Read The Chesian Wars (A Griffins & Gunpowder Collection) Online
Authors: Joshua Johnson
The Chesian Wars (A Griffins & Gunpowder Collection)
The Chesian Wars
(A Griffins & Gunpowder Collection)
Joshua Johnson
© Copyright 2012
Alexsei Charkov, Commanding General of the Central Army of Chesia, strode down the Grand Hallway with long, sure steps. His uniform, gold with red accents, was freshly cleaned and pressed. He clutched a stack of reports in one hand and several rolled maps in the other. The Grand Hallway ran the length of the Imperial Governance building and had entrances to every assembly hall and council room in the building. Guards stood outside of each room; some rooms were guarded by a pair, whereas others were guarded by six or more.
Massive banners, gold with red dragons sewn across them, hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor. Iron chandeliers burned bright in the late evening, complemented by a sliver of golden sunlight from windows in the western wall.
At the end of the hall stood the entrance to the Hall of Assembly, where the district governors would meet to negotiate treaties and sign agreements with one another and the surrounding nations. The Hall had stood unused for more than three hundred years, since the end of the last Peace.
The Empire of Chesia had not been a united entity for more than fifteen hundred years, but had managed several extensive periods of peace and cooperation. A charismatic district governor would convince his fellows that it was in their interest to work together, or a particularly skilled diplomat would bring the districts together under a web of treaties and alliances. It was rare, however, for the treaties to last longer than the life of the man responsible for them, and the districts quickly devolved into independent entities again.
Many of the Chesian Districts were small: a town, its surrounding farmlands and a stronghold or keep. A handful of the Imperial Districts had as many as half a dozen towns, extensive lands and citizens, and several fortresses. The Gorban District was the largest in the Empire, boasting two large cities, a dozen smaller towns, five major fortresses and more than a tenth of the entire Imperial lands.
It had been the control of such a significant portion of the Empire that had given Frederick Maximilian the starting point he needed to launch his unification. Frederick had ascended to the title of Governor of Gorban after the passing of his father and had wasted no time in making his vision of a unified Empire a reality.
A series of alliances, trade agreements and carefully planned assassinations had brought a third of the Chesian Districts under Frederick's control in less than three years. They had formed the backbone of his army when he had launched his War of Unification against the rest of the Districts. A five-year campaign had brought another third of the Empire and had convinced the rest of the governors that standing against Frederick was futile.
Maximilian had crowned himself as the Emperor of Chesia and had spent the last three years establishing a new government to rule over the Unified Empire. Many of his most loyal followers were placed in positions of authority within this civilian government.
The Imperial Army had maintained its fractured command structure. As Frederick had brought districts under his command, either through conquest or diplomatic measures, he had selected their best officers and field commanders to lead his military. The Imperial Guard was made up from a significant portion of the Dragon's Teeth, the elite infantry and cavalry that Frederick had raised in his home district. The rest of the elite soldiers had been sent throughout the Empire to serve as examples of the benefits of training and discipline.
It was members of the Dragon's Teeth that guarded the huge black door that Alexsei stopped in front of.
Both of the guards were shorter than Alexsei who, at a hand taller than six feet, was taller than most Chesians. His black hair was longer than theirs and they had the brown eyes that were common among the northern Chesians; Alexsei's eyes were green. The two sergeants on either side of the door pressed their right fists to their hearts. The corporals beside them saluted sharply.
"The other generals are assembled," one of the sergeants said. Alexsei nodded and stepped through the gilded door.
Lanterns burned along the walls of the windowless council room and reflected off of the mirrors on the ceiling. A round table filled most of the room and was surrounded by two dozen armchairs, only a fraction of which were occupied. The largest chair, a massive wooden thing gilded and studded with gems, and the seat to its right were still empty.
General Vladik Chihagov, Commanding General of the Southern Army of Chesia, sat to the left of the Imperial Seat, his arms folded across his chest. The top three buttons on his golden uniform jacket were undone and sweat beaded along his forehead. He stood five feet and eight inches tall, average for his home district of Kamar. At fifty-nine, he was one of the oldest active generals, and his once black hair had gone mostly to gray. He watched Alexsei carefully with tired green eyes.
