From Across the Clouded Range (48 page)

“
Control! Control!” Jaret
yelled at Yatier, whose swings had become wild as he tired. He
danced in and tapped the man on the leg just hard enough to remind
him what happened to those who were overzealous.

“
Then, one fateful day,”
he continued when Yatier had recovered his balance. “The Pindarian
mercenaries landed behind the siege we had laid on the wall. We
were routed to shit. By luck alone, I happened to be standing next
to Imperial Warlord Rastabi as he led the charge that sprung us
from the trap.”

“
Take a minute to rest.”
Jaret eased back from the legionnaire, who had become unbearably
sloppy as his exhaustion mounted. Yatier immediately put his hands
on his knees and panted uncontrollably. Jaret surveyed the other
men around him. They exchanged blows in a violent flurry. The men
chattered like squirrels as they worked. Most of them dripped
liberally, but none of them was as bad off as the man in front of
him. Again he thought about the letter he would be sending
Commander Thalim.

Jaret brought his blade to his side
and took a deep breath. He was barely winded, and that pissed him
off. He was here to work out his frustrations, to forget what he
faced, to revel in a challenge that he could actually
control.

“
As I was saying,” he
continued with a sigh of frustration. “I was at the side of Lord
Commander Rastabi when he made his famous charge. He was a bastard,
a real hard ass, but he was fair, and he could fight – not like a
most of the nobles that find their way into our ranks. In any case,
he went through the mercenaries like a red-hot poker. He saved my
life about twenty times while I ran beside him, but the one time I
saved his was the only one he remembered. When we broke the trap
and regrouped without about a third of our original number he made
me a lieutenant and his glorified whipping boy.

“
That was the battle that
essentially ended the war. The Empire and Liandria surrendered, and
Pindar was born. Rastabi kept me around. Taught me to fight, taught
me to command, taught me to fear him when he was drunk. By the
time, the old bastard died, I was a twenty-three year old
sub-commander.”

“
Come on then,” Jaret
motioned to Yatier with his sword. “If you want to hear the rest of
this, you have to earn it. We are almost done in any
case.”

The legionnaire took a deep breath and
pulled himself back up. “Thank you, Lord Commander. I think I know
the rest.”

“
Well, why don’t you tell
me then?” Jaret drove his sword hard into the legionnaire’s and saw
his arm shake under the power of the blow. He turned the man’s
blade with the flick of his wrist and brought his own down onto his
shoulder. “You better start talking, or I will begin to wonder why
you need all those pretty teeth.”

“
Yes, Lord Commander. You
. . . . Ugh!” A blow caught the back of his knee. “You were in
command . . . of the garrison at Sal Cattali during the Second . .
. Second War of Pind . . . arian Succession . . . . The commanders
did not think a peasant could lead an army into battle, so they
left you with the garrisons.” The fact was well known, but the
legionnaire’s audacity in pointing it out earned him another
bruise. “You proved . . . proved them wrong, sir. . . . When the
Pindarians . . . defeated the imperial fleet . . . and landed their
. . . their army at Ca’ Einir . . . you were . . . were the only
thing between them and Sal Danar. You led a mob of scraps into
battle . . . outnumbered three to one.”

Jaret swung around the legionnaire,
cut at the back of his knees and took him to the ground. He landed
hard on his back. Jaret spun on him and leveled the sword to his
throat. “Don’t ever speak of your fellow soldiers that way again.
If I hear it, you will be cleaning the chamber pots of those
‘scraps.’ They die just like you and usually with a lot more guts.”
Jaret’s eyes blazed with the first real fury of the day.

“
Yes, Lord Commander,” the
legionnaire swallowed. Jaret helped him to his feet.

“
In any case,” Yatier
continued, “you won. You divided the mercenaries and sent them back
to the sea. That victory allowed the Empire to sign the treaty that
ended the war. Word spread, and five years later you were Imperial
Warlord. You were only thirty-eight. You have held the post for
sixteen years, and if rumors are to be believed,
you
are the true ruler
of the Empire.”

