DW01 Dragonspawn (5 page)

“Enough,” Culdus said curtly. “You are here for a reason. What is it?”

“To report to you, what else?” Valdaimon smiled broadly again, raised his arms, and shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of innocent inquiry. His tattered, filth-covered robes swirled as he did so, and the wizard watched carefully to see the baron’s nose wrinkle as the odor assaulted him.

Culdus turned and strode to the far end of the table, his eyes glued to the maps as though there were some important point he was pondering. “Then report. And remember that despite our personal feelings, we are still allies. Be accurate.”

“Certainly, friend Baron, certainly.” Valdaimon beamed. “Here, let me show you on this chart.” The old wizard rushed to Culdus’s side and began flipping through the piles of maps. Culdus recoiled from the smell. He strode quickly across the room, away from the table, and hurled his muscled bulk into one of the high-backed wooden chairs scattered through the spacious chamber.

“Stay there, damn you, and say what you have to say!” Culdus roared.

“Ah, I’ve offended and had no intention of doing so,” Valdaimon said with mock sadness. “What a pity—to always offend those one admires, respects, and works with toward common goals.”

Culdus suppressed his urge to rush the old wizard, grab his scrawny neck, and snatch the life from him with one, solid, satisfying snap. Patience, Culdus counseled himself. “If you please, Valdaimon, I have urgent work before our lord returns,” he said between clenched teeth. “I beg you, report.”

Valdaimon leaned forward, his eyes locking intently on Culdus’s face. His own lean visage grew suddenly serious; his foggy green eyes suddenly bright.

“We raided Shallowford this morning. Our young lord prince tested the cruelty of the twelve and the hundred. I believe he was pleased with the results,” the wizard said.

“Good!” Culdus leapt to his feet, suddenly enthusiastic. “Were there any signs of pity? Any displays of mercy?”

“None.”

“All were slaughtered without distinction?”

“All save one whom our lord prince branded and sent to Dunsford as a sign.”

“Good! There is no place for pity in an officer of the kind of army we will lead.”

“True, good Baron,” Valdaimon agreed. Even the old mage was caught up in the joy of the moment.

“Then we have them—the twelve commanders for our twelve legions. And a hundred or more experienced men-at-arms with innocent blood on their hands. They will make fine leaders of hundreds.”

“It is as you say,” Valdaimon agreed.

“Then we should strike now! Any delay gives Dunsford time to raise allies, prepare defenses....”

“Do not concern yourself, Baron,” Valdaimon reassured the Black Prince’s chief military advisor. “Even as we speak a great bridge is being built at Shallowford. On the third morning hence, the young lord shall give the order and our legions will march.”

Culdus began pacing in his excitement. “That will be a grand day,” he began. “Never has the world seen an army such as the one I have trained. Never have such tactics been perfected. Never before has—”

“Never before has the world seen such troops as I, too, shall supply,” Valdaimon interrupted.

Culdus wheeled and stared at the wizard. “Keep those cursed things of yours under control, wizard. I trust them even less than I trust you, and you know well that is not much. And I do know how to kill
them
.”

Valdaimon nodded in mock obedience. “As you command, great leader. But in all things, I must obey the prince, as must you.”

Culdus snorted again. Little did Valdaimon know that once his usefulness had ended, his prince would turn Culdus loose on the old reprobate. Culdus might not know how to kill Valdaimon, but he would certainly enjoy the many experiments it would take to find out.

Prince Ruprecht of Heilesheim, commonly dubbed the Black Prince, drained his third mug of hot spiced wine, wiped the goose grease from his fingers on his scraggly attempt at a black beard, and belched. It had been an excellent day, capped by an excellent dinner and excellent entertainment. In one day he had sacked a village, gotten construction underway on the bridge over which his armies would pass on their route to conquest, executed prisoners by a variety of ingenious means taught him by Valdaimon, tortured the old elf kept in the deep dungeon for just that purpose, lopped the head and hands off the emissary sent by Count Dunsford with a protest note and sent them back to the count in a plain cloth bag, and eaten his fill of the best food available anywhere in the world. The young lord felt happy and heady. Now it was time to attend with enthusiasm to serious business.