General Grisha Ortoff sat to the right of the second empty chair. The Commanding General of the Northern Chesian Army was of average height for an Imperial citizen; he stood six feet exactly. His brown hair was freshly combed and still damp; his brown eyes watched those around him with a lazy interest. The Rachowi had been one of the few members of his district's military command to survive their futile resistance against Frederick's forces.
"When are we expecting His Imperial Majesty?" Alexsei asked as he took his seat to Grisha's left.
"A few minutes," Vladik said. His voice was gravelly and thick with a southern accent. "A messenger brought word."
True to the messenger's report, His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Frederick Maximilian, arrived ten minutes after Alexsei. The seated generals stood and saluted as he strode across the room and around the table.
He wore the dress uniform of a Grand General, though he had been rather preoccupied with converting the districts of Chesia into a unified state. He was six feet tall, with narrow shoulders, a pair of small green eyes separated by a thin nose and well-kept black hair.
He walked with the assurance of a man that had fought his own battles and won, and the careful steps of someone who knew that he had enemies everywhere. Five of his guards followed him through the door and took up positions behind him.
Grand General Aleksandr Petrachkov also trailed behind the Emperor. He walked with a hobble, the only reminder of the injuries he had suffered in battle thirty years before. When he could stand fully straight, he was an inch taller than Frederick. He was completely bald and, in the fashion of most Chesian soldiers, kept his face clean shaven.
"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Frederick said as he sat. The generals returned to their seats and mumbled their greetings. "We have come across an opportunity that I felt needed to be addressed immediately."
"Is this related to the activities along our border with Andivar?" Vladik asked.
His scouts had been reporting that the Andivari were preparing to launch a pre-emptive strike against the Chesian fortresses along the southeastern borders.
Andivar was the only nation that the Chesian generals feared uniformly. The Andivari were the only nation on the eastern continent that maintained a standing army. Most reports out of the nation claimed more than five hundred thousand infantry served as in a permanent capacity as members of the Andivari Army; outside reports claimed half that number.
"We have received word that Malkala and Jarin are in a position to be captured without interference from their supporters in the surrounding nations," Frederick said.
Malkala was on Chesia's southeastern border, situated in a fertile valley and surrounded by tall mountains. The nation had long been one of the largest suppliers of iron ore to Chesian foundries and had been able to maintain their independence through a combination of trade subsidies and the weakness of the Chesian districts nearest to them.
The nation of Jarin sat between Chesia and the Gulf of Sithea. Deep water harbors allowed them to import goods and supplies from the other nations around the Gulf of Sithea and then move them inland, where they were traded to Chesia for a profit. Frederick had been slowly cutting into the taxes and fees that Jarin was charging to Chesian merchants, but they still took far more than anyone cared to accept.
"Your Majesty," Grisha started cautiously. "Taking either Jarin or Malkala will require the devotion of a full corps of our soldiers, weeks of planning and precious supplies that are in short supply. Any losses to the forces that we send against them will hurt our ability to go to war against Garton or Andivar."
Grisha left something unsaid that everyone in the room knew was true. Garton and Andivar, to the northeast and southeast of Chesia, shared a border with the nation of Ehtroy. Ehtroy controlled the narrow strip of land that connected the eastern and western continents on the southern side of the world of Zaria known as The Pinch, and the fortress that protected it: the Citadel. It was The Pinch, and the trade through it, that Frederick wanted to control. Chesia would have to mount an invasion of either Garton or Andivar and then against Ehtroy if that dream were to become a reality.
"The Malkalan army can muster fifty thousand soldiers, at most," Aleksandr said. "If they don't decide to surrender before any shots are even fired."
"I would not assume that they will roll over and play dead," Grisha said. "Even some Chesian districts were able to keep His Majesty's forces at bay, and with far fewer soldiers."
"The Malkalans will not surrender," Frederick confirmed. "I have already spoke with their ambassador and asked that he send word to his leadership that we would like to annex them into the Empire. He did not agree."
"Then why risk the lost soldiers or the wasted time and supplies?" Grisha asked.
"We will need the raw materials that Malkala controls in order to bring the fight to Garton or Andivar," Aleksandr said. "The Port of Jarin is the closest access to the Gulf of Sithea that we will find without launching a more extensive campaign. With control of the port, we'll collect the taxes that the Jarins have been charging us and the other merchants that move their goods through Jarin."
