Feb 192013
 

Read me the story
vivid deathThe evening after she raised Veran Banner, the Lady drew me aside, after the daysend meal.

“Ilvren, I need you to return, now, to thinking as a Guardian.”

This I had been anticipating. Raising Veran Banner now could mean only one thing—that the Lady had determined to continue resisting the barbarian invaders, and that implied military action of some variety.

“My life is Veran’s, Lady.”

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Let us, then, summarize what is known. First: The invaders are indeed techno-barbarians, world-killers from the Hub. They issue their demands in the name of a place called Klaros.”

This was new information to me and had doubtless been included in the information brought by Captain Matyas’ bird relay. “Alas, Lady, the study of the Hub and its many powers and worlds was not part of my Guardian training. I can tell you nothing of these particular barbarians.”

She accepted disappointment philosophically. “Second: The King perished at a great battle in the foothills of Quavi north of Traaki Citadel, to the west of Gallyvaran Pass, nine- no, ten, now- days ago.” She canted her head. “Speculate upon the implications of this, please.”

I was already feeling the old thought-patterns sliding into place. It was not dissimilar to a planning exercise during Practice Wars.

“We know the blood-banners were sent forth the day we set forth from Bellflower House. That leaves a period of nine days for the levies and Militias to gather to their muster-points. The Traaki Citadel was already overcome, so the principal gathering would have been at either Nendaari House or the Charter City of Pequavil. Both are designated muster points. Nine days…” I tried to recall what I had known of the strength estimates for those karils, but most of my actual experience had been in the west.

“Perhaps eighteen thousand Militia, and another sixty thousand levies. The supply caches at Pequavil, Missar Valley, Old Syxarth, and Nendaar Gorge would have been available, and anything scavenged from Traaki.”

She frowned. “But Traaki was destroyed on the first day.”

I realized that she would, in all probability, know little of the matters concerning the Guardians and the Emergency Protocols.

“If the Captain of a Citadel judges an attack to be of clearly overwhelming force, his primary objective becomes to enable as many Guardians as possible to escape, using secret ways, and taking as much as possible of the Citadel’s materiel. It is certain that at Traaki, Captain Erillas will have made that decision.”

Her brows were drawn together, assimilating this. She nodded for me to continue.

“In any case, Lady, however many Guardians survived to fight at Quavi, they will all have perished quickly. To preserve the King’s life, and remove him from the battle zone to a planned fallback fortification would have been the task of the most skilled and best-equipped fighters that the Marshal could appoint. If this was not accomplished, it would seem to indicate that these Klarosians attacked in overwhelming force, and quickly destroyed all of the Royal forces.”

“It’s likely, however, that the Mayor of the Palace and other key Royal Officers will have not been at the battle site, and some may have survived. They will be making their way to dispersed muster points, and enquiries there may give us more information. Information is what we need the most. We cannot formulate much more than a broad strategy until we know more about what we are facing.”

Again, she nodded. “And that broad strategy…”

“Well, the basic strategy in a barbarian invasion scenario has always been the same, Lady.”

Her eyes darkened, the pupils dilating with emotion, but she did not speak, merely nodded again for me to continue.

“Increase the cost of their objective to where they will abandon the attempt to achieve it.”

“And what is that strategy likely to cost us?” She asked, her tone both dryly ironic, and curiously fearful, as though she knew the answer but hoped to be proven wrong.

“Lives, Lady. Many, many lives. Perhaps millions.”

Her eyes dropped, and there was a long silence, before she thanked and dismissed me.

We stayed another night at the Lyrin Chancel. The Lady sent one of the marsh women back with a message for Captain Matyas; she left with the Chancel’s debt-send in the form of metal slugs and powdered dryland herbs. The rest of the morning, the Lady spent with Leifara and Canon Lennari, preparing the messages that would send the banner forth throughout all Veran. No more, just now, than that the blood-banner of Veran was raised—that would suffice to let all the karils and Great Houses know that she lived, and thus Veran lived, and the world-killers had not prevailed.

After daymeal, I was summoned to Canon Lennari’s chambers. He and Elder Kevrilaasya, Leifara and the Lady, were gathered there, discussing Chancel business. The Canon and the Elder greeted me politely, and then took their leave.