The Black Prince swept his legs across the table, sending platters and goblets flying. “Clear this away!” he bellowed at the cowering servants. “And fetch me Valdaimon and Culdus. Then leave us alone.”

The tall, pale, thin youth rose and went to the high window at the end of the long dining hall while servants scuttled and scurried to carry out his bidding. He gazed through the dusk haze at the mighty River Rigel far below, flowing in its eternal course westward toward the Great Ocean Sea. Barges still plied the waters, those laden with grain from the fertile lands to the north making for the great port of Hamblen, which this very palace-fortress protected, those laden with bolts of cloth, furs, precious woods, and finely handmade goods and devices of every sort beginning their journey east and north to those same lands, which bought most of their goods from Heilesheim, at great price. Soon, Ruprecht thought, the price would be even greater. Once his armies had swept the northern lands, bringing their feuding lords into subjugation, he would bleed them dry.

“My lord, the Baron Manfred Culdus and Valdaimon the Great attend you.”

Ruprecht turned around and dismissed the page with a wave of his hand. “Gentlemen. It is time for me to approve the details of our plan. Please, be seated.” With a grand wave of his arm, the Black Prince indicated the two great chairs that had been set near the head of the table, one to the left of his own and one to the tight. “I assume all is in readiness for our... discussions?”

“It is, my lord,” said Culdus, stepping briskly to the chair on the prince’s right and laying his pile of maps on the table. “I have here the final attack plans for your approval.”

Valdaimon, grinning as usual, hobbled to the seat at the prince’s left and placed before him on the table a large ball of clear crystal mounted on a round black metallic base. “I too have some things to show my lord relative to our plans,” he said in his best obsequious voice.

“My
plans, Valdaimon,” the youth snapped. “Never forget you are my instrument, not co-owner of my ideas nor co-ruler of my realm. You have served me well in the past, but do not presume upon my favor to tolerate your impertinence.” The Black Prince hopped into his huge, leather-padded wooden seat, threw his feet up on the table atop Culdus’s pile of maps, and smiled, first at Culdus, then at Valdaimon. “But enough of reproaches. Show me how my plans will bring the fulfillment of my prophesied destiny. And, by the way, I’ve heard quite enough of this ‘my lord’ business. We all know my doddering, drooling older brother is never going to recover from his unfortunate lack of intelligence. As of today, I have decided to end my regency and assume the throne in my own right. Valdaimon, you will see to the publication of the appropriate decrees.”

Both men rose quickly and bowed deeply from the waist.

This pup is ready, Valdaimon thought.

Culdus, for his part, sighed with relief. It is fitting to have done with the charade, he thought. A kingdom needs a king. Especially a kingdom about to become a great empire.

Culdus straightened to his full height. “Your Majesty,” he began, tugging at his pile of maps. “Uh, er, if Your Majesty please....”

The Black Prince laughed his high-pitched laugh and lifted his legs, allowing the discomfited soldier to retrieve his pile of parchment. Culdus unfolded the largest of the maps and spread it over the surface of the great table. There laid before Ruprecht was a general plan of the known world, from Heilesheim in the southwest to the Five Ports of the Rhanguilds in the northwest, from the Southern Desert at the eastern boundary of Heilesheim to the spine of the Great Mountains that stretched away to the Kingdom of Parona in the far north. What lay beyond the mountains to the east neither men nor elves knew. In the center of the great map was the real prize: the patchwork quilt of duchies and baronies, provinces and minor kingdoms between the rivers Rigel and Pragal—practically a world unto itself—that contained the most fertile lands in all the earth and more than three score cities richer than any others save those of Heilesheim itself.

By themselves none of the cities, baronies, duchies, or kingdoms of the Land Between the Rivers (so it was called) was a great military force. What might they did have was often squandered in the endless series of wars, blood feuds, and border disputes that made every map of the area obsolete by the time the cartographer’s hand had finished it. But these many score of petty states did have a loose confederation, termed the Holy Alliance, by means of which they had in the past repelled invasion from without and suppressed anyone of their number who grew too powerful within. It was to the conquest of the Holy Alliance that Ruprecht was about to turn his hand.

