to a good night’s rest, for tomorrow he would be moving south again.
Another week saw Kaspar leaving the relative prosperity of what, he had learned, was now being called the Kingdom of Muboya. And the young Raj had taken the title “Maharajah,” or “great king.” Again he was riding through a war zone, and several times he had been stopped and questioned. This time, he found little hindrance because at each stop he simply stated he was seeking out General Alenburga. His obvious wealth, fine clothing, and fit horse marked him as “someone important,” and he was motioned on without further question.
The village, he was told, was called Timbe, and it had been overrun three times, twice by the forces of Muboya. It was a half-day’s ride south of Kadera, the Maharajah’s southern base of command. After riding in at dawn, Kaspar had been told that the General had come to this village to inspect the carnage the last offensive had unleashed.
The only thing that convinced Kaspar the Muboya army hadn’t been defeated was the lack of retreating soldiers. But from the disposition of those forces still in the field and the destruction visible everywhere, Kaspar knew the Maharajah’s offensive had been halted. At the very best, the Maharajah had achieved a stalemate. At worst, there was a counteroffensive coming this way in a day or two.
Kaspar had little trouble locating the commander’s pavilion, situated as it was on top of a hill overlooking what was likely to be the battlefield. As he rode up the incline, he could see positions to the south being fortified, and by the time he was approached by a pair of guards, he had no doubt as to the tactical situation of this conflict.
An officer and a guardsman waved to Kaspar and the officer asked, “Your business?”
“A moment with General Alenburga.” Kaspar dismounted.
“Who are you?” said the officer, a dirty and tired-looking young man. His white turban was almost beige with road dust and there was blood splattered on his leggings and boots. The dark blue tunics of both men did a poor job of hiding the deep red stains of other men’s blood.
“By name, Kaspar of Olasko. If the General’s memory is overwhelmed by the conflict below, remind him of the stranger who suggested he leave the archers at his rear outside Higara.”
The officer had appeared inclined to send Kaspar on his way, but he said, “I was part of the cavalry that rode north and flanked those archers. I remember it being said an outlander gave the suggestion to the General.”
“I’m pleased to be remembered,” said Kaspar.
To the guard, the officer said, “See if the General has a moment for…an old acquaintance.”
After a moment, Kaspar was bade to enter the pavilion’s main tent. He gave the reins of his mount to the guard and followed the officer inside.
The General looked ten years older instead of three, but he smiled as he looked up. His dark hair was now mostly grey, and combedback behind his ears. His head was uncovered. “Come back for another game of chess, Kaspar?” He rose and extended his hand.
Kaspar shook it. “I wouldn’t have expected to be remembered.”
“Not many men give me a brilliant tactical plan and beat me at chess in the same day.” He motioned for Kaspar to take a canvas seat near a table covered with a map.
Then the General signaled for his batsman to fetch something to drink. “Could have used you a few times along the way, Kaspar. You have a better eye for the field than most of my subcommanders.”
Kaspar inclined his head at the compliment, and accepted a chilled cup of ale. “Where do you find ice around here?” he said as he sipped.
“The retreating forces of our enemy, the King of Okanala as he calls himself, had an icehouse in the village we liberated a few days ago. They managed to haul off all the stores and destroy anything else that might have been helpful to us, but somehow I guess they couldn’t work out a quick way to
Another week saw Kaspar leaving the relative prosperity of what, he had learned, was now being called the Kingdom of Muboya. And the young Raj had taken the title “Maharajah,” or “great king.” Again he was riding through a war zone, and several times he had been stopped and questioned. This time, he found little hindrance because at each stop he simply stated he was seeking out General Alenburga. His obvious wealth, fine clothing, and fit horse marked him as “someone important,” and he was motioned on without further question.
The village, he was told, was called Timbe, and it had been overrun three times, twice by the forces of Muboya. It was a half-day’s ride south of Kadera, the Maharajah’s southern base of command. After riding in at dawn, Kaspar had been told that the General had come to this village to inspect the carnage the last offensive had unleashed.
The only thing that convinced Kaspar the Muboya army hadn’t been defeated was the lack of retreating soldiers. But from the disposition of those forces still in the field and the destruction visible everywhere, Kaspar knew the Maharajah’s offensive had been halted. At the very best, the Maharajah had achieved a stalemate. At worst, there was a counteroffensive coming this way in a day or two.
Kaspar had little trouble locating the commander’s pavilion, situated as it was on top of a hill overlooking what was likely to be the battlefield. As he rode up the incline, he could see positions to the south being fortified, and by the time he was approached by a pair of guards, he had no doubt as to the tactical situation of this conflict.
An officer and a guardsman waved to Kaspar and the officer asked, “Your business?”
“A moment with General Alenburga.” Kaspar dismounted.
“Who are you?” said the officer, a dirty and tired-looking young man. His white turban was almost beige with road dust and there was blood splattered on his leggings and boots. The dark blue tunics of both men did a poor job of hiding the deep red stains of other men’s blood.
“By name, Kaspar of Olasko. If the General’s memory is overwhelmed by the conflict below, remind him of the stranger who suggested he leave the archers at his rear outside Higara.”
The officer had appeared inclined to send Kaspar on his way, but he said, “I was part of the cavalry that rode north and flanked those archers. I remember it being said an outlander gave the suggestion to the General.”
“I’m pleased to be remembered,” said Kaspar.
To the guard, the officer said, “See if the General has a moment for…an old acquaintance.”
After a moment, Kaspar was bade to enter the pavilion’s main tent. He gave the reins of his mount to the guard and followed the officer inside.
The General looked ten years older instead of three, but he smiled as he looked up. His dark hair was now mostly grey, and combedback behind his ears. His head was uncovered. “Come back for another game of chess, Kaspar?” He rose and extended his hand.
Kaspar shook it. “I wouldn’t have expected to be remembered.”
“Not many men give me a brilliant tactical plan and beat me at chess in the same day.” He motioned for Kaspar to take a canvas seat near a table covered with a map.
Then the General signaled for his batsman to fetch something to drink. “Could have used you a few times along the way, Kaspar. You have a better eye for the field than most of my subcommanders.”
Kaspar inclined his head at the compliment, and accepted a chilled cup of ale. “Where do you find ice around here?” he said as he sipped.
“The retreating forces of our enemy, the King of Okanala as he calls himself, had an icehouse in the village we liberated a few days ago. They managed to haul off all the stores and destroy anything else that might have been helpful to us, but somehow I guess they couldn’t work out a quick way to
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