Valdemar 06 - [Exile 01] - Exile’s Honor (20 page)

And therein lay the rub. The regular troops were few. Standing armies were expensive beasts to maintain. Men had to be recruited or conscripted—and if you took too many men off the land, who would till and plant and harvest the fields or tend the herds? Once you had the men, you had to train them, and house and feed them
while
you were training them. Then, when they weren't actually fighting (which was most of the time) you
still
had to feed and house them. The Sunpriests might be able to induce religious fervor enough to get their men to fight without pay (or at least, with minimal pay), but they still couldn't get by without food and shelter, no matter how fanatic or pious or even desirous of paradise they were.

And besides that, there was a limit to how many troops you could recruit in the first place. Many places in Karse had poor soil; poor soil meant that a great deal of work had to be put into a farm to make it prosper. The boys might get dreams of glory in the Sunsguard, but their fathers would see to it that they didn't run off when they were needed at home. No matter how hungry for the land and riches of other realms the Sunpriests were, they were not mad enough to deplete their own land of the very people needed to keep the farms going. By the time Alberich was about to get his first commission, they had conscripted so many of the poor in the cities that there was an actual labor shortage, and women were taking jobs that once only men had filled. That had been the reasoning behind permitting bandits to use Karse as a base to raid into Valdemar; bandits didn't require the support of the state, and they kept up the ongoing feud with Valdemar without—in theory, at least—costing Karse anything. Except that, of course, bandits didn't keep their bargains, which had required the Sunpriests use all of their Sunsguard to quell them, leaving no fighters for any other little projects they might have in mind.

Which left hiring troops as the only viable option, if troops were needed for a campaign against anyone. That meant either Mercenary Guild companies, which were trustworthy, would not loot or otherwise molest your people, and in general were welcome in the lands of those who hired them—or non-Guild troops, which were unpredictable at best, and a hazard to those who hired them at worst. By betraying the Mercenary Guild, the Sunpriests had shaved those options to a narrow little rind, because not even the non-Guild Companies operating anywhere near Karse would touch a contract.

Of course, the only reason why you would need more troops was if you were going to start a war. The
last
time when the rulers Karse had reneged on a Guild contract—the war had been internal. Some madman out of the hills had decided that Vkandis spoke through
him
without any evidence or real miracles to back up his assertions. But his cause was convenient for some of the nobles, moneyed merchants, and even a few priests, so they backed him and began a civil war. Both sides of the conflict had been decimated, which was, in part, how a bastard-born peasant like Alberich had managed to get into cadet training. And if it came to more than Border skirmishing, frankly, in Alberich's opinion Karse couldn't possibly raise the troops needed from among its own people.

If Karse was planning a real war again, non-Guild mercenaries were the only way in which an army could be raised in a hurry. But—the Tedrels? Could they possibly be mad enough to use the Tedrels?

A war? With whom?
Rethwellan, perhaps. In the last conflict, Rethwellan had seized the opportunity to increase its borders, and the Sunpriests badly wanted the province of Menmellith. Not Valdemar, surely not—surely the lessons learned in the past were enough by now! No matter
how
fanatically the Sunpriests hated Valdemar and the Demon-Riders, surely they knew better than to engage in open warfare. Now Rethwellan—that made more sense, and there was some justification for warfare with that land. Menmellith had once been Karsite. Very, very long ago, of course, but the Sunpriests had long memories.

But—to use the Tedrels! The very idea made him feel a little sick.

It was hardly
honorable
to hire creatures like the Tedrels for anything.
They
followed none of the laws of combat; they were more apt to turn to massacre civilians than they were to fight the battles for which they'd been hired.

“But little, I know,” Alberich said slowly. “And that, hearsay for the most part is.”

“Figure we know less,” Dethor said, settling back in his chair, and motioning for Alberich to take the one remaining seat left.

Alberich did so, but not with any feeling of ease. He sat on the very edge, back straight, muscles tense. “It is said,” he began, “and long ago this was—three, perhaps four generations—that a war there was, in a land south and far, far east of Karse. Brother fought brother, in a cause none now recall. But those who the Tedrels became, lost that war, and instead of surrender, into exile went. Determined they were to gain back what lost had been—a land their own to call, where called they no man ‘lord.' But nothing they had—except their skill at arms. And so, mercenaries they became. All of them. Company after company, after company. Which, even in defeat, enough men was, to fill up a country.”

Now it was his turn to watch as Dethor's eyes bulged just a little with shock. “An
entire nation
of mercenaries?” the Weaponsmaster asked, aghast.

Alberich nodded; interesting that Dethor had not known that, which was the thing most notable about the Tedrel Companies. “Now, that was long and long ago, and wanderers they became as well. No wives would they take except those who would wander and consent to being the property of who could hold them, and no women in their ranks as fighters at all. Camp followers only, have they decreed that women may be. And—” He found this next part difficult to articulate, but he tried. “They—altered. It is said.”

“In what way ?” one of the others asked, abruptly cutting into his narrative.

It was the King's Own, Talamir, not in one of his more elaborate uniforms, but in a set of Whites like everyone else's. No wonder Alberich hadn't noticed him until he spoke.
Talamir here, and waiting to hear what I know . . . it may be rumor, but they are taking the rumor seriously.

“Once, they had honor and purpose, and things they would not do. Now,” He shrugged. “Nothing there is, they will not do, should the reward be high.
Anything
for loot. War they bring against the unarmed, as well as fighting true battles. I have heard—dreadful things.” He had to pause, shaking his head. “With no wives, only women held by the strongest, no families, their ranks then grew but slowly, and difficult, it was, to replace those who fell. So now anyone they take into their ranks, who presents himself—thief, murderer, it matters not, has he a strong arm. And thus, cruelty upon cruelty piles.”

