Mandestroy, Page 2

to the one thing he truly believed in. It was time to test the depth of his stubborn resolve.

  The Now

  One

  Some people actually liked riding, but not Kantal. Definitely not him. Some people must have immunity to the pain and discomfort, but for him it was like a form of slow torture. The act of sitting in a saddle started a steady descent in comfort, each moment sliding immaculately into the more painful next. And the flavours of punishment were diverse too: there were aches; sharp pains; dull throbs; numbness; those terrible pins at the other end of the spectrum. The only remedy was to stand in the stirrups, cocking one’s arse at the riders behind, but even then legs would grow heavy. The saddle was always calling, and so therefore was the punishment.

  “Pfff.”

  The only man riding ahead of him turned in his direction. The look was disapproving. He went stiff with unease, pain gnawing at his concentration. He was still in awe of this man, even despite the years behind them. He straightened himself as far as his discomfort would allow, ready for the reprimand.

  “Are we boring you, General?”

  The authority in the stare was unsettling. He was not used to that look, being as he was a favourite of the man. He took a moment, breathing through his nose. No need to seem awkward, even if he was.

  “Of course not, your Majesty. I am in awe of your wise direction. I only exhaled at my unfortunate discomfort.” The words came out smoothly enough, but each one grated in his throat. He was unused to such delicacy, and his common accent butchered the finesse.

  “Do not oil your words, Kantal. It doesn’t suit you. What’s really wrong?”

  There was a snigger at his back; the twitter of a dozen scheming aristocrats. He was the one out of place here, the commoner amongst the elite, but he had earned the right. No, he had more than earned the right. The King, his master, put up with him because he was worth putting up with. Or that’s what he hoped. He looked to the powdered fools and sneered. When he turned back, the King still glared, waiting on the response.

  “My arse hurts.”

  There was just the tiniest elevation in the right side of the King’s lip, his blond moustache tilting. But the authority didn’t leave the man’s face, and the twittering fools gasped from behind. It didn’t take long for them to start whispering against the vulgar words. They would be calling him a fool, uncouth, and a piece of gutter scum. He wasn’t good enough to grace their company, let alone lead their army. And it was true, wasn’t it? It had always been true. Why had he never seen this before? The King stared on with stony authority, displeasure rampant on his face. And then his face contorted. It was too much. He gulped.

  The royal mouth opened wide, the eyes closed, and the King let out an almighty roar. When he’d finished laughing, he wiped the spittle from his lips and smiled.

  “I do so love your honesty. My arse hurts too.”

  The peacocks were muttering under their collective breath, which was pleasing. He grunted in pleasure. He loved getting one over those prim bastards.

  “It’s not natural to straddle such beasts.”

  The King dropped back, moving alongside. “Maybe not, but Man has been doing it long enough. And besides, how else would we make this journey?”

  That was true enough. He looked about, taking in the surroundings. To his right was a sharp mountain range; stark against the pan flat lands about them. In all other directions the scrubbed brown plains of Mikaeta stretched away, a subtle heat haze rustling the horizon. But in the direction of Friendly, to his right, the mountains stood like sentinels, protecting the luscious lands behind. That was Ahan, a glorious gem amongst a world of decay, but that land had also been snatched away from Delfin’s legacy; from Delfinia’s present King; and therefore from him as-well. He wanted to retake Ahan. It was an obsession.

  But you couldn’t beat a mandahoi, and so Ahan remained without their grasp.

  And yet that was what he was out to change. It was the very reason they were here, making this journey. A century and a half had passed without a noticeable dent in the barricade that was Ahan’s borders, and he was the latest to try. But he would succeed where all others had failed. He would succeed. The Mandahoi were a plague sent forth by the invaders who now ruled in Ahan, but he was the antidote and he would overcome the odds.

  Or at the very least he was willing to try, and he had his own plans. They were good plans too.

  And therein lay the dream: to drive the Mandari invaders back into the sea. It was a good dream, and it grabbed his attention right then. Only his king pulled him back.

  “Kantal?”

