Neruabald breathed deeply and sighed. The spring seemed to have just begun this far north, but Ethmar already hinted at smells of summer. 'Thirty-eight summers haven't dimmed the pleasure of that smell. Everything growing;' and to no one in particular, he added, 'but it has make riding somewhat less comfortable.' He dismounted, and the stable hand took his horse without comment, but Neruabald had to stretch for a long moment before his muscles consented to walking.
“There you are, I thought's they'd mistaken you for a horse and put a feed bag on your head.”
“You'll not be rid of this old man so easily, soldier. Is your master in?”
“First Citizen Eth is in his study, he's waiting for you, honored general.”
“Is he? That's too bad, I was hoping for a nap in his waiting room. Go on, show me in,”
Eth's castle had been designed by his father to inspire awe. Its towering arches and vast glass windows were carefully arranged to cast light on the throne at the head of the hall, and shine in the eyes of the guests without providing enough light to see by. Old Ethitorx's theory that the his government functioned best if the citizens were kept blind had application everywhere.
As First Citizen, Eth preferred to work from the small study room behind the great hall. It gave the impression, to the rest of the government, that he was a humble and simple man. Neruabald was not deceived. Eth was the king's son, and the reining monarch, whatever title he would take. Any election was pretentious, because no local leader could possibly muster support from the empire. Eth provided the people with a carefully worded 'referendum' from time to time; “Should we invade nation of barbarians who sacked the boarder town, or sanction their trade,” but the idea of opposing his rule remained foreign to the people. As first citizen, he was more emperor, more absolute, then King Crelocthen of Bharrak.
The study was an octagonal room with windows on four walls – apparently quite the fashion in Makhan.* Compared to the hall it was little more than a cabinet, but considerably more people crowded in. The tables were covered with charts and maps, and the whole place gave Neruabald the impression that a library's contents had been rapidly turned out as it caught fire. The space was equally filled with chatter as with paper, and Neruabald found the atmosphere disquieting.
Eth seemed quite at home in the raucous. He signed a new treaty with a client state here, and a then back to drawing up plans to feed the great army.
“Come over here, Neri, you should see it.” The young emperor showed great pages of tables to the gray-haired general. Figures and tables covered huge pages. Scribbled addition filled the margins. While individual numbers and the math in the margins was sensible, the bulk of the documents might have been written in elven. “See, we're doing something really unprecedented here. An army that can truly operate independently. With this,” he gestured to the documents, “the army will eat and march.”
“You intend to feed them paper?”
“I only like you for your humor, Neri.”
“To be honest, my lord, I do not understand these documents.”
“They're ration tables. Bakers and mobile kitchens will march right with, well, right behind, the troops. The men can eat like kings and march like pack hounds – not pack animals.”
“What will you feed them? Grain, I suppose, you can bring. But you'll have to forage for meat and fruit, or the men** will quickly grow weak.”
“Bring me a can,” Eth commanded a uniform behind him. In moments the lad produced a glass jar with a lid held on by loose metal hinges. It was a fine example of pottery, being of nearly transparent brown glass, and a lid that wouldn't be easily lost seemed advantageous to the old soldier. “Sir, I don't see what this will do.”
If you cook meats or vegetables inside a can, like this, they keep for months. The army can march with food that will last, and they can be supplied for a siege indefinitely, so long as we hold the roads. Why, we can unite the whole Goblin Nation in a summer or two. So? What do you think?”
Neruabald considered it briefly. “Genius, I think. If you can really supply an army without needing to gather anything, you can move faster than, and outflank other forces. ”
“Exactly!”
“But you didn't bring me here to look at dinner, First Citizen.”
“You went south with an army, Neri.” Eth stated the obvious.
“Tsorx's boys.”
“Yes, I've heard. Slaughtered, they say. And he with them. The old lady at Bharrak must still have some strength in her. No matter.”
“No matter? Two thousand dead and an ambitious general with them, you say no matter?”
“Tsrox's death serves the empire better than his life could have. Do you think he'd be content to challenge you alone as my second, or to wait for your death to replace you? There were rumors already that First Citizen might be a title to be passed on.”
“You sent him down there to die?”
“Not at all, that's why I sent you to look after him. He was supposed to give Putnmar and easy, early victory, then retire and be safely out of the way.”
“And out of public eye.”
“Now you're thinking politically.”
“Scheming, you mean.”
“You humor me, Neri! Yes, plotting, even. One must plot to be emperor, you know.”
“Henh.”
“Now tell me the truth, how did the army fail? My secret weapon is for the stomach, but what surprise do the southerners have for me?”
“My lord, they fell because of a rain storm. A druid,”
“A Druid!? So the rumors are true.”
“What rumors, my lord?”
“They say a man of magic is on the move in the south. Martialling all manner of armies to himself. So there is such a
*Political capital of dwarven empire. Some similarities to London and Rome.
** Yes, men. The sexual equality of the south has no hold here. Instead, strict labor division by gender is the norm, as it is in most elven and dwarven territory.
