The Chesian Wars (A Griffins & Gunpowder Collection) Read online

  The man entered the tent and sat in one of the chairs. He looked far too large for the small thing and Vladik hid a smile.

  "Would you care for some coffee?" he asked. "It isn't the best, but it's better than some."

  "I must decline," Zarek said. He pulled back the hood of his cloak and revealed his shaved head. Tattoos were scrawled across his scalp, but the majority of his head was dominated by a ten-pointed star; he was a priest of Chaylath, the All-Father.

  While the nations of western Zaria were fragmented in their ethnic diversity, national history and culture, they all practiced the religion that held a single deity responsible for the creation of the universe. Chaylath was known to some as the Blacksmith of the World, and the Ruler by others, but most called him the All-Father.

  The priesthood of Chaylath was held to a code of morals, which included a firm control of their emotions, and a strict dietary plan, which forbade coffee.

  "Of course, you'll have to forgive me." Vladik set the pot back on the small table.

  "No offense was meant, so none was taken," Zarek said with an understanding smile.

  "What brings you to my camp, so late in the evening and in this horrible storm?" Vladik asked as he sat across from the Sithean.

  "I have come to inform you that the Sithean government and the ambassadors of your nation have come to an agreement," Zarek said. He reached into his cloak and withdrew several envelopes. Two of them were sealed with golden wax, inlaid with red dragons. "These are for you. They are identical copies of the same letter from your ambassador in Hamnstad."

  Vladik took one of the letters and inspected the seal. It was authentic; the tiny imperfections in the design of the dragon had been an intentional addition to prevent copying of the rather common image. He drew a dagger and slid it through the wax. The letter inside was scrawled across a dozen pages, though it would be the first one that mattered.

  The message was addressed to any officer of the Imperial Army and served to both inform them of the alliance between the two nations and instruct that the bearer of the letter be trusted to the fullest extent.

  "Well, it looks like we're on the same side of this fight," Vladik said and set the letter down. "When can we expect troops?"

  "There are two divisions of Sithean infantry camped near the valley ten miles from here," Zarek said. "We have sent false information to the Jarins, telling them that we are here to support their defenses and repel your invasion."

  "So you're lying to them?" Vladik asked.

  "Yes," Zarek said with a shrug. "Our longstanding neutrality in most matters of international conflict will go a long way to convincing them of our intentions. It would have been easier if we would have been able to capture the Jarin ambassador before he fled Hamnstad, but he had spies that told him of our alliance with Emperor Maximilian."

  "How do I know you aren't lying to me?" Vladik asked. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.

  "Now that, sir, does offend me," Zarek said, though his face showed no sign of it. The highest level priests of Chaylath were said to show no emotion at all. "The Chesian Ambassador in Hamnstad is protected by a full battalion of the Emperor's bodyguards. It would be impossible for us to seize him without the destruction of his signet ring."

  "Very well." Vladik's eyes narrowed but he would not push the matter. "What do you intend to do?"

  "The Jarins are hesitant to accept our assistance and they are well-entrenched. We would lose many soldiers trying to dislodge them from their position. So, we will wait until your forces have engaged theirs and then attack them from the flank."

  "How many troops do they have?" Vladik asked.

  "We counted two brigades," Zarek reported, and Vladik snorted. "Did I say something amusing?"

  "Not directly," Vladik said. Not only had Dmitri been so incompetent as to walk into an ambush, he had gone up against a force with half as many soldiers as he had. "Very well. Should we arrange some sort of signal?"

  "We will take your attack on the enemy positions as signal enough."

  ***

  *Acheron*

  Acheron clutched the letters that the Sithean marshall had presented him, and smiled as the Chesians marched into the valley once more. Those letters bore the signature and seal of the Jarin Ambassador in Hamnstad and reported the signing of an alliance between Jarin and Sithea. The Sitheans, in an attempt to surprise the Chesians, had sent an emissary to the Imperial general, telling him that they were only here to observe the battle and ensure that the fighting didn't spill onto Sithean soil. The Sitheans would attack as soon as the forces in the valley were engaged with his entrenched troops.

