Embarrassed and annoyed at myself, I didn’t doubt anything Lenz had said. It explained a lot of little things, but each one I remembered merely made me feel more like an idiot. There weren’t a lot of reference materials I could get at while on the march. I doubted I could even get at Gebhard’s maps. Fortunately, the Knights of Gefrah had brought a good number. All I needed to do was ask Straub, and I spent a few evenings on the road poring over what they had. I paid no attention to where the army marched, looking instead for signs of the extent of the territory I was responsible for. Among the documents, I found a rather mundane piece of correspondence signed and sealed by my father. Being official, it contained his full territorial designation. The letter was signed, Arend Grosz, Furst of Karststadt; Kreigsherr of the Ashmen; Prince-Elector of the North Tower; Arch-Marshal of the Volk; Xenarch of Longue; Landesherr of Doppelgelb, Gefrah, and Zerhaltenberg; Grossburgher of Freinmarkt; and Left Hand of the Crown.

‘Kreigsherr of the Ashmen’, ‘Arch-Marshal of the Volk’ and ‘Left Hand of the Crown’ sounded like ceremonial titles, and I was uncertain if ‘Xenarch of Longue’ was as well. According to the maps, Longue was an actual place at the south end of the Volkmund. But ‘Xenarch’ was a Dwarf title.[42] I could find all of the territories mentioned, except Doppelgelb. That name just didn’t appear on any of the maps. Admittedly, it could be a speck of land too small for the scale.[43] The small pavilion tent holding various nonperishable stores the Knights of Gefrah brought had migrated away from the middle of the camp. For whatever reason, each night, it shifted out of the orbit of the main headquarters. It had begun to feel so isolated that the sound of Straub’s voice startled me.

“Is there something in particular you’ve been looking for, Prince Kord? I could help find it.”

“No, Grandmaster,” I said, “Recent events told me there are things I didn’t know I needed to know. I don’t want to waste anyone else’s time catching up.”

“I see,” Straub said, scratching within his neat beard.

“I have been wondering something you can answer.”

“Ask.”

“Why did you ready for muster before ever being called?”

“Travellers carried word of Goblins on the Salzheim road. It was inevitable that we would be called to war. All we needed was word from you.”

“Isn’t your remit the protection of the temples and pilgrims?”

“In the tumultuous times of our founding, there was a greater need for our intervention. These days we serve best by keeping the anarchy as far from the temples as possible. Besides, we also have an obligation to our liege.”

“You swore no oath to me,” I said.

“But it is inevitable, so there is no point in acting as if the obligation does not exist.” Straub sounded sincere, but he always sounded sincere. That was part of the problem, I think it made me question his motives. I turned back to the papers, but evidently Straub was not finished. “Something has been vexing you.”

I reached for a plausible lie.

“I may have let my uncle and the man who raised me walk their armies into a trap.”

“What do you mean?”

“If what I’ve been told is true, the Goblins are bait to draw them into a position where they can be removed. Thus leaving Kirchner free to take control of the North.”

“Whatever ambush may have been plotted will certainly have taken place by now. The only thing you can do is learn their fate and decide on a course of action. It will be a bit of a march to get back to the Volkmund.”

“We can’t do that before the Drakoi have been dealt with.”

“All you need to do-”

“Is stand by my word. What good is a man who doesn’t keep his word?”

“Or a prince? I understand,” Straub said, “So, we continue as we have been.”

I nodded.

***

The road rolled past underhoof as we passed through more rugged hills. The sky opened up and drenched us frequently, leading to a universally miserable march. I trudged on, the only thought in my mind one of how stupid I was to have convinced myself of the opposite of reality. Lenz made a few attempts to raise my spirits. All that did was add to my thoughts the possibility that while I’d been off in Zhalskrag, Jost might well have been killed. In that context, the rain was a suitable accompaniment to my mood. Eventually, we found the army we were supposed to be meeting.

The dwarf encampment was a wooden fort, positioned on a low ridge near the foot of a less than inviting incline of bare rock. It looked like a proper fort rather than something assembled in the field. The legionary spear-dwarfs standing before the gate were armored in a style similar to the guards in Oakenyoke. The biggest difference beyond the white and orange livery was the fact that they had more complete coverage from the supplemental plates affixed to their hauberks. The large, angular shields gave the distinct impression that a wall of dwarfs would be as immovable as a wall of stone. Upon the greetings from Partanen, and presentation of our invitation, they opened the gates.

The fort was all but empty.

