Hanne - Chapter 392 Among Smoke and Enemies

Previously...

Wooden Fort

A dull orange glow stained the horizon, while smoke drifted across the darkening sky. Every so often, flecks of soot came riding on the wind, and even from this distance there was a faint acrid smell in the air.

The question of who had set the fields ablaze lingered as the fire spread. It was puzzling enough that even Izzet Bey unexpectedly sent someone to the wooden fort to ask whether the Shogunate was responsible.

The captain on the wall gave his word that they were not. "I believe you keep watch over every approach to and from this fort," he called down. "How exactly do you imagine we sent anyone out there?"

"But you have boats," the messenger retorted. His face flickered in the light of the long torches carried by his escorts.

"The boats are manned by locals. I doubt they're going to help us burn their own countryside. That's an unlikely proposition."

"But you have every reason to do it, don't you?"

"Reason?" The captain laughed. "I could say the same of you. If those fields are crops, burning them denies us food the boats could otherwise bring."

The messenger dismissed that at once. "I wouldn't be here asking if my side had done it."

"That's one thief accusing another," the captain shot back. "You could be here for no other reason than to confuse us."

With neither side getting anywhere, the messenger finally blurted, "Then swear it!"

The captain leaned against the timber and looked down at him. "On whose gods? Mine or yours?"

The messenger laughed, then gathered his composure. "As long as it isn't the Ageless. We're more alike than you're aware. We worship the Ancients and their sons, the Great Progenitors."

"I hate it when you're right," the captain jested. Then he drew a slow breath and spoke more solemnly. "I swear in the name of the Ancients that the Shogunate had no hand in this fire."

In return, the messenger straightened in the saddle. "And I, under the authority of Izzet Bey, the illustrious commander of this army, with the Great Progenitors as my witness, swear that the Empire was not involved in this fire."

As he finished, one of his escorts offered him an arrow. The messenger took it, then glanced up toward the captain. "Do you want the arrow as well?"

"Of course. One less arrow on your side is always welcome," the captain replied.

The messenger snorted, then snapped the arrow in two and cast the broken halves onto the ground. "Then we're done here. I'll return to my master's side."

With that, he gathered the reins, turned his horse, and started back toward the Navalnian camp.

"Do you intend to move your camp?" the captain called after him.

Amused, the messenger looked back. "Our military affairs are none of your concern, O my amusing adversary."

The captain laughed as the messenger and his escort rode away.

"I kind of like that man," the captain remarked to those around him. "I'll kill him last. Or capture him, if we ever have enough men to challenge them in open battle."

With the exchange finally over, the captain climbed down from the wall and reported to the Lord. "It's hard to judge their reaction, but I don't think they're the ones who started it."

Lansius gave a slow nod. He had heard the entire exchange.

Seeing his reaction, the captain asked, "Who do you think did it?"

By then, several of the officers who were still awake had gathered around them. Lansius looked from one face to another. "It certainly wasn't us."

"Then who, My Lord?" one of the senior lieutenants asked.

"Well," Lansius said, "who was it last year that burned the crops to keep the Navalnians from eating them?"

The men exchanged glances. Some nodded, while others shook their heads in disbelief and muttered among themselves.

One officer finally spoke. "But the situation is entirely different now. They're allies."

Lansius stifled a smile and said, "Always look at the bigger picture. Go get some sleep, or endure the night watch with this in mind. There will be coin for anyone who can give me a good answer by the morning meeting."

The officers immediately began murmuring their theories among themselves.

Lansius left them to their discussion. He had no wish to explain it for them. He wanted his officers to learn to think critically. Still, something about the situation bothered him as well.

Something isn't right...

The way everything had unfolded was too fast.

"My Lord, where do you wish to go now?" Ocelot asked when he did not head back toward his tent.

"Just follow me for a bit," Lansius replied.

He wandered through the camp beneath the light of a few lanterns, though he hardly needed them. His eyes, aided by the gemstone, were already well accustomed to the dark.

