10
The high councilor had been right about the speech. It was little more than tying up loose ends for the public mind, and making sure the people knew that their king was a good king – a man to whom their allegiance was well justified. After making an appearance, Jaksen bolted before the speech was over to get a head start on their mission. He and the rest of his team retrieved their luggage and made their way to the palace’s breka hold.
The place stank, but the brekas were magnificent. A dual passenger breka was around twice the height of Tayron, and around eight strides from snout to the tip of its tail, with its wingspan twice that. In other words, they were huge beings, and very dynamic. As the travelers walked, they had to dodge the droppings with which the beasts marked their feeble, and so all the more precious, territories. Jaksen took them first to admire his own breka, which he had named Frina. Its rough, scaly skin matched Jaksen’s hair, with gold mixed into striking silver that glowed with a touch of blue hue. On its arms, legs, tail, and the leading edge of its webbed wings were lengthy talons that marked it as a bred fighter. A noble bearing made clear that he could easily get his choice of a mate. Though brekas were moderately intelligent for beasts, Frina could not have known that breeders actually tightly controlled his mating. Being a fighter, Frina was short for a two-passenger carrier, but his imperious stance made it clear that he wasn’t prone to graceless turns, satisfying Jaksen’s main requirement.
“I’ll show you to your mounts,” the hold manager, a balding man with a kindly smile that spoke to the joy he derived from making a living taking care of the creatures he loved. “Take care of them. They are two of my best. They’re both the perfect combination of warrior and worker – seating two comfortably while able to fight with the best.”
They stopped in front of two greenish specimens, both larger than Frina. “Not as fierce as Jaksen’s,” the manager continued, “but much more loving. With Frina you only get grudging respect, with this pair, you get real friendship. Once they get used to you, they’ll greet you when you arrive. See?”
The two breka nuzzled the manager as he neared them, careful not to be too rough lest they knock him over. A bit of mucus from their nostrils got left behind on his clothes, but since he wore a dingy smock, Tayron guessed he expected bits of slime on him regularly. “How should we take care of them?” the knight inquired.
“Oh, they’ll take care of themselves, sure enough, even if you don’t have someone at your destination to take them in. Taught them well, I have, so you won’t need to worry. Here are the whistles,” the manager handed the knights delicately crafted whistles – the red to Tayron, the purple to Bathis. “The breka will respond to the precise pitches these whistles make. Their colors, you will notice, match the colors of the harnesses. I will leave naming them up to you – all you have to do is say the name you choose before you blow the whistle, then eventually you can just call them and they’ll come. Always keep the whistles safe anyway, just in case they have to be given to a new master or if the conditioning wears off. These are smart enough that it shouldn’t, but you never know.”
“Thank you,” Bathis and Tayron said together earnestly.
Anni was wide-mouthed in wonder, and said absently, “I want one.” Tayron had an idea how she felt. When he had been told they were traveling by breka, he hadn’t expected that he’d be getting one.
“I do have this right, right?” Bathis asked. “We’re really getting these beauties? We’re not just taking for the trip.”
“Not eager to part with them, but yes. Lord Jaksen asked for them to be given to you – said something about going into battle with them, and that if you came out alive, you’d deserve them as a reward,” the manager said. “I don’t think there’s a thing a man can do to earn one of these, but that might just be because I’m so attached to them.”
“Now, now, you have their children to deal with, Picarin,” Jaksen said from behind them. Looking at the two knights he asked “do you like them?”
Tayron nodded and Bathis said, “are you kidding?”
“Just do your job and you’ll be repaying me in full. I want to live to see my wife and children again.”
Tayron could think of no response to these grim words and, with his eyes fixated on his breka, Bathis had been deaf to the councilor’s words. “Are they a mating pair then?”
“No, no,” Picarin said shocked, “I could give you a pair like that, but you two would be stranded constantly – when ever they wanted to mate. No, these two here are the males, of course. You should brush up on anatomy, my young friend – anybody should be able to tell from sight.”