  The same forces that he had repelled three days earlier were leading the attack again, this time at a far more cautious pace. The bodies of the dead and dying had been cleared from the valley floor, but the memory of the slaughter at the hands of the Jarins had to be fresh in the minds of the soldiers and commanders.

  Acheron had lost very few troops when the Chesians withdrew to their side of the valley. Five hundred total dead and half as many wounded to the point that they would be unable to fight. Most of the losses had been suffered by the cavalry as they charged and withdrew, harassing the fleeing Chesians.

  Those losses had already been replaced by reserves that had come with the two brigades of Jarin forces from the north. Acheron had been able to reorganize his forces and had taken advantage of the Sitheans' presence to anchor his eastern flank. Two brigades were now entrenched at the end of the valley, a third protected their western flank, and the fourth was spread across the hilltops, armed with rifles.

  Acheron commanded the whole assembly from a post near the northern end of the western ridge, where he could see all of his troops at once. And where he could see the enemy.

  Four more divisions of Chesian infantry had arrived two days before, just before nightfall, and they had brought artillery with them. Whoever was in command of this force was also much smarter than the previous commander: he had deployed scouts to either side of the valley, down the center and across the hilltops that flanked it.

  Acheron's riflemen had repelled the patrols before they were able to get a look at the defensive positions of his main force, and he had waited until the riders were out of sight before he moved his last piece into position: a dozen ten-pound cannons and six five-pounders. Three of the larger guns had been set to the west of the valley and the other nine were set to fire straight down the valley floor. The five-pound guns had been hauled to the hilltops, four to the west and two to the east.

  The skirmishers ahead of the Chesians’ valley force came into range of the Jarin riflemen on the hilltops and sporadic snapping and popping filled the afternoon air. Acheron raised his hand and a signal flare exploded from one of the eastern cannons. The Sithean force began to move forward, its eastern flank swinging down toward the advancing Chesians.

  ***

  *Vladik*

  Vladik’s light infantry had been engaged with the Jarins for nearly an hour before Dmitri's remaining brigades began taking fire from the rifles posted on the hilltops. Vladik's scouts had been repelled earlier in the morning and had reported that the Jarin riflemen were well entrenched; it would have taken significant effort to dislodge them. The scouts had also reported that the enemy force looked more numerous than the Sitheans had initially reported.

  It had been two days since Zarek Rus had met with Vladik in the pouring rain, and reinforcements had been expected. The most promising report from the scouts had been a continued lack of artillery support for the Jarins. Without artillery, they would be helpless when he rolled his ten-pound guns into range and began pummeling them with solid shot.

  He hoped that the battle would be over before it came to that.

  If the Jarin commander was smart, as soon as the Sitheans revealed themselves as his enemy he would throw down his weapons and surrender. Commanders responsible for the defense of their homes, however, were rarely ruled by their minds. Vladik suppo
sed that if he had been thinking with his head instead of his heart, he would have surrendered to the Dragon's Teeth before any blood had been shed. He had been leading with his heart, however, and had held against the invaders for six weeks before the district leaders took the decision out of his hands and surrendered to Emperor Maximilian.

  Vladik wondered if the commanders of these forces would be offered the same opportunity that he had been given, provided that they survived the massacre that was about to befall them.

  The thunderous report of cannon fire broke into Vladik's thoughts and he looked to his batteries. The cannons were still; no thick gray clouds rose from their barrels. Either the Sitheans had started their assault, or the Jarins had artillery.

  "Signalman!" Vladik shouted.

  ***

  *Acheron*

  The first volley from his cannons had been simultaneous. The solid shot from the three western ten-pound guns had crashed among the forward Chesian lines and skipped off of the dry ground, leaving gashes in the Imperial lines. The nine ten-pounders aimed down the throat of the valley had been loaded with explosive shot; their rounds splashed into the mud and muck that was the valley floor and detonated. The explosions sent burning shrapnel flying in all directions and cut huge holes in the advancing lines.