His guards and Ocelot followed without question. Here and there, Lansius stopped to speak with men on night-watch duty or patrol, asking small questions and listening to the latest gossip. He was checking on them as much as gathering the mood of the camp.

Lansius also stopped to speak with several camp followers who were still awake, assuring them that the fire was far enough away that there was no cause for concern.

"But what if it gets too near?" one sleepy boy asked.

"Well, we have buckets, and the river is close," Lansius replied. "It'll be easy enough to put out. Will you help if that happens?"

That drew a few chuckles from those nearby.

Afterward, he continued toward another stretch of the wall and called up to the guards, "Bone Breakers!"

"My Lord!" the men answered at once, clearly pleased. Being addressed like that made them feel special.

Lansius stayed for a while and spoke with them directly, hearing their concerns without officers standing in between. He did it because he knew that after such fighting, many of his men would be shaken, and some would wake in the night from nightmares.

Even for veterans, the trauma was real, especially with the stench of blood, death, and burned bodies still lingering in the air. Now there was also the acrid smell of the distant fire. Lansius wanted to be present for his men, hoping that simply being there might ease some of the strain.

"More magic potion tomorrow, My Lord?" one of them asked.

"There's plenty of ingredients left," Lansius assured him.

A murmur of approval rose from the men.

Lansius continued along the walls. His gemstone allowed him to see in the dark, making him another pair of eyes helping to keep the fort secure. With his guards and Ocelot moving alongside him, their rounds offered further assurance that the darkness hid nothing from them.

***

Wooden Fort

The sun rose to mark a new day, but it rose through a dirty veil of smoke. Most of the great fires had spent themselves during the night, leaving broad stretches of blackened farmland across the distant countryside. Here and there, flames still smoldered among hedges, abandoned stacks, and patches of dry growth, while thin columns of smoke climbed into the morning sky.

In one of the towers, several sentries stood against the strong wind carrying ash and the bitter smell of charred grain. Through the drifting haze, one of them caught sight of horsemen approaching from the enemy camp, and the warning bell rang at once.

The walls came alive. Men rose from where they had been resting, crossbowmen took their places along the fighting platforms, and weapons appeared above the palisade.

"Halt there!" the sentry shouted down. "Come no farther, or our bowmen will loose!"

The approaching horsemen immediately slowed and came to a stop well beyond the ditches. The man at their head lowered his cloak, revealing a face they already knew.

"I bring words from my illustrious leader, Izzet Bey," the messenger called. "Make haste and bring me someone with authority to answer them."

Heavy footsteps soon sounded from the stairs as the Captain climbed onto the fighting platform. His men stepped aside to give him room at the palisade. The moment he reached the edge and looked down, the two men recognized each other.

The messenger spoke first, his voice carrying clearly across the open ground. "Hail, foe of the Empire! Have you considered our terms?"

The Captain rested his hands on the timber before him and grumbled, "It's too early for this. I haven't even had breakfast." Then, with a dry edge to his voice, he added, "Do you really wish to send your men to die this early?"

A smirk tugged at the messenger's lips. "Not our fault you weren't prepared."

"Big words from someone who came knocking last night asking about a fire."

"Can we get to the matter at hand? This is hardly the first time we've traded words across these walls."

"Very well. I assume you've brought better terms today, after all the blood your men spilled yesterday."

"The terms stand. Surrender, and you may yet be granted leniency." His tone turned almost coaxing. "I beseech you to take it. I'll even see that you're ransomed back to freedom. You may find the Empire a merry place to live."

The Captain laughed. "You haven't seen Korelia."

"Our capital is hardly to be compared with some Lowlandian city."

"Ha!" The Captain scoffed. "You're beginning to bore me, messenger."

"Have you considered—"

"Wait." The Captain raised one hand, already glancing back over his shoulder. Then he turned to the messenger again. "I have something important to announce."

"Speak." The messenger's tone turned formal.

"Bring your leader," the Captain demanded, his back now ramrod straight. "My Lord is here."

Before he had even finished speaking, three massive silhouettes vaulted from the wall. Despite their size and the drop beneath them, they landed on the open ground beyond the palisade with startling grace, touching down with little more than muted thuds.

