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I said that chapter 9 was the penultimate. I lied. In fact, all hope of page restrictions fell apart with this chapter and the lengthiness of the next. On the bright side, it may be the first story I've decisively finished in a long while!
Kazimir and his Rosomai allies learn of the Vucari's desperate plan, requiring a leap of faith on all their parts.
PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 10
The Sun God, Udan, reluctantly crept back into the icy, windswept world of the North, heralding the return of spring. It had been a bitter, but mercifully short winter as the ocean exhaled a breath of warm, humid air onto the steppe, coaxing it back to life sooner than normal. The ragged soldiers of the Rosomai and the Vucari had spent the early winter months fighting the Holischiky, but as great shelves of ice formed and pulverized the coasts many of the seal people disappeared. At first Kazimir believed that the Rosomai had finally inflicted such terrible depredations on the Holischiky that they had abandoned their colonies, but the hunters warned him that this was an annual migration out to the shelter of rocky islands and coves. They would return to whelp their pups, convening in massive numbers in a ‘Grand Rookery’ once the ice receded.
Kazimir wished to know more about this Grand Rookery, but could only surmise its relative location and a few scattered personal accounts from the hunters. Those that stumbled into this great nest of Holischiky quickly discovered that the warriors were very keen to protect their pups and attacked intruders with terrifying zeal, enough to even strike fear into the stalwart Rosomai. When Kazimir asked about how many Holischiky there were at the Grand Rookery, one response shook him to the core.
“Pluck all of the stars from the sky, lay them on a mat, and start counting. When you are finished, you won’t have the number of the Holischiky, but you will begin to conceive the kinds of large numbers necessary to describe what you see.”
Kazimir knew already that his 500 soldiers of the Kezek would not be sufficient to overcome the combined strength of the Holischiky. Even combined with Baron Parkhaiev’s battalion their total force consisted of about 1,100, up against possibly ten thousand. Parkhaiev, Zhoka, Bianka, and Kazimir all convened in Parkhaiev’s cabin to discuss their next move.
“Can it be done?” Parkhaiev flatly asked the three Rosomai.
“If so, it will have to be done quite soon,” Zhoka coughed. The damp, biting cold of the coast combined with much more activity than she was used to was taking its toll on her elderly frame.
“With spring on the way my people will have to return home and tend the herds. They can delay, but not for long.”
“Can it be done?” The Baron flatly asked again.
“You will have the aid of the Ulic, regardless of the outcome.”
“Then it is imperative that we act quickly,” Parkhaiev stepped forward, waving at a series of frustratingly inaccurate maps before reaching for a bottle and taking a swig. “I insist that the Rosomai be present in the battle. Even with the Khan’s Army and his Sabalazmon musketeers we cannot afford to waste any allies.”
Parkhaiev had taken to drink. It happened not long after the Vucari were apparently driven ashore by Holischiky pirates, their massive boats doing little to protect them from the ambushes and boarding actions. Separated from their army, short on supplies, and faced with the impending winter he retreated to the bottle. His treaty and allegiance with the Rosomai had temporarily curbed this habit, but as the grim battle drew closer he could once again be seen regularly retiring to his liquor closet. Kazimir wondered if the Baron was more worried about being disgraced or having been forced to ally with an enemy of his allies.
Kazimir stepped forward, “Baron, do the Sabalazmon know about your allegiance with us?”
Parkhaiev’s eyes darted towards Kazimir’s, then sank. It was a poor sign.
“The Khan’s Army is currently unaware of our alliance. It can be presumed that their troops will treat your people as the enemy, just like the Holischiky.”
Zhoka’s eyes blazed, her old hackles raised, “Baron! Our clan has done everything in its power to help you! My people are in harm’s way! If the herdsmen return to the steppe and collide with the Sabalazmon army, they will be slaughtered!”
“If we meet them on the battlefield, who’s to say they won’t simply massacre us on sight?” Bianka added.
“The Sabalazmon commander is a proud fool. He would never agree to an alliance with the Rosomai, even if I demanded it.” Parkhaiev sighed, “This is why I plan to keep you and your soldiers out of sight for as long as possible. When the battle is waged you will be kept as a reserve.”
Bianka sneered, “We won’t simply stand back while you and the filthy Sabalazmon stomp all over our lands and steal the honors of battle!”
“Bianka, wait,” Kazimir interjected. “The Baron is right. This is a good plan. Once the battle unfolds, we will be able to observe the weaknesses of our army and that of the enemy. Even with our small numbers, we may be able to turn the battle if we simply stay back.”
“I trust your judgment, Kazimir, but the situation distresses me.” Zhoka steepled her fingers, “It is best if we can end this war as quickly as possible, by any means.”
“I don’t like this.” Bianka snorted, pointing an accusational claw at Parkhaiev, “I don’t like this Vucari flea who pretends to command us and I don’t like the idea of fighting on behalf of people who would slit our throats the moment we turn our backs!”
“I’m not so sure I like the idea either, but something tells me that all of this will be necessary to finally end the war with the Sabalazmon.”
“Something tells you? What, the gods? The same ones that have cursed you? Or is this some idea that comes from your gut, or your foot, or your heart? Do you expect our people to die for your dream? Do you expect me to-?”