Jaret laughed. “Is that
what they say? Now
that
I have not heard.” Traeger walking off of the
platform toward them. “I barely bloodied my sword in that battle,
so
I
certainly
did not defeat the mercenaries. I only positioned my men so that
they could carry the day. And as we all know, the Emperor and the
Imperial Council rule this nation. I sit on the Imperial Council,
but I am not even the Lord Steward and the Emperor barely knows I
exist – a nation that spans a continent and has no enemies can’t
very well have a
warlord
, can it?”

That was a lie, but one that Jaret
worked very hard to maintain. The Emperor did not rule anything
outside of his palace. Due to an elaborate – and expensive – set of
lies that had been maintained since the revolts, the Emperor still
believed that the Empire stretched to the Clouded Range. It was a
lie that allowed the real leaders of the Empire to keep their
heads, but one that cost the nation dearly. The Emperor still
expected tributes that were commensurate with his position and
still appointed his friends and relatives to countless governmental
and military posts without any regard for their abilities. The
result was a nation literally crumbling under the weight of taxes,
corruption, and incompetence. Sometimes, Jaret felt like he was the
only person holding those pieces together, but as his tour had
shown, he was rapidly running out of hands and time. Unless the
drought broke soon and bunker crops followed, the Empire might not
last out the year.

By that time, Traeger had reached
them. Jaret turned his attention to the commander and saw a broad,
knowing smile. Jaret would be sure to remember it when he was
kicking the man’s ribs in the drunken brawl they would surely have
that night – Traeger could not hold his liquor and liked to fight
when he drank; it was the only time Jaret could beat
him.

“
So, Commander as’
Pmalatir, did you enjoy your workout?” Traeger asked with a smirk
and grasped Yatier’s hand.

Jaret looked at his friend
in shock then at the legionnaire before him. “What in the name of
the Blessed Order are you trying to pull, Traeger? This is
Commander
Yatier
as’ Pmalatir
?”

“
At your service, Lord
Commander.” Yatier put his hand to his chest in salute and
bowed.

“
So you’re not a
legionnaire?”

“
I could only wish.
Especially now.” Yatier smiled then winced and brought his hand to
his tender ribs. “I had heard about the Legion. I dreamed of
joining when I was a boy, but I know that you don’t accept anyone
of . . . of
imperial
linage, so I asked Commander Hanar to let me participate in a
training sessions. I was not expecting to find you as my sparring
partner, Lord Commander.”

“
I would expect not,”
Jaret tried to maintain his cool around a growing sense of honest
concern. “Well, it is nice to meet you, Commander. I must admit
that I expected something very different when your father made you
Commander of the Knights Imperial.”

Jaret offered his hand and took
Yatier’s in a firm grasp. He cursed himself for not recognizing the
name sooner. Yatier was the thirteenth son of the Emperor, well out
of line for the throne but assured a high military or
administrative post. He had been made the Commander of the Knights
Imperial just a few months ago, but Jaret had expected him to be
like the rest of the pampered royalty that ebbed from the palace to
pollute the ranks of the military. Part of the reason Jaret had
started the Legion was to train men to fill posts around the
corrupt and incompetent imperial appointees who held far too many
positions in the command structure of the Empire. He had never seen
an imperial brat who wanted to be part of the Legion or could take
a thrashing without running to tell his father.

“
I am glad to hear that I
have disappointed your expectations, Lord Commander,” Yatier
returned with a sly smile. “It was a great honor to learn from a
man of your reputation, though I must admit that the price was
high.” Yatier rubbed his bruises to emphasize the words.

