Too Cold to Bleed
Page 28
Subath’s eye began to twitch. He drew in a long breath. “Major, my orders were to have Enulin drop to half-troop. By my reckoning, that would mean you owe me an additional two thousand troops at least. Where are they?”
Skeldon’s face did not shift, his bulging blue eyes remaining impassive. “My lord, there has been an unprecedented number of desertions from the Enulin Division over the last few weeks. We left Enulin with near eleven thousand troops. By the second night I had tripled the Night-Command to catch and stop the deserters. Several of the Night-Command were found dead, several more deserted also. We have what we have, and I cannot offer you any more other than my apologies.”
Any more time looking at your face and I fear I may have to desert into the bargain. “Major, your apologies are not worth the slippery pleasure of a runny shit to me.” Subath heaved in a deep breath and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Subath,” Merkham spoke in a hushed voice. “He’ll have brought rations for eleven thousand men, which means we have three thousand mouths-worth of food.”
Subath looked at Merkham, and then back to the severe face of Skeldon.
“Fuck it,” Subath snapped. “Corporal,” Subath called to the soldier who had advised them of Major Skeldon’s arrival. “See that the troops are billeted, horses stabled, rubbed down, fed and watered. Have all records passed on to the chief administrative officer. Supplies are to be consolidated with our own.”
“My lord,” the corporal responded and made off to complete his duties.
“Major, come with the governor and me. We’ll need your men to start right away on construction duties.” Subath turned and walked back into the keep, his heart hammering and the need to break something almost bursting free of his trembling fingertips.
Subath sat on his horse and tugged uncomfortably at his bollocks. Bastarding saddle needs breaking in. Should’ve got that fat-arsed lamp prick to do a job on it. He grimaced and shifted himself into a more comfortable position, or a less uncomfortable position at least. He looked around at the mass of milling bodies. Barrowloads of head- and fist-sized stones moved all about, getting tipped into heaps every few hundred feet. Draft horses, easily twice the weight of the beast he suffered upon, dragged the larger chunks of masonry salvaged from the ruined buildings. In the distance, Subath saw Lucius speaking with a team of officers, who in turn scurried off to pass on orders to a team of sergeants. Subath smiled as he watched one old sergeant shouting at a young corporal. The ever-blessed cycle of shit. He drew a long breath of chill air noisily through his half-blocked nose. The city still reeked of smoke, and the sweet-foul stink of death. Some smells never shift. Death has been imprinted on this place now.
He turned his horse with a tug to the reins and started riding along the stone bulwark that ran parallel to the inner side of the city walls.
Soldiers glanced up as he rode past, nodding or smiling to him as he inspected the work.
The bulwark stood between seven and ten feet in height, and was nearing twenty feet wide at its base. Between the massive blocks of stone, soldiers worked to secure smaller stones. Subath steered the horse through a gap in the bulwark, to its inner side.
Thaskil stood in conversation with a squad of engineers, his hands mimicking a blast as he saw Subath ride up. “Chief Marshal.”
“Captain,” Subath greeted Thaskil with his new rank. “How fares your plan?” Subath looked about the faces of the gathered engineers.
“Very well,” Thaskil said. “I’ve just been explaining the requirements of the charges.”
Subath narrowed his eyes and leaned onto the saddle castle, silently cursing the nip in his bollocks again. Fucking saddle. “You,” Subath nodded to a wide-mouthed engineer with pitted skin.
The engineer pointed to himself and blurted a fumbled word of nonsense.
“Fuck's sake, lad. Yes, you!” Subath shook his head and heaved a breath, causing his breastplate to pinch his gut. Bastarding armour. “Tell me, how does our esteemed captain’s charge work?”
“Sir. I mean, my lord,” the engineer stammered.
“Dajda’s cherished tits, man, take a breath. Simple words.”
The engineer took a long slow breath in.
“Fuck it,” Subath snapped as his eyelid twitched. “Engineer Ears,” he pointed to an engineer whose ears folded out widely under his leather skull cap like a bat. “Tell me.”
