by Ian Irvine
“There you are!” said Holm, taking her arm. “I’ve been trying to find you.”
“I’ve been in the bloody tent,” she snapped. “Where you were supposed to be. What the hell happened to you?”
“Later!”
“I’ve got to go back for Rix. I lost—”
“He’s here. He crawled out.”
“Is he all right?” She looked around frantically.
“More or less.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone with Jackery and his men. The troops who remain loyal have to see his face.” He tugged on her arm. “Come on.”
She allowed him to lead her into the darkness. “What’s the matter?”
“Libbens is rounding up a company of soldiers to search the camp. We’ve got about a minute to escape.”
“You mean they’ve won!”
“Not if we get away with Rix.”
He ran through the dark for a hundred yards. Glynnie stumbled after him. Rix was on his horse, tied into the saddle, surrounded by Jackery and a squad of twenty or so troops. She could see more horsemen beyond, mere shadows in the darkness, and hundreds of troops on their feet.
“How did all this happen?” said Glynnie.
“Jackery left half his men behind to rouse out all those loyal to Rix.”
Back near the officers’ tent, fire flared fifteen feet high, as if someone had lit a bonfire doused with oil. Holm heaved Glynnie into an empty saddle and mounted another horse.
“They’re looking for Rix and you,” said Jackery. He looked down at her; his white teeth flashed in a grim smile. “Well done. Come on.”
He signalled with a partly shuttered lantern. She saw the signal repeated across that corner of the army, then everyone moved at once.
They were a hundred yards away before furious cries from the officers’ tent indicated that their escape had been discovered.
“Go!” said Jackery.
They raced into the dark.
“We’ve only got the clothes on our backs and the gear in our packs,” said Holm, “but at least we’re alive.”
CHAPTER 22
“Two hundred men?” said Rix when he had come around sufficientlyto understandwhat was going on. “That’s all I have left?”
“You’ve also got your life, thanks to Glynnie,” said Holm.
“You saved me again?” said Rix. He turned to Glynnie, who was sitting quietly in the background, wrapped in a blanket. Her face was covered in mud, specks of blood and smoke stains, and her eyes were red. “How can I ever repay you?”
“I think you probably know that already,” Holm said quietly.
Find Benn. If only he could.
Glynnie did not say a word. She seemed to be lost in some trouble of her own.
They had camped on Filby Rise, the highest hill in Reffering, some two miles south-west of Libbens’ camp. Filby rose in a long, gentle mound to a flat, heart-shaped top covered in boulders, the largest of which afforded a view of the whole plain. It was the safest place they could find in an unsafe land.
Someone had wrapped Rix in a blanket and propped him against a rock. A couple of stony knobs were sticking into his back but it hurt to move, so he put up with it. Holm cleaned the blood off his face with a wet rag and smeared on a pink, foul-smelling balm. The swellings had gone down somewhat; he could see out of his left eye now.
“How the hell did you do it?” Rix mumbled through his swollen, split lips. His jaw ached and several of his teeth felt loose.
“Jackery tossed a gas grenado into the officers’ tent,” said Holm, “plus a couple of paralysis blastoes and a smoke cylinder. I was about to cut through the side when we were attacked by another dozen guards Libbens had hidden in the dark. We had the fight of our lives.”
Holm turned to Glynnie. “I’d hoped everyone inside the tent would be knocked unconscious by the blastoes. I knew you were in there alone, but we couldn’t break through—I was terrified one of the rebels would still be on his feet.”
“Four of them were on their feet,” said Glynnie. “Including Libbens and Grasbee.”
Rix jerked. “Four! You faced four soldiers, all by yourself? How did you—?”
“I don’t want to think about it.” She took the balm from Holm and rubbed it into the bruises on Rix’s shoulders and chest, then fastened his shirt and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “He’s cold. He needs a hot, sweet drink.”
