Chapter 22
"The upright warrior prays for peace while he sharpens his sword."
- Katisha Franklin, 35 Maye, 1788
The next day, Aidan visited Kluny to retrieve his newly fitted mace. He held it straight to his right side, then swung it low and switched hands, bringing his whole left arm parallel to the ground. The balance was perhaps a little heavier toward the pommel from the heavier maple wood, but he didn't mind. The control it offered would make up for any loss of power. Now Nadya can join the battle. The thought pleased him, and he nodded approvingly as he examined the tight yet soft leather wrapping.
"You are skilled beyond your years, Kluny." He looked down the shaft of the weapon, satisfied that it hadn't been warped or damaged by carelessness. He wondered if Barrowdown had a suitable smith, or could use another one. When I'm the Lord of its gates once again, I can say whether it needs two or not. He smiled at the thought and proceeded with the other matter at hand.
He took some small squared papers out of his pocket, all of them covered in scribblings of fine charcoal. He gave Kluny precise instructions as to the size, dimensions, and exact design of what he wanted. Kluny told him what materials he'd need and how much it would cost for his labor. Aidan gladly paid, and was more than able to provide the gold, brass, and silver necessary for the project.
After another few days of strategy sessions and battle planning, Aidan ordered the Lieutenants to tend their duties until the day he announced the march. Too much planning can be almost as dangerous as too little, he thought, remembering the assault his commanders planned to execute on Fort Malta. They wasted so much time deliberating that the fort was resupplied and the besieged troops reinforced. Another battle Aidan had escaped from through a combination of clever instincts and plain luck. Better, smarter men than I died that day.
He spent his time either immersed in his family journals, talking with the Soldiers themselves and sharing stories, or assisting in a few hunting expeditions where they employed Charlene's herd hunting tactic. He idly wondered what might happen to those beautiful red-brown deer if such hunting occurred across the planet. He didn't allow himself too much time for curiosity, instead pushing himself into taking over Marke's responsibilities and accounting their supply, twice catching some of the bandits stealing from their stocks. They were made to go without meals, but Aidan had a strong suspicion that he'd see desertions if he had them whipped.
Three weeks passed with the relentless rhythm of routine and preparations. Charlene would come to his tent every few nights, and they would make love. Sometimes they would even talk late into the evening after their mutual hunger was satisfied. She never spoke of Marke or the rebel Lords, and Aidan did only once by accident.
"We can organize a Cavalry flank among our own riders," he mentioned casually, "as long as they are all outfitted with fully functioning Kannitick Plate. We just need enough ground to gain speed, and then we can smash into their sides and center."
"If your friends are true to their oath, we won't need to."
He felt the barb, but did not allow it to take root. Instead, he decided to swear an oath of his own. "If they prove false, they'd better pray I'm taken or killed in battle. Because I will redress betrayal."
That was the last they spoke of it. The snows thinned enough that one had to travel at least a hundred strides out of the camp to find even the smallest patch. The trees had shrugged off the last of their cloudy-white blankets, the green leaves shading darker with each passing day. Whether the Redtails were sufficiently prepared or not, it was Marching Day.
Aidan blew a sentry's horn three times for assembly, and anyone not on sentry duty gathered around the command tent. His Lieutenants took up position in a line on either side of him, Charlene beaming as though he had proposed and Ygretta making eyes at some homely girl carrying a long musket whom Aidan didn't recognize. Aidan mounted his horse and spoke the words he'd been practicing.
"Together we have fought and bled," Aidan began, using his loudest voice to boom into the trees so that he was sure even the outer sentries could hear him, "and together we will achieve victory. Today, at long last, we march!"
A cheer erupted from his ramshackle army, those who had assembled bearing arms thrust them enthusiastically into the air. He allowed them a moment of elation, gazing with pride as though they were the finest group of people he'd ever seen. Nothing matters in battle more than confidence.