Bianka cut herself short. This was how she truly felt, but she saw that she had sliced into Kazimir’s psyche. How many times had people doubted him before, even at the moment of his victory? She had caught the same look in his eyes once before, when his friend Tungai turned a sword on him. Now it was as though she was the traitor in his camp, but wasn’t she right? Wasn’t this crazy? Wasn’t it reasonable to fear a pointless and misbegotten death?
Parkhaiev took advantage of the silence between the two.
“Aherm, well, I will adjourn this meeting with the understanding that Hetman Zhoka pledges the continued support of the Rosomai in the main offensive. Good day!”
As Parkhaiev ducked out, Zhoka majestically stood, walked through the gap between Bianka and Kazimir, and exited Parkhaiev’s cabin. Kazimir and Bianka exchanged wounded looks for a long time, each trying to find the words.
“Bianka-” Kazimir paused. “Bianka, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this whole idea, this dream of mine is crazy. Maybe I’ve lost sight of what’s possible.”
“No, Kazimir. Don’t say that,” Bianka drew close to Kazimir. “Mere months ago you came to our tribe as a penniless exile, an outcast. Zhoka asked us to protect you even after she knew that you had nothing. I realize now that she did this because you have vision. You can see the light of peace and majesty where the rest of us see only the darkness of fear and death.”
Bianka continued after a moment of hesitation, “I’m afraid. I know it’s unbecoming of a warrior, especially the captain of the Hazor, but I can’t deny that I’m afraid for my life and yours.”
“Bianka,” Kazimir smiled. “Do you love your people?”
“Yes. I would die for them just as I would for the Hetman.”
“Then you and I are as one. Death is never pointless if you have lived with love in your heart. I fear death just like you, but I will brave it for this.”
Kazimir, Bianka, and Mauno marched at the head of the column. Zhoka, in spite of her desire to follow the army, was of too poor health to do so and returned to Opaliye. Kazimir reasoned that it was better this way, as the clan badly needed leadership during the spring preparations. They moved slowly, ‘at a dead man’s pace’, some muttered. The Kezek were confident after months of battles and skirmishes with the Holischiky, but everyone knew the magnitude of the fight ahead. There was an undercurrent of despair in the army. What could they do against the impending hordes?
Through the din of marching footsteps Kazimir caught the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats to his right. As he turned he spotted a handful of horsemen atop the hill, silhouetted by the sun and sky. The handful turned into tens, then hundreds of mounted warriors. Druzhina. An armored figure on a beautiful white pony rode down the hill and pulled alongside Kazimir.
“You there! You’re Kazimir the Great, are you not?”
“I suppose, if someone has given me the title,” Kazimir neutrally replied.
“I am Hag of the Burya. I… It was my responsibility to bring your father home safely, to pay an old debt to your clan. I come to you a failure, Kazimir.”
“Do you wish to atone?”
“Word has traveled far about your war against the Holischiky. If you will take us, we will gladly die by your side to avenge your father and restore the name of our clan!”
“You may die alongside me, but if you want to live alongside me you must pledge to accept my command without question.”
Hag seemed to hesitate for a moment, then answered, “We pledge ourselves to you, Kazimir.”
Kazimir took some time to count the soldiers of the Burya. They were well equipped as soldiers of the nobility, and they swelled his ranks with 250 professional soldiers. The next day, the column was stopped by a group of females bearing the armor and spears of the Kezek. Their leader approached Bianka carrying an old, bloody standard.
“Hazor Bianka! Mauno of the Hirvi! Our husbands owe our lives to the two of you. You saved them from certain death and nursed them back to health. You brought them home. Since they are not yet fit enough to fight, we volunteer our arms in their stead! Please, Bianka, accept us into your ranks!”
“What do you think?” Bianka turned to Mauno with a sly grin.
Mauno laughed nervously, “I’m not about to refuse the gratitude of these very deadly looking females!”
Bianka rode in front of them, smiling, “Each of you is dirty, smelly, and carelessly shod. You are also very brave. If that doesn’t make you the equal of any male in this army, then glory in battle will! Fall in, you chambermaids, but remember that I’ve got a keen eye on you!”
It was now beyond question that Kazimir and Bianka had made a lasting impression among many Rosomai, and it buoyed the spirits of the Kezek soldiers to see so many Rosomai fall into the column. Over the following days groups of volunteers, many of them professional soldiers of the various Rosomai clans, rode or strode into formation. The 500 turned into 1000, then the 1000 turned into 2,000. As the Rosomai reached the outskirts near the Grand Rookery they were a grand host of over 2,500 warriors. Ulic, Burya, Tourva, Poloya, and even Yakul fighters from the far end of the continent all swore allegiance and accepted the command of Kazimir. Only two clans had failed to show themselves, the Ovadyah and his own.