“Ilvren, we must set forth the possibilities for our course,” the Lady began, without preamble. She seemed less weary and tense than at the banner-raising.

I nodded. “I am at Veran’s service.”

“I must assume that the Marshal of the Guard is dead, and the eastern and western Captains-Major, too. I have no experience in military matters, nor do I feel hopeful that military action—as I understand it, and my understanding is limited, I grant—will serve our purpose well. Nevertheless, it is a fight, and I must now lead warriors. You must teach me what you can.”

I nodded.

“You told me of Citadel Captains’ strategies—buying time for Guardians to escape, for the salvage of weapons and materials.”

“Yes. In the Protocols, that strategy goes by the name of Relnara, after the plant that scatters itself as it dies, to live again from each piece.”

She smiled. “How apt.”

“Precisely so, Lady. Like relnara nodules, surviving Guardians will be dispersing themselves as widely as possible, and seeking the resources which will enable them to raise a new generation of fighters.”

“Ahhhh…” Her eyes narrowed in comprehension, and she nodded for me to continue.

“Dispersal helps to avoid competition and make efficient use of resources, and increases the chances that some may avoid the notice of our invaders, as the relnara escape the rootling snouts of mountain talgar.”

“And how should Veran use this resource?”

“We do not yet have enough information to determine that, Lady. We must know more of the enemy.”

Her brows drew together. “But you were a Guardian, Ilvren—surely you know how barbarians fight?”

“In general I do. But as to particulars—there are thousands of worlds in the Hub. They share some technology and an economic framework, but little else. How an enemy fights is only one aspect of the intelligence we need to be effective against them. Why they fight… who they are, how they conceive of themselves… what tactics they favor, what they avoid… their strategic biases…” I shrugged. “It is all important.”

Her eyes were on mine, intent, narrowed a little. “I see. It is like striking a balance. You can’t be effective until you understand how all the elements fit together. How will we learn this?”

I had been turning an idea over in my head for some time. Not an attractive idea to me, personally, but personal considerations no longer held merit.

“We are making for the Westmarch. There is one there who might provide a starting place.”

“A Westmarcher?”

I nodded. “He is the brother of Westmarch’s mother’s mother. He served four terms in the Guardians and became Elder Preceptor of the War Academy, before he retired. The Hub and its worlds were his particular study—I believe he even took ship with an Independent Fleet trader once, and visited some Hub worlds. Back in my mother’s time.”

“If he is still alive,” I added, belatedly. “Arrestar must be over a hundred and twenty by now.”

“We will hope he is still alive.”

Sep 032012
 

A path leading through a forest with heavy undergrowth and large, straight tree-boles.It was the third night on that wild scamper across half of Veran, the race to make Port Aravas and take ship to preserve what we could. We were in the Eastveld, the home of the Irjharai—the Arayai, nomads who follow the endris herds. Irjharai are not normally friendly to strangers and rarely grant permission for outsiders to travel in their stewardship, but they regard the Lady of Veran as one of themselves. For her, as ever, the accounting is completely different.

I was there by accident—perhaps. Certainly it was unexpected. I had taken my retirement from the Guardians nearly five years past, having served my twenty and with no taste for another twenty. I spent the last five years in Aurora City, indented to the College of Arms to learn what would make me useful when I returned home to Fahalanahr—having neither taste nor talent for clothwork, the business of my House. In the last twenty-five years I’d seen my karil four times, only once for any period of time, during my tenth-year leave. But a retired Guardian, if willing to learn a skill, is always sure of honorable work, and I thought it more than likely that herald’s training would gain me a worthy place at the Great House of Nul-Atar.

I had done well at the College and was offered advanced training, but before I made that decision I thought to travel back to Fahalanahr, where one waited for me, and discuss the matter with her. So I asked and received permission to travel east with the Royal Household on summer’s progress, planning to leave them at the Lower Pass and travel on through the Joyful Hills to that green City, Queen of the Falarin River.

The Household was in the forests covering the foothills of Yimsin Mountain for the Solstice Hunt, when the news was received. The Guardians have always had layers of contingency plans in place, to deal with the attacks of planet pirates or ordinary raiders, and yes, even the unlikely threat of a barbarian invasion. The standard equipment of the Household detachment of Guardians includes a communications link, always on, always active. If that link goes down, a countdown is automatically initiated.