Unless there were teeming hordes hiding somewhere, our arrival doubled the number of armed souls within those wooden walls. Neat rows of orange tents big enough for entire squads filled out the occupied portion of the fort. To justify the quibble of claiming Volwin was now in my employ and part of the army, I’d put him to work with menial tasks like setting up and tearing down my tent. He went nowhere near my food and got suspicious looks when near any weapons. The elf stayed quiet and as unassuming as he could manage. With little to do, I dismounted and followed the ambassador to the pavilion marking the center of the legion encampment. No one told me to head there, but none challenged me either. The space around the centerpost was dominated by an octagonal table that took a full third of the available space in the pavilion. An embroidered cloth covered the top, but from the pairs of stout legs at the corners, I guessed the table to be both sturdy and modular. More maps and papers than I could take in at a glance obscured the pattern on the tablecloth.

The angular and gilt-chased baroque plate of the dwarfs within the pavilion made it hard to tell the relative standing of any of the lot. One graybeard caught the eye for the sake of his disfigurement. He was missing half of his face and beard. The splotched red and pink scarring covered the right side of his visage from jaw line to temple. The eye on that side was clouded and milky, and the ear a shrunken lump of flesh. The intensity of the stare from his left eye more than made up for it.

“Protoarchistratigos[44] Archelaus,” Partanen said with a slight nod, “The auxiliaries have arrived.” The one-eyed dwarf glared at me. I felt slightly gormless as I met that gaze.

“I could have used more legionnaires too,” Stojan replied, his voice rumbling and coarse.

“We have to make do with what we can get,” Partanen said.

“You don’t need to remind me, Alexis.”

“Well, their overall commander should be arriving soon. But this here is Prince Kord von Karststadt. He is one of their Ethnarchs.”

“Pleased to meet you, Protoarchistratigos,” I said. There was no point in trying to hide my fluency, as Partanen was well aware of it. Archelaus’ surviving eyebrow raised.

“You speak dwarfish rather well.”

The chance for conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Gebhard and Hengist with some of their respective retinues. Partanen made the introductions, and I retreated to the periphery of the conversation. Archelaus didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“You will have a few days to rest from your march while we finish our foraging here. Then we will move to force Marcel to offer open battle and destroy him.”

“You sound certain of victory,” Gebhard said.

“If your cavalry is any good,” Stojan said.

Partanen translated it as, “If your cavalry is as good as we’ve heard.” I let it go as the Ambassador avoiding strife. From there on, his translation was more faithful.

“The Drakoi are mostly light cavalry. Their numbers have been bloated by runaway slaves who do little but slow them down. They are unwilling to invest one of our cities in a siege, lest they become trapped between the walls and the legion. So they have plundered the countryside instead.”

“How then do you plan to force them to offer battle?” Gebhard asked.

“We threaten the city of Kydessa. It is the only city the Drakoi have, and their capital. Marcel cannot risk having it fall to us. He will fight to defend it. When he does, we need you to destroy his cavalry. Without that, his rebellion dies.”

“How much cavalry does he have?” Hengist asked.

“Reports have varied wildly,” Archelaus said.

No one in that tent liked that response.

“What do we have?” I asked.

Archelaus glared at me with his working eye. I suspected it was because I’d switched back to volkssprache after demonstrating functional fluency in dwarfish. Partanen translated my question, and the Protoarchistratigos growled out an answer. “We have three decacohorts[45] of legionnaires, two cohorts of archers, and a battery of onagers.”

Listening to the translation, Gebhard rolled some figures around in his head. “We have about eight hundred spearmen; four hundred heavy footmen with longblades; five hundred footmen at arms from the Knights of Gefrah; six hundred archers and three hundred crossbow; two hundred knights, squires and mounted men at arms under my banner; three hundred knights, squires and mounted men at arms from the Knights of Gefrah; forty knights under the banner of the king of Zesrin; and four under the personal banner of the Erbprinz of Karststadt.”

“Four hundred?” Partanen asked.

“Four.”

“So less than five hundred and fifty horse,” Archelaus said.

“Correct.”

The dwarf general sighed.

“We don’t know the exact number of Drakoi horse, but when they were our allies, they could field a thousand at a fortnight’s notice. If given time to muster, they could bring three or four times that.” He shook his head.

“Does Marcel care about the runaway slaves?” Gebhard asked.

“Not as far as we can tell. They’re more of an annoyance than an aid to him.”

“If I were in his place, and the mob doesn’t matter to me, I would throw the rabble at our line to keep our attention focused. Once heavily engaged, but before they broke, I would hit the line from behind with the mass of cavalry.”

Archelaus nodded. “He would want to avoid charging into the spearmen.”

I chimed in. “Then, would it not make sense to form up our infantry into a box facing out, and only sally the cavalry when the Drakoi are engaged?”

“With all the archers, we might not have room for the cavalry inside such a square,” Gebhard said. He did think it over a bit.

“But,” Archelaus said, “It is a start of a plan.”

“What are you thinking?” Gebhard asked.