“Mount up and follow me into the air,” Jaksen ordered impatiently as soon as Picarin rounded off his last word. “Be on the lookout for possible attackers once we’re off the ground – I don’t want either of you zoning out from the thrill of flying.”
Tayron wasn’t about to let him get away with that one. “We’re trained on brekas, and there’s no way we’d have gotten out of the academy if we zoned out while flying.”
“Oh, there’s a way,” Bathis assured, “not that I did it, but there’s a way. Told a few people who were planning on it not to try it, though – they were so stupid they were more likely to get skewered.”
They all looked at him puzzled, and he continued to stare innocently at the breka.
“Right. Let start off,” Jaksen said, and he strode to Frina, ascending on the proud creature’s back with practiced ease.
Tayron and Bathis had no trouble getting on board their own brekas, since the creatures were well trained, but Anni had to be helped up by Tayron and, even after being belted to the harness, she held tightly to the knight around his chest. He didn’t complain.
“I thought you rode one before,” he said to her.
“Just once when I was young, and I threw up.”
“Oh,” Tayron said, struggling to keep the apprehension out of his voice. “You’ll be fine this time, though.”
“Look at you Tayron!” Bathis shouted, getting his breka creeping forward. “You look positively heroic.” And he was off, the great beast underneath him running at full speed, spreading its wings, and taking off.
Tayron followed, and on the crucial bound between being earth-bound and surrounded by air, Anni nearly crushed him. “Can you loosen up a bit? I think my armor might get damaged,” he said with false mildness.
“Sorry,” she said. Tayron heard the blush in her voice.
The city fled beneath them, and within a minute they were skirting over open fields, the bodyguards keeping keen eyes out for enemies. A single rifleman hidden on the ground was all it would take, so in their scans of the area, they had to scrutinize every detail. So intense was this activity, with all the land fleeting by so quickly, that Anni’s presence could not possibly distract Tayron. At least, not until she started talking to him.
“All that’s been happening lately,” she started, “it’s all so dreamlike. Even flying like this, being given a chance by Lord Jaksen, everything. What do you think of it?”
“Haven’t you asked me that before?” Tayron said distractedly.
“I . . . I might have. Did you answer me that time?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, do you have an answer this time?”
It took Tayron some time to develop a decent response while continuing to fulfill his duty with as much attention as it required. Anni was about to throw a few more words at him when he said, “I think that for every day I spend in the middle of all this, I’ll need a week in a quiet cave somewhere to recover.”
Surprise laced Anni’s voice when she said, “but the last week or so have been fairly quiet, haven’t they? At least compared to your first few days in the palace?”
“Bad comparison. Those first few days’ll take years to recover from,” he responded, managing barely to keep his attention where it was supposed to be.
“Don’t mind him, Anni,” Bathis said, reminding Tayron of his sharp hearing, “there’re two kinds of cadets at the academy – those who went there for a very definite purpose and those who went there for everything else – glory, fun, boasting rights, their parents, or in an enlightened attempt to get girls. The prats with a purpose tended to be quiet and solitary above and beyond requirements – that’s Tayron. Same as every commoner that takes the test to enter, really, except that he already had nobility – just a piss poor version of it. I, on the other hand, went there for everything else, so I’m enjoying myself while he needs to focus.”
Anni only half heard what Bathis said. “Tayron, what did you become a knight for? What’s this definite purpose he’s talking about?”
That, finally, got his attention. “That . . . well, you see . . . my family’s sort of a joke for nobility. Every time we try to take a step forward, some accident happens to stop us. Because of that, most of my family likes to play it safe and stick to where they are, even though we’re about as lesser as lesser nobility can get. I wanted to prove that we can go higher, that we can become legitimate nobility again.”
“And it’s working out really well, then. You’re Lord Jaksen’s bodyguard, and I don’t know how much closer to the top you can get in your first week at court.”
