The Daughter Of Stones

Chapter Twenty-Nine. War Never Happens On a Battlefield.

When war is imminent, one can feel it in the air. One can hear the screams in the cold morning wind and the clash of metal in the heat of the treacherous sun. Even the water in the river flows differently when war is about to take its first breath.

Grailand knew many wars. Some were quick and painless, but others lasted for decades, burning out forests and towns. Now, a new one was crawling up the hills and mountains, crushing stones under its invisible deadly boot.

There is one thing about wars that is usually overlooked and forgotten. The war never happens on a battlefield. Murder does. War happens at large tables. And as in a game of chess, the real players are those who move the pieces. 

Harald Ikalot knew nothing about wars. Whenever a rebellious village raised a mutiny, it was his generals who took control, while the Reign Supreme dined in his Palace, awaiting the news of yet another glorious victory in his name.

He enjoyed this practice, for deep down inside he had no knowledge of strategies, tactics, or battles. Having a general to blame for any misfortunes was of great convenience to him. "A smart king never runs out of generals," he told himself.

But this time he faced a new kind of war—his own crusade, holy war, the vengeance of those who challenged his right to be the sole and absolute ruler of Grailand. Still, he couldn't suppress a yawn during another exhausting strategy meeting.

"We will move the first group to the north, where it will meet with the united army of Viceroys Lockhart, Solomon, and Vicaria," General Lakana moved three wooden soldiers on a large board with a map. Then she walked over to the other side of the board and placed another three figures on it. "Together, the forces will march east and take positions at Congangen Keep. That will be our base, and from there we will advance east to the mountains, cutting every trade route the tribes use. They will have nothing left but to regroup in Kinnkerry Castle, which we will then besiege."

General Lakana moved all the figures east, closer to the border, and the six soldier figures met one red tower figure representing the Kinnkerry Castle.

"At the same time," General Treeden's bass came from the other side of the board, "I'll lead the rest of the army south, down to the Bittery Hills. Our intelligence reports ten ships already arrived at Crestbone Village, which is currently under their command. We shall surround the savages and push them back to the water..."

"Where they will be met by the Royal Fleet," General Uhatha joined in, moving three wooden ships down the Salty Sea to the Crestbone Village bay. "Leaving the rats no route to escape."

Harald Ikalot yawned again.

"Our prime objective is to prevent the forces of the Islanders from meeting the rebellious villages of the south and southeast," General Treeden continued. "If they succeed, we will face a force worth reckoning with. That might be problematic."

"That better not be," Harald grunted in a whisper, leaning on the board. His voice hadn't fully recovered after being almost taken by High Wielder Priam. The best royal healers and alchemists could do nothing. "This campaign must be quick and ruthless. Beat them brutally, and leave no impression that the soldiers of Reign Supreme will tolerate any threat to United Grailand."

The other generals nodded in silent agreement.

"What about the wielders? How many do they have?" Harald Ikalot asked, overlooking the wooden figures occupying the map of Grailand.

"We have no intelligence on the Islanders," said General Lakana. "So far, all we know is that they have one Mechana wielder on their side, supplying them with armor. Not nearly enough to be worried about. The eastern tribes, however, do have a few dozen Arcanists and Augmentors fighting on their side."

"There might be a complication," General Bolk shifted his one-eyed gaze from General Lakana to the King. "The Crying Tower did not take the news about Priam very well."

Harald Ikalot bared his teeth and touched his throat, shivering at the sound of the Arcana High Wielder's name.

"If they choose to join the eastern tribes, our allied forces in Congangen Keep are done. Nothing can stop the citadel wielders, and the keep is too close to the Crying Tower for any reinforcement to come in time."

"That is taken care of," Harald waved General Bolk's concern away, and the rest of his words drowned in a severe dry coughing fit. All of the seven generals waited patiently while their Reign Supreme caught his breath, throwing away a golden goblet with wine brought by General Lakana.

"No!" he said hoarsely. "I am fine. As I've said, the Crying Tower is taken care of. None of the arcana wielders left there will be taking sides. But just in case, the armies in the east will be reinforced by a couple of mechana wielders."

Harald waved his palm in the air, letting the generals continue their strategy discussion, and began choking on a new wave of coughs.

#

Two soldiers for hire dragged a man through a dark corridor. His whining bounced off the walls as they descended an old squeaky staircase. From time to time, the man slurped, covered in blood from a torn lip and broken teeth.

The soldiers brought him to a large door, and one knocked carefully, as if afraid of what was hidden behind.

"Yes?" A woman's voice came through the door.

"Ma, there's a man. He claims he saw the outsiders," one of the soldiers said.

The door opened, and a tall woman in a black gambeson came out, holding a knife and an apple. She gave the peasant, covered in bloodstains and dirt, a bored glance.

"Well," she said, cutting a thin piece of fruit and putting it in her mouth. One of the soldiers shook the man.

"Speak!"

"I shaw zhem, Ma, I shwear," the man began mumbling, swallowing words and letters. "One of zhem, he did it with me, broke my ceesh wizh a shingle hit!"

"Did they have a girl with them?" asked the woman, unimpressed.

"Yesh!" the man exclaimed, spitting blood. A few drops landed on the apple. The woman winced.

"Alright. You two—find where those outsiders are. Do not approach them, do not show yourselves. I want to know their every move, every word they speak, every pile of horse shit they step in. Go, now."

The soldiers shared a glance as the woman returned to the room.

"I apologizh, Ma, buch whach about me? I've heard there wash a reward for the informachion!" said the man, freeing his shoulder from the soldier's grip. Without turning her head, the woman threw him an apple.

"Here's your reward. It's tough. Careful with the teeth."