After a few moments, he held out a quieting hand and continued, "I will not fill your heads with fantasies about the coming battle being easy. It will test the fortitude of everyone standing here, including myself and your commanders. But you are no longer a rabble who infest the forest and terrorize local merchants. You are my army, and my people!"
Another cheer, just as he'd predicted. He gave them another moment of celebration.
"When the training and planning pays off, when we've won this battle, we shall march on Barrowdown and find it in the hands of friends. When we have retaken the land stolen from my family, you shall be rewarded with land of your own - and a Knighthood to go with it, if you wish! But know that I consider all of you to be Knights already - champions not only of my cause, but of the struggles of people everywhere to be free."
The army cheered, and he took from his pocket the items he'd ordered from the smith three weeks ago, holding them all by the chain and feeling the heavy weight of the round, decorated discs hooked onto the other end. He held them up, and silence fell, everyone focused on the strange yellow medals he held in his fist, each nearly the size of a man's face.
"These will be worn by your division commanders and the War Council. It bears not the tulip but the Redtail Crest." He ran his fingers over the trunks and branches, the conjoined roots. "Three trees for three groups: Those who were Redtails, those who were Nobles, and those who were Soldiers of House Deumar. We rely on each other just like the trees in this Crest."
In the midst of a hushed, reverent silence, he placed the medals onto the necks of the War Council and the three division Captains. Lastly, he took off his heavy cloak to reveal that he had even changed his own family Crest imprinted on his Kannitick Armor with the triple-entwined trees. There was a moment where the only sound was a few gasps, and then a roaring cheer of approval.
He gave Rodrig a nod, who shouted orders to strike camp and prepare to march within the hour. Anything they couldn't carry was left behind, and Captains coordinated with their platoon Sergeants for one final head count before they embarked. They moved quickly and efficiently, and Aidan nodded with satisfaction. They were no longer just a confederation of forest rabble, disinherited Nobles, and professional Soldiers. They were an army.
The day's march took them to the edge of the wood. There lay the clearing patchily dotted with hilltop groves and the occasional rocky patch of unsown dirt. This was the stretch of ground they'd spent so much time studying on their map, the place where Aidan and his followers' fates would be decided once and for all. There was a gradual slope leading into the spotted, irregular clearing, and Aidan relayed through Rodrig that they were to make camp just behind the tree line.
Forward scouts reported no sign of any troops, enemy or allied. Aidan thanked them and prepared for a long, nervous night. He meditated from dinner through sunset, finally stopping to talk with Charlene. She was busy telling bawdy stories to one of the larger groups who huddled for warmth in the lingering iciness of the spring twilight. She walked with Aidan as he took measure of their position and used his helm's scope to scout the perimeter himself.
"The troops are in high spirits," she said, taking the crook of his right elbow in her own Kannitick-Armored hands.
"Thanks to you," he said, magnifying an area that looked suspicious. A few oddly shaped rocks appeared when he adjusted the input sensors and he zoomed out and scanned some more. "Truly, keeping them in high spirits is more important now than any advice I can give. They have the training; they just need the confidence."
"Are
you being serious?" She looked at him as though he had begun speaking in the old tongue. "Your speech today lifted them higher than any dirty jokes I conjured. They're practically glowing from it still."
"The promise of land? Are they so eager to take up farming?"
"Oh, Aidan," she laughed, and he shook his head in confusion, "sometimes I swear your head is made of mutton. The part about 'the struggles of people everywhere to be free' was what caught their attention."
He had wondered at the words himself on the long march afterward. It must have crept into his mind from The Roadmap, which he had been studying alongside his family journals. He had been taught when he was fighting in the War in the Heavens that the Federates were no more than curiously well-organized Anarchists, that they wanted to overthrow the natural order of Nobles and commoners. But their book and his family's journals had shown him a different way of thinking. Feudalism should be a stepping stone to something beyond itself, not a crutch for the greedy and power-mad. He wrestled with his own motives in retaking his family's land. What sort of man would he be after? Could he continue oppressing the commoners after this brave group of them had shown him such compassion and loyalty?
