Wartorn: Resurrection by Robert Asprin, Eric Del Carlo
Authors: Robert Asprin, Eric Del Carlo
Tags: Fiction, General, Grief, sf_fantasy, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy Fiction; American, Revenge, War stories, Magicians, Weapons, Adventure fiction, Warlords, Imaginary empires
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in the background, the denizens scurrying about the streets, very much alive.
"I knew quite a few of the troubadours that paid regular visits to the city," the Callahan went on. "What is your name?"
"Goll." Bryck had chosen the false name on a whim. It belonged to a very minor character from one of his own earliest theatricals. During this past half-lune he hadn't spoken his true name aloud to anyone. He was content to go unrecognized as Bryck of Udelph, renowned writer of stage comedies. Certainly he never intended to pen another. His life as a dramatist was as dead as his home.
"I don't recall you," he repeated.
Sweat was gathering beneath the collar of Bryck's coarse coat. The breeze rose, cooling it and chilling him. He itched to step his foot into the stirrup and ride onward.
Suddenly the man from Callah was patting the pockets of his tunic. A brass coin appeared in his hand. He held it out toward Bryck.
"Here." His eyes were moistening. He spoke in a hush that none of the others would overhear. "Had you come to my city ... to my beautiful Callah ... and had I sat and listened to you weave your music, as I once enjoyed listening to so many others of your kind, I would have applauded you. I would have given you this same coin."
Bryck accepted the brass, at an utter loss as to how to respond. Luckily he was spared the difficulty as the Callahan/Felk soldier turned sharply away.
Bryck at last climbed into the saddle and rode on into the city.
DARDAS (2)
IT WAS GOOD to be at war. Even a war like this one, even with wizards everywhere underfoot, even (this was most galling) with those same magicians providing Dardas with the most amazing resources he'd ever known in combat.
Still, he didn't enjoy explaining himself, even second-hand, to Matokin, the leader of the Felk. The feats of his army's communication mages were remarkable. They called the magic Far Speak, and they could pass messages instantaneously across great distances, all the way back to Felk itself. It was a less strenuous, but ultimately no less impressive, accomplishment than moving troops, horses, and equipment through those portals.
However, it meant that Dardas couldn't get free of Matokin, not even here in the field, where he was well accustomed to having an absolutely free hand.
In his time as a Northland military leader, he had answered to no one at all. He hadn't represented a monarch or a sovereign state. His army
was
his nation, and his companies of fierce warriors were his nation's population. He had led them to glorious victories on the Northern Continent, and their loyalty
had been total.
Now, he was commanding an army again, two and a half hundredwinters after his own death. Once again, he was proving himself a successful commander, as his victories attested.
Sook had surrendered unconditionally without offering the slightest resistance, leaving Dardas with an army that was geared to a fighting pitch and no enemy to match itself against.
Objectively, it was the ideal situation for a commander. To accomplish one's goal without a single casualty or fatality.
While he had acknowledged the possibility, Dardas was nonetheless caught unprepared when the delegation of eight ministers from Sook had appeared, throwing the city-state on his mercies. Instead of dealing with scouting reports, skirmishes, and preparations for a siege, the general had suddenly instead found himself plunged into the details of taking control of a city-state that was intact and cooperative.
Occupying territories had never been his forte in his previous life. For Sook he had merely implemented the rules of occupation already in place for Callah and Windal. His army was presently encamped outside the city.
He was disappointed. What was wrong with these gods-damned Isthmusers? Didn't they have any backbone? Didn't they understand that if they didn't resist, he would subdue this entire land for Matokin?
And then ... what would happen to him, once the last battle was
"I knew quite a few of the troubadours that paid regular visits to the city," the Callahan went on. "What is your name?"
"Goll." Bryck had chosen the false name on a whim. It belonged to a very minor character from one of his own earliest theatricals. During this past half-lune he hadn't spoken his true name aloud to anyone. He was content to go unrecognized as Bryck of Udelph, renowned writer of stage comedies. Certainly he never intended to pen another. His life as a dramatist was as dead as his home.
"I don't recall you," he repeated.
Sweat was gathering beneath the collar of Bryck's coarse coat. The breeze rose, cooling it and chilling him. He itched to step his foot into the stirrup and ride onward.
Suddenly the man from Callah was patting the pockets of his tunic. A brass coin appeared in his hand. He held it out toward Bryck.
"Here." His eyes were moistening. He spoke in a hush that none of the others would overhear. "Had you come to my city ... to my beautiful Callah ... and had I sat and listened to you weave your music, as I once enjoyed listening to so many others of your kind, I would have applauded you. I would have given you this same coin."
Bryck accepted the brass, at an utter loss as to how to respond. Luckily he was spared the difficulty as the Callahan/Felk soldier turned sharply away.
Bryck at last climbed into the saddle and rode on into the city.
DARDAS (2)
IT WAS GOOD to be at war. Even a war like this one, even with wizards everywhere underfoot, even (this was most galling) with those same magicians providing Dardas with the most amazing resources he'd ever known in combat.
Still, he didn't enjoy explaining himself, even second-hand, to Matokin, the leader of the Felk. The feats of his army's communication mages were remarkable. They called the magic Far Speak, and they could pass messages instantaneously across great distances, all the way back to Felk itself. It was a less strenuous, but ultimately no less impressive, accomplishment than moving troops, horses, and equipment through those portals.
However, it meant that Dardas couldn't get free of Matokin, not even here in the field, where he was well accustomed to having an absolutely free hand.
In his time as a Northland military leader, he had answered to no one at all. He hadn't represented a monarch or a sovereign state. His army
was
his nation, and his companies of fierce warriors were his nation's population. He had led them to glorious victories on the Northern Continent, and their loyalty
had been total.
Now, he was commanding an army again, two and a half hundredwinters after his own death. Once again, he was proving himself a successful commander, as his victories attested.
Sook had surrendered unconditionally without offering the slightest resistance, leaving Dardas with an army that was geared to a fighting pitch and no enemy to match itself against.
Objectively, it was the ideal situation for a commander. To accomplish one's goal without a single casualty or fatality.
While he had acknowledged the possibility, Dardas was nonetheless caught unprepared when the delegation of eight ministers from Sook had appeared, throwing the city-state on his mercies. Instead of dealing with scouting reports, skirmishes, and preparations for a siege, the general had suddenly instead found himself plunged into the details of taking control of a city-state that was intact and cooperative.
Occupying territories had never been his forte in his previous life. For Sook he had merely implemented the rules of occupation already in place for Callah and Windal. His army was presently encamped outside the city.
He was disappointed. What was wrong with these gods-damned Isthmusers? Didn't they have any backbone? Didn't they understand that if they didn't resist, he would subdue this entire land for Matokin?
And then ... what would happen to him, once the last battle was
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