“
I’m sorry I was so rough
on you.” Jaret was not really sorry. The man was not as bad as most
imperial brats, but that just made him the shiniest turd in the
pile. Still, Jaret had to be careful. The Emperor barely knew that
Jaret existed, and he liked it that way. The Emperor could still be
dangerous if his ire was raised, and the bruises that Yatier
carried could spell Jaret’s end. “I did not realize that you had
not been trained as a legionnaire,” Jaret continued. “I should have
guessed after the first exchange. Hopefully, those bruises will
save your life one day.”

Yatier nodded stiffly – Jaret did not
like his tight smile. “I am sure they will, Lord
Commander.”

“
I assume I will see you
at the briefing today?” Jaret was sick of the exchange now – no
manner of nice talk was going to save him if this man ran to his
father.

“
It will be my first, Lord
Commander.” Yatier was suddenly wide-eyed with anticipation. “I
hope you will be pleased with the progress my men have made since
my appointment.”

“
I’m sure you will not
disappoint me,” Jaret hated the semi-annual briefings and, given
the state of the Empire, would be very surprised if any of his
commanders did not disappoint him. “Now, I would like to have a
word with Commander Hanar. Please, excuse us.”

“
Of course, Lord
Commander.” Yatier saluted again, bowed, then turned and strode
confidently, but haltingly, from the yard. In the meantime, the
legionnaires had broken into groups that were practicing various
skills from archery to strategies for confronting pikesmen, but
Yatier seemed satisfied with the bruises he had already
received.

“
What the hell was that,
Traeger?” Jaret scowled violently at his friend, who was chuckling
to himself. “Are you trying to get me killed? You know if he tells
his father he got thrashed by some peasant’s son, I’m
dead.”

Traeger laughed. “You
worry too much,
Lord
Commander
. He’s a good kid. I met him last
night, and all he could talk about was you – a trait I find to be
terribly annoying – so I arranged a meeting.” He laughed again.
Traeger was a wiry man with sharp features and a long scar running
across his nose and cheeks. He looked severe, but those features
belied a constant good humor.

“
That mischievous streak
of yours is going to get me in trouble one of these days,” Jaret
scolded. “And when it does, I’m coming after you.” He shook his
head and suppressed a laugh. “I better cleanup for this briefing.
Will you be there?”

“
You know I never come to
that administrative crap. I have
work
to do.” Traeger laughed and
marched to one of the clusters of men. They were divided into two
groups. One group carried shields and long blunted spears while the
others practiced breeching their defenses.

Jaret let him go and
walked toward the door that would lead him back into the Great
Chamber. His thoughts were already on the dreadful briefing that
was scheduled to start in less than an hour. He sighed as a
legionnaire pulled the door open.
Damned
imperial brats
, he thought as he strode
into the dark interior.

#

Two hours later, Jaret was kneeling in
the Temple of Order before a statue of Xionious Valatarian. Made of
delicately carved granite, the twelve foot statue showed their
savior with his hands outstretched, face clear, bald head pointed
toward the sky. His robes hung in perfect lines from his arms,
shrouding his powerful figure. Sandaled feet poked out from under
the robes where they rose ever so slightly from the ground. The sun
shone through the stained glass window to the side, washing the
Savior with greens, blues, and yellows as if anointing him with the
divine light of the Order from the heavens above.

The window showed the sun rising above
the ocean, circled by gulls, casting out the dark night. It was the
symbol upon which the Empire had been founded, order rising out of
the chaos of night to bind the world with its embrace. For a
thousand years, the Empire that Valatarian had founded had
protected that order, had stood as a bulwark against chaos. But
now, Jaret wondered if the time had come for the sun to set on
Valatarian’s mighty empire, if the world had moved beyond it, if
the chaos had darkened it beyond any sunrise’s ability to
save.

Still he prayed to Valatarian, asked
their savior for some way to save the Empire he loved, to bind it
together, to preserve it and the Order that it represented. As with
every day, the statue provided no answers. But he came nonetheless,
and somehow his problems always seemed less after he had shared
them, after he had cast them to the Order and listened patiently,
if unrequitedly, for an answer.