"The Jarins have a close relationship with the Sitheans," Alexsei said after a moment of silence. "And they have a much better economy than Malkala. Their troops will be better trained and better armed than then Malkalans."
"A division of Dragon's Teeth will be leading the attacks on both fronts," Frederick said. "Sithea will remain neutral, as they always do. If they don't, a division of Dragon's Teeth leading the charge will convince them of the error of their ways."
The well-trained, well-armed infantry and cavalry that had been the fist of Frederick's rise to power had been spread thin by their deployments as the Imperial Guard and as the sign of the Red Dragon's power throughout the Empire. Only four divisions of infantry and three divisions of cavalry remained in the Chesian capital of Yerik. If Frederick was willing to devote half of those soldiers to the conquest of the two minor nations, there would be little that anyone would be able to say to sway him from his opinion.
"Your Majesty," Grisha Ortoff said after a moment, his words carefully chosen. "The defenses mustered by Jarin and Malkala will be second rate, if they bother at all. It would be an insult to our forces to make them go up against such a pathetic excuse for an army."
"I have to agree with General Ortoff," Alexsei said. "Not only would sending our armies into Jarin and Malkala expend unnecessary supplies and cost us thousands of soldiers, it would rob us of the element of surprise when we finally decide to attack Garton or Andivar."
"We have too many green soldiers," the Chesian Emperor said. "They need to bleed for the empire, as many have already bled."
General Vladik Ortoff read his orders for the second time, then handed the creased piece of paper to his second-in-command. He ran his hands through his short-cut salt and pepper hair. These orders had come earlier than Vladik had thought.
"Nothing we didn't expect," Dmitri Vallas said. He folded the message in half and set it on the side table next to his stein.
The lieutenant general was leaned back in his armchair, feet propped up on the desk. At six feet tall, he was an inch shorter than Vladik but was wider in the shoulders. His golden uniform jacket was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest and he had hung his gun belt on the peg beside the door. His green eyes were set on either side of a wide, flat nose in a pale, clean-shaved triangular face, and his mop of fine, sandy hair was starting to recede up his forehead. He watched his commanding officer for any sign of emotion.
"No, last week's message prepared us for this," Vladik agreed, his brown eyes neutral. He would not give his subordinate any more cause to doubt his resolve than the man harbored already.
Vladik had made his position very clear on the matter of invading the much smaller nations of Jarin and Malkala. They were so far beneath the military capabilities of the Empire that it was an insult to the soldiers to be forced to stand across a field of battle from the armies of the tiny nations, each barely larger than a city-state.
Dmitri believed in the need to conquer the smaller nations. He believed that Vladik's position was either a sign of weakness or that his commanding officer was a spy for the Jarins. The lieutenant general's opinion of Vladik was shaded by his disdain for Vladik and his resentment over how the general had come to his position as Officer in Charge of the North Central Imperial Army.
Dmitri was born and raised in the Chesian district of Gorban and was a loyal subject of Frederick Maximilian, known now as the Red Dragon and the Emperor of Chesia. He had been one of Frederick's commanders when the Unification Campaign was started. He had commanded a division of Dragon's Teeth: soldiers raised and trained in Maximilian's home district of Gorban to be elite warriors.
Vladik had been a general in the army of the Rachow District, one of the largest districts in the Empire. Rachow had eventually fallen before the Red Dragon's armies, but only after three months of solid fighting with the armies of Maximilian. In recognition of their tenacity and resilience, Frederick had integrated the Rachowi armies into his own and granted their commanders positions of authority within his military.
Vladik's cousin, Grisha, had been assigned as a major general and given the position of General of the Northern Imperial Army; he had promoted Vladik the same day.
Dmitri had the good sense not to let his opinion of his commanding officer become public knowledge, but Vladik knew that he would never be able to overcome the bias that his subordinate held against anyone that had not supported Frederick Maximilian from the start.
"We're ten days’ hard march from the Jarin border," Vladik said. He glanced at a map and rubbed at a week’s stubble on his unshaven chin.
"The orders are rather vague," Dmitri said. "They give us a goal, but not a path to get there."
"There is only one target in Jarin that matters," Vladik said. "Jarin City's harbors are deep. The rest of their nation is farms and villages."