Kazimir followed Baron Parkhaiev’s advice and set up their encampment downwind and some distance from the Vucari, at least somewhat camouflaging their position. Kazimir dressed himself in a cloak and, with Bianka and a few of the commanders, surveyed the Grand Rookery in person. Some of the commanders were visibly distressed by the presence of the Holischiky, or more precisely their horrid odor. The colony was almost as enormous as had been told to him, with countless families of Holischiky teeming along the shores of a relaxed, almost beautiful inlet. The group continued to ride, this time away from the Rookery and towards a steep hill that was meant to overlook the Sabalazmon encampment.
They dismounted on the reverse slope of the hill, creeping forward to observe their ‘allies’. Murmurs spread among the commanders when they saw the thousands of Sabalazmon on the plain below.
“Listen closely, warriors of the Rosomai. Tomorrow the Sabalazmon you see before you will do battle with the wretched Holischiky. They will falter because they are Sabalazmon, lacking in our furious strength. When this happens, we will join the battle and save their sorry hides.”
A clamor arose among the commanders, punctuated by a voice.
“We cannot aid the Sabalazmon! They are most ancient enemy! They do not deserve our mercy!”
Kazimir turned and gave a stern glare to his new subordinates.
“Each of you made a pact when you joined this force. You promised to obey my commands and you promised to commit yourselves to battle. If you are intelligent, you will understand that we need the Sabalazmon to tie down the enemy. The Vucari will conceal our approach, but I am formally ordering you and your soldiers not to raise arms against a single Sabalazmon soldier. If you do, my furious spirit will rise from the underworld to haunt you and your kin forever!”
The threat seemed to stick, as Kazimir could tell from the dreadful faces around him.
As night fell, Kazimir made one last venture to the outskirts of the Grand Rookery. The stink of the colony washed over him, but it no longer knocked him back. It seemed a part of him now, and in spite of its rancor there was an admirable and simple truth to it. He counted the torches of the Holischiky in the harbor before him, then tried to gain a better understanding of the chieftains, their positions, and their troops. He tried to play out the battle in his head, tried to pick out key pieces of geography, and, satisfied, began to make his way back to camp.
He was surprised to see Mauno by his side. The tall Hirvi almost startled him with his quiet approach, masked by the breeze’s rippling strokes across the grass and meandering courses through the valleys.
“Hello, Mauno. You surprised me,” Kazimir turned to face his friend. “What’s on your mind?”
“The Holischiky are here only to protect their young. They will fight like demons to protect them.”
“I know. Still, we must meet them in battle.” Kazimir locked eyes with Mauno, “Are you still concerned about the fates of our enemies?”
Mauno sighed, “It’s all in the hands of the gods. What’s important is that you survive, Kazimir. I’m begging you to live. There is no need for you to lead the vanguard.”
Kazimir opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Mauno wasn’t finished.
“I’ve long lived with the Rosomai, Kazimir, and not once have I met an individual of your vision and ambition. You have a noble soul, and your people will need you to guide them long after this battle has ended. If you die here your people will lose sight, maybe even lose hope.”
“Even so, my people will need me to lead them into battle. I have to be at the front.”
Mauno smiled, “I had a feeling that you would not agree to my petition, so I will join you on the front line and fight by your side. If you must die, then I will die with you. I cannot live with the knowledge that I held the future in my hands and did nothing to protect it.”
“I would be honored to have you at my side,” Kazimir laid a hand on Mauno’s shoulder.
As Kazimir returned to camp, he absorbed the fearful and awestruck expressions of his warriors. He had never held such prestige or inspired such strong emotion before among so many, but he knew that with great authority comes great resentment. He became more concerned about his warriors than his allies or enemies. Would they fight, run, or betray? Kazimir ducked into his yurt, one of a handful set up for the commanders while the soldiers camped on the open steppe, sleeping in clusters or beside their ponies. Bianka waited inside, looking over some parchment maps in a puzzled fashion.
“Kazimir,” She turned to him, pushing one of the maps before him. “I… don’t know what to make of these. I think the writing is in Vucari.”
Kazimir examined the map, then laughed, “No! It’s the Baron’s attempt to write in our language, gods bless him. He has such terrible, drunken handwriting, but you must give him credit for trying.”
Bianka pretended to examine the map with intent, a wry grin spreading across her face. “I haven’t been spending all my time examining maps, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Kazimir had an inkling of what Bianka was up to, but he played along. “You’ve been detailing and training the females. They’ve got spirit, I’m told. Do they have skill?”
“Just enough. We’ll deploy them at the center of the formation, with our veterans on the flanks. I’ve put a couple ranks of males to their front.”
“Why?”
“Well, if they were at the rear they’d trample the females in order to come to grips with the enemy. This way, the front rank will fight harder knowing that if they flee all the females will see their cowardice.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid that spot. There isn’t a shame in the world worse than a female’s scorn.” Kazimir resisted the urge to smile, “Now what’s really on your mind?”
“ I had something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” She crept close. “Did you ever wonder why Zhoka lavishes favor and command upon me at the exclusion of others?”
“Experience, gumption, and a devil’s intellect?”
“You’re too kind. Actually…” She faltered for a moment. “Actually, it’s because I’m the heir to the Hetmanate.”
“Wait, I thought that Zhoka was barren and childless.”
“My father wasn’t. I was born to a harem girl, outside of oaths. Even so, royal blood flows through my veins. I owe much of my devotion to Zhoka. She, not my father, invited me into the family.”