“It’s coming,” said Holm. “We’d cut most of the guards down when Rix came crawling out, blind from the smoke, right into the melee. That big bastard of a sergeant whooped for glee—he was about to split Rix’s head open when young Harin spitted him, front to back. We finished them quickly after that, save for the last guard, who hacked the tent ropes down and ran. The rest you know.”
“Save how you got anyone to follow a condemned man who had to be tied into his saddle,” said Rix.
“A hundred men saw you risk your life for us in the crevasse the other day, Deadhand,” said Tonklin, whose shoulder was bound and supported in a sling, “and everyone heard about it—Jackery and I made sure of that. We’ll follow you anywhere.”
“Thanks, Tonklin. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“We propped you upright with sticks strapped to your front and back,” said Holm, “lashed you on, we kept the lanterns away so no one could see more than shadows. Then Jackery revealed an unexpected gift for mimicry—he gave the orders as if it were you speaking. The sergeants accepted them and the men obeyed.”
Rix glanced at Jackery, who nodded but did not add anything to the tale. A quiet man, but gold all the way through.
“Could have been awkward if I’d fallen off my horse,” said Rix.
“We were going to say you’d taken more ale than was good for you,” Holm said blandly. “What soldier would think worse of you for that?”
Rix managed a smile. “The only question is, what am I supposed to do now?”
“Depends what Libbens does,” said Holm.
“I’m not sitting around waiting to see what a stinking mutineer is going to do. I’m taking my army back.”
“I don’t see how you can do that with only two hundred men, and no supplies save what they’ve got in their packs.”
Commanding an army was a never-ending series of crises. “I’ll find a way.” Rix’s eye fell on Glynnie, who was sitting cross-legged, slumped forward, staring at her hands. He raised her chin. “What is it?”
Her face was starkly white, and her red eyes were wet. “I’m a murderer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guard out the back of the tent… I couldn’t allow him to make a sound.”
“You fought him and took him down. That was a brave—”
“It wasn’t brave!” Glynnie said harshly. “He was too big; I couldn’t take him on. I—I crept up and stabbed him in the back—I killed him in a moment, just like that.”
Rix took her hand. “It’s a terrible thing, taking a life. I see the faces in my bad dreams.”
“I didn’t see his face. I wouldn’t even recognise the man I murdered if I saw him.”
Rix held her close. There were times when words were no use at all.
Rix slept for an hour then woke abruptly, his heart racing. Do it now! Right away! It took all his strength to pull himself upright. Every muscle ached, every bone.
“What are you doing?” Glynnie said sleepily from a few yards away. She was curled into a tight ball in her blankets.
“Let me think,” Rix said sardonically. “Grandys wants me dead, as agonisingly as possible, and he’s got seven thousand men to help him. Libbens, who’s just stolen my army, has a standard earmarked for my severed head. And then there’s Lyf, whose army, though recently defeated, still numbers more than thirty thousand. For some reason I can’t fathom, he doesn’t love me either.”
She pulled a blanket over her head. “That beating sure put you in a bad mood!”
“I’
ve got to take charge—right now!”
What was Libbens up to? Rix had to know. He took stale bread, hard cheese and mouldy sausage from his saddlebags, then hacked the bread into two chunks, put slices of cheese and sausage between them and charred the bread in a pan over the embers of the camp-fire. He took a small bite, trying to avoid disturbing his loose teeth, and hauled himself up to the top of the highest boulder, which stood ten feet above the level of the hill. By the time he reached it his injuries and bruises were throbbing, and every bite of his sandwich made his jaw ache.
“I can just see the lanterns of Libbens’ army through the mist… But there’s no sign of Grandys’ force. I wonder where he’s gone?”
Glynnie did not answer.
He clambered down and limped around the little camp until he found Jackery on the other side of the boulder pile.
“You’re wasted as a sergeant,” he said. “You saved more than my life last night.”
“I like being a sergeant,” said Jackery. “It’s all I know.”
“I want you for one of my captains.”