“Sir.” Engineer Ears stiffened. “The captain has advised us that every two hundred feet we are to clear a space in the inner side of the bulwark and place barrels of black powder facing upward towards the outer edge. We’ve to then ensure a rope soaked in lamp oil feeds into the base of the barrel, allowing for two feet of soaked rope to be on the inner side of the bulwark. The captain then wishes us to place a heavy block over the rear of the barrel, to prevent it blowing on the inside. When we’ve done this, we are to hollow out the corresponding space on the outer side of the bulwark, and fill it full of the smaller blocks of masonry and metal work.”
“Very good, Engineer Ears. Almost top marks.” Subath smiled. “Captain, tell me, how does one ignite this little firework?”
Thaskil cleared his throat. “My lord, we are to place the end of the oil-soaked rope into a clay pot of oil. Between the pots of oil will be lines of black powder. Once the kill zone is almost full, we will ignite the rear-most charge using a flaming arrow. Once fractured, the flame will spread quickly and the charges will detonate along the kill zone.”
“Good. And the damage?” Subath pressed.
“Absolute,” Thaskil replied simply.
“Between a rock and a hard place.” Subath smiled widely. “Very good. Engineers, get to work, and be quick about it. Captain, come with me.”
Thaskil strode over to where his brown horse was tethered and hauled himself into the saddle with a wince. He pressed his hand to his side and gently rubbed at his wound with a grimace. He trotted up beside Subath and they moved along the bulwark.
“Hollowing out the wall? Would’ve been easier to have known this before we built most of the bulwark.” The voice sounded behind Subath as he led his horse away from the gathered engineers.
Subath turned his horse around and stared hard at the engineers. He looked at each of the faces. It was clear who'd spoken. The red-haired man with the bold eyes, turning less bold and then fearful as Subath’s horse bore down on him. The gathered engineers split away from him, leaving him isolated as Subath’s horse stepped up so close it made the man concede two steps and trip up, falling arse first into the base of the bulwark.
“Sorry, my lord,” the man blurted, staring up at Subath. The man’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession.
“Stand up,” Subath said in a quiet voice. The man scrambled to his feet in an instant. “Do you think I was in the habit of allowing insubordination as a sergeant, or that one time I was a lieutenant, or when I was back being a sergeant again?” The man shook his head in short, rapid little movements. “Well, then, what makes you think I would stand for it as chief marshal?”
“Nothing, my lord,” the engineer blurted.
“Correct.” Subath smiled with wide eyes and nodded slowly. “So, what do you think I should do with you?”
The man’s mouth flopped open and closed wordlessly.
“As I need all the engineers I have, as much as I would like to, I can’t really have you flogged.” He made a show of thinking for a moment, allowing the engineer’s panic to swell. “I know!” Subath raised a finger and grinned. “Punch yourself in the face.”
“My lord?”
“Was I not clear enough for your educated mind? Would you like me to enunciate each word clear and slow for you?” The man swallowed hard. “Punch. Yourself. In. The. Face. The face.” Subath swirled his finger about his own face as he spoke.
“Yes, my lord.” The engineer gulped and looked down at his clenched fist.
“Go ahead!” Subath sighed.
The man thumped himself on the chin, his
head jerking backwards a little.
Subath tutted and shook his head. “Pathetic. Come here.”
The engineer stepped up slowly, his chin reddening from where his knuckles made contact.
Subath leaned back in his saddle, ignoring the pain in his stones as he did so. He slid a boot from his stirrup and rammed his heel into the face of the engineer, sending him reeling backwards onto the packed dirt of the ground. Snowflakes fluttered down and landed on the gasping man. “Speak out of turn like that in my presence again, and I’ll make sure your arse is tied to the outer side of one of these barrels. Is that understood?”
The man spluttered blood from his split lip and nodded with renewed enthusiasm.
“Good. Now set to it. No time to waste.” Subath turned his horse back and carried on along the bulwark with Thaskil. “Now, Captain. Show me the rest of your surprises.”
