by Gav Thorpe
It was Nidan, a second captain from the Sixteenth. He had been sent into the city because, unlike many lower officers, he was literate. He was a squat, bow-legged man who had grown a drooping moustache to blend in better with the Magilnadans. As he sidled up to Noran, the smell of stale sweat and strong ale came with him.
"What is the shit part?" Noran asked, wrinkling his nose at the stench.
"Waiting," replied Nidan, slumping against the wall a few paces away. "Done it a dozen times. There you are, all geared up, ready to chop some bastard's head off. You can see the enemy, a mile away maybe, looking back at you. You've got your orders, all the boys are ready, but it's not quite time for the off.
"Or the night before you know there's gonna be a battle. That can be a real fucker. Those long hours, the bells ringing in the watches and you just know that in a day's time you could be dead."
"How do you deal with the fear?"
"Fear? I'm talking about the boredom. No need to be afraid. Do your job, kill the other son of a whore first and you don't have to worry about anything. Although… I do end up pissing quite a bit on those long nights. I don't know if that's important."
"Easy as that, is it?" said Noran. He glanced up and down the street and considered sending the runner to the other group with the order to start the fire; better, Noran figured, to be early rather than late.
"You should send Lihrin off with the word, I reckon," said Nidan.
"Do you think it is time?"
"We're a bit behind, really."
"What?" Noran jumped off the wall and looked around, searching for some sign that the plan was going wrong. "How can you tell?"
"Three patrols." Noran looked at Nidan with confusion. The second captain pointed towards the gatehouse. "The guards time their watch by the number of patrols from the gatehouse along to the next tower and back — twenty before a change. I've been keeping an eye on them, and they make twelve patrols in one of our watches, so that's three in an hour. The third patrol came back across the gatehouse just now."
Noran held the second captain on either side of his face and planted a kiss on the surprised man's forehead.
"Nidan, you are a fucking credit to the legions!"
Noran signalled to the runner, Lihrin, who set off up the street at a steady trot. Nidan gave Noran a wink, and headed back to his troupe of pretend drunkards. The noble realised how lucky he had been that the officer had chosen to talk to him at that moment.
Noran corrected himself with a further realisation; he was not lucky, he was an idiot. Nidan had talked to him precisely because he knew the runner was late being sent, and had even shown the good grace not to remark on Noran's ineptitude.
Noran checked that his sword would come out of the sheath easily, and glanced around at the other men. Now that the plan was set in motion, all his anxiety was gone. His eyes turned towards the dawnwards walls while he waited for the first bloom of the fire.
V
Cities stink, thought Gelthius. Not the natural smell of cattle dung or the musk of sweating turncranks, but the rotting stench of refuse, the smoke from a thousand fires, and the accumulated waste of too many people living in such a small place. The tanneries, where he was crouched in an alleyway with three other men, stank of the piss used to treat the leather.
Since coming to Magilnada, he had decided that he didn't care for cities, not one bit. Magilnada was too crowded and everybody living there considered themselves far more important than everybody else. Part of him wished that the fire he was about to set would spread out of control and eat up the whole wretched place in a glorious blaze.
But that wasn't the plan, so he and the others would be careful to set the fires closest to the stone wall, and they would raise the alarm quickly before disappearing into the night. When Gelthius had first heard of the distraction the general wanted, he had thought about the poor tanners that would lose their businesses. They had families to feed. The guilt did not last long, not when he considered the huge amount of trade that would come their way once the city was in the general's hands.
The padding of running feet drew his attention to the street. Lihrin appeared out of the darkness, emerging like a shadow from the lingering smoke that blanketed the city from the festival fires.
"We're on!" Lihrin said, waving for the group to join him.
Checking that nobody on the city wall was looking down on them, they gathered at the side door to the closest tannery. It was not barred; the owner and his family would be at the celebrations. Gelthius was the first inside, the gloom within the low stone building no darker than the unlit street. He fumbled around with the flint of his firebox and managed to strike a small flame into life. Lighting a candle from the small bag hanging at his belt, he found himself in a side chamber. The noxious reek of the tannery was even stronger here, and Gelthius wondered how anybody could live so close to such a stench.
"Let's just do this and get going," whispered Grendlin, pulling a flask of lamp oil and a rag from his sack.
Gelthius and the others soaked their rags with oil and stuffed them between vats and barrels. They splashed more oil onto the piles of treated leathers, and on the frames where the stretched skins were hanging. Their work done, all but Lihrin retreated back to the door. Lihrin walked backwards after them, dribbling a trail from his flask. Gelthius checked outside and, seeing that no one was nearby, tossed his lit candle onto the slick stream of oil on the floor.
They bolted out of the door one after the other as flames licked in a line across the room. None of them was sure how quickly the blaze would take, but their orders were to raise the alarm only when the fire was large enough to take considerable time and effort to put out. They headed back to the alley where they had been hiding before, and watched smoke wreathing from the windows and around the doors. A distinct orange glow could be seen through the slot-like windows, and the wooden planks of the roof began to smoulder. Pops and crackles could be heard from inside.
"Do you reckon that's big enough?" asked Gelthius. "Should we start shouting?"
