The Conqueror Page 8

  This was a slightly-rueful, slightly humorous thought.

  Otherwise, they were just a bunch of people on the move.

  Any other important landowner or merchant probably had similar arrangements. Gem merchants, as he well knew, kept their stock chained to their wrists much of the time, certainly when away from home. Lowren had taken a small party of a dozen men, mostly green troops and one or two more seasoned junior men, and ridden north. For one thing, nothing was likely to happen quickly. The Khan would almost certainly have a major campaign planned for the spring. Eleanora would need time to think about it. She had allies of her own. According to her, and according to his own sources as well, Windermere had relatively friendly trading relations with the Empire of the South, its capital Nephrosis asleep on the baking shores of the Great Sea. His Imperial Majesty, Kullin, could probably see which way the wind was blowing as well as anyone. In the past, his policy had been to divide and conquer. In some cases, it had been sufficient simply to divide. In the face of the Khan’s potential threat he was now preaching the benefits of peace and security. His ambassadors were actively seeking allies on all flanks, and in some instances, finding it a bit of a hard sell.

  There was always haggling, and the Emperor would pay dearly for whatever alliances he could scrape up.

  So it seemed that it was coming. Lowren had been seeking out the rulers of neighboring kingdoms, trying to get a feel for what they might do in any conflict involving the Great Khan.

  While most vowed they would fight any incursion, none of them were strong enough to repel even a fraction of the Khan’s forces if he should come against them. Some of the more mobile—often the most recent arrivals, or the newest kingdoms, having arisen by the sword and arm of an ambitious leader, would simply depart. The consensus so far was that the more sedentary farming tribes would probably stand and fall beside their neighbors in spite of some long-standing disputes. It didn’t always pay to admit to your true intentions, either—alliances, bought and paid-for, had been betrayed before, often on the morning of battle.

  The Khan had gold in abundance. This was always a factor when money was tight and the people were hungry. On the west side of the Great Sea, times had been relatively good. On the eastern steppes, they had an ongoing drought, going back three or four years now. Those peoples were a lot closer to the threat.

  The Khan would have two major options—assuming he couldn’t buy off enough neighbors. The first option was the two-pronged method. He could attack his neighbors to the northwest and eventually, once success had been achieved, those further west of the Great Sea; while the bulk of his forces followed a more logical route to the south. There was something to be said for a campaign of encirclement, using the Khan’s far superior forces. Or, he could concentrate all efforts and strike due south from the western provinces of his Empire, along the eastern shores and promontories of the Great Sea. There were a couple of small buffer states along the route. These small nations had been tolerated by both empires for any number of sound political, economic and defensive reasons. Supported by a massive fleet, the Khan would march through the bulk of them in about a week. Whoever didn’t grab them first would have a strategic disadvantage. For one thing, it brought the attacker a few hundred miles closer to the frontier. The Emperor was most likely itching to grab them first, but as yet restrained by public opinion. This was surprisingly important when one went coalition-building. The small, commercial city-states, scattered up and down the coast of the Great Sea, and their hinterlands, were rich in ships, wine, wool and other manufactures. They had everything that an army on the march could use. They were also populous, which offered more manpower for the Khan’s galleys. This looked like the most attractive prospect to Lowren’s mind, but then the Great Khan knew things he obviously did not—one also couldn’t rule out a dual campaign, once the lightness of the opposition of the more nomadic northern tribes was taken into account.

  The Khan had lavished much time, gold and attention on those galleys.

  After being at sea for three days, and a couple of days of rest, one would have thought the saddle more comfortable, but it wasn’t necessarily so. For the younger ones, of course it was a pleasing adventure, taken in the company of men they admired.

  The foothills were to their left, off in the west, and they rode across a savannah-like grassland, interspersed with oaks, sumac, and meandering lines of brush that followed watercourses or sloughs. The plains wouldn’t be much of a barrier to an army as well-prepared and well equipped as the Great Khan’s. There were two or three big rivers along the northern coast, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of smaller ones. Even these could be crossed given time and a little military engineering. This was especially true in the case of light or non-existent opposition. Lowren’s lands were extensive, with some lands, the northern marches, held by others in fief to him. In a sense, he was making a reconnaissance of his own territory. He might like to get to know it a little better. He was wondering just how accurate some of his official maps might actually be. The farther from home one got, the worse the maps seemed to get. They were mostly compiled from travelers, merchants and the local authorities’ research.

  An official survey had never been made. He’d only recently attempted a census, the results which seemed to bring more questions than answers. Ten thousand families, with an average of one warrior per household, bearing in mind men of non-military age and households headed by women.

  A small stream of wagons followed behind, bringing provisions and servants, even a few of the household dogs, who couldn’t be expected to walk the entire distance. The riders had quickly pulled ahead once they got out of the forest and onto the hard, dry turf of the prairie. The occasional faint bark from behind indicated they couldn’t be all that far behind.

  “Sire.”

  “Hmn.”

  “Sire.”

  “Ah, yes, Bibbs?”