“Marvellous!” Subath leaned over, squashing his stones against the tough leather saddle once more, and clapped Thaskil on the shoulder. “Seems you’ve learned a lot from Apula.”
“Learned a lot from Bergnon, my lord.”
Subath spat on the ground. “Fucking traitor needed to be good for something, I suppose.” Subath winced and looked up at the leaden sky. Snowflakes fell lazy and slow about them. One contrived to fall down into Subath’s eye as he looked up. “Shitting winter.” He rubbed at the offending eye. “I’ll leave you to it, Captain. Best be getting back to Merkham. Bloody Terna troops are overdue by a few days now. No word on the Gerloup reinforcements either.”
“You think the Cannans are blocking the passage?” Thaskil asked.
“I don’t know, lad. It’s winter, the seas can be bad.” As he spoke, the claps of horse hooves approaching sounded behind him.
“That rarely heralds positive news in my short experience,” Thaskil said, looking over Subath’s shoulder.
“I reckon you’d be right,” Subath said, turning his horse around to see the trembling salute of a young despatch rider. The young man’s conical, dull grey helmet was clearly a size or so too large for him, as was the navy tabard that hung loose about him. “Spit it out, then!” Subath implored.
“My lord, there are ships in the bay. Several dozen. Their sails bear the symbol of the Towers of Nabruuk. It’s a Cannan fleet, my lord!”
“Fuck.” Subath released a long and weary sigh. “Captain,” Subath addressed Thaskil, “marshal your troops. Engineers to work themselves to a lather for another hour. I want those charges ready.”
“My lord.” Thaskil saluted and hurriedly rode off to the bulwark.
“Name, lad?” Subath asked the despatch rider.
“Private Elias, my liege.”
Subath coughed out a laugh. “My liege? Where the fuck did they drag you from? Fuck's sake, lad.” He shook his head, ignoring the wide-eyed reaction of the young rider. “Pass instruction on to Commander Lucius and Major Skeldon: I want the outer walls manned fully. The High Command is to run on a skeleton force. Have the pitch fires started, and the vats made ready for heating. Get a message to the physicians to get the field hospitals ready to receive within one hour. Relay all of this to Governor Merkham. You got that?” The young man nodded. “Good. When you’re done with that, come find me.”
The despatch rider galloped off towards the bulwark, leaving Subath to tug at his stones, freeing them from the tyrannical bite of the saddle once again. “I swear on Dajda’s cherished tits, I’d have less discomfort if I were to ride on a seat of bastarding caltrops.” He cracked the reins, galloping past the hurrying construction teams and down the space between the bulwark and the outer wall of Carte. Soldiers, engineers, and construction teams dodged as the old warrior’s horse hammered through the hazy snow and down the short distance towards the West Gate that faced out towards the docks.
“What do you see?” Subath shouted as he reined in his horse. He dismounted and handed the reins to a stocky corporal.
“My lord,” a captain called down from where he stood in the gatehouse. “Cannan ships in the bay.”
Subath cleared the steps quickly, feeling a pinch of pain in his right knee as he made it up to the rampart before the gatehouse. “Show me.” He took the captain’s eyeglass, trained it on the ships. Through the grey haze of falling snow, Subath saw the pale square sheet with the mark of the Cannan fleet. Three tall towers. The Towers of Nabruuk. “Shit!” He took the eyeglass from his twitching eye. “That’s a lot of ships, but I thought there’d be more. He studied the fleet again, noting that some vessels had smoke pluming from them, whilst others had tattered sails and damaged masts. These ships had seen conflict. He lowered the eyeglass and noticed one ship had peeled away from the fleet and was making its way towards the half-repaired docks. Subath placed the eyeglass to his face once more, and looked at the ship as it closed the distance. Above its main sail flapped a white flag. Subath’s heart slowed, and he let go a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Looks like we have some time.” He handed the eyeglass back to the captain with a trembling hand. “They send an emissary to treat.”
“My lord,” the captain bleated
“Just open the bloody gate before I ram my foot so far up your arse you’ll be dreaming of my toe jam for the next month.”