"I spoke from the heart, always risky." He took off his helm, satisfied that the horizon was clear of enemies. "But I meant every word."
"What are we fighting for, then?" Charlene sounded like she was accusing him. She whispered, "Do you mean to challenge the King - really challenge him?"
Aidan paused before answering. "I have no desire to sit upon the throne."
"That's a pity," she said. "You'd make a fine King."
"You flatter me," he said, blushing. "But I thank you for your support of my unsubstantiated Royal claim."
They shared a laugh, and she bowed low, sweeping her cloak to the side as though it were a fine robe. "My Liege, I await your command."
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close, smelling the sweet orange blossoms she had woven into her black, ropey hair. "I command that you be free."
"Not something," she whispered into his ear, "that has ever given me difficulty."
Their kiss was gentle at first but intensely grew with their desire. Aidan did not feel physically aroused, however, which he attributed to his eagerness for the coming battle. Something much like guilt was sprouting within his chest, worry for Charlene's life. "Listen, my love, if something should happen to me, I want you to-"
She squeezed him tighter, as though trying to drive the breath from his lungs. "Aidan, you godsdamned fool. If I didn't love you so much, I'd kill you."
Before he could finish his sentence, she gave him a deep, passionate kiss so fierce he was certain she'd lead him to her tent afterward to make love. Instead she ended the kiss by pushing him away and stalking quickly back to camp. He sighed, remembering when they'd first met, how cavalier she'd been about life and death. Now that life or death potentially lay over the next sunrise, she hadn't changed her view even a little. He admired her for that.
Since their first kiss, Aidan had pondered marriage from time to time. He never allowed himself to think too deeply on the subject; it was a distraction compared to the task at hand. His father, even the version of his father he knew only through his journals, would never approve of their arrangement, though Aidan was convinced he would absolutely approve of Charlene once he got to know her. Sleeping with her was Aidan's sole act of rebellion against the man whom he had never thought of with anything but respect and admiration. In his flipped-over world, being with Charlene made sense. Losing the estate, fighting the King's Deputy, joining with outlaws, no matter what fresh chaos was raining hell into his life, being with Charlene felt right. And he refused to question it.
Sleep brought only dreamless darkness, for which he was grateful. The terror that previously gripped his dreams made him feel weak. Ordinary. He couldn't believe either if he hoped to gain a victory over a better-armed force of with superior numbers.
He dispatched a messenger on their fastest horse to find Marke and his Cavalry. They should have reached us by now - have they even left yet? He squelched the thought as best he could; it wouldn't do to mope around the camp and spread negativity to the Soldiers he was counting on. They struck camp and after consulting with the War Council and receiving scouting reports that said the field was clear of enemies, they decided to move onto a nearby hill topped with pines and maples.
As they marched in three long columns, Aidan noticed that more than a few cloaks proudly displaying fresh-sewn patches bearing the Redtail's triple-tree Crest. Never underestimate the ability of a symbol to animate a movement. Troy had written of the rebellion seven generations before which failed to oust King Ethan's ancestor as the High King. Those rebels rallied around a Hawk in flight, for the House Hawkins who claimed some Royal ancestry from a previous dynasty. Whether or not their claim was valid, they were dead and planted now, their bodies no doubt long since consumed by the trees that marked their graves. May we find a kinder fate than theirs.
"Starting to wonder where my brother has lost himself," Ygretta said, reining her horse next to Midnight, who snorted as though in greeting. "If he doesn't show up soon I may just track him down myself."
"It's a big world," Aidan said, trying to quell his own doubts. "I'm sure he's coming. We haven't even spotted any sign of the enemy yet, so he probably still has some time."
"Are we going to change positions again today?" she asked, and Aidan bristled at the thought of another massed movement. It was trouble enough just to keep the troops in one place.
"I was thinking about it, but I'd rather keep the Soldiers fresh. Too much marching will tire them."