“So why did you choose to tell me this now?”
“You’re not surprised?” Bianka whimpered in disappointment. “I forget that you’ve got a devil’s wit to match my own. Do you really want me to tell you why I revealed my lineage, or do you already know?”
“I think I have some sense of it,” Kazimir allowed a broad smile.
“Well, there’s no need for flourish and ceremony, then.” She abruptly took a hold of him and started pulling off his clothes.
“Come on, keep up,” She jostled him out of his shirt as he struggled to unlace his pants, “If you want time for sleep we’ll have to make this quick and passionate. I won’t have you falling asleep in the midst of battle.”
Kazimir didn’t sleep well, turning ideas over in his head constantly. He waited until Bianka started snoring softly, then emerged from his yurt, sucking in the cool night air and watching his breath swirl among the stars. A few sentries and restless souls saw him pull a stick from a pile of tinder and some bones from the ashes of a cook fire, sucked clean of their marrow hours earlier. He scratched around in the ashes and laid the bones out carefully in a ceremony that the night sentries and other restless souls believed to be an attempt to discern the fate that lay ahead of them.
While it was still dark he mounted his pony and rode to the heights overlooking the battlefield, the enormous Sabalazmon encampment arrayed to his right, appearing only as blots of white canvas and stretched hide in the dim light of the distant, lonely spring moon. Kazimir sat and contemplated for another hour as dawn simmered on the horizon. In the distance, he caught the sound of the clattering of metal, like great empty cauldrons jostling against the sides of a cook wagon. Amidst them was the nickering and neighing of horses, the silhouettes of the big animals just visible against the dim backdrop of the steppe. Behind them were long, black shapes. Whatever they carried must have been extremely heavy as their carriages were very short, but the animals pulling them were quite large.
“Cannon. The entire arsenal of the Khanate, from the look of things,” The voice chuckled, a slight odor of alcohol in the air. “You have a ‘deaf spot’ to your rear right, it seems.”
“Come join me, Baron,” Kazimir gestured the Vucari forward. “You must have enjoyed this view more frequently than I.”
Kazimir continued observing the spectacle as the cannons, the horses towing them, and the figures of the Sabalazmon positioned them on a small rise at the center right of the battlefield. Baron Parkhaiev was in his full regalia, his resplendent uniform immaculate and spotless, but even so he had a seat next to Kazimir in the grass.
“The cannons are the most powerful weapons of the mundane world. Just as bullets pierce through shield and plate, cannons smash through armies, tumbling them to ruin. The Sabalazmon have 28, all stamped with the seal of the Tsar and Tsarina. With them, they will gain a confidence they have no right to own.”
Kazimir turned to Parkhaiev quizzically, “How do you mean?”
“They are deploying these cannons at the center right of their formation, on that small hill. It appears to be a good location, but it is a deathtrap. The Holischiky will not stop or be driven back by such trifles. They will see the proud commander of the enemy standing among weak and loosely spaced warriors, and they will pour their attacks into that location.”
Kazimir returned his gaze to the cannons. Some terrible mind someplace had devised a weapon so large that only horses could pull it. The prospect of facing such a weapon seemed dreadful, but he knew that the Holischiky were virtually without fear and that Parkhaiev was right.
“Baron,” Kazimir inquired, “You are a good and intelligent commander, a motivator of men and an uncle to your troops. Why is it that you have been condemned to this expedition?”
Parkhaiev allowed a grin, but his eyes betrayed his melancholy soul. “I embraced the new world in my youth. I was a good commander, but I fell into disgrace. There was a battle… I should have been there, sober, but I was so confident in my plan that I allowed myself to slip into the bottle, to curl up and ignore the living hell my soldiers were marching into. I should have died with them in battle, but instead they fell apart without me, not knowing who to turn to for wisdom, losing sight of their purpose. I was disgraced publicly, but this is nothing compared to the dead who haunt me.”
Parkhaiev coughed, then continued, “I am here because I am disgraced, because no other Vucari wishes to be here. They don’t see hope in this bitter land. When I arrived, our ships smashed and much of our army lost with it, the last thing I expected was to survive while surrounded by barbarians. Instead, your people came to save us, to restore our cause, and to restore my hope. I realize now that we as a people have made a grave error in ignoring the Rosomai. Today I fight to acquit myself, but also to acquit the Rosomai. Even if not a single one of us survives, I have made it clear in my correspondence that the Rosomai should be recognized as members of the Alliance.”
Kazimir smiled, his eyes aglow, “You mean that? You would truly go before the Tsar and Tsarina to exonerate us?”
“If they would have me, yes. There’s still the small matter of winning the battle.”
Parkhaiev took to his feet, fastening a broad, plumed hat atop his head.
“Remember, Prince, you are the reserve. Your people will not appreciate being held back, but you must do so. The lives of everyone around us and the fate of your people depend upon this. Do not fail.”
“Very well, Baron, but only under one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“That you lead your men into battle sober.”
