Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I Page 20

  “I will,” he said as he dashed out the door, too distracted for an extended farewell.

  She waved for her people to go, to follow, to give Blackhawk whatever he needed. But it was more than that. She needed to be alone. She stood for a long time, staring at the door, fighting the sadness. She’d known Blackhawk was planning to leave, but she’d expected to have more time, enough to put her words together, to make a proper goodbye. She didn’t know if she would ever see him again, and if she didn’t, she knew she would always lament the haste with which they were parted.

  Good luck to you, Arkarin Blackhawk. Wherever fate takes you.

  Then a single tear streamed down her cheek, the first she had shed since the fateful day her father died. Then another. But that was all she would allow herself. She was a leader, and she would be strong. Whatever that took, whatever it cost her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lausanne Valley

  East of Rhiombe City

  Northern Celtiboria

  Jellack watched as the soldiers marched. The mercenary companies were forming up, preparing to set out under his command…on paper, at least. Though he carried the rank of colonel, he was not a real soldier, and certainly not an officer who could effectively command one hundred thousand troops. He was sure Carteria would send someone to lead the mercenary forces, even if that officer technically reported to him. And truth be told, he couldn’t wait until that happened. The pressure, the stress of worrying about every aspect of running an army was too much for him. Numbers were his domain, wheeling and dealing. But commanding fighting men? It was a skill that evaded him.

  It would take another few weeks, perhaps a month, before the army was ready to march east. The companies were still gathering, calling in soldiers who’d been granted indefinite leave in the absence of employment. The companies generally operated on a shared contract basis, each soldier receiving a portion of any payments commensurate with rank and other considerations. But most of the mercenary forces guaranteed their soldiers a minimum level of sustenance, whether they were contracted or not. Few commanders wanted to lose their veteran troops in the periods between battles, so they made sure they were fed and given at least some semi-worthless scrip, at least enough to gamble with men of the other companies, and perhaps fund an occasional trip to one of the many brothels in the Soldier’s Ward in the city. But even this minimal expense level could quickly become ruinous if a new job didn’t appear relatively quickly.

  Jellack had been in his element negotiating with the merc commanders. They’d tried to intimidate him, to roll over him, demanding enormous pay rates in any contract. But Ganz Jellack had conducted hundreds of negotiations, and he’d always come out on top. The mercs acted tough, clearly trying to rattle him with fears of his own safety…but he was smart enough to realize that none of them would dare raise a hand to Carteria’s man. The Marshal didn’t have any real power on the Northern Continent—not yet, at least—but everyone knew he was a vindictive man, one who wouldn’t hesitate to put a price on the head of anyone who offended him. A price so large, half the men under an officer’s command would climb all over each other to kill their boss and collect it.

  In the end, Jellack had won the victory, securing the services of one hundred two thousand soldiers, mostly veterans of the battles along the west coast, for less than half what their former employers had paid. He’d allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation after the merc commanders had all agreed to the terms…and a day later Carteria’s communique confirmed that the Marshal was pleased as well with what his subordinate had accomplished. Jellack didn’t serve Carteria by choice, and he had no affection for his commander, but he knew his quality of life was linked to the esteem in which he was held.

  “An impressive array, wouldn’t you say, Colonel?” Yuri Dolokov walked up the grassy knoll toward Jellack. “I’ve not seen a greater combined force of the companies.”

  Jellack nodded. He knew the soldiers assembling in the valley were almost all veterans of the western wars, but they had served half a dozen masters there, and many of them had fought against each other. He was amazed, as he often was, by the way soldiers could embrace their recent enemies as allies.

  If the leaders could behave that way, maybe this world could reclaim its place as the leader of the Primes, and the strongest planet in the Far Stars. Instead of a hell with nothing but eternal war.