Only once they straightened and thumped their massive glaives against the earth could everyone see them clearly. Their towering builds, thick fur, wolf-like heads, and massive arms left no doubt. They were the famed half-kin.

Their sudden appearance startled the horses beneath the messenger and his escorts. The animals tossed their heads and shied backward, forcing the Navalnian riders to pull hard on the reins.

The half-kin at the rear had carried a man down with her. One of his boots had been braced against the back of her belt, while one hand gripped the leather straps normally used to secure a shield across her back. He stepped calmly to the ground beside her, as though the descent had been nothing, and began walking toward the messenger.

Even visibly startled, the messenger caught sight of the man's thin black beard and immediately dismounted. His cloak was a worn, unadorned black, yet there was something in the way he walked, in his confidence and commanding presence, that spoke of power.

His escorts followed without hesitation. Strict courtesies governed how one addressed a superior, and the man approaching them was no ordinary lord. In rank and bearing, he stood closer to a king.

"I wish to speak with your leader," the man said, his voice carrying an unmistakable regal authority.

The messenger bowed his head deeply. "It shall be done, O Lord of Lords."

"I'm not a Shah," the man corrected him, his half-kins taking position on either side. "I'm more of a Pasha."

The messenger bowed his head. "Very well, O Great Pasha. I shall return with good news."

He withdrew at once, his escorts backing away with him on foot. Only after putting a dozen paces between themselves and the man did they mount their horses and ride back toward their camp.

...

Lansius watched them go, then turned toward the gate, where the drawbridge had already been lowered. Soon the gates opened, and his guards emerged first, followed by the unwounded men-at-arms. Hundreds of them spread out across the open ground, armed and fully equipped.

It was deliberate. A little psychological warfare for the Navalnians watching from afar. Now they could see for themselves how little yesterday's assault had achieved. More importantly, the display made one thing plain. The fort still held plenty of men ready to fight.

As his guards reached his side, Lansius said, "Can I bother you to get someone to bring some chairs, a table, and a large umbrella?"

"Some dry sand as well, My Lord," Ocelot suggested, glancing at the ground around them. "The ground's still badly stained from yesterday."

Lansius looked down at the darkened earth, then turned to Ocelot. "It stinks, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Ocelot replied, her nose wrinkling slightly. Her sisters, standing beside Lansius, nodded in agreement.

Lansius fought the urge to tap her on the nose, knowing even something that small would start another round of rumors. At this point, almost anything he did seemed to attract unhealthy attention. He had already heard that a few unscrupulous men were trading the last drops of his so-called magic potion in exchange for meals from the camp followers, claiming it would improve health and hasten recovery.

He had to issue a notice. The potion lost most of its effect within a few hours of brewing, and it had no healing properties. Better to curb that kind of enthusiasm before someone took it too far.

Soon, the meeting place was ready. Dry earth had been spread over a broad patch of ground not far in front of the drawbridge, then covered with a thick carpet. Two chairs and a table stood beneath the large umbrella. Each side was expected to bring only one guard to stand beside its commander's seat, serving as protector, adviser, and witness to the parley. It was a well-known arrangement.

Lansius chose Ocelot to stand at his side, partly for the impression it would make.

Izzet Bey soon arrived and, not to be outdone, came in a fast white chariot drawn by two fine horses. By their time, chariots were already archaic, seen mostly in races or ceremonies rather than on the battlefield. The coachman brought it straight to the edge of the carpet, allowing the master to step down from the rear directly onto it.

The coachman remained with the horses, positioning the chariot behind his master. Its ornate frame and fine pair lent their side a touch of grandeur, set against Lansius' hundreds of men and the wooden fort.

At Izzet Bey's side stood his ghulam, following him like a shadow. The servant wore black garb beneath a dark cloak, his face hidden behind a dull ivory-colored mask. He was likely a mage or an assassin, perhaps both.

The two sides formally announced their names and titles, and the two leaders took their places.