Parkhaiev smiled, “Very well. Have your men to remove my liquor cabinet. Then burn it. I don’t trust myself to carry out this order, which is why I’ve given the task to you. This way I will be able to fulfill my end of the bargain
Kazimir and his Rosomai allies learn of the Vucari's desperate plan, requiring a leap of faith on all their parts.
PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 10
The Sun God, Udan, reluctantly crept back into the icy, windswept world of the North, heralding the return of spring. It had been a bitter, but mercifully short winter as the ocean exhaled a breath of warm, humid air onto the steppe, coaxing it back to life sooner than normal. The ragged soldiers of the Rosomai and the Vucari had spent the early winter months fighting the Holischiky, but as great shelves of ice formed and pulverized the coasts many of the seal people disappeared. At first Kazimir believed that the Rosomai had finally inflicted such terrible depredations on the Holischiky that they had abandoned their colonies, but the hunters warned him that this was an annual migration out to the shelter of rocky islands and coves. They would return to whelp their pups, convening in massive numbers in a ‘Grand Rookery’ once the ice receded.
Kazimir wished to know more about this Grand Rookery, but could only surmise its relative location and a few scattered personal accounts from the hunters. Those that stumbled into this great nest of Holischiky quickly discovered that the warriors were very keen to protect their pups and attacked intruders with terrifying zeal, enough to even strike fear into the stalwart Rosomai. When Kazimir asked about how many Holischiky there were at the Grand Rookery, one response shook him to the core.
“Pluck all of the stars from the sky, lay them on a mat, and start counting. When you are finished, you won’t have the number of the Holischiky, but you will begin to conceive the kinds of large numbers necessary to describe what you see.”
Kazimir knew already that his 500 soldiers of the Kezek would not be sufficient to overcome the combined strength of the Holischiky. Even combined with Baron Parkhaiev’s battalion their total force consisted of about 1,100, up against possibly ten thousand. Parkhaiev, Zhoka, Bianka, and Kazimir all convened in Parkhaiev’s cabin to discuss their next move.
“Can it be done?” Parkhaiev flatly asked the three Rosomai.
“If so, it will have to be done quite soon,” Zhoka coughed. The damp, biting cold of the coast combined with much more activity than she was used to was taking its toll on her elderly frame.
“With spring on the way my people will have to return home and tend the herds. They can delay, but not for long.”
“Can it be done?” The Baron flatly asked again.
“You will have the aid of the Ulic, regardless of the outcome.”
“Then it is imperative that we act quickly,” Parkhaiev stepped forward, waving at a series of frustratingly inaccurate maps before reaching for a bottle and taking a swig. “I insist that the Rosomai be present in the battle. Even with the Khan’s Army and his Sabalazmon musketeers we cannot afford to waste any allies.”
Parkhaiev had taken to drink. It happened not long after the Vucari were apparently driven ashore by Holischiky pirates, their massive boats doing little to protect them from the ambushes and boarding actions. Separated from their army, short on supplies, and faced with the impending winter he retreated to the bottle. His treaty and allegiance with the Rosomai had temporarily curbed this habit, but as the grim battle drew closer he could once again be seen regularly retiring to his liquor closet. Kazimir wondered if the Baron was more worried about being disgraced or having been forced to ally with an enemy of his allies.
Kazimir stepped forward, “Baron, do the Sabalazmon know about your allegiance with us?”
Parkhaiev’s eyes darted towards Kazimir’s, then sank. It was a poor sign.
“The Khan’s Army is currently unaware of our alliance. It can be presumed that their troops will treat your people as the enemy, just like the Holischiky.”
Zhoka’s eyes blazed, her old hackles raised, “Baron! Our clan has done everything in its power to help you! My people are in harm’s way! If the herdsmen return to the steppe and collide with the Sabalazmon army, they will be slaughtered!”
“If we meet them on the battlefield, who’s to say they won’t simply massacre us on sight?” Bianka added.
“The Sabalazmon commander is a proud fool. He would never agree to an alliance with the Rosomai, even if I demanded it.” Parkhaiev sighed, “This is why I plan to keep you and your soldiers out of sight for as long as possible. When the battle is waged you will be kept as a reserve.”
Bianka sneered, “We won’t simply stand back while you and the filthy Sabalazmon stomp all over our lands and steal the honors of battle!”
“Bianka, wait,” Kazimir interjected. “The Baron is right. This is a good plan. Once the battle unfolds, we will be able to observe the weaknesses of our army and that of the enemy. Even with our small numbers, we may be able to turn the battle if we simply stay back.”
“I trust your judgment, Kazimir, but the situation distresses me.” Zhoka steepled her fingers, “It is best if we can end this war as quickly as possible, by any means.”
“I don’t like this.” Bianka snorted, pointing an accusational claw at Parkhaiev, “I don’t like this Vucari flea who pretends to command us and I don’t like the idea of fighting on behalf of people who would slit our throats the moment we turn our backs!”
“I’m not so sure I like the idea either, but something tells me that all of this will be necessary to finally end the war with the Sabalazmon.”
“Something tells you? What, the gods? The same ones that have cursed you? Or is this some idea that comes from your gut, or your foot, or your heart? Do you expect our people to die for your dream? Do you expect me to-?”