“Marcel knows we have a shortage of cavalry. If we marched, disguising our cavalry mounts as pack horses, he will not know what quantity we possess. By placing a token number of mounted men inside one or more squares of footmen, he might even be led to believe we failed to correct this shortage. Say we organize into three or four infantry squares so no one breakthrough will ruin the army. Leave the main body of cavalry back inside the camp. Let him try to engage us. Then hit him when he’s engaged. You’ll catch him from behind, pinned between you and the spears. He knows our doctrines, and won’t see anything amiss about us fortifying every camp we make. We could get him off-guard and inflict enough losses on him to end this rebellion.”

I tried not to get too distracted by the lack of enthusiasm in the Protoarchistratigos’ voice, though it reflected my own assessment.

***

Dwarf legionary rations were nothing like the overspiced dinner we’d had in Oakenyoke. The main staple was barley gruel with salt pork. The most dwarven food was a brick of puffed millet and dried fruits glued together with some sort of honey based syrup. We still had some food from the stores we’d brought with us, which helped make the gruel palatable. I poked at the bowl and stared at the campfire.

“What are you going to do with the elf?”

I blinked and looked up. Soren was sitting next to me, waiting for an answer.

“What?”

“The elf. What are you going to do with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why did you drag him with us?” Soren asked.

“Because the dwarfs would have done awful things to him.”

“So?”

“So, he is just a sellsword. Trying to kill me was nothing more than a job. The fight is over. There’s no point in inflicting needless pain.”

Soren sighed. “I suppose.”

“You disagree?” I asked.

“But now we have the question of what to do with him.”

“Release him from his new contract after we get out of this place.”

“Have you even drawn up said contract?” Soren asked.

“No.”

“So, your agreement is what?”

“By serving in our army, he avoids whatever awful things the Lawspeaker would do to him.”

Soren puffed out his cheeks and slowly released the breath. “You’re sure he has no loyalty to his previous employer?”

“I am not sure of anything. It’s not as if I can read minds.”

“I didn’t…” He trailed off.

I sighed. “Don’t let my tone silence you. I know I’ve not exactly been the sort of person to inspire others. I can’t escape the path I’m on. I can be petulant, as I have been. Or I can accept the responsibility. Part of that is listening to advice and facts. Especially the facts I don’t like.”

Soren looked dubious, but decided to speak. “I don’t think it’s a good risk. We don’t know how your enemies are finding you and communicating.”

“Well, the sorceress who conjured a troll into Oakenyoke Palace implies some form of magic.”

“True.”

“I’m not sure he’s much of an advantage to them even if he’s still loyal to the Knochenmuses. They seem to be able to find me anywhere, and already snuck agents into the army once.”

“That doesn’t mean you should make it easier for them.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” I said.

“And?”

“And I’m still going to give Volwin the benefit of the doubt.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d want the same in similar circumstances.”

“How would you ever end up in his circumstance?”

I looked at Soren. “We’re on the road to do battle with people I have no particular animosity against, mainly so that I can get reciprocal aid against other opponents. I can’t claim to be an expert on battle, but I do know anything can happen.”

“I don’t think Marcel is going to take into account your treatment of prisoners.”

“Still. It’s not the practical effect, but the moral standard.”

Soren nodded. “I see.”

“Lets hope there is justice in the world.”

“Is that your way of praying you’re not making a mistake?”

“If need be.”

[42] Longue is a Dwarf province that owes allegience to Quendaverus, but half of it was overrun by the Kurzmen. East Longue became the problem of Kord’s family by way of a dowry. After putting down civil unrest and defeating the Despot of Longue, they got official recognition of their right to rule from both Emperors. Technically, by Dwarf law, Kord was already Xenarch at this point and could have insisted his case with the Dux Pyry be heard by the Emperor of Quendaverus, rather than a mere Lawspeaker. There were also a number of minor rights as a recognized member of the Dwarf aristocracy that he failed to take advantage of through ignorance.

[43] Doppelgelb is an old placename. It was subdivided into Gelbenkap and Ostgelb, now better known as the Drowned City and Amber Town.

[44] Title creep is still a perennial problem in Quendaverus. When hereditary Stratigos became common, most were unfit for command, so the post of Archistratigos was created. Over time that title became a sinecure, and was supplanted in actual field duties by the Protoarchistratigos. A similar pattern is repeated with other titles which became diluted.

[45] In the time of the Old Dwarf Empire, a decacohort would contain ten cohorts of ten centuries, or slightly over ten thousand fighting dwarfs. However, Quendaverus formations were grossly understaffed. It would not be unusual to find a centurion commanding a century of no more than seven or eight dwarfs. Combined with Prince Kord’s assessment of their force doubling the population of the camp, it is likely there were only three thousand dwarfs in all.

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