Izzet Bey inclined his head with measured courtesy. "Gratitude for the invitation, O Great Pasha of Midlandia. Then, what shall we discuss?"

"Have you discovered who has been burning the fields?" Lansius began with a blunt question.

"I have my suspicions, but no solid proof," the Navalnian replied calmly. "Personally, I don't care. It has nothing to do with me, or with you, I presume."

Lansius studied him, matching his calm. "You're not interested in knowing?"

"Naturally. But at the same time, not at all. I was sent here to destroy your forces. Nothing else," Izzet Bey said firmly, leaving Lansius little room to pursue the matter further.

"Can I at least say that the fire changes things for both of us?" Lansius asked. "Or do I need to explain how, without grain, your thirty-thousand-strong army becomes more of a liability with each passing day? You may have dozens of days' worth of food left, perhaps more, but your supply line stretches all the way from Navalnia. How many days does it take for pack animals carrying grain to reach you?"

Izzet Bey could not quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That is a concern, indeed. But I assure you, our logistics are robust. They sustained our campaign into North Midlandia, which lies much farther away than South Edessa."

"I can see that," Lansius said. "But now that you're here, the Empire has to support two stretched supply lines. Last year, you still had crops from Eastern Edessa that survived the Margrave's fires. But tell me, does the harvest there look good to you now?"

"It is better than you might expect, O Pasha. You may be imagining rebellious peasants, but in truth, they care little for who sits at the top or whose banner flies above them. Peasants are peasants. They tend their fields and animals, and little more." Izzet Bey paused, then added, "And contrary to what you believe, we do not put everyone in chains. That would put things out of order. Only in war are the troops and irregulars permitted to take captives."

Lansius shook his head. "I still think you'll find the situation different."

A cool breeze passed over the field.

"How so?" Izzet Bey asked, keen to hear where Lansius' reasoning would fail. So far, the man before him seemed more legend than substance.

Lansius allowed himself a chuckle. "It'll be almost amusing to watch the Empire walk toward its own ruin. History taught me how invasions like this end, even when everything seems won. You may have a few years yet, but the wind will change."

"You speak in riddles, O Pasha," Izzet Bey replied, plainly unmoved.

"Then let me give you something more concrete." Lansius settled back in his chair. "I wasn't born in these lands. I came from islands far beyond here, from a much larger world."

That caught Izzet Bey's interest. The old commander had once commanded sea vessels himself.

"In that world, there was a war called the Imjin War. A powerful army crossed the sea and invaded a kingdom called Joseon. At first, they crushed almost everything before them. Cities fell. Armies broke. The invaders pushed deep into the country. Much like what your Empire accomplished last year."

Izzet Bey listened.

"But they made a mistake," Lansius continued. "They believed much as you do, that peasants would not care whose lord ruled them or whose banner flew above their village. And normally, that was true. A peasant cares for his fields and simply pays taxes to a different master. But that time, the invaders took all their grain and their livestock to continue the war. That was what made the difference."

Izzet Bey stroked his chin. He could see the similarities.

"When submitting means the invader will take the food meant for their children, peasants and commoners have nothing left to gain. Moreover, like them, your Empire will put down each rebellion brutally. Your side will kill many, maim others, and enslave the rest. No court. No justice. Do that for several years, and you'll find yourself facing a sea of rebels. The fire will only grow."

Lansius leaned back slightly. "And that is why I'm leaving. I don't need to defeat the Empire. I would never interrupt an enemy while he is making a mistake."

Izzet Bey looked amused. He turned slightly, gazing across the stretch of land that had become their battlefield, as though to hide the full extent of his reaction. "I did not expect to come here and receive counsel," he said. "Then I shall report this to the Padishah myself. You have my gratitude, O Pasha. At the very least, it will make for an entertaining story, and one told by a man of your reputation, no less."

Lansius inclined one hand in acknowledgment, accepting the compliment.

"Tell me," Izzet Bey continued, "what happened in this war you speak of?"

"Joseon won," Lansius revealed. "The superior force that had treated the kingdom as little more than a stepping stone toward a greater conquest lost many of its finest troops and generals, then retreated across the sea in shame. The defeat weakened the order they had built at home, and before long, their lords were fighting one another."