"Let's just give it a f-"
Lihrin's reply was interrupted by a huge sheet of flame that shot up through the boards of the roof, scattering smouldering planks into the street. As the debris clattered down onto the stone, Lihrin turned to the others with a jubilant grin.
"I think that's going well enough," he said. Lihrin ran out into the street and headed towards the tower on the wall, hands cupped to his mouth.
"Fire!"
VI
Noran and his men staggered towards the gate as a clamour of shouts and banging swept through Magilnada. The thick smoke from the tannery fire billowed across the roofs of the buildings and the dull glow from bonfires was engulfed by the towering flames that reached up higher than the curtain wall. There was a commotion at the gatehouse as warriors poured out onto the wall to see what was happening, while others came out of the arched doorways of the flanking towers.
"What's happening?" Noran slurred his words as he draped his arm across the shoulders of one of the guards and looked dawnwards toward the pillar of flame. "That's the tanneries!" the warrior shouted up to the wall. "It's spreading into the city!" came the reply.
An argument ensued between several of the guards, regarding whether to abandon their posts to help fight the blaze or to stay at their posts. Many of the warriors did not wait for permission and streamed up the street towards the centre of the city, calling out concerns for homes and families. Unseen, the group of "drunks" sidled closer to the towers and gate.
Noran saw that there was nobody at the door of the closest tower and slipped inside. Treading lightly, he walked up the wooden stairs within. He turned on a landing and came face to face with a bearded warrior heading the other way.
"What are you doing?" the guard demanded.
"Better view from the wall," Noran replied and pushed past, not giving the man any time to refuse.
The guard looked as if he would stop Noran for a moment, but i
gnored him and carried on down the steps. Noran found a steep flight of steps at the top of the tower and pulled himself up to the battlement of the wall.
There were more than a dozen men on the stretch of rampart between the towers, all of them looking into the city at the flames spreading from building to building. From this vantage point Noran could see hundreds crowded into the streets close to the dawnward wall, while chieftains in long cloaks waved swords around and ordered groups this way and that to fetch water or rally more people.
Noran glanced over his shoulder, out of the city. He could see nothing in the dark, but he knew that out there somewhere was Ullsaard and his legion. They could surely see the fire now and would be on their way.
The thud of footsteps heralded the arrival of Nidan and halfa-dozen of the men at the top of the wall.
"You can't be up here," one of the guards said, shouldering past Noran to berate the new arrivals.
Nidan drew his sword and plunged it into the man's throat.
Behind Noran, the guards shouted in alarm and readied their spears and shields. The noble threw himself aside and skulked at the bottom of the parapet as the guards ran towards Nidan and his soldiers. The Magilnadan warriors didn't give him a second glance as they pressed towards the armed men coming out of the tower. As soon as they passed him, Noran rose to his feet, sword in hand.
He ran to the edge of the wall and looked down at the gate arch. Bodies littered the ground; he recognised a couple of them as his own men, but most were guards cut down by the surprise attack, dead before they could even raise a shout of warning. Certain that nobody down there was going to be calling for help, he turned his attention to the men fighting the legionnaires.
He thrust his sword into the back of the nearest guard and was struck by how unlike the measured, ceremonial duels of the bloodfields the hack and slash really was. Another man turned to see what had happened to his falling companion, to be greeted by the edge of Noran's sword in his face. The man fell back with a scream and Noran leapt after him, stabbing and stabbing, driving his swordpoint into the man's chest and gut over and over, even after he had fallen to his back and lay still.
A guard swung backwards with his shield as he fought, unintentionally smashing it into Noran's shoulder. Noran stumbled and lost his grip on his sword, the weapon clattering beneath the feet of another guard. Noran back-stepped quickly as the Magilnadan turned on him, but the threat was short-lived; Nidan's sword took the man across the shoulder and darted back into his groin with a splash of blood. The second captain stepped over the twitching corpse, stooped to pick up Noran's sword, and handed it to him hilt-first.
A quick glance confirmed that the only living men at the gatehouse were Noran's. By the flickering light of torches stretching left and right along the wall, Noran could see nobody else.
He peered out into the night, waiting to see the first sign of Ullsaard's approach.
VII
With Furlthia in tow, Anglhan walked through the gate of Magilnada, feeling very much like the conquering lord though he had not had to strike a single blow himself. Once he was through the gate, he entered one of the towers and skipped up the steps as quickly as his heavy build would allow, and was panting by the time he pulled himself up onto the stones of the wall. Noran was there with a few others that had opened the gate; he seemed surprised by Anglhan's arrival.
"Where is Ullsaard?" said the Askhan.
"Down there somewhere," Anglhan replied, waving a hand towards the city, "having some fun with his troops."
"It looks like utter chaos," said Noran.
Anglhan could see all the way across Magilnada, now illuminated by several fires, the largest being the one started in the tanneries. Groups of Ullsaard's men roamed the streets with spears and flaming torches, herding the inhabitants this way and that. The greater part of the attacking army had pushed through the streets to the Hill of Chiefs and was busy battering at doors and throwing brands onto thatched roofs. Atop the wall to either side, other companies had fanned out, taking prisoner or killing any guards they encountered. In the square behind the gate, several companies guarded the streets to make sure nobody in the city could leave.
