by D Murray
Subath grabbed the handle of his ale cup and raised it to his lips, slurping loud and long. “Time enough, dear Governor.” The tea within it was almost cold now, but it served the purpose. He let his words slur, and added a gentle sway to his movements as he shambled over to place an arm around Merkham’s narrow shoulders. “Come join us, please. Please do. We’ve been singing, and joking, and laughing. And singing!” Subath felt the blood-yips flit away in place of the low mischief of laughter in his belly. “We, we’ve been–” He faked a hiccup and took another long draw from his cup, allowing some of the tea to spill down his moustache and onto his tabard. “Merkham, tell the troops, ah, tell them that one about the Solansian duke. You know the one, old rutting Duke Bunting; the one we caught fucking his goat–”
“Chief Marshal!” Merkham snapped, throwing off Subath’s arm from about his shoulders. He leaned in and whispered, “You are a disgrace! You are the chief marshal now. In times of war, you have ultimate command. You need to get your head out of your arse and start acting as such.”
Subath cast aside his act and tossed his now empty cup onto the bar, where it skidded off the surface and onto the floor behind with a clang. “Well, as I have ultimate command, you may as well stand to attention also.”
The uptight line of Merkham’s mouth fell lopsided in a frown as uncertainty crept upon his face. “You’re not–”
“No, I’m not drunk.” Subath grinned, then let it slip from his face. “Attention! Chief marshal on parade,” he roared, causing Merkham to snap to on instinct. “As I was saying before the governor interrupted me; I may well belong with you here, but my place now is away from the campfire, away from the tavern, and away from the heart of the forces of the Free Provinces. You, and the countless friends and comrades before you, have given me all in my life. Now, with this new duty upon me, allow me to give my life to you all. For if that is the price to keep and protect the Free Provinces, and each of you, I should gladly give it. I ask only that you be courageous in battle. Honour your regiments, and when it is all done, honour the ale cup. With good fortune, I will honour it with you.” He looked about the room. There were smiling faces, stoic faces, and even some with a sparkle of moisture in their eyes. Sentimental bullshit. Don’t we troopers just love it. Delicious, another spoonful please, Chief Marshal?
Subath smiled. “Dismissed.” He stepped forward, the ranks of soldiers splitting, and strode out of the room to a thunderous clapping and roaring. He grimaced and forced free the fart that was nagging at his guts. Don’t think it was the blood-yips at all.
“Chief Marshal.” Merkham hurried up behind him as Subath ascended the first set of stairs up from the mess room.
“Merkham.”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep–”
“Dajda’s sake, Merkham, get a grip of yourself. Just putting on a show for the troops. Your appearance helped matters in the end. They get the message; one of their own leads. Anyway, they needed a moral boost. Me swigging some tea with them then laying down the law, all nice and soft like, is as good as I can give them, short of a mess room full of ale and a barracks full of whores. And would you cut that 'Chief Marshal' shite out when it’s just us before I ram my foot up your scrawny little arse?”
“Aye, I can do that.” Merkham kept pace with him as they strode up the winding staircase into the lower levels of the High Command.
“What is it, anyway?” Subath asked, growing irritation nagging at his guts almost as bad as that bunged-up fart. “Dajda, think I need the privy. Old guts are toiling.”
“An emissary from Canna has arrived with a message from the Father of the People. It’s not good news.”
Subath stopped and faced Merkham. “What do you mean, ‘not good news’?”
Merkham rubbed at the back of his neck and winced. “The Father of the People demands that we hand over Kalfinar for the murder of the Daughter of the People.”
“He what? The what? Shit!” Subath clenched his fists as the palsy found its way into them. Maybe it is the blood-yips after all.
Subath hurried up the worn stone stairs to the chief marshal's study – his study, as it were. “What’s the mood in the room?” he asked over his shoulder to Merkham.
“Tense,” Merkham supplied, no effort made in masking the situation.
“Who’s with them?”
“Lucius.”