The Chesian Empire had always been a land-based power on the western continent of Zaria. Their harbors on the Western Sea were shallow, the coast was treacherous, and even with the wind a merchant ship would need a solid month to sail around the jut of land that was the Scythe of Sithea.
The nation of Jarin controlled a sliver of territory, but they were at the base of the Scythe and on its inside. Their access to the Gulf of Sithea, and by extension Ehtroy Bay and the Jenis Sound, had made the Jarins wealthy beyond their means. Jarin City had quickly become the primary conduit through which trade traveled to and from Chesia.
Before the Unification, the Chesian districts nearest to Jarin had been powerless to influence the situation, but with the Empire reformed and under the strong leadership of Frederick Maximilian, Jarin had found itself increasingly pressured to lower their trade taxes for goods traveling to Chesia.
Where once the Jarins had collected fifteen Imperial Schillings for every Mark that moved through their markets, a tax rate of nearly twenty-one percent, Maximilian paid only two coins. The dramatically lowered taxes had caused an economic boom in Chesia and fueled the growth of the Imperial Army.
Controlling Jarin City would give the Empire a direct link to the rest of the world that would provide a larger market for Chesian goods and a larger tax income to fund Frederick's further ambitions.
"We'll break camp tonight and start our march tomorrow," Vladik said. "I want the men to be well rested before we cross the border, so we'll march hard for the border and rest a day away. Once we are ready, we'll push into Jarin and make for the city."
"The Jarins won't be expecting us," Dmitri said. "We shouldn't see any defenders until we reach the city."
"They have fortresses, same as we do," Vladik reminded. He rubbed his chin; he would have to play to Dmitri's ego. "I want your division to march a day ahead of the rest of the corps. If their scouts see you, they will report a single division rather than five. It will also put my strongest division in the front, in case they are able to muster some kind of defense before we can bring Jarin City under siege."
"Thank you, sir." Dmitri's thin lips curled in what Vladik supposed was a smile.
"Very well then," Vladik said as he stood. Dmitri stood as well, though not as quickly as he should have, and straightened his jacket. "Pass the orders along to the other divisions. We'll leave the tents up for tonight, but everything else needs to be torn down and prepared for travel."
"Yes, sir," Dmitri said. He saluted and left Vladik alone in his office.
***
*Acheron*
Acheron Tavoularis lifted his red tricorne and dragged his arm across his forehead. His cotton sleeve came away dirty and damp with sweat. The midday day sun beat down on the plains with the ferocity that only a summer day could muster. His black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail to keep it off of his neck.
Acheron's men had set up tents to hide from the heat, though he doubted that the tents would do much but keep them from getting sunburnt. They would continue when the sun was lower and the heat had started to fall away; until then, Acheron had decided to lead patrol sorties.
Today, Second Brigade was on task for the patrols. The six thousand mounted infantry had gathered beside a stream to let their horses drink while Acheron and his commanders decided on a patrol grid for the day. They were less than fifteen miles from where the Chesian, Jarin and Sithean borders met, and the last thing they needed was for one of his patrols to wander into Chesia and incite an incident.
The Chesian military, once a fractured collection of warlords and mercenaries, had been united under the iron fist of a self-proclaimed Emperor. Frederick Maximilian had used diplomacy and trade agreements to unite a third of the Chesian districts under his red dragon banner. Half of the remaining districts had fought for their freedom and failed; the rest of the districts had seen the writing on the wall and surrendered without issue.
Under their new leader, the Chesians were increasingly protective of their borders, and several skirmishes had erupted between patrols that wandered too far to one side of the border. Some in Jarin had expressed concerns that the Chesians were growing too bold in their diplomatic messages and that a military confrontation between the two nations was at hand.
Sithea, Jarin's northern neighbor, was notorious for its neutrality, but had claimed that they would not stand for any Chesian hostility toward their smaller neighbors. They had reinforced their position with four divisions of infantry that camped less than a day's march from Jarin City. Acheron doubted the resolve of the nation that routinely allowed pirates and mercenaries to buy and sell goods openly in their market, but he kept that opinion to himself.
Acheron stayed away from all of the politics of his nation for that matter, but as the commander of half of the standing Jarin Army, and the entirety of the nation's mounted infantry, it was his responsibility to ensure that the border with Chesia was watched at all times. He had assigned two of his brigades to each of the three sections of border with the Empire.