“I’m not up to high command, Lord Deadhand.”
“Neither am I, Sergeant. The chancellor said he knew damned well I wasn’t ready to be the commander, but I was the best he had. You’re the best I’ve got and if we’re ever to get out of this alive you have to lead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You served under Libbens for a good while, didn’t you?”
“Couple of years,” said Jackery.
“What do you think he’ll do now?”
“Try to repair his ruined name.”
“Pardon?”
“Libbens believes he’s a brilliant general, and his reputation means everything to him, but the chancellor sacked him for incompetence. Libbens will try to prove himself.”
“How?” mused Rix.
Jackery did not reply. Rix paced back and forth, aching in every muscle.
“Are you saying he’ll attack Grandys?”
“Reckon so—and as soon as possible.”
Rix dropped his breakfast. He picked it up, brushed the dirt off and took another bite. “Surely the bastard wouldn’t be so stupid?”
“When Libbens gets an idea into his head he won’t listen to anyone.”
“But he led the army to defeat in Rutherin. I heard he lost his nerve and it was sheer luck the survivors escaped.”
“But in Libbens’ eyes it wasn’t his fault. He blamed his second-in-command, Colonel Zavier, for not carrying out his orders, and had him broken to a common foot soldier.”
“Did Zavier disobey Libbens’ orders?”
“Yes,” said Jackery. “That’s what saved us.”
“He still alive?”
Jackery shook his head. “Killed crossing the mountains when that imbecile Krebb was leading us.”
“What’s Libbens liable to do?”
“He hates Herovians and says they should all be put down. I’d reckon he’ll attack Grandys head-on.”
It was what Rix had been afraid of. “But Grandys has twice as many men.”
“Grandys beat Lyf’s army with a fifth as many men, and Libbens thinks he’s a better general than Grandys. He’ll take the first chance to prove it.”
“Grandys won’t take kindly to being attacked with an inferior force.”
“What will he do?”
“He’ll take it as a personal insult. He’ll wipe Libbens’ army out to the last man.”
“I don’t see what we can do about it,” said Jackery.
“Nor do I, but I have to try something, right away.”
“What, now? It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’ve just been beaten within an inch of your life.”
“If I wait until morning, I know in my aching bones it’ll be too late.”
CHAPTER 23
When Rix woke Glynnie and told her the plan, she hurled her bedroll aside and punched him in his bruised and battered mouth. “No, no, no!”
He stumbled backwards, wiping blood off his lip. “I’ve got to take my army back, and my only chance is to do it now—before they recover.”
She went very cold. “I didn’t risk my life back there so you could throw yours away. I didn’t become a murderer for this!”
“Glynnie, what choice do I have?” He went towards her, holding his arms out.
“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “Don’t come anywhere near me.”
He felt a pang in his heart, but it didn’t change anything. It couldn’t.
“I’ve got a duty to my men. If there’s a chance of saving them I’ve got to take it.”
“What about your duty to us? To me?”
“When the chancellor appointed me commander, I swore a solemn oath to lead my army and serve my country.”
“And after I rescued you from Grandys that time, you and I swore to each other.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Which oath matters more to you, Rix? Are you going to break your oath to the chancellor, who hated you—or to me, who l—, l—?” Evidently she could not say the word. Not now.
“I’m not breaking my oath to you,” he said wearily. “But I am going to take Libbens down before dawn…”
“Or die trying, more likely. He might not be smart, but he’s rat-cunning.”
“So am I.”
She let out a peal of hysterical laughter. “You don’t have the cunning of a—a butterfly!”
“Be that as it may,” he said stiffly, “the two of us—me and Jackery—are going to sneak past the guards into his camp.”
She pressed her right hand to her heart. “Two against five thousand? You’re insane.”
“For every extra man I take, the risk of being discovered doubles.”
“How can you ask Jackery to help you? It’s suicide!”
“I didn’t ask him. He volunteered before the request was out of my mouth.”