“Yeah, it’s working great. To be honest, my family didn’t think I’d survive the academy.”
“So why would a purpose like that make someone solitary, Bathis?” Anni asked critically.
Bathis took a bit of time answering, still doing his duty and giving Tayron a chance to get back on it. “Just a thought. If you have a purpose, that’s what you’re interested in, that’s your driving force. If you’re more . . . dissipated, I guess we can say, you tend to wander out a lot more, since you have very little idea about where you are, about where you’re going, or about anything, really. All in all, it’s much more interesting and satisfying not to have a purpose in life, but then you have to deal with all the people with a purpose making life hard on you. What do you think, Lord Jaksen?”
They could only see the back of the lord’s head, and Tayron was certain from a hint of emotion in his voice that, had they been able to see his face, his answer would have lost its ambiguity. “I don’t know. I think I’m with Tayron – the purpose type.”
Since Anni didn’t say anything more, the knights went back to eagerly awaiting anyone foolish enough to attack, fully appreciating open fields, every stretch of which allowed them to rest their eyes. By the time they landed amidst a tent town, the knights were disappointed no hostiles had chosen to test their abilities, and annoyed by their sore eyes.
The flight had taken three hours, and from his oft-tested knowledge of geography, Tayron knew that they had landed in the encampment outside the shipbuilding city of Orina. From that city, ships were sent down the Great River, which passed through the heartland of the nation, to blockade Rath’rainol and prevent it from supplying the battle zone across the river’s mouth. All three of the threatened tracks passed through Orina, and the enemy was an hour’s flight away. A very interesting place to be.
They led their breka on the ground to a series of posts and tied the harnesses to them. With a squad of troopers ready to take care of them, there was no reason to leave them free to forage. Once they had given their fliers a friendly pat goodbye, Jaksen led them to a nearby tent. Barring a tiny unit flag at its peak, the tent was indistinguishable from its neighbors, all ten feet tall, capital city gray, and with a flap for an entrance. The weather was cooler than the last time Tayron had entered a tent, but he still hoped there was a fan inside.
“From here we can control the forces between Orina and Quenari’s forces,” Jaksen explained. “They have a telegraph setup linked to the other bases in the area, so we can coordinate instantly.”
“What if Quenari knows where the lines are? He could tap into them or sever them at the worst possible time,” noted Tayron.
Bathis and Jaksen both glanced at him patronizingly, but before they could point out his mistake, he answered himself. “Magic, of course. Anything technology can’t do, magic can, right?”
“And vice versa,” Jaksen agreed, then surprised everyone by saying, “and don’t forget it. There are many who want to put one in the service of the other. As knights, you play a part in determining the balance.”
Bathis smirked. “Is our lord councilor in a funny mood again?”
Jaksen raised his left eyebrow menacingly but had no chance to respond as a towering man in the tent invited them in.
“Jaksen, you bastard, I thought they didn’t let you out of the palace,” the bearded giant greeted with open arms as they entered and gathered around the strategy map table.
“General Feradac, you should stop overachieving, most people stop growing at adolescence.”
“Not good, Jaksen. You losing it?”
“No, just not in the mood.”
“Pity. Well, at least we’ve got a war to keep us busy, otherwise this’d be a profoundly boring meeting,” said Feradac, his balding head glowing in the lamplight. “What have you got for me, Jaksen? I’m getting stir-crazy sitting here watching my bases fall one by one, giving them the retreat signal. Do you know how frustrating it is to give a retreat signal when you know you can beat the enemy?”
“With all due respect, General,” said Jaksen, staring at the map, which managed to be much more informative than any at the palace, “I think trying to fight a one-to-one battle would be foolish.”
“My men could handle it.”
“With heavy casualties that we do not want,” Jaksen said chastising.
“You politicians are always squeamish.”