  “Yes, Colonel Dolokov. It is that.” Jellack turned to face the mercenary officer. Dolokov had served him well, been invaluable in reaching out to the other companies, to adding their thousands to the men of the Wolves. All it had taken was a commission—a surprisingly small one, kept secret of course from Dolokov’s comrades, who might have inconveniently expected him to treat it as company revenue rather than his own personal slush fund.

  Dolokov stopped and stood there, silent for a moment. Then he said, “Colonel Jellack, I must ask you…”

  “I have just received a communique, Colonel Dolokov, confirming that the convoy has departed.” Jellack had known just what was on Dolokov’s mind. The companies had begun assembling before receiving the coin for their first six month’s service, an uncommon display of confidence in a new paymaster. That had been part Jellack’s doing…his skillful manipulation of Dolokov and the others, his subtle—and not so subtle—reminders that he was well aware they lacked other options. But Jellack knew he’d had advantages going in. The Carterian forces didn’t have a presence on the Northern Continent, but the Marshal’s name carried weight everywhere on Celtiboria…and Jellack had done nothing to quell the speculation of the mercenary commanders that a major military move was underway. It served his purpose for them to ponder whether they wanted to be on Carteria’s side…or to take whatever erratic pay the besieged native Warlords would be able to offer.

  It hadn’t hurt that Jellack had brought a secret shipment with him, nearly two million ducats, in pure bar form, Celtiboria’s most sought-after currency, save of course for imperial crowns. It wasn’t a sufficient sum to pay the companies in full, or even close to it. But it was enough to grease the senior officers…and to allow them to issue a preliminary donative to their soldiers, a gesture that was working wonders in bringing the men back to the colors quickly.

  “That is good news, Colonel.” Jellack had convinced the commanders to rally their forces, to take the arrival of the payment on a certain amount of faith, but the worry in Dolokov’s voice was clear. Mercenary officers weren’t a group to whom trust came easily.

  “As I said before, Colonel, if you would prefer an electronic transfer, we could do…”

  “No, Colonel…that will not be necessary. We appreciate the haste with which you have arranged the silver shipment.”

  Three centuries of constant war had created an odd state of affairs on Celtiboria. The planet was technologically-advanced, it engaged in interstellar trade and its science was highly advanced, at least by Far Stars standards. But the protracted disruptions had created a number of relapses, resulting in a strange combination of the high tech and the primitive. And money was one area where commerce on Celtiboria had regressed. Decades of fraud had rendered electronic transactions almost non-existent, especially for large sums…and with no central government backing, paper, such as the scrip often used to pay soldiers, was little better. Hiring a hundred thousand veteran mercenaries required hard currency…gold, silver. And a lot of it.

  “I trust the preliminary payment was well-received by your men.” A subtle jab, a reminder that Jellack was aware how desperate things had been for the mercs before he’d arrived.

  “Indeed, it has, Colonel. I am still impressed that you were able to travel so far with a small escort…and keep two million ducats a secret.”

  Jellack nodded. “I am just gratified that the ready availability of my coin has helped stabilize matters, pending the arrival of the second payment.”

  “Any estimates on timing?”

  Jellack forced back a smile. For all the nicet
ies, even the good faith payment he’d made upfront, he knew Dolokov and the others wouldn’t be truly comfortable until they had the forty million ducats they were owed. “Not long, Colonel. Perhaps two weeks…possibly even sooner. I’m sure you understand the precautions necessary for transporting such a sum. It takes more than simply filling a few satchels with coin.”

  “Certainly.” Dolokov nodded. “Two weeks will be highly satisfactory…and sooner even better. We should be ready to march as soon as the shipment arrives.”

  “Please ensure that you are, Colonel. The Marshal was very clear…he wants the campaign to commence as soon as possible.”

  Dolokov stared back. “Well, we wouldn’t want to upset the Marshal now, would we?”

  “No,” Jellack said, offering a tiny smile. “We wouldn’t.”

