[X] "You might thank me with a drink once we reach Fort Kharan."
Lewes grins wide. "Are you sure you'd want to be seen with a disreputable type like myself, sir?" he asks. "Wouldn't look good for a proper officer to be talking to some guttersnipe like me."
"I'll find a way to survive, Lieutenant," you reply drily.
The Experimental Corps officer barks out a sharp laugh. "Ain't all bastards, are you?" He nods. "Aye, we'll lead you the rest of the way to Fort Kharan, and I'll be happy to buy you a drink, sir."
Over the next day, you continue north along the road, until finally, near sunset, you spy a mass of earthworks and palisades crowning a steep hill by the river: Fort Kharan.
-
When you first laid eyes upon the outpost that would become Fort Kharan nearly eight years ago, the site had possessed little more than a few blockhouses of logs and sod, surrounded by a low palisade and garrisoned by less than a hundred men. You had been a cornet then, with a commission less than a year old and half a dozen men under your command.
Now, you return as a major with a full squadron at your back, not to an outpost but to an immense complex of breastworks, gun positions, palisades, blockhouses, and outbuildings, a sprawling network of defensive works garrisoned by more than two thousand men.
Within, you find that Fort Kharan has grown in others ways as well. The outpost you remember barely had enough basic amenities to keep its scraped-together garrison of grenadiers and dragoons alive. Fort Kharan offers warm beds and hot food for your men, feed and water for your horses, bane-healers for your wounded, ointments for the saddle sores of your raw recruits, and enough supplies to fill your pack mules' bags to the brim.
You and Lewes part ways once inside the fort. He must report to his own superiors, and you must see to the temporary quartering and resupply of your men and horses. By the time you are finished, it is nearly pitch black, and the cool spring day has long since given way to a chilly night.
Not that any of this stops Lieutenant Lewes from dropping by again. After all, he still owes you a drink.
-
You meet with your lieutenants, Lady Katarina and Lord Cassius in Fort Kharan's map room early the next morning with your head in agony, your stomach in the midst of civil war, and your memory of the previous night spotty, save for the fact that your one drink with Lieutenant Lewes had somehow turned into twelve.
On the table between you sits a detailed chart of Southern Antar, a map that describes in plain detail the dilemma before you.
The choice, at first glance, appears to be a simple one betwixt danger and safety, for the most direct path to the King's forces runs along the bank of the River Kharan: a route that will very likely take you dangerously close to Prince Khorobirit's advancing army. Should you move too quickly, or too slowly, or take a wrong turn, or simply be unlucky, you might find yourself leading your squadron, Lady Katarina, and the Takaran Ambassador right into the jaws of tens of thousands of Antari.
However, taking the longer route, detouring southeast through Blogia and then north, has its own disadvantages. While it does keep two hundred kilometres of forest between you and the path of Khorobirit's army, the detour will also take you at least twice as long to travel, and the possibility of running out of supplies before finding the King's Army becomes a very real danger.
Either way, you will likely risk the men under your command and those whom you have been charged to escort, and your ability to hold your squadron together will be tested. You have no concrete orders to fall back upon and no superiors to ask for guidance or clarification. Everyone in the room looks to you for an answer.
A metaphorical headache, on top of your literal headache, no less. What a pleasant way to start a morning. "Blaylock, Findlay, Sandoral, your thoughts?"
"Well, sir, I don't see much point in wasting time dancing about," Blaylock replies. "We should take the direct route."
Lord Renard shakes his head. "Ain't prudent if ye ask me. Ain't proper. Do that, we ain't unlike to find ourselves neck deep in the enemy."
"And that's a bad thing?" Blaylock asks. "We're soldiers. We fight the enemy if we find them, and we beat them. I rather thought that was the whole point of this war."
"The point of this war is to win it, and that ain't always mean fighting," Lord Renard points out; a surprisingly astute observation for someone you had pegged as somewhat dim. "At the moment, it ain't mean nothing but delivering His Excellency the ambassador safe to His Majesty."
"I should probably remind you that the longer route isn't necessarily the safer one," Lieutenant Sandoral interjects. "Have either of you considered that we can only carry so much food and fodder with us? If we take the longer route, there is a very real chance that we will run out of supplies before we reach our destination."
Sandoral's words only make your other two subordinates glare at him. Unable to come to an agreement, your three lieutenants settle for peering sullenly at each other, unyielding.
Well, it doesn't look like you'll be getting any solid consensus one way or another from this lot. "Lady Katarina, what advice might you offer?"
"You should know my answer, my dear Major," she replies smoothly. "Your assignment must come first, and any factors which might jeopardise the successful completion of that assignment must be avoided, if possible."
The young noblewoman leans forward and places one slim finger squarely on the road east. "With such factors in mind, the road which keeps us furthest away from an Antari army seems the obvious choice."
"So you advise cowardice, then?" Lieutenant Blaylock growls.
"I would advise caution," Lady Katarina replies in a tone so cold that it even seems to check your ill-mannered subordinate. "One might understand that certain individuals would find it difficult to grasp the concept, but the well-being of a Takaran ambassador is a matter of paramount importance to Tierran interests. Thus, it may do great injury to His Majesty's government to see it imperilled, be it by the enemy or the rashness of His Majesty's own soldiers.
"Of course," she continues as she looks to you, smiling sweetly, "any officer of the King with experience and rank sufficient to see the wider picture must well realise that."
"Lord Cassius, what do you think?"
The Takaran ambassador stares intently at the map, his bright-blue eyes tracing roads and rivers. "Personally, I think the best course of action is obvious."
If Lord Cassius favours one option so heavily, he has certainly not made such an opinion clear to you. "I beg pardon?"
"Tell me, Sir Alaric," he says, not looking up from the map, "do you know what 'Vybarvo'in Geicijn' is?"
Vybarvo'in Geicijn? Yes, you remember that term coming up a few times in your study of the Takaran classics. Unfortunately, you have no idea what it means. For some damnable reason, the words always appear in Takaran, a language that you can barely understand, even when translated phonetically into Tierran characters.
You shake your head. "I fear not, my lord."
Lord Cassius smiles faintly, proudly. Had it been a touch more, it might have even qualified as a sneer. "The best translation would be something like 'The Spirit of Takara,' and I suppose that does hint at the true meaning of the term."
He looks up at you, that faint smile still on his lips, blue eyes intent. "Vybarvo'in Geicijn: it is determination in the face of adversity, boldness in the face of risk, and if necessary, sacrifice in the face of calamity. A Takaran officer would not even think twice; they would pick the boldest path, they would marshal every speck of determination at their disposal to sweep aside any obstacle, and they would prevail."
Lord Cassius's expression is pride in all its glory, and his words are tinged with imperial triumphalism. "It is that sort of thinking which made Takara the greatest power in all creation, and it is that sort of thinking which keeps it that way."
For a moment, you think the diplomat might even go further. Instead, he checks himself. "Of course, you are not a Takaran officer, your men are not Takaran soldiers, so perhaps my advice might not be so useful."
The implied challenge is obvious. To be considered not up to the standards of the Takaran Richshyr is hardly an insult. They are, soldier for soldier, the finest army in the Infinite Sea.
However, it is no small thing to be given a chance, however tacit, to prove your dragoons the equal of a Takaran unit, to prove yourself equal to a Takaran officer in the eyes of an envoy of the Aldkizern's own court.
It is certainly worth considering.
[] "Let us be bold and take our chances; we go north."
[] "Given the circumstances, caution would be best; we go east."