Ygretta grunted in agreement, clearly happy to be wearing armor and a sword. Aidan scanned the horizon once again with his helm, but still there was no sign. Have I miscalculated? Is the Deputy more patient than I believed? These thoughts, as well as the missing Cavalry, haunted every step.
Scouts returned in the afternoon to report that they'd made contact, but with the other outlaw bands whom the Shrikes had promised. The three groups, all of them named after some variety of predator - Tigers, Wolves, and Serpents - brought about 150 warriors all together. They were big people, it was no wonder they had such aggressive names for their bands, and Aidan relayed a message for them to take position on the main army's flanks. I don't know them well enough to trust them with the center. Their muskets, after all, still fired only one Plaz round at a time.
After a noisy night adjusting to the presence of more Soldiers, a scout reported movement to the south, a large band of armed men marching on their position, Cavalry information at their rear. Have you come at last, Meadows? He estimated around four hundred, to which Aidan nodded. Their own strength was around 350, but those placed in the center had distinguished themselves against the posse's raid only a few months before. Their experience and fortitude combined with Ygretta's innovative use of the double-round Plaz muskets should be more than enough to carry the day, even against heavy horse.
Through Rodrig and Connel, he ordered fortifications built - rows of stakes, trenches concealed by chest-high palisades, and a few ground traps to be dug in front. Aidan passed by one of the trenches as it was being cleared to see that Windhill the heretic was helping to dig.
"Making good use of yourself, eh?"
"Aye, M'Lord," he said happily, sticking his shovel hard into the dirt and kicking it deep, "I may not be any good in a fight, but I'll do what I can to help. Do we need stakes down here?"
"No, the fall itself should prove sufficient."
Another scout rushed to him, his arm bloodied by a white-feathered shaft. They were getting closer, and sending out scouts of their own. Probably another two hours march before they would be visible, perhaps another two for them to choose a position. Aidan bid the man to seek help from the medic, and ordered Rodrig not to send out any more scouts.
"It's too dangerous, and we'll need them in battle."
"Every man counts, eh?" r />
"Always," he gave the old horse master a wry smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "What are we fighting for, after all?"
"I been asking that myself lately."
Rodrig must have read Aidan's hurt expression because he hastily continued, "Not that I question your claim or the rightness of your cause. It's just that ... I wonder if the Lords who've joined your cause will be satisfied with merely reestablishing their ally's son?"
"I have promised them rents."
"I know, I remember. But who's to say whether they've left their rebel ways behind them? They were prepared to take up arms against the King himself, Sir Aidan, And it weren't no happenstance that their Duchies and yours encircle Klauston."
"You believe they mean to re-establish my claim ... to use me?"
"If they need to. I don't trust old Lord Braxton, I can tell you that."
Aidan recalled the aged Herald of Braxton, promising support in exchange for 'a prize he deemed worthy.' Could this be the start of something bigger? Was Barrowdown merely the first step in a larger plan? He thought of his family's journals, and of all the preparations that would be needed for such a war. The allied Lords themselves had all held back a portion of their forces, which they claimed was for defense against punitive counterattack. They could also be used for a follow-up attack against the King after the battle that lay before Aidan and his Tulips was decided.
"Whatever it is we fight for," Aidan said, determined to stop his head from spinning with speculation, "we are well past the point of turning back."
"I agree, Sir. Just wondering what our Noble friends are really after."
"At the moment," Aidan tried to keep the bite out of his voice, but failed, "I'm more concerned with where the hell they are."
Rodrig gave him a worried look, and trotted his horse away to check on the preparations. Aidan donned his helm and zoomed to the southern horizon. No movement so far. Soon enough.
In a few hours that seemed like no time at all, the first man-shaped silhouettes began to dot the gaps between the distant trees. They were marching in three wide columns, banners unfurled as they crested the distant tree-topped hills. The Crest itself was too blurry to discern from such a great distance, but it worried Aidan that they each looked relatively the same. Whether they bore the triple-crowned Royal Crest he could not be sure.