This realization made up Thaddeus’s mind for him. He could not grasp power as the ogre inside him imagined. Nor could he allow Hanish to unleash a new hell on earth. There was, however, one whose entreaty he would follow. He should have done so all along. This much he knew with a certainty more complete than any other belief within his conflicting and crosshatched allegiances. He had already determined the children must be sent away. Now he would put into place the plan Leodan Akaran had dreamed up for his children if calamity befell him before they were grown to maturity. Thaddeus knew the plan and had the power to initiate it. Only he in all the living world could do this. Not even the children dreamed of it. Nor could they be told the truth of it in preparation. Aliver would hate him for it. He would likely dread it as the worst of possible fates and think him their betrayer.
Fitting, Thaddeus thought. Horrible and fitting: a truth and a lie.
CHAPTER
Hanish awoke from his dream conversation with the chancellor with a host of plans to see to. His fleet rode the River Ask until it spat them out into the Inner Sea. Though he longed to turn toward Acacia itself, he knew he must wait for that, take it only in due course. He gathered his remaining vessels near the river’s mouth. They drifted together as they took stock, waiting for stragglers and giving one another what aid they could. He found his army to be in no worse state than he had imagined-even better, perhaps, because his men were champing at the bit, wanting nothing more than to get to land and commence the slaughter. They were a devout people and yearned to prove it by the sword.
Hanish kept them afloat as news flew in to him. There he learned that the first great battle in the war between Hanish Mein and the Akarans involved neither Meinish nor Acacian troops. The Aushenian prince, Igguldan, commanded an army that met the Numrek at Aushenguk Fell. Warriors, farmers, merchants, and priests from every corner of the kingdom gathered on the rocky field to defend their nation. Igguldan fielded an army of nearly thirteen thousand souls. The enemy, on the other hand, did not number more than six thousand.
But in every aspect of their appearance the Numrek were frightening. They were a shouting, raucous horde reminiscent of humanity but grotesquely different as well, utterly baffling to the Aushenians who watched them approach. Their infamous mounts had been shaved of their woolly fur to suit the weather. Patches of fur clung to them in portions; scars from the shears marred their gray flesh in other areas. They looked like diseased creatures, and yet for all the motley look of them they trod with a haughty air, so completely muscled that they seemed to bounce with the spring and pull of their strength.
Beyond this the Numrek put into use a weapon they had thus far not revealed: catapults. They were awkward contraptions that tossed flaming balls half a man’s height tall. When the arms snapped forward the spheres shot out just above the ground, bouncing in great arcs, gouging divots with each impact. The force of them was such that they cut swathes through the Aushenian troops. They flattened men hit head-on, broke apart bodies struck partially, tore heads from shoulders. All of this caught the young prince off guard, as did the flaming orb that carried his torso away, wrapped around the sphere in a fiery embrace. With him flew his nation’s effort at resistance, ended in one mere afternoon. Tragic for him, yes, but music sweet and perfectly timed to Hanish’s ears.
Maeander’s arrival in Candovia was just as effective. As they had planned, Maeander had pounced on clan after clan, coercing them into active rebellion or beating them into submission. They had sown the seeds of this invasion for years now, sending agents among them to ferret out allies and whisper the people into shared discontent. The Candovians were fierce fighters, quick-tempered and proud, not unlike the Meins. They were also fractious and easily exploited. The Acacians had wanted them so, choosing to favor first one clan and then another, fomenting discord among them so that in their bickering they never fixed their animus on their real foe. Maeander had all the skills of persuasion, martial and otherwise, to take advantage of this. He promised via his messenger to bring all of Candovia through the mountains of Senival with him, a force that would treble the number he arrived in their territory with. They might need to be chastened after the war, but for the time being he preferred to think of them as allies.
Even Acacia imploded from within. Hanish had not been sure just how the Mein soldiers serving the Acacians far from home would react to his declaration of war. He had his hopes, yes. Did not every Meinish soldier secretly swear to answer his nation’s call to war, whenever and wherever it might come? Still, he worried that years removed from the homeland might have weakened their resolve. The Tunishnevre never doubted, though. They assured him that their hold on all soldiers of the Mein was as firm as ever. They were correct. Meinish soldiers throughout the empire rose in rebellion as soon as word reached them. They lashed out at enemies they had called companions minutes before.
On Acacia all thirty-three Meinish soldiers in the Acacian regiment and four newly arrived from Alecia drew their swords and cut down half the Acacian officers on the island, easy work for the first few surprised seconds. At Aos a band of five Mein painted their faces red with blood and raged through the town’s weekly market, slaying everyone in their path. Others poisoned the drinking fountains in the resort towns east of Alecia. And a lone soldier stationed at one of the Mainland outposts turned himself into an assassin, killing his superior officers and several local officials in their beds before he was captured. They all sacrificed themselves, for not one of these rebels wished to be taken alive. No doubt the Tunishnevre spurred them on, demanding that they redeem through their deaths the infamy of having served the Akarans.
Only in Talay was the uprising thwarted before it began. Cautionary Acacian orders reached Bocoum at almost the same time as the news of war. Thus the Mein soldiers were thrown into chains before they had thought to take up arms. Unfortunate, but no great matter. All told, Hanish’s people had made him proud. If estimates were to be believed, the revolts reduced the empire’s army by almost a quarter: both in lives they took by the blade and by simply removing themselves from service. The Acacians stumbled from the start, with little in the way of decisive action. So much for a great nation! Just a few weeks after Leodan Akaran’s death triggered this war, the Meinish chieftain had no reason to believe he had been mistaken in beginning it. And he still had his greatest weapon to unleash.
The main contest was to take place on the vast fields stretching from the east of Alecia. The soil there was as yet unplanted in the turmoil of the times. The Acacians mustered what they hoped would be a great army. Their means of transport had been crippled when the League of Vessels sailed their ships away without warning or explanation, but others had come to the empire’s aid with fishing boats and ferries, barges and pleasure yachts, skiffs and dugouts. On land, merchants and traders lent their carts and horses and mules. By these means and by the simple service of their feet, soldiers converged on Alecia. To whose leadership all these forces rallied was not clear. Grandiose declarations issued forth in Prince Aliver Akaran’s name, but the young whelp himself was sequestered away, as suited Hanish.