position as a figurehead. Lord Anduron had a look of cool competence about him that Sterren hoped was not mere affectation. “How many archers are there?” he asked.
Lord Anduron’s reply burst Sterren’s bubble instantly.
“None, at present,” he said calmly.
“None?”
“None. We’ve had no need of any for forty years, after all; archers aren’t particularly impressive in parades or display, and bowwood is expensive. Old Sterren, that is, your esteemed predecessor, the Eighth Warlord, allowed all the old archers to retire and left it to me, or my father before me, to replace them, and we didn’t trouble to do so. If we need archers, I’m sure we can find and train them quickly.”
“Ah.” Sterren tried to look wise and understanding, although he had missed several words and was fairly certain that training a competent archer took a good deal more time and effort than Lord Anduron thought, especially if there were no trained archers around to serve as teachers. “What about the castle... garrison? Is that the word?”
“My lord speaks Semmat like a native, of course,” Lord Anduron said. Shemder interrupted him with a quickly suppressed burst of derisive laughter. Lord Anduron cast him a cold glance, then went on, “The castle garrison, my lord, is composed of whoever happens to be inside the castle at the time of an attack.”
“I see, you mean the nobles, and the servants, and so on?”
“Why, no, Lord Sterren, of course not. One could hardly expect the nobility to soil their hands with the hauling about of gates and bars, or hurling-stones, and the servants will have their normal duties to perform. No, I mean whatever villagers reach the shelter of the castle walls in time.”
Sterren stared at Lord Anduron for a moment, then decided argument would do no good, most particularly in his limited Semmat. He turned his head and asked, “Captain Shemder, how many men and horses do you have?”
“Twenty men, my lord, and twelve horses,” Shemder replied promptly and proudly.
Sterren realized with a shock that his escort into the castle had been most of the cavalrymen in the entire kingdom, and all the cavalry’s horses.
“Captain Arl?”
“At present, Lord Sterren, I have sixty-five men and boys, all fully armed, well trained; and ready for anything.”
Sterren somehow doubted that the Semman infantry was ready for anything. What, he wondered, would they do in the face of an attack by the overlord of Ethshar of the Spices? Azrad VII had ten thousand men in his city guard alone. He could overwhelm Semma completely with a tenth of his soldiery, without calling on any of his more important resources, the militia, the navy, his magicians, the other two-thirds of the Ethsharitic triumvirate, and so on.
But these were the Small Kingdoms, and things were obviously different here. The three officers all seemed very confident, certainly, and they surely knew more of the situation than he, a foreigner, did.
Even so, eighty-five men and a few frightened refugees did not seem like a very large force for a castle the size of Semma’s.
“Lord Anduron,” he asked, “what about magic?”
The young nobleman looked puzzled. “What about magic, my lord?”
“What magicians do you command?”
“None, my lord; what would I have to do with magicians?”
“Are they infantry or cavalry, then?”
“No,” Arl said, as Shemder shook his head.
“Aren’t there any magicians in the castle, then?” Sterren asked, truly frightened.
The three officers stared at each other. It was Lord Anduron who spoke, finally, saying, “I suppose there might be one or two. Queen Ashassa keeps a theurgist about, Agor by name, and I’ve heard the servants chatter about a wizard among their number. The village has an herbalist or two, and a witch, I believe, but they aren’t in the castle. Lord Sterren, forgive me, but why do you ask?”
“Don’t you use magic... Isn’t it...” Sterren’s Semmat failed him momentarily. He took a deep breath and began again.
“In Ethshar,” he said, “Lord Azrad keeps the best magicians with him. They would use their... their magic, if the city were attacked. Ships carry magicians, to defend against... against other ships, which of course have their own magicians. No one would dare a big fight without magic.” He cursed himself and all of Semma for his lack of a correct title for Azrad, and the words for “spells,” “pirates,” and “battle.”
For several long seconds the room was absolutely silent. Then Shemder spat a word that Sterren had never heard before.
“Lord Sterren,” Lord Anduron said, “we do not use magic in war here.”
Lord Andyron’s tone was flat and final, but Sterren could not stop himself from shouting, “Why not?” In his thoughts, which were in Ethsharitic, his phrasing was a good bit more colorful.
“It isn’t done. It never has been.”
Sterren stared at him for a moment. “I see,” he said at last. He blinked and then said, “If you will forgive me, I am tired from my journey. I need to rest.” In truth, what he felt a need for was time to digest the situation. “Go now, and I will speak with you again later. Perhaps after dinner. I would like to... to look at the soldiers.”
“Review the troops?” Arl suggested.
“I think so,” Sterren agreed, nodding. He stood up.
The other three leaped up as well. Each in turn bowed, then left the room.
Lord Anduron bowed deeply and swept out; Arl bowed stiffly and marched out; Shemder bobbed his head and stalked out.
Sterren stared after them, then burst out, in Ethsharitic, “What a bunch of idiots!” He had been willing to give them the benefit of the doubt in regard to the numbers and preparedness of their forces, but to so completely and arbitrarily rule out the use of magic in warfare was ridiculous! What would guard them against treachery? How could they know what the enemy was planning? Who would heal wounds? Sending soldiers out to fight with nothing but swords and shields was truly barbaric.
And most importantly, what would they ever do if they fought an enemy who did not bother with such scruples?
Obviously, they would lose, and lose quickly and decisively.
He could only hope that nothing like that happened while he was warlord. His duty, Lady Kalira had told him, was to defend Semma, but some things were indefensible.
An Ethsharitic obscenity escaped him.
“My lord?” Alder inquired, startled by the outburst.
“Nothing,” Sterren said, “It’s nothing.” His initial amazement at the idea of fighting a war without using magic was beginning to fade, and another thought struck him. “What was that that Shemder said, about using magic to fight?”
Uncomfortably, Alder asked, “You mean that word, gakhar?” He shifted uneasily.
“Yes, that’s it.” Sterren saw Alder’s discomfort, but declined to let him off the hook; he stared inquiringly.
Reluctantly, Alder said, “It means a... a person of no culture, a person not fit to be among ordinary people.”
Sterren considered that, then stared after the vanished Shemder the Bold.
“You mean he called me a barbarian?” Sterren was dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream with rage at the unbelievable insult of being called a barbarian by people such as these, but after a moment laughter won out.
Alder stared at him, puzzled and amused, but not particularly displeased with his new warlord.
CHAPTER 7