  “Sorry, your Majesty.” What were they talking about? Oh yes, of course. The pleasures of riding. An unfortunate necessity. “I agree, unfortunately. Horses are a necessary discomfort.”

  The King slapped him on the back and assented with a soft grunt. He could hear the renewed disappointment from the ‘cocks behind, and he sniggered. The King seemed to miss his immaturity, or at the very least ignored it.

  “A horse is a fine friend in combat too. Let’s not forget that.”

  An image flashed through his head; a wraith in a whirlwind of steel. That was the untouchable enemy; the plague of the Mandari; the Grey. Horses were no good there.

  “Not against the Mandahoi, your grace.” Because you couldn’t beat a mandahoi. His tongue slid over his front teeth, to the sharp relief of the gold replacement. His mind wandered, only to be torn back again. By his king.

  “Indeed. Most weapons are useless against that particular foe. Most nights I wonder how we’ll ever overcome them.”

  This was his territory, but even he had reservations. Against the Grey, confidence only accelerated the downfall.

  “There are ways, but they are,” he licked his lips, “hard.”

  A grunt from his king. There was little more to say on the matter. Instead, they could dream of the wealth that lay beyond those mountains. A wealth outside their grasp. Or was it? His plan was a good one, even if all the pieces weren’t yet secure. And hopefully, most of the details would be set when this journey was over. It was a good plan.

  “You do trust me, don’t you?”

  The monarch stared wistfully to the barren plains of Mikaeta; enemy territory. Well, perhaps enemy was too much, but not friends. Not anymore. They were civil neighbours once – Delfinia had once even been a part of the greater Mikaetan Empire – but that civility had long passed, sliding with the decay of this once famous civilisation. Mikaeta was now in a sorry state, and it dawned that this was the nation they sought the help of. Was that a good idea? They were here to reinstate a rickety alliance. He looked around, and the reality of the challenge sank in. This had seemed easy when he’d conjured the idea, but not anymore. It was a good plan, but the pieces were flaking. There was work to do yet.

  And to emphasise the challenge, they started past a great rent in the mountains of the Adunas Encolae. It was the entrance to a valley called the Bloody Gash. That was where he had been made, and it was also the way into Ahan and all its wealth. But that was still a hard way, and he gulped. Unfriendly eyes would be all over them as they passed that valley, but the convoy held open hands. They would not be endangered.

  He looked upon the wretched defences that the sorry Mikaetans still barracked, balking at their neglected state. Flags hung shredded and limp; outposts sat in disrepair; and any sight of metal was accompanied by riotous rust. It was depressing to look upon. So many years of defeat contributed to that, and it was always defeat. It was always defeat.

  But no! Not this time. His plans would not end in that same way. He couldn’t fail. That was why he was making this trip. With his king.

  But his king had still not responded. Was he truly trusted?

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Of course I trust you, Kantal. Of course I do. I only wonder. For one hundred and fifty years, we have been trying to leve
r that limpet from our territories, and fifteen decades have passed without success. To say that I am confident would be a lie.”

  He had a point. Many had tried to break the steely defiance of the Mandari, but none had succeeded. There were moments of fleeting gain, but ultimately it had been a story of utter defeat. Ahan remained in the hands of the invaders, and he was only the latest to try to reclaim it. That was still daunting.

  “I am not confident either.” After all; you couldn’t beat a mandahoi.

  His king turned to him, alarm on his face. “If anyone should be confident―”

  “Your grace, forgive me, but confidence with respect the Mandahoi is entirely misplaced. Remove the Mandahoi from my path, and then I will be confident.”

  The King clucked to himself. “Yes indeed. That is why we are here, after all.”

  “Yes, your Majesty. We are here to make sure that we can take the chance.”

  How they would earn the chance and make sure that the Mandahoi were kept contained was still to be determined, but he would not broach that subject now. His king was already staking a lot. They needed allies.

  After all; you couldn’t beat a mandahoi. At least, not without the appropriate resources.

  When they came around the angle of the mountains, Mother Bright was dipping towards the horizon. The creamy stone of the Beha Lomal glowed with a fiery quality as Mother bathed the mountains in her tiredness, and his breath caught.