Dethor and Talamir exchanged a worried look.

But Alberich wasn't quite finished. “The greatest change is this. No more seeking
the
home, they look only for
a
home. Should any offer a new land in reward, it is said—it is said that there is
nothing
they would not do.” He gnawed his lower lip, thinking about the cold-blooded killers that Aksel had described, and what they would willingly do for anyone who was so foolish as to offer them a new homeland. His blood ran cold at the very idea. “But this, hearsay only is,” he amended. “None I know has seen them, spoken to them, fought against them nor with them. Should any in Valdemar seek them to hire, warned they should be. It is said, moreover, that no sworn word do they truly hold by but their own,
to
their own, and they can and have turned against those who hired them.”

“Someone had better find a way to get that message across to your own people,” Dethor replied grimly. “Because word has reached us that they're thinking about hiring the Tedrel Companies. And not just one of 'em.
All
of 'em.”

Now Alberich went icy cold all over with sudden dread, and was glad he was sitting down. Hiring one or two of the Tedrel Companies, he could just barely see. Aksel was not high enough in the ranks for his warnings to be heeded overmuch on that score. But all of them? There was only one reward that would tempt
all
of them together. “Madness,” he said flatly. “Surely not—”
Surely not even the maddest and most fanatical of priests would hazard all to cast their lot with the Tedrels!
That would be insane. As Aksel had described them, having the Tedrels in one's midst was like playing host to a large pack of wild dogs. So long as they were full-bellied and content, the worst that would happen was that there would be a little damage to small towns here and there, if the scum that now filled out the ranks of the Tedrels grew bored. Perhaps rape, a bit of looting, possibly a few houses burned.

The “worst” that would happen if they are satisfied . . . rape. Looting. Oh, my poor people. . . .
His stomach turned over. He thought about his border villages, and his throat and chest tightened, his gut roiling.

No worse, perhaps, than the bandits were already doing on the Borders.

But to face it from bandits, and then receive worse from those beasts—who in turn were
hired
by the Priests supposed to protect them!

That would be bad enough, But if the paychests were not as full as promised, or stopped altogether—the pack would turn. . . .

And fire and the sword would reign, at least until the paychests came again.

His chest felt too tight; his heart ached at the mere thought.

If this were true, the only way to hire the whole nation
was
to promise a homeland. Would Karse offer Menmellith?

Possibly. Menmellith was no great prize, but would Karse then want the Tedrels as neighbors?

Karse as a new homeland probably would not tempt them; it was too hard a land. They wanted something like that dream that their land had become for them, a place fat and rich, soft and sweet. But they would take out their spleen on Karse if it promised them such a homeland and failed to deliver it into their hands.

“That's what we've heard,” Dethor said, shrugging. “Anything more you can tell us?”

Alberich shook his head; what more
could
he say? Dread was a sickening lump in his belly. “This rumor—I hope it false proves.”

“Our sources are good,” was all that Talamir would say. The third man, who was
not
in Whites and did not identify himself, only grunted.
He
looked about as friendly as Mirilin—which was to say, not at all. There was no doubt in Alberich's mind that the third man did not trust him.

And why should he, if even some (if not most) of the Heralds were ambivalent about Alberich?

:But we aren't,:
Kantor said with some force.

The warmth that followed that pronouncement made the cold nausea lift a little, and eased some of the churning of his gut. It certainly made him feel less as if he was standing alone, facing a suspicious mob.

:I know. Thank you.:
Knowing that the Companions now accepted him helped a little, but—

He knew what he wanted to say—that he had given up everything,
everything,
when he was brought here. That he had thrown his lot in with Valdemar, given his
word,
and that word was not given lightly. Couldn't they see that? This unknown man, who watched him from under furrowed brows, didn't he realize that?

And he wanted to say that—if his own people had sunk so low as to hire the Tedrels to do their dirty work, then surely even the Sunlord would abandon them. . . .

But he said none of this, for it would not matter if he did. Instead, he sat stone-faced and silent, and waited for the others to say something.

Even if it was only to “suggest” that he leave.

Finally Dethor hissed a little between his teeth. “I don't s'ppose,” he said carefully, “that you'd know anybody likely to—well—be
helpful?
Inside Karse, that is? We'd like to know more about these rumors from someone with good, hard facts.”

That . . . was a little better. Even if it sniffed around the edges of that promise they'd made him, the promise never to ask him to work against his own people.

“Depend it does,” Alberich replied, just as carefully, “on what it is, by
helpful,
you mean.”

“Information,” Talamir said. “Nothing more. And nothing that would hurt Karse. Only what will protect
us
without hurting your people.”

Alberich turned Talamir's words over and over in his mind, as the other three watched him. Because he
did
know someone who might—just might—be willing to be “helpful.” Of all the people that Alberich knew, Aksel Tarselein was the most likely to be enraged and offended if this tale of hiring the Tedrels was true, and was, because of his own contacts, the most likely to know if it was truth or rumor spread to discomfit the enemies of Karse.

For Aksel Tarselein, trainer of cadets, had already been a deeply troubled man when Alberich knew him. Someone—another young, highborn officer—had once described him, with a sneer, as “one of the old school,” as if being a man of honor and integrity, whose word was seldom given and always kept, was somehow unfashionable and old-fashioned. And the shifts to which the Son of the Sun had fallen by the time Alberich had been commissioned had left Aksel profoundly disturbed. He was glad, he had confessed to the younger Alberich when the two of them had shared a farewell flask on the night of Alberich's commission, that he was no longer in a position where he found himself forced to obey orders which went against his conscience. “And it is a harder world today,” he had said sadly, staring at the last few drops in the bottom of his flagon. “You may discover that you have to stop thinking—or stop obeying. I hope that the Sunlord will guide you, young one.”