Bianka cut herself short. This was how she truly felt, but she saw that she had sliced into Kazimir’s psyche. How many times had people doubted him before, even at the moment of his victory? She had caught the same look in his eyes once before, when his friend Tungai turned a sword on him. Now it was as though she was the traitor in his camp, but wasn’t she right? Wasn’t this crazy? Wasn’t it reasonable to fear a pointless and misbegotten death?
Parkhaiev took advantage of the silence between the two.
“Aherm, well, I will adjourn this meeting with the understanding that Hetman Zhoka pledges the continued support of the Rosomai in the main offensive. Good day!”
As Parkhaiev ducked out, Zhoka majestically stood, walked through the gap between Bianka and Kazimir, and exited Parkhaiev’s cabin. Kazimir and Bianka exchanged wounded looks for a long time, each trying to find the words.
“Bianka-” Kazimir paused. “Bianka, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this whole idea, this dream of mine is crazy. Maybe I’ve lost sight of what’s possible.”
“No, Kazimir. Don’t say that,” Bianka drew close to Kazimir. “Mere months ago you came to our tribe as a penniless exile, an outcast. Zhoka asked us to protect you even after she knew that you had nothing. I realize now that she did this because you have vision. You can see the light of peace and majesty where the rest of us see only the darkness of fear and death.”
Bianka continued after a moment of hesitation, “I’m afraid. I know it’s unbecoming of a warrior, especially the captain of the Hazor, but I can’t deny that I’m afraid for my life and yours.”
“Bianka,” Kazimir smiled. “Do you love your people?”
“Yes. I would die for them just as I would for the Hetman.”
“Then you and I are as one. Death is never pointless if you have lived with love in your heart. I fear death just like you, but I will brave it for this.”
Kazimir, Bianka, and Mauno marched at the head of the column. Zhoka, in spite of her desire to follow the army, was of too poor health to do so and returned to Opaliye. Kazimir reasoned that it was better this way, as the clan badly needed leadership during the spring preparations. They moved slowly, ‘at a dead man’s pace’, some muttered. The Kezek were confident after months of battles and skirmishes with the Holischiky, but everyone knew the magnitude of the fight ahead. There was an undercurrent of despair in the army. What could they do against the impending hordes?
Through the din of marching footsteps Kazimir caught the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats to his right. As he turned he spotted a handful of horsemen atop the hill, silhouetted by the sun and sky. The handful turned into tens, then hundreds of mounted warriors. Druzhina. An armored figure on a beautiful white pony rode down the hill and pulled alongside Kazimir.
“You there! You’re Kazimir the Great, are you not?”
“I suppose, if someone has given me the title,” Kazimir neutrally replied.
“I am Hag of the Burya. I… It was my responsibility to bring your father home safely, to pay an old debt to your clan. I come to you a failure, Kazimir.”
“Do you wish to atone?”
“Word has traveled far about your war against the Holischiky. If you will take us, we will gladly die by your side to avenge your father and restore the name of our clan!”
“You may die alongside me, but if you want to live alongside me you must pledge to accept my command without question.”
Hag seemed to hesitate for a moment, then answered, “We pledge ourselves to you, Kazimir.”
Kazimir took some time to count the soldiers of the Burya. They were well equipped as soldiers of the nobility, and they swelled his ranks with 250 professional soldiers. The next day, the column was stopped by a group of females bearing the armor and spears of the Kezek. Their leader approached Bianka carrying an old, bloody standard.
“Hazor Bianka! Mauno of the Hirvi! Our husbands owe our lives to the two of you. You saved them from certain death and nursed them back to health. You brought them home. Since they are not yet fit enough to fight, we volunteer our arms in their stead! Please, Bianka, accept us into your ranks!”
“What do you think?” Bianka turned to Mauno with a sly grin.
Mauno laughed nervously, “I’m not about to refuse the gratitude of these very deadly looking females!”
Bianka rode in front of them, smiling, “Each of you is dirty, smelly, and carelessly shod. You are also very brave. If that doesn’t make you the equal of any male in this army, then glory in battle will! Fall in, you chambermaids, but remember that I’ve got a keen eye on you!”
It was now beyond question that Kazimir and Bianka had made a lasting impression among many Rosomai, and it buoyed the spirits of the Kezek soldiers to see so many Rosomai fall into the column. Over the following days groups of volunteers, many of them professional soldiers of the various Rosomai clans, rode or strode into formation. The 500 turned into 1000, then the 1000 turned into 2,000. As the Rosomai reached the outskirts near the Grand Rookery they were a grand host of over 2,500 warriors. Ulic, Burya, Tourva, Poloya, and even Yakul fighters from the far end of the continent all swore allegiance and accepted the command of Kazimir. Only two clans had failed to show themselves, the Ovadyah and his own.
Kazimir followed Baron Parkhaiev’s advice and set up their encampment downwind and some distance from the Vucari, at least somewhat camouflaging their position. Kazimir dressed himself in a cloak and, with Bianka and a few of the commanders, surveyed the Grand Rookery in person. Some of the commanders were visibly distressed by the presence of the Holischiky, or more precisely their horrid odor. The colony was almost as enormous as had been told to him, with countless families of Holischiky teeming along the shores of a relaxed, almost beautiful inlet. The group continued to ride, this time away from the Rookery and towards a steep hill that was meant to overlook the Sabalazmon encampment.