  Four of the five-pound pieces, two on either side of the valley, had been loaded with explosive shot and aimed deeper into the enemy lines. Their rounds fell in the thickest part of the enemy formation and caused devastation that Acheron would not have thought possible. His final two five-pound guns, on the western ridge, had been aimed at the enemy artillery batteries.

  The Chesians had taken the bait that Acheron had laid before them: their artillery was closer to the lines than it should have been. Their elevation gave the five-pounders the range needed to rain iron down on the enemy batteries. Explosive rounds fell among the caissons and powder wagons with lethal precision. One round smashed into a caisson and detonated; dozens of solid cannonballs sprayed the cannon crews around it. The other round found itself lodged in a powder wagon before it detonated. The explosion was massive.

  Acheron watched one of his gun crews work to reload their piece. Toward the rear of the gun, a man pressed a gloved thumb over a vent at the back of the barrel. Next, a man shoved a rod with a twisted metal coil into the barrel and withdrew it, clearing the barrel of debris. The next man shoved a pole with a wet sponge at its end into the barrel to extinguish any embers that remained.

  A young boy, no more than fourteen, hurried from the weapon's ammunition box, a cartridge cradled in his hands. The man with the twisted coil set the rod against the gun's crossbeam, accepted the cartridge from the boy and shoved it into the barrel. The man with the sponge used the opposite end of the rod to press the round to the base of the cannon. The man with the glove removed his thumb from the vent, and the officer in command of the gun pressed a primer attached to a lanyard into the hole as the crew cleared the front of the weapon. Finally, a sergeant checked the sights of the piece and stepped back.

  "Ready to fire!" the sergeant shouted.

  "Firing!" the lieutenant shouted. He pulled the lanyard taut. The gun crew covered their ears and the lieutenant yanked on the cord, igniting the primer. The cannon breathed fire like a dragon and bucked backwards several feet. The crew pushed the weapon back into place and began again.

  Acheron watched through binoculars as the Chesians scrambled to get their guns attached to their horse teams and pulled back beyond the range of his smaller guns. One of the next rounds fell behind the enemy artillery and exploded with little effect; the other fell between guns and blasted shrapnel into the gun crews.

  Acheron turned to his east and swept his binoculars over the Sithean forces. The Chesians had withdrawn behind the ridgeline, but the Sitheans were marching after them. At the rear of the Sithean line, a cloud of brown dust was forming and Acheron focused on it.

  The Sithean cavalry galloped toward the western end of their line; they would turn the corner and charge into the teeth of the Chesian skirmishers and light infantry. Except they didn't turn. The heavy cavalry, sabres glinting in the sunlight, charged past the end of their line and past the foot of the eastern ridge. They were riding straight for the eastern end of his trenches, and his troops would be defenseless.

  -The Red Dragon's Gold

  Commander Kasimir Parten woke to a panicked knocking on the door to his quarters. The sky outside of his window was still dark and remains of a fire still smoldered in his hearth; it was the middle of the night.

  "I'm awake!" Kasimir shouted. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood and stretched with a gaping yawn.

  He pulled his robe on over his thin linen clothes and lit a candle from the embers of last night's fire. Flicking open his pocket watch, he frowned. It was hours yet before the sun would rise and there would be little so urgent that he needed to be woken.

  "I'm coming!" Kasimir said when the knocking started again. The light from the candle did little to dispel the shadows in the corners of the room; the gray stone walls drank the light from the tiny flickers. "You'd think someone important had died."

  "Commander!" Kasimir's steward, Karel Shor, said when he finally opened the broad oak door.

  The man was shorter than Kasimir's six feet by several inches, but they shared the black hair and green eyes that were common among the people of Malkala. The steward wore a thick brown robe over his silver uniform. Sweat beaded on his shaved head and Kasimir saw fear in his green eyes. "Commander, a messenger just arrived from Aldris."