There are many reasons the link might go down—the most common being weather, although that far east in midsummer the weather is as calm as it ever is. Less common is satellite malfunction, or a fault somewhere in the many strands of the triply-redundant web that links all Guardian outposts. In the event of such, the standard procedure is to wait a selected time, during which some unaffected node can re-establish the link for the duration of the storm, or during which the self-repair relays can shunt the link to working nodes. Forty-nine times of fifty, that happens before the first countdown ends.

But the other reasons the link might go down are not innocent: Planet pirates. Slavers, or ordinary raiders. Even (although this was always considered a contingency so remote as to be laughable,) a barbarian invasion. Veran has little of value to the techno-barbarian colonies of the Hub, and even slavers would generally find us too far off the regular space routes to be an economically viable source of supply. Still, it has happened, as in my mother’s time, and she was a Guardian, a veteran of the Land Festival raid, fighting off three well-equipped corsair craft of Wylenthian criminals. And it began, as expected, with an ECM burst that disabled the communications network.

So, if the first countdown runs out without the network patching itself to restore communications to the Household detachment, a second countdown is started. This longer countdown entails first-level preparations for action according to the Emergency Protocols, including ensuring that the King and other key persons may be secured quickly. It took some time to get a fix on the locator with the hunting party, and by the time the jetcar reached them, the second countdown, too, had expired. Guardians all over Veran initiated contingency plans.

By the time the hunting party returned to Bellflower House, a message-bird relay had arrived from Traaki, the nearest Citadel of the Guardians, relaying the information that they were under attack, and that weapons flashes had been observed in the Eothain Valley, approximately aligned with Aurora City. We had to consider all of Veran under attack.

There was some dispute, I remember, about how our response should be made. But the Guard-Major prevailed, insisting that the Emergency Protocols be fully implemented, in spite of the ceremonial importance of the Solstice Hunt.

I knew the Protocols, of course, from my days with the Guardians. They do change, but not so quickly or drastically that a five-years’ absence would render me ignorant. And a key Protocol is to separate, as widely as possible, the Lady of Veran from the King.

There is sound strategy behind this. First: Because the King becomes the military leader of the response, and is expected to lead the Guardians, the Levies and Militias into battle if needed—the King is a target. Most barbarian weapons are foolish, indiscriminate, destructive things that cannot distinguish between a target individual and the next person to them. So it was imperative to move the Lady from harm’s way. Second: If by some chance the King was killed in battle, it would be the Lady who must ensure the succession and provide leadership against the attackers. That was simple enough.

She listened to the debate for some minutes before she silenced them with a gesture. “I will leave now,” she said. “And I will travel fast. I will take only Veran Herald, to make the greatest distance in the least time.”

The Lady’s will is not questioned. And in ordinary times, she could travel so, if she willed. But the times were not ordinary, as many pointed out. It was her brother the King who persuaded her to take one skilled in fighting, for her protection. The Lady, by long custom, is not guarded and although her ultimate authority embraces them, the Guardians are the King’s force.

She would not take even a single Guardian from the King’s forces—all might be needed, she said.

I was no longer a Guardian. But I had been twenty years in their ranks, serving as Royal Champion nearly a dozen times, and winning much honor in the biennial Practice Wars. Yet as an Adept of the College of Arms I was also indented to the service of Veran, and my service would not outrage custom. We still worried about that, then.

Aug 232012
 

Detail from "The Bellman"-- Moonrise behind foothills with sleeping village in foreground.Ravin slithered against the side of the stable, and became one with its shadow. The Klarosian patrol, searching, was making its way up this narrow, dusty street. Four men—at least they accorded him that respect—he smiled a little grimly at the thought.  Four might be enough, if they were the right men. Two were in the street, in front of the small shops, houses, businesses. Two moved through the narrow dirt alley behind, checking stable yards, storage sheds, forges, gardens. Even in the crowded streets of the older parts of town, every Veran tried to have some kind of garden.

The Klarosians methodically tramped over and through any vegetation that impeded their search pattern. As they reached a particularly lush yard, crackling heavily through stands of rennit-bushes, Ravin swarmed up the drystone wall of the tiny stable, in an instant, almost noiselessly. On the roof, he lay flat, his dark-grey tunic and breeks blending seamlessly with the roof slates in the dim moonlight. Continue reading »

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