lands. The investiture had been witnessed by a covey of the squadron officers and by Captain Chief Pawl Vawn of Vawn along with some of his kindred subordinates. The guest-witnesses had stayed on to take part in the great hunt that had preceded the feastings and had all consumed their fair shares of the game and other foods, wines, beer, pear cider and other potables. The nongame foods and drink had been ostensibly provided by Thoheeks Klaios but had, in point of fact, been paid for by some ounces of gold loaned the overlord by Bralos.
Once back in camp, the senior lieutenant of the now-captainless squadron had thrown himself with a will into preparing the unit for field service. Replacement troopers had to be fitted in along with replacements for horses and equipment, while still-serviceable items required cleaning at least and often repair and refurbishing after the long, hard use in the wet, misty foothills and mountains. But Bralos knew what needed doing and he did or saw it all done to perfection.
At long last came the day when the army returned, carrying the pickled head of the thoheeks who would have had himself recognized king of the Southern Ehleenohee. A wretched column of those who had borne arms against Council’s army and had had the misfortune to not die in battle were herded in the rear, ungently shepherded by lancers, while a delegation of lesser nobility from the thoheekseeahn rode in the van with the Grand Strahteegos and his heavy horse bodyguards.
Bralos allowed a bit over two weeks for the returned army to refit itself to garrison life, then he requested an audience with Senior Captain Thoheeks Portos, overall commander of cavalry.
The big, tall, black-haired officer greeted him warmly. “My very heartiest congratulations on your investiture, Lord Lieutenant Vahrohnos.” He had smiled, waving Bralos to a chair. “I suppose that you now wish leave to quit the army for your civil responsibilities, and to feel so is reasonable, but please allow me to reason with you, nonetheless. You see, Council is going to need a strong army for some time yet to come, and officers of your water are most difficult to come by …”
“Please, my lord Thoheeks, your pardon,” Bralos courteously injected, “but it is not my desire to leave the army; rather do I desire to purchase higher rank in it. I would be a squadron captain of light or medium cavalry, my lord.”
Portos stared hard at him. “Is it then so, young Bralos? You must be aware that such rank does not come cheaply, nor is credit at all acceptable, nothing save hard coin—preferably, gold.”
Wordlessly, Bralos had lined ten golden Zenos on the desktop between them. Then the haggling had begun. By its end, some days later, he had purchased the captaincy of his lancer squadron for about two thirds of the sum that his barony had cost him.
Thoheeks Sitheeros, nibbling at a crisp, deep-fried songbird, crunching the tiny, hollow bones between his big teeth, took a sip of his fine wine, then asked his guest, “But why did our late Grand Strahteegos try so hard to have you hung—you should’ve heard the unholy row in Council when he was voted down on that score—and why did you take your squadron and leave the camp, the army and the environs of the capital until Pahvlos’ demise?”