Subath stopped on the landing and turned, looking down at Merkham who remained two steps behind. “You left that snivelling arsehole with an emissary bearing a threat of war?”
“He’s one of our highest ranking officers remaining,” Merkham said, shrugging. “You said yourself he fought with great courage upon the walls.”
The tone of Merkham’s voice caused Subath’s eye to twitch. “Every limp dick can be hard the once. You’ve placed the most craven of men in the presence of an aggressor. If you wanted to send the message that our remaining troops present less spine than a jellyfish, then consider this mission accomplished. Fuck me, he’s probably already got us at war.” Subath huffed and turned towards the door, storming past the guards with a scruffy salute and into the study.
“Chief Marshal.” Lucius snapped a crisp salute from where he stood beside the roaring fireplace behind the chief marshal’s desk.
“At ease, Commander.” Subath stomped across the room whilst unfastening his sword belt. He wrapped the belt around the scabbard and placed his sword on his desk. He sighed as he scratched his belly, not even casting a sideward look towards the three strangers standing at the end of the long table.
“Chief Marshal,” Merkham said as he closed the study door. “May I present to you Major Leilah Ferah, of the People’s Army.”
Subath settled into the chief marshal’s seat and leaned over, ruffling the neck and head of two of Harruld’s wolfhounds as they nuzzled up to him. “You know the despicable thing about wolves?” he asked the emissary without looking at her. “When all is well within a pack, each wolf respects their packmates. They respect the balance of things. But when one of them is injured, they turn on them, and they set upon them. They devour them.” He leaned up from petting the dogs and sat back, sinking in to the fine, deep cushion of the chair.
The emissary looked at him with an impartial expression. She had dark skin, with fine, high cheekbones below bright green, almond-shaped eyes. Her eyebrows arched, giving her a wolfish look. Her black hair was cropped short at the sides, with a sweep of glossy dark hair smoothed back from her forehead.
“We have never been in the same pack, Chief Marshal.” Her voice was deeper than he expected, and thickly accented in a not unpleasant manner.
Subath regarded the two tall, dark-skinned and bearded men who stood beside her. He dismissed them as nothing but muscle. Probably the biggest, ugliest fuckers they could find. No, it was the woman who held all the cards here. Subath offered her a smile, and stood from his chair. “Where are my manners?” He strode around the table towards her, offering his hand in welcome. “I suppose it’s obvious they dragged my old arse up through the ranks.”
The Cannan major took Subath's hand and shook it. Her grip was firm, but she smiled at him, showing perfect white teeth. Subath took the hands of the two men beside her, shaking them with a crushing grip that was matched by their own. He turned back to Leilah and encouraged her to sit down. He took a seat at the table beside her. “Commander Lucius, see that we get some wine and food for our guests.”
Lucius nodded and hurried out through the door to convey the order, returning a moment later.
Subath regarded Leilah for a moment, offering the most reasonable look he could. “I’ve served in the army of the Free Provinces for near forty years. I well remember the times when our nations were not packmates, so to speak. I’ve even gone against my gut and done a bit of fighting against your people at sea. Not an experience I care to repeat. We have, however, in recent years, forged an alliance. I for one know my people are proud of our alliance.”
�
�As are the people of Canna, I can assure you,” Leilah replied.
“Well, then, we are at a mutual agreement on this at least. A good start, eh, Governor Merkham?”
“Chief Marshal,” Merkham affirmed, retaining his formality with ease.
“Why then, when our nations have been so companionable of late, does the Father of the People send you here with the threat of aggression?”
She smiled, no doubt trying to mask the tension that rippled beneath her every expression. Her two companions hid nothing. “Chief Marshal,” Leilah replied, “I do not doubt that Governor Merkham informed you of the contents of our message. Let us not play games when truly there is little time or desire for them.”
“He did. And don’t underestimate my appetite for games.”
“What then don’t you understand?”
“Nabruuk came under attack some weeks back, by raiders. Solansians and their hirelings, by our understanding. That’s correct, isn’t it?”
“You know as much.”