They dismounted on the reverse slope of the hill, creeping forward to observe their ‘allies’. Murmurs spread among the commanders when they saw the thousands of Sabalazmon on the plain below.
“Listen closely, warriors of the Rosomai. Tomorrow the Sabalazmon you see before you will do battle with the wretched Holischiky. They will falter because they are Sabalazmon, lacking in our furious strength. When this happens, we will join the battle and save their sorry hides.”
A clamor arose among the commanders, punctuated by a voice.
“We cannot aid the Sabalazmon! They are most ancient enemy! They do not deserve our mercy!”
Kazimir turned and gave a stern glare to his new subordinates.
“Each of you made a pact when you joined this force. You promised to obey my commands and you promised to commit yourselves to battle. If you are intelligent, you will understand that we need the Sabalazmon to tie down the enemy. The Vucari will conceal our approach, but I am formally ordering you and your soldiers not to raise arms against a single Sabalazmon soldier. If you do, my furious spirit will rise from the underworld to haunt you and your kin forever!”
The threat seemed to stick, as Kazimir could tell from the dreadful faces around him.
As night fell, Kazimir made one last venture to the outskirts of the Grand Rookery. The stink of the colony washed over him, but it no longer knocked him back. It seemed a part of him now, and in spite of its rancor there was an admirable and simple truth to it. He counted the torches of the Holischiky in the harbor before him, then tried to gain a better understanding of the chieftains, their positions, and their troops. He tried to play out the battle in his head, tried to pick out key pieces of geography, and, satisfied, began to make his way back to camp.
He was surprised to see Mauno by his side. The tall Hirvi almost startled him with his quiet approach, masked by the breeze’s rippling strokes across the grass and meandering courses through the valleys.
“Hello, Mauno. You surprised me,” Kazimir turned to face his friend. “What’s on your mind?”
“The Holischiky are here only to protect their young. They will fight like demons to protect them.”
“I know. Still, we must meet them in battle.” Kazimir locked eyes with Mauno, “Are you still concerned about the fates of our enemies?”
Mauno sighed, “It’s all in the hands of the gods. What’s important is that you survive, Kazimir. I’m begging you to live. There is no need for you to lead the vanguard.”
Kazimir opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Mauno wasn’t finished.
“I’ve long lived with the Rosomai, Kazimir, and not once have I met an individual of your vision and ambition. You have a noble soul, and your people will need you to guide them long after this battle has ended. If you die here your people will lose sight, maybe even lose hope.”
“Even so, my people will need me to lead them into battle. I have to be at the front.”
Mauno smiled, “I had a feeling that you would not agree to my petition, so I will join you on the front line and fight by your side. If you must die, then I will die with you. I cannot live with the knowledge that I held the future in my hands and did nothing to protect it.”
“I would be honored to have you at my side,” Kazimir laid a hand on Mauno’s shoulder.
As Kazimir returned to camp, he absorbed the fearful and awestruck expressions of his warriors. He had never held such prestige or inspired such strong emotion before among so many, but he knew that with great authority comes great resentment. He became more concerned about his warriors than his allies or enemies. Would they fight, run, or betray? Kazimir ducked into his yurt, one of a handful set up for the commanders while the soldiers camped on the open steppe, sleeping in clusters or beside their ponies. Bianka waited inside, looking over some parchment maps in a puzzled fashion.
“Kazimir,” She turned to him, pushing one of the maps before him. “I… don’t know what to make of these. I think the writing is in Vucari.”
Kazimir examined the map, then laughed, “No! It’s the Baron’s attempt to write in our language, gods bless him. He has such terrible, drunken handwriting, but you must give him credit for trying.”
Bianka pretended to examine the map with intent, a wry grin spreading across her face. “I haven’t been spending all my time examining maps, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Kazimir had an inkling of what Bianka was up to, but he played along. “You’ve been detailing and training the females. They’ve got spirit, I’m told. Do they have skill?”
“Just enough. We’ll deploy them at the center of the formation, with our veterans on the flanks. I’ve put a couple ranks of males to their front.”
“Why?”
“Well, if they were at the rear they’d trample the females in order to come to grips with the enemy. This way, the front rank will fight harder knowing that if they flee all the females will see their cowardice.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid that spot. There isn’t a shame in the world worse than a female’s scorn.” Kazimir resisted the urge to smile, “Now what’s really on your mind?”
“ I had something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” She crept close. “Did you ever wonder why Zhoka lavishes favor and command upon me at the exclusion of others?”
“Experience, gumption, and a devil’s intellect?”
“You’re too kind. Actually…” She faltered for a moment. “Actually, it’s because I’m the heir to the Hetmanate.”
“Wait, I thought that Zhoka was barren and childless.”
“My father wasn’t. I was born to a harem girl, outside of oaths. Even so, royal blood flows through my veins. I owe much of my devotion to Zhoka. She, not my father, invited me into the family.”