“You know better than that. A single misplay will make us prey to our enemies, and we’re still struggling to take back the land we lost to Rath’rainol. And there’s also the fact that we know better than you the strength of the enemy, and know this is not a joke.”
“Whatever,” the general dismissed, “you just set them up and I’ll knock ‘em down. Who’s the girl?”
Anni was red from being noticed so suddenly and from the way she was referred to. “She’s a reporter, Feradac,” Jaksen explained. “I thought you stayed in a tent because of your rugged individualism, but now I find that its because, with your total impropriety, no woman would take you in.”
“Better, still weak, but better. A reporter, eh? Not your usual company, my lord, and not mine either. Too many nobles have pet reporters running around with them, ready to make up stories about how great the noble was in battle, even though the idiots never even see the field. Didn’t think you’d pander to this nonsense, Jaksen. Reporters ruin plans, that’s all they’re capable of.”
“This one won’t,” Anni said fiercely.
“Enough, Feradac,” said Jaksen, reminding Tayron of the two kings, “I’ve got work for you to do.”
Jaksen went over the plan in exhaustive detail, making full use of the figurines on the map. “Quenari might notice what we’re doing and choose not to attack the tracks, but we can’t take any chances. In any case, we’ll have enough troops here to squash his forces without risking high casualties,” Jaksen concluded.
“Lord Gertain can’t be happy with this – we’re going to be fighting awful close to his lands.”
“He’s happier than he would have been if Haradr had gotten his way,” Jaksen said, then explained Haradr’s alternative plan.
Feradac shook his head, amazed. “I’ll give you this, Jaksen, at least you aren’t as blatantly self-serving as your politician friends. You try and cloak your schemes in rhetoric that makes it look like it’s for the good of the people – I like the illusion.”
Jaksen smiled in earnest. “And you aren’t a blatant coward like your officer friends. You pretend in the stories you tell at feasts that you’ve been in the thick of battles like a standard issue foot soldier – an amusing illusion.”
The general pointed an accusatory finger at the councilor, but said “good one.”
“When will you stop being childish, Feradac?”
“When people stop waging war, Jaksen. When the rest of the world decides to grow up, I will follow.” The giant looked into Jaksen. “You haven’t told me something – something about being childish. Are you . . . oh, no.”
Both of the lord’s eyebrows arched amused. “I take that to mean that you’ve guessed that I mean to enter this battle.”
“You can take it to mean that I absolutely refuse.”
“You can’t. I don’t want to be anywhere impressive, just second airborne cavalry. I’ll lead the emergency charge on the off chance that it might be necessary.”
“The extremely off chance since we’ll have overwhelming power and don’t anticipate an emergency,” Feradac thought it over. “All right. If I can’t stop you, I’m glad you’re at least being a bit reasonable. I was afraid you’d ask to be on the main charge – go out with glory.” Stroking his beard, the general’s eyes were fixed on the figurines marking his own troops on the map.
“I suppose I’ll leave you to think it over?” Jaksen asked. Feradac nodded, beginning to think through every move and countermove as he had been trained to do decades ago at the academy. Tayron was surprised at how the general had just plunged into the analysis without closing out the conversation.
“Let’s go,” Jaksen said. After they had exited the tent, adjusting their eyes to the afternoon sun, he noted “General Feradac was a child prodigy, a born strategist, and it makes him even more eccentric than your average nobility. It also gives him extreme confidence in his own ability, which made him willing to go through the academy even though, as high nobility, he could have gotten command just by gaining favor at court. Of course, in an even match, he was right that he could guarantee a victory. The problem is the aftermath. Quenari will not let this be a one day war, and if we have heavy losses, it will embolden him to restore his army and try again.”
“Where are we headed?” Bathis inquired, uninterested in the quirks of Feradac, who had left court politics to become a military man, and so was unimportant in Bathis’ understanding of the universe.
“A few small tents up ahead set up for us. We’ll get our luggage organized, and then head for the mess tent. Then we sleep, waking up tomorrow ready for battle.”