  You have no idea how much we don’t want to upset the Marshal…

  * * *

  “Are your men ready to march, Colonel?” Ghana stood outside the armored vehicle he used to travel on campaign. There were columns on the hillside behind him, regiments moving forward, toward the front lines…or at least what would likely be the front lines if open war broke out again between the armies. Which looked likely.

  “Almost, General. A day, perhaps two.” Eleher’s voice dripped with the arrogance so common to the Carterians, especially their senior personnel. Ghana bit down on his response. The truth was, more than anything, he wanted to smash this snotty colonel’s face in. But he didn’t dare.

  “A day, Colonel…” Ghana paused, realizing he was speaking as he would to one of his subordinates. He wasn’t sure where Eleher fit in the hierarchy, but he reminded himself to never forget the danger of further angering Carteria. “…if possible. It would be extremely helpful if your people could be on the move sometime tomorrow.”

  “I will see to it, General. Do you believe General Lucerne will really attack, that he will violate the truce?”

  “He will attack, Colonel. It is to his advantage to do so, at least based on the intelligence he likely has available. That makes your arrival on the field even more vital. My forces are unlikely to prevail without your intervention.”

  Ghana sighed. He’d fought Lucerne with everything he’d been able to muster, but it hadn’t been enough. He knew his adversary was an honorable man. Lucerne’s ultimatum had been opportunistic, perhaps, but Ghana had to admit, at least to himself, it was correct based on a strict reading of the cease fire agreement. He might try to manufacture propaganda out of events, blame Lucerne for the resumption of hostilities, but he was well aware his intrigues with Carteria had given his enemy a legitimate casus bellum.

  If Lucerne knew everything, I wonder what he’d have to say…

  Eleher’s soldiers were a destabilizing element in the fight, and almost certainly enough to ensure the defeat of Lucerne’s forces.

  Especially when Pellier makes his move…which should be any day now…

  Ghana had planned his operation well. Massive reinforcements, a double agent in his enemy’s headquarters…it was all perfect. Save for the fact that his new troops weren’t the mercenaries he’d expected them to be, they were Carteria’s veterans. And Ghana didn’t trust the Marshal. Not one bit.

  “Then the war in the Badlands ends in the next few days…with our total victory.”

  Ghana could hear it in Eleher’s voice. The scheming, the arrogance. He was certain the Carterian had an agenda beyond helping defeat Lucerne. But what was it? A demand for a greater share of Badlands trade revenues? That he could tolerate. Or was it something more?

  He’d been uncertain before, he’d wanted to believe Carteria was simply supporting him, and not seeking to supplant him. But now he felt he was starting to see things clearly. Lucerne would die by Pellier’s hand…and his army would be defeated by the intervention of the superbly-trained Carterian force.

  And then will I die next, killed by Eleher…or some assassin lurking in his entourage?

  He could see Eleher staring at him, and now as he looked back he saw his own destruction in the Carterian officer’s gaze. Was it just paranoia? Or was this finally true clarity?

  Whatever it is, I brought this on myself. But how do I get out of it?

  “I’m afraid I must be going, Colonel,” he said abruptly, looking at the Carterian officer for a few seconds before turning and stepping toward his armored car. “Tomorrow, Colonel…if you can have your men on the move by tomorrow, I will be greatly appreciative.”

  “Tomorrow, General.”

  Ghana smiled and nodded as he climbed into the vehicle and shut the hatch, but once inside, a frown came over his face. He was uneasy, his mind going over every detail, every word Eleher had spoken, every expression on the officer’s face. There was something about the Carterian, a feeling Ghana got every time the colonel spoke. It was mistrust, certainly. But there was more.

  He believed he would win a victory against Lucerne, but he wasn’t sure it would truly be his…or what role he would play after it was won.

  If I have any role at all…

  He felt more and more certain, his fears hardening into judgment, expectation.

