They were littering the Ten Peerdoms with Lantian dead, and still the army of Lant advanced—across the Peerdom of Chang, across that of Labon, across the tiny Peerdom of Zrum, until one day it stood on Easlon’s border. Inskor anxiously kept scouts ranging far to the north and south so he would be forewarned if the Lantiff attempted another wide encirclement, but they did not. They were constantly making shallow flanking movements, but the main thrust of their attack was straight ahead. Their generals must have known the war would end when Easlon ran out of food, and they were keeping Easlon’s defenders occupied until then.
This was a new kind of war for the Lantiff. They were accustomed to triumphant advances and little fighting. Dim as their intelligence was, they soon perceived that the way to victory in the Ten Peerdoms was being piled with their own dead bodies, and they lost their enthusiasm for it. They responded to orders with a reluctance that hadn’t existed earlier. A charge by Deline’s elite guard could put their entire vanguard to flight.
But defenders were far too few, their food reserves too scant, and there seemed to be no end to the Lantiff and to the war. The brains of Inskor’s one-namers functioned perfectly, and they had no illusions at all about the future. They foresaw how the war would end, and they knew the Peer of Lant would ruthlessly exterminate them. None of them intended to be captured. The problem was that they had nowhere to run. They could survive for a time in the wild mountain terrain, but when their foraging became a nuisance, the Lantiff would systematically track them down. Or they could fight to the end and die fighting. There seemed to be no alternative. The children of Easlon knew the fate of children in the conquered peerdoms, and they were resolved to fight to the death beside their parents rather than become no-namers.
Inskor was forming plans of his own. He didn’t intend to wait until his battered army was overwhelmed or routed. If it retreated to the mountains, it would not be in order to hide and starve.
He had two options. One was to invade Lant. He could cut his way through the mountains with Egarn’s weapon and inflict the same relentless destruction on the Peer of Lant’s realm that she had visited on the Ten Peerdoms.
Or he could escape southward, taking with him refugees from the conquered peerdoms and the entire population of Easlon. There were peerdoms far to the south of Lant that hadn’t yet been engulfed in war. These states gained a reprive when the Peer of Lant turned aside to attack the Ten Peerdoms, but their peers knew the war against them would resume as soon as the Ten Peerdoms were subdued. They had learned from the unfortunate experiences of peerdoms further north, and for sikes they had been preparing their defenses with help from Inskor’s scouts. Their one-namers were already armed with Egarn’s weapon, and several of their commanders had joined the army of Easlon to learn about warfare first hand.
Inskor decided to do both. The best fighting elements would cut through the mountains, close the pass behind them, and take the war deeply into Lant. The Peer of Lant, and her main army, would be trapped on the far side of impassable mountains. Easlon’s young, elderly, and those unable to fight would be escorted southward through the mountains. The southern peerdoms would send help and supplies to meet the fugitives. The difficulties to be overcome, the hardships to be endured by those who made the trek, were staggering to contemplate. Many would die, but the survivors had a chance to continue surviving—at least for a time.
Inskor sent scouts to find the best route for the long march south, and Arne began placing caches of food supplies at regular intervals along the way.
Once Inskor make his decision, he and Arne met with the Peer and Prince of Easlon to discuss it. Abandoning their peerdom would be a sad wrench for them, but they accepted the inevitable. The beautiful prince had found herself a worthy mate—he was fighting with Bernal’s scouts, one of the few peeragers who had gone to war. She had borne a daughter, a future Prince of Easlon, and now she was pregnant again. She and her mother were grimly determined to survive, to work for the downfall of Lant, and then reclaim and rebuild their peerdom, but they were deeply concerned about the risks involved in the hazardous journey south.
“The food worries me,” the peer said. “They can’t carry more than a few days supply, and how long will the journey last?”
Inskor shook his head.
“How much food will they be able to find along the way?” the prince wanted to know.
“Not enough to feed so many people,” Inskor said. “Part of the problem is that they must keep moving. Scouts will range widely on either side, and Egarn’s weapon is invaluable for hunting, but they can only take the game they encounter by chance, and what are they to do with the stag they shoot early in the day? They will have to butcher it on the spot and distribute the meat so it can be carried until there is an opportunity to cook it. Probably it will be necessary to stop the march occasionally—the elderly and the young will need rest—and take time to hunt and smoke meat. But there simply isn’t enough game in any one part of the mountains to feed that many people. There must be food caches at regular intervals. Arne is working on this.”
The peer turned to Arne. “You are a genius at organizing supplies. Will you be able to keep everyone fed?”
“My talent will count for nothing once the trek starts, Majesty,” Arne said. “I can’t organize supplies unless there are supplies. The army invading Lant should have no problems—it easily can carry enough food to last it through the mountains. After that, it can live on what it captures. Lant hasn’t been touched by war, and there will be food reserves everywhere. But I am deeply worried about the food for those going south. Every bit we can spare must be sent ahead of them. This means taking scouts and horses from the war to transport it, which will weaken the army, but it must be done.”
The peer smiled. “You’ll manage it.”
“We must manage it.”
“Her Majesty and I have been wondering how Easlon got along for so many sikes without a first server,” the prince said. “Surely we couldn’t have waged this war without the two of you, but Arne’s great career is ahead of him. When the war is over, and the Ten Peerdoms must be rebuilt, he will be the most important man in the world. For that reason, we want him to come south with us. Of course Inskor must go east and lead the invasion of Lant. He knows Lant better than most Lantians.”
“We have discussed this with the surviving peers,” the peer said. “We are ready to give second names to both of you any time you want them. I know Arne has already refused one, and circumstances may not be favorable now, but I want you to know how we feel about this.”
Inskor said gruffly, “I can’t think of an instance in the entire war when an extra name would have helped us, Majesty, and it won’t help now.”
“It wouldn’t make the trek south any easier, either,” Arne said. “Leave the honors to the future, Majesty. First we must make certain we have a future.”
Peer and prince got to their feet. Arne and Inskor knelt.
The prince placed one hand on the shoulder of each of them. “The war has demonstrated what a farce this fuss about names can be,” she said. “By the time it is finished, people will be judged on some other basis, and kneeling will go the way of names. But you are right. This isn’t the time to be worrying about things like that.”