“Then he’s an even bigger fool than you are,” Glynnie spat.
“I’m not enchanted with the plan either,” said Rix. “But—”
“Rix, attack Libbens’ army if you must,” said Holm. “But don’t do it this way. Gallop through his army with your whole force, all the way to the command post, and take Libbens prisoner.”
“At a cost of hundreds of lives?”
“This is war,” interjected Glynnie, “as you’re constantly telling me whenever I mention Benn.”
Not Benn again—Rix could not deal with one more thing right now. “The minute I ask my men to attack their former comrades, I’ll lose them.”
“I don’t see why.”
“If you had an ounce of rat cunning you’d know why.”
She stiffened, as if he’d grossly insulted her, then folded her arms across her chest.
“This isn’t a civil war, Glynnie,” Rix said hastily. “All my troops have friends in Libbens’ army, men they’ve served with for years. Many of them have brothers, fathers, uncles and cousins there, and I’m not fool enough to ask them to fight their own relatives. My plan is the only way.”
“I’m with Glynnie,” said Holm. “It’s too risky. If you’re wrong, you die, and we all lose.”
“I can’t think of any other way to stop Libbens,” said Rix. “And he has to be stopped. If he attacks Grandys, Hightspall will lose the war. It’s that simple; that stark.”
“Are we the two biggest fools in all the world?” Rix whispered an hour later, as they wriggled across the ground, heading for the gap between the patrolling sentries.
“Dare say,” said Jackery.
It was four in the morning and if anything Rix felt worse than he had after the rescue. Every muscle ached, every bruise throbbed and his belly churned with an awful, burning nausea.
They were dressed as common soldiers. Jackery had a signal rocket strapped to his back; once they took the generals he would set it off and Holm would race in at the head of Rix’s two hundred men, who were waiting in the darkness a few hundred yards away in case back-up w
as needed.
Rix had dyed his face and hands dark brown, and rubbed his cheeks with burnt cork to simulate a black beard. It would not have passed inspection in daylight but he hoped it would be disguise enough, in the dimly lit camp, to get him to the tents of Libbens and Grasbee. Both men were injured, and both had been badly affected by Holm’s gas grenadoes. If there was any justice in the world they would be asleep.
Rix planned to wake them, charge them with mutiny out in front of the soldiers and pass the customary sentence—death. A minute’s quick work with his sword and rough army justice would be done. Assuming everything went perfectly…
The plan went well until they reached the tents where the officers slept. Rix and Jackery had bypassed the guards without being discovered, then strolled through the sleeping army, Rix hunched down to disguise his height. In a camp of five thousand there were always a few dozen people up, either heading to the jakes to relieve themselves or walking off their anxiety about the coming day, and he and Jackery attracted no attention.
They reached the officers’ sleeping tents, which were in darkness. Libbens’ tent was identifiable because it was the size of a small cottage and had the commander’s flag flying outside. A single guard stood outside the flap of the tent. There was no one else in sight.
Grasbee’s smaller tent was twenty feet away, also guarded by a single soldier. Rix could hear ragged snoring from inside.
“First we take Libbens,” he whispered. A trickle of cold sweat ran down his back. “Once we have Grasbee, send up your rocket, but I won’t wait for Holm and his men. After the business is done I’ll hold the mutineers’ heads up and formally take back command. That’s the most dangerous part. If the other officers rebel, and Holm can’t get through in time…”
“Let’s get it done,” said Jackery roughly. It was the only sign of his anxiety.
They approached Libbens’ tent from the rear. Rix cut through the canvas low down, careful to make no noise. They wriggled through and stood up. Rix kept still until his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He could just make out a camp stretcher in the far corner of the tent.
“Now,” he said softly.
He had taken two steps towards the stretcher when a smashing blow to the side of the head knocked him down. He saw Jackery whirl, his sword flashing, and heard a cry of pain, then Rix was struck again and the darkness returned.