He leaned forward, letting her get a good look at his scarred old face and his twitching eyelid. Go on, drink it in. “Correct. I do know as much. I also know that the Father of the People suffered grievous wounds both of his body and spirit that night.”
A stifled groan issued from where Merkham stood.
The two soldiers standing behind Leilah flinched. She turned her head to the side and muttered something in Cannan, placating them. She turned back to Subath. “Careful now, Chief Marshal. Tread lightly when speaking of the spirit of the Father of the People. He is most holy, and is one with our god.”
Subath wrestled his most contrite expression onto his face. “Forgive me, Major. I meant no offence. What I am implying is that Canna has suffered at the hands of Solansia, as have the Free Provinces. Surely now is a time for togetherness between our nations, rather than aggression.”
“The Father of the People demands that you hand over the son of your late chief marshal, Kalfinar. He is accused of the murder of the Daughter of the People. This is the account of the crew who returned with the Father of the People’s ship.”
“Utter shite,” Subath scoffed with a sweep of his hand, leaning back into the chair. “Kalfinar as much killed the Daughter of the People as I shoot crossbow bolts from my arse. He rescued her from the Solansian raiders, and then she threw herself into the sea. The account you’ve been given is false.”
“The account is all we have. The Daughter of the People was to be returned to us, at the promise of Captain Kalfinar, but instead we have been told that he tossed her into the sea.”
“With respect, Major, why in the name of Dajda–”
“We do not recognise any oath on your god.”
Subath sighed and shook his head. “Be that as it may, why would Kalfinar risk his life to rescue the Daughter of the People, only to toss her into the sea afterwards? The man is no simpleton, nor is he so blood-hungry. He wouldn’t start a diplomatic crisis like that.”
“He is a ghost to jalsinum. We know he has been long since lost to all and serving only his needs.”
“Major, he is no 'ghost to jalsinum,' as you put it. He has made no secret of his problems, but he is clean of jalsinum, that much is sure. Watched over him myself for a couple of years.”
“Regardless,” Leilah snapped. “We dally here. I must insist at the behest of the Father of the People that you bring Kalfinar to us so we may return him to Canna to answer for his crime.”
“There is no fucking crime!” Subath barked. “The Daughter of the People threw herself over the ship through guilt.”
Leilah’s brows knitted, and her eyes narrowed.
“She was racked with guilt. She had married in secret, to the former emissary of the Free Provinces to Canna.”
“Bergnon,” Leilah mumbled, her eyes shifting to the side as she thought.
“The very one.” Subath knitted his fingers above his stomach and crossed his foot onto his opposite knee. “Where is that bloody wine? Lucius, go and hurry them up!” Lucius bowed and hurried out of the room. “So, you knew Bergnon?”
Leilah looked back at him. “I knew him. I sensed there was a closeness between them. The Father of the People had my people watch him.”
“Ah!” Subath smiled. “I thought you were more than just an infantry major. You’re an officer of the Silent Wind. A spy.”
“It matters not what I am. Why would the guilt of a secret marriage give her cause to take her own life?”
“Because, my stealthy friend, our mutual enemy, Solansia, found out about this. They set out to take her captive unless Bergnon arranged the murders of our military high command.”
“The Reaping,” she mused.
“A reaping indeed,” Subath grunted. “We lost many of our best. As well you know.”
Leilah shook her head. “It matters little. Even if there is truth to this, the Father of the People will make a judgement on it. Kalfinar must present himself, and be taken back with us.”
“He cannot.”
“Why?”
“We’re at war, Major, and Chief Marshal Kalfinar, to give him his correct honorific, is on a mission of great importance. The greatest importance, in fact. I couldn’t tell you where, even if I wished to, which I do not.”
“The Father of the People must have the truth.”
“You have the truth. Now you in turn can present it to him. That’s all we can give you.”
“Without Kalfinar, we will be forced to act on the word of the Father. That can only mean war upon the Free Provinces.” Leilah’s frown deepened, her worry lines furrowing the smooth dark skin of her forehead. “None of us want war.”