He paused, then added, "You would be wise to consider where you stand when something like that happens. Defeat does not disgrace only rulers. It drags Beys and Pashas down with them."

Lansius deliberately withheld the most important details. He had no intention of telling the Bey exactly how the resistance had succeeded, fearing such knowledge could later be turned against the rebellions that would rise.

Izzet Bey drew a deep breath. "It is a good story, but I fail to see how it bears on our present situation."

"I only wanted us to agree on one thing. The fire changes matters for both of us, and I believe it will only continue."

"Were you not the one behind it?"

"I'm capable of such a thing," Lansius said, putting an end to the speculation, "but I wasn't the one who set it alight. Whoever did it wanted us away from their land. By burning the fields, they denied us the grain."

Izzet Bey gave a slow nod. He had suspected much the same. "That still changes nothing between us, nor the orders I carry."

"Certainly. I'm not here to change that," Lansius stated.

Izzet Bey's expression grew guarded. "Then what do you wish to achieve?"

"In light of the fire, my own lack of reason to remain here, and your dwindling grain stores, I propose we end this today."

Izzet Bey was quick to grasp what Lansius was suggesting, but he still struggled to see where his opponent stood to gain from it. "Just a single day?"

Lansius gave a nod.

The wind passed over them again, stirring the great umbrella above their heads.

Unhurried, Lansius explained, "The Margrave's force across the river has already been defeated and is now in full retreat. I can evacuate my own force whenever I wish."

That caught Izzet Bey by surprise, though he concealed it well. His expression shifted only slightly before settling back into its usual composure. "If that is true, then why are you sitting here speaking with me instead of retreating?"

"To satisfy your men's dangerous curiosity." Lansius chuckled softly. "I have no wish to be chased, fighting pointless skirmish after skirmish. I no longer care for this war. But a truce would be too complicated. So let blood be spilled today so your men can satisfy their hunger, and they will have less desire to seek more in the weeks that follow."

Izzet Bey stifled a chuckle. "You are indeed no ordinary Pasha."

Lansius accepted the praise without comment.

"Three days," Izzet Bey stated. "If you survive them, I shall allow your forces to retreat unharmed."

"If you want three days, then I ask that your forces advance no farther than here," Lansius countered.

Izzet Bey answered at once. "You are in no position to bargain. My offer is already generous."

"One day," Lansius insisted. "Or the ten thousand men I've already sent across the river will rise with the South Edessans, and then you'll be in a world of hurt."

Izzet Bey scoffed. His gaze drifted into the distance as he weighed the threat. At last, he said, "You bargain like a trader in the Capital. Fine. One day. But your force leaves South Edessa."

"I can only promise that I shall leave this place, and even if your riders search for a full day and night, they will not find me. Nothing more."

"Not good enough." Izzet Bey fixed his eyes on Lansius. "You have seen what is on my mind. Now I ask you to show me yours."

Lansius held his gaze, and in the end, the older man was the first to look away.

Only then did Lansius reveal, "Arrabona. Take whatever else you wish, but leave south of Arrabona to me. Consider it my price for the trouble I've gone through in Edessa."

Izzet Bey's eyes sharpened. "What about Tergeste and beyond?"

Lansius replied dryly, "That's between you and your ally, the Margrave, to decide."

Izzet Bey considered it for a moment, then turned to his loyal ghulam. "You heard nothing of this."

The masked ghulam gave a deep nod.

Izzet Bey looked back to Lansius. "This part was never spoken."

Lansius' nod sealed the deal. "Send your best. I shall entertain them for one day."

"I will want your promise on paper."

"Of course. My squire here is trained scribe." Lansius gestured to Ocelot, who immediately brought out what she needed and began writing down the terms of their agreement.

"Impressive," Izzet Bey remarked, watching her with open interest.

Ocelot carefully set down each condition while the two leaders watched. Once both were satisfied with the wording, Izzet merely glanced at his ghulam. Without a word, and without so much as flinching, the man held out his hand. Blood was drawn from his palm, and the agreement was stamped with it.

