“Lyuss, do you have faith in your tribe?” Em’au asked me.
“Of course,” I answered quickly. I did not even have to think: to be disloyal to the Luxidoori crown is a crime even for the lowliest peasant; for a respected soldier to have anything other than full faith would be unthinkable.
She evidently expected that answer, and pressed on: “Do you believe that your life is more valuable than the expansion of the Luxidoor kingdom, even if yours would be one of thousands to perish for the capture of a single city?”
Another loaded question. Ask any Luxidoori about value, and the answer without fail will reflect their own self-interest. So I thought, then replied, “At this moment the value of my life is immaterial: by coming here with you, I have already agreed to sacrifice myself, should that be required. But I would die knowing that I did everything I could in furtherance of the goal of expansion and never that I had only tried to save myself.”
She smiled and nodded, satisfied, and said, as much to herself as to me, “May you survive this battle, even if you are the only one, that soldiers of all tribes may learn to be like you.”
⯀
“Bardur is in grave danger: only two cities remain under our control. We believe that our allies across the Square will be able to prevent us from being destroyed entirely, but for now we must spare no expense in maintaining what little power we still have.”
The words of the Jarl Røbu were met only with solemn silence from the War Council. Though, a few turns prior, they might have been more optimistic, they had seen how fast their territory had been overrun, and the present situation was frankly an expected outcome.
Then Deputy Chief of War Tofgu, ever irreverent, spoke up: “We have been hearing platitudes like this turn after turn. What do you plan to do about it?”
Røbu apparently ignored both Tofgu’s tone and the question they had asked, and continued, “One of those two cities surrounds us—Orkfla, the capital. The other, Linark, lies just west of here, and over the past turn its citizens have become more and more wary of our leadership as our military predicament becomes an everyday part of their lives. I am worried, therefore, about the potential damage that even a small band of Luxidoor cloaks could deal by infiltrating the city. We have many options for how to proceed, but that is an eventuality that we must prepare for.” He waited, hoping that someone on the Council would be able to come up with the solution that had eluded him, but no answer came. He would have to look elsewhere for inspiration.
⯀
“Welcome, misfits, outcasts, and dissenters, brave citizens of Linark! I appreciate each and every one of you for being here today, and I would like to remind you that you will be rewarded handsomely for your continued cooperation throughout this adventure.”
I have to cover my mouth to stop myself from bursting into laughter or choking on my words. I delivered the line exactly as Em’au told it to me, exactly as I rehearsed it, but none of that made it any more natural to say in front of a large group—a large group of riled-up Bardurians, no less.
I remember the last thing I heard from her, the curt directions she gave to the entire squadron of cloaks. “You have your posts. Be smart, and don’t get yourselves killed. On the last day of the turn, we strike. May you find wealth,” she concluded with the traditional farewell of the Luxidoor.
Facing a veritable riot waiting to happen in the basement of a nondescript Bardur tavern, I do not feel like I am being smart, I certainly do not feel like I have found wealth, and I may well yet get myself killed.
I compose myself and continue my short address. “I will need you to arrange yourselves into three groups of roughly equal size. Each group will meet up with the same groups from the many other meetings, just like this one, that are happening all over the city. One group will work to seize the means of production, keeping Linark’s wealth out of the hands of your overlords in Orkfla.” I have done just enough research to know what words will get a reaction, and the name of the capital does not disappoint. I carefully avoid saying where that wealth is really going, though. “One group will lay siege to the city since there is no standing army here to break it immediately. The last group will split up and secure positions as smaller battalions in the outskirts of the city.”
I indicate the places for the three groups to assemble and give them time to do so. To my surprise, the Bardurians are able to arrange themselves in quite equal thirds without my intervening.
“The uprising will begin on the last day of the turn. If you are in the siege group, meet in the central square on that day. The means-of-production group will meet at the western gate. Be prepared to fight officers of the Jarl as well as citizens loyal to him. A movement on this scale will necessarily be violent and incredibly disrupting—in more ways than one—but this is what you are here to do, and you will come out the other side with a better and freer life.”