  Carteria will have me assassinated, even as I suborned Pellier, planned Lucerne’s death. And then my loyal officers will be purged…and those who have betrayed me, taken the Marshal’s coin, will be placed in command, to lead my army into the Carterian service.

  Ghana felt sick, and the same thought kept repeating in his head.

  How do I get myself out of this?

  * * *

  Khal Thorn stood outside his shop, watching the movements up and down the Place D’Alhas. He hadn’t seen such traffic on the broad avenue in years…and certainly not since the peace along the west coast had left so many of the mercenary companies unemployed. Something had changed. Suddenly. The companies had found employment, at least some of them. That much was obvious.

  Thorn sold imported leather goods from a large store at the head of the D’Alhas, though his establishment barely broke even. His true businesses lurked more in the shadows…secret interests in establishments less reputable than the leather trade. Including silent partnerships in several of the brothels in the soldiers’ district.

  He’d discounted the foot traffic at first, writing it off to the movements of a few companies, a moderate contract of some kind, perhaps with the armies fighting in the Badlands. But then he began to hear from his partners. The brothels had been struggling for months now, the idle soldiers lacking the coin to pursue their desired form of recreation. But over the last few days, business had soared. The soldiers were packed into the establishments, coin in hand, waiting in long lines for their chosen companions.

  It was more than could be explained by a few companies taking service with Badlands Warlords…and the more Thorn poked around the more convinced he became that every mercenary plying his trade in the river cities had recently been hired. The other brothels were as busy as his own, and the bars throughout the district were packed as well, full of soldiers drinking, gambling, brawling. They’d gotten coin somehow…and that could mean only one thing.

  Someone has enough resources to pay over a hundred thousand mercenaries…but who?

  It didn’t make sense. The west coast Warlords had fought themselves to exhaustion and bankruptcy…and Ghana and Lucerne and the others in the Badlands weren’t far behind on that road. There was no one—no one on the Northern Continent—who could afford to hire so many rifles.

  He’d wondered what to do. Was this a danger to him in any way? An opportunity? The information seemed valuable…but to whom? Ghana? Lucerne? One of them had to be involved somehow. The other might pay well for what Thorn knew, but how could he determine which to approach? And how could he get to them at all? Word had reached Rhiombe that the armies were on the verge of resuming hostilities. Thorn was a man who knew how to recognize opportunity, but he also believed in lowering his risks whenever possible. So he decided not to make any rash moves. He would learn more befo
re he did anything.

  He started in his own back yard. He bribed the women in his establishments to get what they could from their clients, and he put his people in the bars, to buy drinks, loosen tongues…and report back to him on anything they heard.

  The information came slowly at first, but then he started piecing things together. Someone had indeed hired all the companies based in the river cities…and they had paid them small advances. That explained the soldiers’ descent on the bars and brothels. And there were mentions of more coin on the way, a vast treasure caravan carrying six months’ wages for over one hundred thousand men.

  He’d pushed harder, spread some ducats around…and slowly he learned more. It was Marshal Carteria who had hired the mercs, and the convoy carrying their pay was coming across the Badlands, around the armies to the encampments where the companies were mustering outside the cities. It was a vast fortune, an almost unimaginable amount of coin in one place. It almost begged for someone to take advantage of the information. But who?

  It was too risky to deal with the armies. One of them was most likely working with the Marshal, and Thorn had no idea which. But there had to be a way…

  Cassandra…

  One of Thorn’s other businesses was providing intel—often obtained in the bedrooms of his brothels—to Cassandra Cross and her Grays, mostly schedules of trade caravans moving from the sea to the markets of Rhiombe and the other river cities. Cross had always been straight with him…and she’d never failed to pay him his agreed upon cut, even when his info had proven to be only partial, when her people had endured harder fights than they’d expected. She knew how to maintain a clandestine relationship. Perhaps she could use this information about the mercenaries. She was much closer to the armies on the scene…she might know more than he did. And if she was able to profit, he was sure she would pay him his due.