“But, my lord, I really must insist. Send me. You’re the chief marshal, it’s too–”
Subath slammed the man against the wall beside the inside of the gate and pressed his forearm hard under his chin. “Listen, shit-for-brains, I’m the acting chief marshal. You know what that means? It means I’m a temporary replacement. Another can come along. Now open that fucking gate.” He released his grip on the captain and mounted his horse. He guided the horse back a short distance, then turned to face the gate expectantly.
“Do as he says.” The captain huffed a breath, puffed out his chest and straightened the creases from his jerkin.
“Good boy,” Subath grumbled. He watched as the gates creaked and then opened. He touched his heels to the flanks of the horse and guided her through the gap once there was enough space for them. He rode onward towards the partially damaged dock. “Shut the gate,” Subath shouted over his shoulder as he flicked his reins and broke into a gallop. He rode through the muddy streets, the few citizens about quick to get out of his way. Mud splattered up from the hooves of the horse as Subath closed the distance through the dock-side streets towards the Cannan ship. In a few moments he saw Leilah being led down the gangway of the ship with another person on either side of her. She was hurt.
“Yah!” Subath yelled, and his whip cracked. The horse sped on towards the ship. The two soldiers who had helped Leilah down the gangway had seen him, and rushed into a thin defensive formation. Subath slowed as he approached the snow-slippery wood of the dock. Leilah had waved her troops down, reassuring them, he hoped. He led the horse on and waved a hand in greeting to the Cannan officer. “Major, you’ve returned to us.”
“Chief Marshal,” Leilah greeted him.
“You’re at the head of a considerable force. When last we spoke, your suggestion was that if that were to occur, I should take it rather badly.” He offered her a smile, as genuine as he could muster, given there were several dozen Cannan ships behind her in the bay.
Leilah waved away the two soldiers who had helped her down the gangway. She straightened up, wincing as she did so, and stepped towards Subath.
“You’re hurt,” he said simply. “Should I presume our words proved true?”
“I returned to Canna, and found matters to be somewhat advanced. I come at the head of a force of allies, not enemies. There is a movement within the government and church of Canna that would seek to take advantage of your weakness, and to take advantage of the Father of the People’s grief-madness.” She straightened herself up to her full height once more, and took two shallow, shuddering breaths. “I went to speak words with a man who I believed, above all others, could be trusted. When I left, I was attacked by three, and took a knife to the side before I
cut them down.”
“I’m sorry for your trouble,” Subath said, eying the Cannan officer with suspicion. “What does this mean for the Free Provinces?”
“Canna moves against you. The forces were mobilised before I had even returned to Nabruuk. They can only be days behind me. You must get ready.”
Subath laughed. “Sneaking bastards. I reckoned that would be the case. Been preparing for it since you left.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“You left in a hurry?”
“Too much of a hurry. I didn’t get the chance to see a physician.”
“If you can ride, I’ll take you.” Subath dismounted.
“I can, thank you.” Leilah approached the side of the horse. “I spread the word. Those loyal to our treaty stand with me. If you’ll have us, we are here to stand with you.”
“I’m not in the habit of bringing compatriots of our belligerents into my defensive fortifications. Standard behaviour, you know?” Subath bent over to take Leilah’s heel in his hands as she grabbed the saddle castle and hauled herself into the saddle.
She yelped with pain as she settled into the leather.
“Does the saddle hurt your bollocks too?” he asked, leaving Leilah with a confused look on her face. “Never mind.” Subath eyed up the soldiers disembarking from the Cannan vessel. “Can your troops be trusted?”
“They can,” she replied, before issuing a command in her native tongue. The soldiers moved back up the gangway and onto the deck of the ship. “They’ll wait here until I return, or until they are sent for. The rest of the ships will remain anchored in the bay. We’ll not place boots on Carte ground until welcomed.”
Subath led the horse by the reins and headed back towards the western gate. “You’re going to have to do some rather expansive talking while that hole in your side is being tended, otherwise these troops of yours will be at anchor for a long time.”