  Kasimir frowned. The small village of Aldris sat on the border between the Sovereignty of Malkala and the Empire of Chesia and was home to a modest Malkalan fortress. The main highway from the Chesian capital of Yerik to the Malkalan capital, Cestmir, passed beside it.

  Reports from the fortress had claimed that the Chesian Imperial Army had been performing more training exercises near the border than usual and merchant traffic had diverted to the north, along the secondary highway.

  The fortress at Aldris had been designed to withstand siege and prevent the advance of any armies into the Malkalan Valley. If they had sent for help...

  "Well, let's have it then," Kasimir said impatiently.

  "Sir, the messenger reports that an Imperial army has crossed the border. Twenty thousand heavy cavalry ahead of more than one hundred thousand infantry and forty cannons."

  "Ruler save us," Kasimir whispered. The whole of the Malkalan army only counted fifty thousand infantry and commanded less than fifty cannons. General Niklos Hollatz had less than five thousand men in the garrison at Aldris.

  "The garrison at Aldris attempted to retreat," Karel reported as if he had been reading Kasimir's mind. "Two regiments were able to make it into the forest but the rest were ridden down by the Imperial cavalry."

  "Sound the alarm," Kasimir ordered. "I want the whole garrison on the walls in thirty minutes and a platoon deployed as scouts. Send a rider to Cestimir as well; we'll need all of the help that we can get."

  "Yes, sir." Karel saluted and hurried back up the hallway.

  Kasimir closed the door to his quarters and started dressing. His battle uniform, silver trousers and jacket with brown stripes, had been cleaned and pressed the day before. His sabre had been sharpened and his revolvers were clean. The single action, six-shot pistols were made of solid Andivari iron and Malkalan red wood.

  At least I'll die in clean clothes and with clean weapons, Kasimir thought to himself as he pulled on his black boots. They had been spit-shined less than a week ago. He realized now, too late, that he'd had far too much time to keep his clothes clean, and far too little to drill his soldiers.

  The peace between Chesia and Malkala had always been contingent on Malkala's ability to placate its much larger neighbor with trade alliances, and on Chesia's lack of interest in their small neighbor. The Chesian Empire had always been satisfied with the trade subsidies that Malkala had offered on the iron ore and oth
er raw materials extracted from the Malkalan mines. The internal conflict that raged amongst the Chesian districts had helped to secure Malkala's peace, but that had changed with the rise of Frederick Maximillian.

  Frederick Maximillian had not ascended to the title of Emperor as much as he had secured it with the blood of tens of thousands of soldiers and the complete destruction of his enemies. Before his "War of Unification", the territories of Chesia had been divided by warlords and merchant barons who fiercely protected their lands.

  Through a series of political alliances, assassinations and trade agreements, Frederick had managed to secure the support of a third of the Chesian Districts. War had brought another twenty of the forty-eight districts under the control of his iron boot. Fear of invasion and more assassinations had completed his conquest of the Chesian Empire.

  A pair of outlying districts still resisted Imperial Rule, but they were sparsely populated and of little consequence to the overall stability of the Empire.

  The unification of the Empire, however, had meant that the nation of Malkala had been forced to sacrifice more and more of its trade to Chesia in the last three years, lest they risk angering the Emperor. Rumors had become rampant that King Vladislav Tasya had been trying to marry his daughter to one of the Grand Dukes of Andivar to secure a mutual defense alliance, but nothing had come of that.

  The armies of Andivar were respected as the best trained and best armed forces throughout the civilized world. One of the few standing armies in the known world, the Andivari trained incessantly and their military program started at birth.

  Kasimir wondered, not for the first time, how his life might have differed if he had been born just a few hundred miles westward. Instead he had entered the military at eighteen, then spent the next eight years working his way through the ranks of the Malkalan army.

  Only to die a commander at the hands of the Chesians. Kasimir shook his head, lifted his haversack over his head, picked up his musket and stepped out into the suddenly busy hallway.