The Reluctant Champion

Interlude: Bashanadar

Radek was uneasy without any clear cause. He had taken the field himself, the better to measure both Bashanadar and the Alliance. Bashanadar had shown himself to be gruff but plain—the sort of soldier Radek liked, interested only in tactics, equipment, strategies, and the welfare of his men.

They had discussed any number of ways to meet this threat and had decided on the simplest. Meet the Alliance army just as it came to the forested slopes of the mountains on Tynat's southern border. Fall on them from the shelter of the trees, using whatever features the land offered to their own advantage. Cut them down and draw back to Napesh, letting the stragglers return to their own country as best they might.

Yet he was uneasy. Why? Bashanadar had shown himself an able tactician, thinking through the different contingencies and coming up with a workable plan for each. It was he who had chosen their present location, a valley leading back into the mountains. It offered an easy route over them, and the Alliance army was clearly making for it. Bashanadar had placed their men around the opening of this valley so they could fall on the enemy as soon as they were fairly within it. He had mixed his men with Radek's so there would be no miscommunication between the two forces when the time came. It was a good plan. A good trap.

He said as much to Bashanadar when the other came up to him, a ghostly shadow in the gray dawn.

"A good trap, I think."

Bashanadar chuckled. "An excellent trap, my friend. Are your men in position?"

"They are. As are yours, as I saw."

Another chuckle. "Yes, all is prepared. There is nothing for it now but to wait."

"Not long I trust."

"Not long. My spies put them only a few miles from here. They should be here before noon."

In fact it was only a few hours into the morning and the mist still lingered where the sun could not yet reach when the army's outriders reached the mouth of the valley. Radek, whose knees were stiff from long squatting, stood awkwardly.

"No scouts?" he asked doubtfully.

"They count on speed to keep ahead of any rumor, I expect," said Bashanadar.

"Foolish," muttered Radek.

A tense fifteen minutes passed as the army poured into the valley. They had a lookout posted on a cliff above them. When the last man entered the valley, he would blow a horn, and they would fall on the men below them like tigers. Radek smiled, clenching and unclenching his fists. More minutes crawled by.

A horn pierced the stillness of the morning. A shout went up around them, men leaping to their feet and pulling out weapons. There was a grating of steel beside Radek and he turned to Bashanadar, somewhat surprised. He and Bashanadar would direct the attack from here. There was no need yet to draw swords.

Some instinct had his own sword half out of its sheath even as he turned. But the instinct was tardy and Bashanadar's sword had sliced deep into his throat before his own was free. His last sight as he fell choking on his own blood was of men everywhere hacking down those who stood by their sides.

Bashanadar wiped his sword carefully on the grass, wasting not a glance on the man he had killed. Everywhere, he saw, his own men had cut down those from Napesh. In one or two places a man had been slow and there had been a skirmish, but these were already over. The massacre was complete.

He stood, sheathed his sword, and strode to meet the army below.

"All taken care of?" asked its commander, returning his salute.

"Yes. There's nothing more to do here."

"Do we return to Napesh together?"

Bashanadar shook his head. "No. You take Tynat's capital. They won't be expecting you and their guard is not strong. You'll have no trouble. I can take Napesh with my men alone."

The other's eyes glinted. "No other commands than 'take the city?' We have a free hand?"

"You do."

"The lads will like that."

Bashanadar grunted. "Better get started then."

"At once. To the glory of the Alliance!"

Bashanadar waved a hand as he turned to leave. "Oh yes. The glory of the Alliance."