Sealed in blood, the agreement made no mention of Arrabona.

Izzet Bey regarded the document with evident satisfaction. "With this, I can report to my Padishah without fear of repercussions."

"Tell me about your Padishah. What kind of man is he?" Lansius asked.

"He's a remarkable leader. Competent, highly capable. I hope he lives another hundred years, so that even my great-grandson may have the honor of serving him." Izzet Bey paused, then added with surprising candor, "Though I must admit, he isn't what you would call pleasant company."

Lansius had not expected that kind of honesty. He shifted the subject. "You know, Izzet Bey—"

"Just Izzet is fine." With the deal settled between them, some of the caution left his manner.

"Uncle Izzet, then."

The older man snorted, pleased.

"Tomorrow, the war between us is over. But the age of turmoil is still upon us. Even as an adversary, if you ever need a place to go, you won't be disappointed with Korelia."

Izzet Bey measured the offer carefully. There was something unsettling about his opponent's lack of hostility, as though Lansius did not consider him a worthy foe. "My fortune still shines despite my old age. As for the rest, only time can tell."

With nothing more to say, both men rose. Neither wished to linger long enough for their armies to mistake courtesy for friendship.

At last, Izzet Bey gave his farewell. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then, O Great Pasha. I hope you survive the noon, and then the night."

Lansius caught the warning behind the words. "I'll meet you without fail before I depart tomorrow morning."

Izzet Bey gave him an amused look before climbing onto his white chariot. His ghulam followed. The coachman first drew the horses around in a tight turn, then sprang aboard as the pair surged forward, carrying them away with almost theatrical flair.

Lansius was impressed enough that one of his guards noticed.

"I'm sure we can find something similar for you, My Lord," the guard commented.

"Perhaps pulled by two war ducks," the Captain chimed in from nearby.

Caught completely off guard, Lansius burst out laughing as he turned back toward the camp. To his men, the reaction was so genuine that it looked as though he had just won a difficult negotiation, and that alone seemed a good enough omen to stir murmurs among them.

Once he regained his composure, Ocelot leaned closer and whispered, "My Lord, I haven't heard that you have agents prepared in Arrabona."

"I don't," Lansius answered.

"But you said earlier..."

"That'll make them think I have a plan, won't it? It gives us time to prepare something. In the end, though, it's still up to Arrabona whether they open their gates to us or not. But even if they don't, we've still bought them time to prepare against the Empire. I think that's noble too, don't you?"

Ocelot's expression softened. In a region where the host had betrayed his own allies, the Lord's penchant for still choosing the noble course made him stand apart.

As they headed back inside the fort, Lansius raised his voice to the men along the walls and to the columns now marching back toward the wooden fort.

"One day," he shouted. "They'll give it everything they have, and we should meet them in kind."

His men roared in answer.

Then Lansius turned to his officers. "Gentlemen, let us not waste the welcome we worked so hard to prepare."

The officers exchanged dangerous grins. They had suffered to build those traps, and now they were eager to see them drink blood.

For what they had prepared, only Empire's best would do.

***

PS: Pasha is a Persian title commonly used for high-ranking officials and military commanders, roughly comparable to a general.

Shahanshah means King of Kings, with Shah meaning King. That's why Lansius refused being called, Lord of Lords, fearing it might sound as though he accepted being called as king.

No action this chapter, but I hope the meeting between the two was still a good read. The big clash, along with the reveal of who started the fires, is coming next chapter.

Lansius is being dangerously sly here. He simply wants to make sure the Empire's best die before he retreats.

So, Arrabona and everything south of it. It seems more region may be about to embrace the Blue and Bronze. Also, war-duck chariot, anyone want to see that?

Lastly, I’m not sure why, but the proofread software keeps changing between "Captain" and "captain". Sometimes it follows my use of "Captain," while other times it insists on "captain" with a lowercase c. After 3 years, I'm too tired to keep fighting it every time, so I apologize for the inconsistency.

As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War!