“So why did you choose to tell me this now?”
“You’re not surprised?” Bianka whimpered in disappointment. “I forget that you’ve got a devil’s wit to match my own. Do you really want me to tell you why I revealed my lineage, or do you already know?”
“I think I have some sense of it,” Kazimir allowed a broad smile.
“Well, there’s no need for flourish and ceremony, then.” She abruptly took a hold of him and started pulling off his clothes.
“Come on, keep up,” She jostled him out of his shirt as he struggled to unlace his pants, “If you want time for sleep we’ll have to make this quick and passionate. I won’t have you falling asleep in the midst of battle.”
Kazimir didn’t sleep well, turning ideas over in his head constantly. He waited until Bianka started snoring softly, then emerged from his yurt, sucking in the cool night air and watching his breath swirl among the stars. A few sentries and restless souls saw him pull a stick from a pile of tinder and some bones from the ashes of a cook fire, sucked clean of their marrow hours earlier. He scratched around in the ashes and laid the bones out carefully in a ceremony that the night sentries and other restless souls believed to be an attempt to discern the fate that lay ahead of them.
While it was still dark he mounted his pony and rode to the heights overlooking the battlefield, the enormous Sabalazmon encampment arrayed to his right, appearing only as blots of white canvas and stretched hide in the dim light of the distant, lonely spring moon. Kazimir sat and contemplated for another hour as dawn simmered on the horizon. In the distance, he caught the sound of the clattering of metal, like great empty cauldrons jostling against the sides of a cook wagon. Amidst them was the nickering and neighing of horses, the silhouettes of the big animals just visible against the dim backdrop of the steppe. Behind them were long, black shapes. Whatever they carried must have been extremely heavy as their carriages were very short, but the animals pulling them were quite large.
“Cannon. The entire arsenal of the Khanate, from the look of things,” The voice chuckled, a slight odor of alcohol in the air. “You have a ‘deaf spot’ to your rear right, it seems.”
“Come join me, Baron,” Kazimir gestured the Vucari forward. “You must have enjoyed this view more frequently than I.”
Kazimir continued observing the spectacle as the cannons, the horses towing them, and the figures of the Sabalazmon positioned them on a small rise at the center right of the battlefield. Baron Parkhaiev was in his full regalia, his resplendent uniform immaculate and spotless, but even so he had a seat next to Kazimir in the grass.
“The cannons are the most powerful weapons of the mundane world. Just as bullets pierce through shield and plate, cannons smash through armies, tumbling them to ruin. The Sabalazmon have 28, all stamped with the seal of the Tsar and Tsarina. With them, they will gain a confidence they have no right to own.”
Kazimir turned to Parkhaiev quizzically, “How do you mean?”
“They are deploying these cannons at the center right of their formation, on that small hill. It appears to be a good location, but it is a deathtrap. The Holischiky will not stop or be driven back by such trifles. They will see the proud commander of the enemy standing among weak and loosely spaced warriors, and they will pour their attacks into that location.”
Kazimir returned his gaze to the cannons. Some terrible mind someplace had devised a weapon so large that only horses could pull it. The prospect of facing such a weapon seemed dreadful, but he knew that the Holischiky were virtually without fear and that Parkhaiev was right.
“Baron,” Kazimir inquired, “You are a good and intelligent commander, a motivator of men and an uncle to your troops. Why is it that you have been condemned to this expedition?”
Parkhaiev allowed a grin, but his eyes betrayed his melancholy soul. “I embraced the new world in my youth. I was a good commander, but I fell into disgrace. There was a battle… I should have been there, sober, but I was so confident in my plan that I allowed myself to slip into the bottle, to curl up and ignore the living hell my soldiers were marching into. I should have died with them in battle, but instead they fell apart without me, not knowing who to turn to for wisdom, losing sight of their purpose. I was disgraced publicly, but this is nothing compared to the dead who haunt me.”
Parkhaiev coughed, then continued, “I am here because I am disgraced, because no other Vucari wishes to be here. They don’t see hope in this bitter land. When I arrived, our ships smashed and much of our army lost with it, the last thing I expected was to survive while surrounded by barbarians. Instead, your people came to save us, to restore our cause, and to restore my hope. I realize now that we as a people have made a grave error in ignoring the Rosomai. Today I fight to acquit myself, but also to acquit the Rosomai. Even if not a single one of us survives, I have made it clear in my correspondence that the Rosomai should be recognized as members of the Alliance.”
Kazimir smiled, his eyes aglow, “You mean that? You would truly go before the Tsar and Tsarina to exonerate us?”
“If they would have me, yes. There’s still the small matter of winning the battle.”
Parkhaiev took to his feet, fastening a broad, plumed hat atop his head.
“Remember, Prince, you are the reserve. Your people will not appreciate being held back, but you must do so. The lives of everyone around us and the fate of your people depend upon this. Do not fail.”
“Very well, Baron, but only under one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“That you lead your men into battle sober.”
Parkhaiev smiled, “Very well. Have your men to remove my liquor cabinet. Then burn it. I don’t trust myself to carry out this order, which is why I’ve given the task to you. This way I will be able to fulfill my end of the bargain
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
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