Day 337 - Empire Story

Empire Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The cannons had begun two weeks ago, but at that point they simply sounded like distant thunder. They weren’t cannons yet. About nine days ago they became cannons. And from that point on they were only growing louder.

Everyone knew what it meant. The war was no longer coming, the war had arrived. Everyone had heard the stories. The army from Valjer was legendary. Their leader Milas Hakra was legendary. It was said he never made a mistake. Seven years ago he began a campaign of conquest and in that time he had never failed at what he set out to achieve. Battles were sometimes slow. Wars were hard-fought. But in the end, they always fell his way. No one was a perfect general. No one could win every battle. History knew that. But it seemed as if history had forgotten to tell him that.

The village of Hannah had disappeared overnight. The cannons were closer every day and the villagers knew what that meant. One day the people had been there and the next they were gone. Some were fleeing for the capital. Others were running as far and as wide as they could. The war would be fought on the roads towards the city. The city would be conquered and captured and burnt. The villagers that ran there hoped the city would hold. The villagers that ran to the countryside knew better. They knew that hiding and hoping to live a quiet distant life was their best bet at having a future. No wall around some capital was going to stop this war or protect its citizens. This war would only end in defeat. There was no retreat. There was no regrouping. There was only eventual annihilation or subjugation. That didn’t stop the citizens of Hannah from fleeing and hoping for something better.

Shannon stood in the field south of her cottage. In the distance she could see the smoke from the flames of battle. She should have been tending her fields. It was time for planting crops, not time for waging war. But no one had asked her opinion. Nature wouldn’t care that man had other plans. Nature had plans of its own and nature’s plans usually won. The war could try to continue as long as it wanted, but if no crops were planted, then eventually there would be no food and eventually there could be no war. But no one engaged in the battle was listening to her brand of logic.

The people in Hannah had fled. She supposed she could have gone along with them, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. If the army was really coming, then no place would be safe. Plus this was her land. In her heart of hearts she couldn’t abandon it. Her family had found it. Her ancestors had developed it. She wasn’t going to let them down and leave it for someone else. Besides, she was pretty sure that a marching army might steal her food, but it was doubtful they would steal her land. Stealing land came after the war was won, not while it was still being fought.

She could hear the cannons. She could see the fires. They had all been getting closer. Each day closer. But not today. Today they stopped. Today they fell silent. Perhaps it signaled an accord. Or peace had come. Or maybe the men were just taking a break from killing each other. Only tomorrow would tell. So instead of worrying, she simply enjoyed the afternoon view and thought of all the other things she should really be doing.

They had marched all night. And then they stopped. No one had an answer why. Andreus didn’t mind. He wasn’t looking forward to battle. He was quite alright with setting up camp and having a little time to rest before rushing off towards potential death. Commander Milas won every battle and survived every war, but that didn’t mean all of his soldiers did.

This was a fresh war. This was a fairly fresh battle. Andreus had never fought in a war before. He had been too young when the wars of conquest had begun. He wasn’t too young anymore. Milas had risen to power when Andreus was just a little boy. Milas had united the city-states after a few short years of political wrangling. Andreus was too young to remember what had come before, but his father told him the stories. It was nearly a decade ago that the wars had begun. Apparently a few united city-states wasn’t what Commander Milas had in mind. He was building a country, a nation and an empire, one fierce battle at a time. Apparently empire building was a lengthy process.

Andreus was a man now. As he grew up, his friends all looked forward to being a part of the army of Valjer. They craved excitement, adventure. They all assumed they would be heroes and that epic poetry would be written in their names. None of them expected to fall. Andreus had no such illusions or aspirations. He just wanted to survive.

His camp was made up of new recruits, hastily trained and quickly sent off to catch up with the main army. Andreus was fairly certain that was about the worst way for him to be prepared to survive a fight. Commander Milas had incredible luck, but Andreus was pretty sure that wouldn’t cover him.

The battle had paused right when Andreus had arrived. This suited him quite nicely. Perhaps the war was over. Perhaps there had been a sudden surrender. Andreus hoped so. He was hardly a fighter. Sitting at camp and gambling and drinking suited him much better than swinging a sword or firing a weapon. The morning might determine everything, but for now he wasn’t going to second guess his sudden luck. Perhaps Commander Milas’ luck was indeed that far-reaching.

Milas was not a patient man. For a decade he hadn’t needed to be patient. He had won every battle, every war. He had succeeded at everything he had tried. Now he wasn’t so sure. And he hated it. He was not a patient man and wasn’t sure he could learn now.

He hated waiting. He had an empire to build. He knew he would. He had seen it. His sages had predicted it. The looking glass promised it. More than two hundred thousand men had marched off to war to ensure it.

Countries fell. Generals were defeated. That was what was supposed to happen. He could predict their movements. He had always won.

The looking glass didn’t work anymore. He couldn’t understand why. For every move, they moved. Every counter he tried, they countered. He was being flanked while he tried to flank. Every time he thought he saw a move, an opening, a plan, every time he tried something his enemy moved him to a standstill.

His power was useless. He had never been blind before. Without the power of foresight he was powerless. He had never needed luck or skill or revolutionary planning before. But now, now he was stalemated. He shouldn’t have been, but he was. And he had no answer for it.

And so the army stopped. The battle stopped. The war stopped. It was just a different type of stalemate. Two armies facing-off. Two armies across from each other, each waiting for orders.

Milas was not going to be the first to call for talks. His war wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over. The looking glass had promised him an empire. He couldn’t stop now. But he wasn’t sure how to proceed. It was as if the army he faced had the same advantage he had had. This other general knew his thoughts as soon as he had them. He reacted just as Milas would have reacted.

The war was not over. Milas just wasn’t sure how it could continue. And so he waited. He waited and watched and sought answers, but the future, for the first time in a long time, was a fog.

Two armies waited. Two generals waited. Two nations waited. It seemed the future would have to wait as well.