"It's a great deception," Anglhan told Noran. He pointed to their right, where a cluster of men were standing around a number of sizeable buildings not far from the marketplace. "It looks like a bunch of rebels running amok, but it's all been carefully worked out. That's the grain stores secured. Others have taken the armouries, the treasuries. See how none of them have entered the shrine gardens? That's all part of the plan too. And the chieftains are being rounded up. Ullsaard's got a list of names of those that are likely to cause the most trouble; they'll be killed in the fighting. Those that will be helpful, they'll be taken captive if possible."
It was a remarkable sight. The Askhans were everything Anglhan had hoped they would be, and in many ways much more. Two hundred years of expansion had honed their conquering skills to the sharpest edge; two hundred years of the legions had turned bands of individual warriors into a something far more dangerous, capable of overwhelming anything and everything they had been sent against. Even now, masquerading as incompetent rebels and with poor equipment, the legionnaires were unstoppable. Dawn was still several hours away, and yet the city was already in their hands.
And that power was something he had helped guide. He had never known such a thrill, and he envied those Askhan generals and nobles who had such resources at their call every day. The swift taking of Magilnada was proof to Anglhan that the future was with the Askhans, and that it was far better to be on their side than against them.
"What are you thinking?" asked Furlthia. "You've got that look in your eye that I don't like. It's the same one you get when you've lined up a deal with a healthy profit, or when you've picked up a dozen debt tokens for half their value."
"Today Magilnada falls," replied Anglhan, "who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
"Funerals," Furlthia said. "Tomorrow there will be a lot of funerals."
"I mean all of the tomorrows to come, not just the day after this one."
"I know," Furlthia said, his mood grim. "And they will bring a lot of funerals too. The Askhans were never going to be a problem for us, not in our lifetimes, but now you've let them in you know they'll never be gone. It's what they do; take what they want, kill those that fight to protect what is theirs, and send the survivors from their homes to build new towns and cities."
"Ask the Ersuans, or the Enairians, or the Nalanorians what they think," said Anglhan. "I'd bet a herd against a calf there's not one of them that wouldn't want to send a message back to their forefathers, telling them not to fight, telling them that things would be better if they just accept the Askhan way. The Maasrites, now, they were the clever ones. Look at them now. But nobody learns, do they?"
Furlthia's expression was one of disgust as he tore his eyes from the city and looked at Anglhan.
"The only voice you're hearing is the sweet songs sung by gold. I hope that whatever you get is worth the price those people are paying. I'm done with this, and I'm done with you."
The former mate stalked off back into the tower, leaving Anglhan alone with Noran.
"Progress can be a harsh mistress," said Noran. "Many more people before yours have learnt that lesson, but now benefit from her sweet attentions. Ignore your man; he has a narrow, selfish view."
"You're right," said Anglhan. He rubbed his hands together and chuckled. "It's fools like him that have been holding me back for many years. Idealists like Aroisius; petty-minded merchants with no ambition; thuggish chieftains and bullies. It is time they woke up and realised the world is changing. Well, this old captain can smell which way the wind blows and I've never tried to move against it."
"What are you going to do now?" asked Noran.
Anglhan looked at the city and did not see the fires and the screaming mobs. He saw streets and markets not ankle-deep in shit; gleaming palaces of stone and gold; lines of
merchants and farmers passing through the city. And through and under and above it all he saw taxes, his taxes as lord of Magilnada — chest upon chest of gold and silver, naked and lithe serving boys, fruits from Maasra, exquisite Askhan murals, hot baths and all the other delights of Askhan life he had heard about from the men in the mountains.
That was his future.
VIII
They had arranged to meet in a small house in the middle of the crafts quarter, seemingly stuck at random between a kiln and a forge. Dawn was just creeping over the city wall and Magilnada was quiet, cowed by the aggression of the disguised legionnaires. Ullsaard sat in the main room beside a dimly glowing firepit and waited for the others to arrive. He felt uncomfortable, and not just in mood. He was wearing the trousers that Salphors preferred and they chafed at his legs. He also wore a heavily embroidered shirt, the heavy red material patterned with blues and white. It was too fancy for his liking; Ullsaard preferred the clean cut and plain colour of his own wardrobe. He wanted to be in his armour, as befitted his new status as ruler of Magilnada, but he knew it could not be known that he was an Askhan general.
And that was why he was here, waiting for Anglhan and Noran. In the next room, watched over by several men, the previous ruler of Magilnada, Gerlhan, waited to learn his fate. The lord of the city had surrendered to Ullsaard's troops the moment they had come to Gerlhan's hall. Gerlhan had been smuggled through the city to this place so that the future of Magilnada could be discussed, but first Ullsaard wanted to straighten his own thoughts on the matter.
The door creaked open and Noran and Anglhan arrived together, behind them an escort of a half-company of legionnaires wearing a mishmash of clothes and carrying an assortment of weapons. Noran whispered something to their captain and the soldiers assumed a more mob-like appearance, breaking the lines they had naturally formed in the street,