“None of us want many things that are forced upon us.” Subath looked out of the window to his right. “I had a particularly violent dose of the shits this morning that I can’t say I particularly desired. Nevertheless, I endured, remained steadfast in the face of such a battle, and won out in the end.” He looked back to Leilah with a grin. “Look, Major, you’re not stupid, nor are you without your means. You know I speak the truth, and you know war between us would mean disaster.”
“We’ve lost one port of ships, that’s all. You’ve lost much more than us,” Leilah said.
“We have,” Subath replied. “Make no mistake, Major, I know the balance of a fight. I can tell we’re in the shit a little. But like the injured wolf set upon by its packmates, the Free Provinces will cause merry hell before we succumb. I don’t think either of us wants the outcome, so let’s try and find a way out of this bastarding mess. What do you say?”
Lucius entered, holding the door and stepping to the side, allowing two porters to enter carrying a tray of food and wine.
“About time!” Subath snorted. “Set it down and get yourselves gone.”
The porters did as he bid and bowed before hurrying out. Lucius took up his place beside Merkham, his face flushed from his effort.
“When must you return to Nabruuk?” Subath asked as he stood and took hold of the jug of wine.
“We return on the morning tide.” She indicated for him to stop pouring as the wine reached the halfway point in her goblet.
“Do you trust these men?” Subath nodded to the two soldiers behind her.
She looked at her companions, then back to Subath. “I hand-picked them, and I trained them. They are with me, always.”
“Good. Then listen. When you return, look at those who surround the Father of the People. Look even to your own people of the Silent Wind, and ask yourself this: who amongst you would gain from a war between our nations, at this time? Who amongst your people can mislead and waylay the Father of the People? Identify the returning crew, and find out who they spoke with. Then you find who has betrayed you. Who betrayed us both.”
Subath scratched at the nagging itch in his balls. He winced as he nipped the irritation and mumbled under his breath, “Bloody whores’ll be the death of me.”
“What’s that?” Merkham asked. He stood beside Lucius, jus
t behind the chief marshal and in front of an unadorned black carriage fitted to two horses, stamping at the ground with impatience.
“Nothing, just saying it’s a nice morning’s all.” Subath looked up at the dark grey clouds that hurried across the sky overhead, passing over the High Command and out to sea. Nice morning, my old wrinkled hole. Had nicer mornings spent scraping the jam out from between my toes.
Major Leilah Ferah, the Cannan emissary, exited the main entrance to the keep, flanked by her companions. She descended the old, worn steps toward where Subath stood.
He grinned up at her as she made her way towards him. Her hand rested upon the silver hilt of a curved Cannan scimitar poking out from her lightweight, mauve cloak. Fine looking woman indeed. He mustered his best smile, showing enough teeth to convey warmth, but not so many as to convey the rapidly diminishing quality of the inside of his broken-down old mouth. “Major, my men and I were just commenting on what a fine morning it is for your journey.”
“Chief Marshal,” Leilah greeted him in her deep, accented voice, “you have a gift.”
He tilted his head and tried to crane an eyebrow in mock surprise, though he was fairly certain the patchwork of scar tissue across his brows would not allow for such dramatic indulgences. “A gift, you say?”
She smiled, one that appeared to be genuine. “If you were to tell me the moon follows the sun, I would think you a trickster.”
Subath spread his hands wide, palms up, and shrugged. “My dear Major, I have been accused of many things, but being tricky is not one of them. My words are true, this morning and in all other cases.”
Leilah narrowed her green, almond-shaped eyes and wrinkled her nose as she looked up at the clouds. “It’s a good wind for us.”
“A good wind, yes.” Subath smiled, shifting about in his newly acquired reinforced leather jerkin. “Bastarding thing,” he huffed as he tried to wrangle himself into a more comfortable fit.
“Uncomfortable in your new shell?” Leilah asked.
Subath stopped fussing and looked up at her. You read me well enough. “My words were true. The wind blows to the south. It is a fine morning for your journey.”