"I don't want to wander too close," Acheron said to his commanders. At six feet and four inches, he towered over them, and nearly everyone in Jarin.
A brigadier general, three colonels, four staff colonels and ten lieutenants or knight-lieutenants were clustered around him. Many had followed his lead and shed their thick red uniform jackets. Sweat soaked their cotton shirts and dirt had browned the once-white fabric. The Jarins had inherited the olive skin of their ancestors: colonists from Istivan far to the east.
"I'll take the twenty-second south, to Zaro-Garis. General Rota, take the twenty-first west to Sarkis. Colonel Strathos will cover south of the general and Colonel Savos will cover west of myself," Acheron said.
The four regiments broke from the camp an hour past midday. They departed at a modest trot, fast enough to make good time but not so fast as to wear out their mounts; after all, it would not do for their horses to die beneath them.
Acheron and Colonel Jaysen Gilkas rode ahead of the main column of the twenty-second regiment. The Jarin flag, a golden sphinx on red, flew from a tall banner at the head of the fourteen hundred men. Another hundred men rode ahead of the main body in patrols.
"You don't expect we'll find anything, do you, sir?" The colonel shielded his eyes from the sun and looked out over the flat lands ahead of them.
"I hope that we don't," Acheron said. A low valley lay ten miles ahead of them, running north to south. "I'd like to make that valley before the sun gets too much lower. Trumpeter, sound the double time!"
"Yes, sir!" The boy pressed his trumpet to his lips and blew five high notes in quick order. The entire column lurched forward in response.
A small stream wound its way along the bottom of the defile. The valley was only a few hundred feet wide, but nearly ten miles long and curved sharply two miles on the Jarin side of the border. A small farm had been built at its mouth, and the fields around it were tall with corn.
"I'll call on the farm to see if they have seen anything unusual," Acheron said. "Jaysen, send patrols along the hill tops as far as the Chesian border."
"Yes, sir." Jaysen kicked his feet into his horse and rode toward the main column.
Acheron nudged his horse to a trot and started toward the farmhouse, a trio of riders in his wake. The road curved through the golden cornfields and led to an opening at the center of the farm. The farmhouse, a barn and several smaller outbuildings surrounded the opening on two sides; the others were walled by corn.
"That's about far 'nough," a voice shouted. A man stood on the farmhouse's porch, a musket clutched in his hands and pointed at Acheron. He looked to be in his middle age, around forty if Acheron had to guess. Only hints of brown hair remained at his temple; the rest had gone to gray. His eyes were warm, but distant. "You fellas need to turn around and head back the other way. We don't want none of your trouble here."
"Sir, you have the wrong of it," Acheron said, his hands raised and open. "We are officers of the Jarin Army."
The man continued to clutch the musket, but lowered it slightly. "What are you doing on my land?"
"We are on border patrols," Acheron said.
"Well then." The farmer nodded and relaxed his grip on the weapon. "What can I do for ya?"
"Have you seen anyone unusual traveling through the valley?" Acheron asked. He rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle.
"Not that I can remember," the farmer said with a shrug. "But I've been mighty busy harvesting away from the valley."
"Sir, the sun is still high," Acheron said. "Do you mind if we come in out of the heat?"
"Well, where are my manners." The man waved them toward the farmhouse. "I've got some tea made up, if you don't mind it a little warm."
"Of course not." Acheron swung down from his saddle and the soldiers behind him followed.
The farmhouse was larger than he would have expected for a single farmer twenty miles from civilization. Then he saw the framed photographs sitting on every flat surface. They were old, some worn and stained.
"The pox took her twelve years ago," the farmer said.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Acheron said.
A large table dominated the dining room, a lace tablecloth draped across it and six chairs arranged at its edges. The farmer offered them seats and disappeared into the next room. The sound of clinking glass came through the open doorway and the farmer emerged with five jars of tea on a platter.
"Do you have any particular reason for patrolling out this way?" the farmer asked.
"No, sir." Acheron took a sip of the tea; it was sweet, with a hint of fruit.
Acheron made polite talk while he waited for the scouts to return. The sun was nearing the horizon when the thunder of galloping horses sent the farmer to his feet. He was out of the door, musket in his hands, before Acheron could stop him.