  Riding along at his side, Bibbs lowered his brow and made significant facial gestures, and Lowren pulled his bemused gaze away and looked properly out in front for the first time in what seemed like ages.

  “Ahem.” Bibbs cleared his throat softly, making a cautious hand gesture with the right hand, and holding the rest of the party up.

  A herd of the small, red-bristled wild pigs was just on a small rise ahead of them. They were perhaps three or four hundred yards away. Bibbs had thought he heard something up there. It was only when he caught distant sight of two or three of the distinctive hump backs moving through the tops of the long grass that he knew they were onto something. There was a light breeze and that was probably helping to mask the riders’ approach as the ripe stalks swayed in the wind.

  With a glance and a quick nod, Lowren had the bow off of his shoulder and an arrow notched to the string.

  He looked around at Trooper Noam, who was waiting for a signal. Lowren nodded and pointed at a hummock a hundred yards to the right of were the animals had last been seen. Noam hastily unlimbered the bow. Normally the King had first right, but this was no time to contradict. Lowren was probably hoping to bag a few of them. Another straight look into a man’s eyes, a simple hand signal, and Garvin was walking his horse quietly off to the left, taking Bibbs with him. Lowren had brought a few of the younger men along to get some experience. It gave him a chance to get to know them and see how they were shaping up, at least in terms of what were some pretty raw recruits.

  As a general, you generally had to know everything insofar as that was possible. They were sitting very quietly, horses alert but under proper control. That part of their training seemed to be coming along well, although they weren’t quite ready for field maneuvers. He’d always thought hunting excellent training for light mounted troops. It taught a kind of natural measurement, including the coordination of several parties, and involved the judgment of time, speed and distance over different types of ground.

  “Spread out and walk your horses.” The troopers had their bows at the ready. “Slowly. You will st
ay line abreast, about fifty yards apart. They’re probably grubbing up roots, or they may have a berry patch up there.”

  There were maybe more than just two or three.

  Lowren signaled that they were to draw to almost full extent, right up to the cheekbone. This necessarily involved dropping the reins, something the mounts were at least trained for. The horses would be guided by knee pressure only. Hopefully the men could handle it, but they should now be able to shoot powerfully, well-aimed, and on the instant.

  He waved them in closer, keeping his voice low.

  “Okay, lads, I’m staying right here. Off you go. Just ride up real slow and try not to hit any of us, right?”

  There were excited nods and eager expressions as the men tapped their heels against their mounts. The animals picked up a gentle walk. They fanned out and moved upslope.

  The animals’ ears pricked up. Most of the men had some hunting experience—not always on a horse. Some of them came from very poor households where only a father and possibly one or two older brothers might ride once in a while. A military career was sometimes the only career available. It was better than being a field hand on an older brother’s manor, and living in a ramshackle cruck house for what would a life that was nasty, brutish, poor and oftentimes rather short as well.

  The animals had varying degrees of learning and tractability. The serjeants did the best they could to match man and mount in some credible manner. After that, it was up to the troopers themselves. Man and horse trained together, to the extent that lending or exchanging horses was frowned upon. It could be done, as long as the serjeant approved of it in writing.

  Having a horse of their own was one of the attractions of service. That’s what Lowren had always thought. They were allowed to use their personal mounts when they visited home, and on private business on their days off-duty. The policy had paid off, that and having some good, attractive mounts when the teams toured the villages on recruiting drives. After seeing the troops of Windermere up close, he was wondering what he could do in terms of proper uniforms for his own men. If nothing else, a short cloak of a distinctive color and some sort of crest for the helmets would give them a sense of comradeship, and help in identification in the heat of battle.

  Whatever it was, it had better be quick, slick and simple.

  It was a question of not enough time, not enough resources.

  ***

  On the way there, and especially in the immediate vicinity of the country house, as his mother called it without ever having been there, they kept a sharp eye on the trails. A careful examination of the ground revealed no recent prints from hooves, men’s feet or even any really big canids. The native snow-dogs were more prevalent here out on the plains. They found the gate still tied shut. The knot was special and distinctive. The majority of the party waited fifty yards back. Lowren had ordered a couple of the greenest men to ride up, open the gate and go in.

  Three minutes later, one came back to the gate, all flushed with the success of his mission.

  “It’s all clear.”

  On a nod, they spurred up and went on in. His compound was surrounded by oak palisades, not meant to withstand serious siege but the walls sent a certain message to travelers and the odd party of roving bandits.

  It wasn’t exactly unheard-of for a certain sort of person to use a remote summer place and then somehow burn it down. That sort rarely left a note or made apology.