This elicits a smattering of applause that quickly grows into loud cheering. I suppose I should be happy that my plan has been so well received since the alternative likely means I would have gotten myself killed, but I feel sick just thinking about what will go down on that day. For many turns I have wanted to be a cloak—a soldier who uses neither sword nor bow, nor even fists, but mental manipulation and deception. The fact that I have kept my feet under me tonight indicates that I do have some talent in this area. I just cannot stop thinking about Em’au’s words and desperately hoping that she is proven right, that I will make it out of here alive and be able to spend many turns to come teaching others what my short experience as a cloak has taught me.
⯀
A knock is heard on the door of the War Council room, and a messenger enters. “Sir,” they begin, addressing the Jarl, “we have received word from Linark saying the city is under siege. The ones who brought the message report that the city’s citizens are holding the city hostage both militarily and economically.”
They clearly have more to say, but Røbu dismisses them with a wave of his hand and a gruff “thank you.” He turns to the Council, and he sees that they know what he knows. This is the work of a cloak, exactly as he feared.
“This need not be as much of a concern as it may seem,” he tells them, greeted by surprise from the Council. “It is indeed regrettable that we were not able to raise any army to protect Linark from the present siege, but the city will remain with us.” The surprised expressions give way to confusion—anticipation, even. “I have consulted with nearly every division of our government since I first learned that a cloak attack on Linark was likely. With nearly all the resources we have available, we were able to train the necessary workers and raise a brand-new army legion, mounted on the best Baerions known in this tribe’s history.” He pauses, and, when he speaks again, he seems to have changed his angle of verbal attack. “We face four armies of our own civilians under the direction of Luxidoor spies. Linark is a resource-poor city, so they have no choice but to await us on open tundra. How do we overcome this?”
The Council members are silent for a moment, not expecting to be asked a question of this sort. Chief of Science Lagru answers tentatively, “With catapults?”
Røbu considers this and responds, “A catapult is a powerful weapon, but it can only strike one target. We would clear the siege only to pave the way for another rebel army to take its place immediately after. Instead, we make use of the roads we have built between our cities and send off mounted units—knights.” The Council’s earlier confusion gives way to realization. An army of knights would be able to clear the rebels out of all parts of the city without giving them time to regroup or move around, and it might even be able to stay in the city and protect it afterwards.
“Sir, you’re a genius.” Røbu hears it seemingly from all throughout the room at once. But another, lone voice speaks louder: “But how much did it cost? We still have an entire city here that must be kept docile, unless you wish for the capital to fall next to the cloaks.”
The Jarl turns to the speaker, Chief Urlak of the capital, and fixes them with a stare that reflects wisdom he does not possess. “We cannot afford to be thus reduced in our territory. Orkfla’s citizens are much more loyal, and I trust they will recognize the importance of this maneuver to present a threat to the Luxidoor and all who would dare attack us. So maybe it will not save us: laugh at me when we both have had our throats slit by enemies within these walls. But I believe all of you understand that this is our only option, so that we may live to fight another metaphorical day.” Several of the Council’s members are smiling at what passes for a joke in this room, but Røbu is stone-faced. “The knights will ride two days hence. May the dice fall in their favor.”
Murmurs of assent spread throughout the room. As Røbu moves to leave, his attendants notice something in his expression that just might be satisfaction—and then it is gone.
⯀
The phrase “fog of war” has been in my vocabulary for a long time—it is a common feature of Luxidoor’s most popular strategy games, and those trained for combat hear of it plenty. It takes on a different meaning, though, when I find myself in a situation where I quite literally cannot see where enemy armies might approach from or what buildings are in a city. Now, with a small army of disillusioned Bardurians at my command, I cannot help gazing into the fog, wondering what might appear out of it that the other Luxidoori armies behind us will have to deal with.
Unfortunately, I don’t have to wonder long before I see the one thing that can ruin this whole mission, that our commanders assured us the Bardur would not have access to: knights.