“As Your Majesty knows,” Culdus said, finally able to begin his presentation, “I have, at your command, trained an army divided into twelve legions, each legion in itself a kind of miniature army, able to withstand attack by a much superior foe for a day or more on its own, able to maneuver swiftly, and able to attack with all arms as occasion presents itself. By swiftly moving, combining, and recombining these legions, Your Majesty can create an army of precisely the desired size and strength at any point on the field of campaign.”

Ruprecht waved his hand in the air, signaling Culdus to get on with it. He had heard this theory of the legion of all arms and of their superiority over the large but clumsy field armies likely to be raised by his opponents from the old warrior countless times.

“Yes, sire, I shall attempt to be brief,” Culdus acknowledged. He noticed with satisfaction, though, that Valdaimon was hanging on every word. The wizard, too, was familiar with the military theory behind Culdus’s plan, but he never tired of hearing it again and again. Why this should be, Culdus did not know. But the warrior took satisfaction in knowing that a… creature as intelligent as Valdaimon obviously thought Culdus’s thinking worthy of his deepest attention.

“Ten of Your Majesty’s legions are concentrating, even as we speak, on the south side of the River Rigel opposite Shallowford, where Your Majesty today began construction of a great bridge to ease their crossing. The eleventh legion is here,” Culdus said, pointing to the map, “opposite the twin fortresses of Vladstok and Grullheim. It will remain here to guard our eastern frontier and prevent a descent down the River Rigel on our rear. The twelfth legion, of course, is here at Hamblen, to guard against a descent by sea and to serve as a strategic reserve.”

“Do you think it likely, Culdus,” the prince—now a self-proclaimed king—asked, “that a coalition of the Rhanguilds will attempt a seaborne landing on our shores?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Valdaimon answered. “The political situation in the Rhanguild lands does not favor swift or coordinated action.”

“Just so,” Culdus affirmed, casting a dark glance at Valdaimon. “Nevertheless, we must leave at least one legion in Hamblen to discourage even the remote possibility of such a landing.”

“I see,” the king said, nodding. “Go on.”

Culdus drew his dagger and pointed on the map to Shallowford. “The attack will begin here. We cross the river at Shallowford, aided by the bridge. Four legions will penetrate into Dunsford’s lands about four leagues, then turn westward and march on Fortress Alban from the landward side. Two legions will forge ahead and fan out to crush resistance in Dunsford’s barony, while the remaining four turn east, cross the unguarded frontier into Kala, and swing south, to assault the Tower of Asbel on the north bank of the river. Once Alban and Asbel are secured, the entire force will move northward on a broad front, conquering all the lands up to the Elven Preserve on the east bank of the Pragal and through the Kingdom of Argolia. That will leave only Vladstok and Grullheim on our right as possible bases of operation against us. They will be completely flanked, easily cut off, and will fall rapidly to our siege.”

Culdus stepped back, looking thoughtful and pleased as he studied the maps a final time. “Your Majesty approves?” he asked.

“We are moderately pleased,” the Black Prince responded. “We suppose this will suffice for the first phase of operations. However, you will see to it that once the twin fortresses have fallen our forces are quickly positioned to continue their thrust northward. The Elven Preserve must be taken, and the ultimate strategic objective must be the conquest of Parona.”

Culdus frowned and glanced at Valdaimon, seeking aid from the old wizard. “Your Majesty’s wishes are my command,” he said. “But Your Majesty must remember that our armies will need time to accomplish what I have outlined. Even moving with lightning speed, to do what I have described is the work of a full campaign season. After that, we will need rest and, above all, reinforcement. Also, there is the matter of the political consolidation of the conquered—”

“That need not detain the legions,” Valdaimon chimed in. “His Majesty has wisely delegated political responsibility to the League of the Black Wing. We will have the territories organized sufficiently to support your continued northward drive.”

Culdus scowled deeply and felt, the first pangs of fear clutch at his warrior’s heart. This damnable wizard would talk the king into a program that would lead to disaster!

“I appreciate that the army is not involved in political matters and am certain that the efforts of the League will be... successful,” Culdus stammered, almost choking on the last word. “But I beg Your Majesty to consider that time, supplies, and above all numbers are against an extended campaign this year. Once we attack the Elven Preserve, the terms of the Covenant will be invoked. Parona will enter the war long before we are ready to strike at her with lightning blows, and we cannot expect—”