  With their small train of pack animals and the three dead swine for their dinner, they had arrived at the camp a couple of hours before sundown. Lowren kept the place as a hunting lodge, which was fairly substantial compared to the tents and even small cabins mounted on wagons favored by some other nations. A fairly humble dwelling, it was a hundred feet long and two and a half stories, all wooden walls, heavy oak timbers for the frame and maple planks prevailing on the exterior. Oaks, maples, beeches, hardwoods were common enough. Some of the wood for the house had been taken from the clearing it stood in. There was nothing decorative about it and the overhanging upper story, tall, narrow windows and thick, iron-strapped doors all conveyed messages of their own. And yet when whoever was occupying it went away, there really wasn’t much point in locking it, and so they never did. They just tied the doors shut and rode away. Lowren had loaned it to any number of folks, nobles, a foreign diplomat or two, over the years. Lowren’s lands were located on the northern fringes of the Juniper Mountains, rolling down into the steppes. His north-eastern boundary was the Juniper River, which was not a particularly large river. It rose in the mountains far to the west and drained a quite a hinterland. The crest of the ridge-line to the south was the agreed-upon boundary with Windermere. With them being stable and peaceful, he’d always thought it a lucky thing to have that mountain barrier, just in case as it were. There was a point where the boundary with Windermere ended and then there was nobody there, just mountains. He had no great ambitions in that direction. Let the small bands of skin-clad native hunters have it, he had concluded after no great thought.

  His people, mostly farmers and hunters, preferred to clear lots lower down in the valleys, in forested bottomlands where the soil was deep and black. The land, when his grandfather came, had been an enclave of unspoiled wildness.

  In winter, he hunted elk and bear from another lodge, one up in the hills fifteen miles to the northeast of this location. It was his only royal reserve, all other lands being open to the common weal. Whenever a group of venturesome souls went off five or ten miles, started clearing the forest and a new hamlet sprung up, he would make them as many gifts as he could—more policy. It was not exactly cheap either. It had to be done, and ultimately, it would pay off for sovereign and people together.

  Lowren sometimes thought he might be kidding himself, but he might one day find a more equitable method of governing his people. It was an inherited system and he wasn’t responsible for all of its faults—or was he?

  Again, his attention had been brought to the present by the others.

  “Whoa.” The party dismounted, stretching their legs and muttering quietly amongst themselves.

  The younger ones had never been there before. While his discipline was relaxed, they knew enough not to go running around like little boys.

  Bibbs, familiar with the place from previous visits, opened up the doors to the stables and then went with Lowren to the door of the main house. The pair went in for a quick inspection and found the place livable if a bit dank and musty-smelling inside. There was kindling and a bundle of birch-bark beside the hearth, and water in the bucket. Bibb made a mental note to have that properly rinsed out before anyone took a drink.

  They came back out quickly enough. Lowren stood in the shade, on the low, wide veranda, waiting for someone to unload a cask, and Garvin went among the men giving good-natured orders to the newest ones and suggestions to those more capable of listening properly. He soon had them disposed. One or two others looked on in amusement.

  Garvin took the hunters under his wing.

  “All right, lads.” The lucky troopers were responsible for untying their dead animals, getting them down off the backs of the horses, and then putting them up on the big outdoor table.

  Not far from this was a horizontal pole, one supported about eight feet up by trestles, with a pair of benches on each side.

  There were chains and hooks and bits of soft iron wire hanging along its length.

  “All righty, then. You three. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  He was gratified to see that none of them turned too green at the thought of draining, cleaning up and skinning out their own meat.

  “Here boy, I’ll show you step by step, and each of you will get some help. It pays to listen when I speak, incidentally.”

  Garvin got up on one of the benches and took down some of the wire.

  “Okay, this goes around the hind legs, tied together as tightly as you can. See?” He looked around the area of the pole and found a short piece of iron rod, a
half inch in diameter. “We keep this, one or two of ‘em, around for the tightening of aforesaid wire.”

  He had picked one of the smaller animals to work on.

  He showed them how to stick it into the braids of wire he had made. He twisted it and twisted it until the wire bit through the flesh and the blood flowed fresh and hot.

  “You don’t want to break the wire.”

  It was biting into the bone now and it looked safe enough to support the weight.

  He had five or six feet of wire, several strands of it, now tied to the young hog’s hind legs.

  He stood back and took a deep breath.

  “What we do here, lads. I lift the thing up as high as I can get it—”

  “And one of us ties it up.”

  “That’s right. Here we go then.”

  One of them had a question.

  “What about my arrow, sir?”

  “Aw, don’t you worry about that. They come right out when they’re properly cooked.”

  The others laughed although the one that asked the question looked as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  “We’ll get to that later, boy.”

  The dummy probably wanted it for a souvenir, which said much about their thinking at that age.

  Garvin grabbed the hog by the head, leaning forwards as he did so, and then turned away from it. He straightened up, spun around and gave a good heave, finally leaning forwards under the weight.

  “Not too bad.” He grunted and staggered over on bent knees and with short, careful steps.

  It wasn’t much over his own weight, he reckoned.

  A couple of the boys were right with him, trying to help support the weight but not helping much.

  He went in between the benches and under the long pole. The boys hopped up onto the benches.

  They were on both sides of him. They each grabbed a leg and took some of the weight. He stopped and took a breath. Now he gave a good shove and the thing went up a few inches under their combined impetus.