by T. C. Edge
Lady Dianna seems to realise, as I do. With an element of grace, she holds up her hand in apology, and performs a little bow of the head.
"I apologise if I offended you, Herald Kovas, or spoke out of turn. This is not a time to argue, but to work together to ensure our victory. Accept my apologies, please, and let us move on."
Kovas puffs out a final snort, before nodding curtly.
He turns away for a moment, trying to compose himself, looking again at the map up on the screen.
"We have...some promising leads," he finally says. His voice is a little more hollow now, sounding weary. "I will inform you of how they turn out in time."
Despite the simmering tension in the room, a question comes to mind that I cannot seem to ignore.
"The...wild men?" I find myself asking, glancing around the group. "Have they provided anything valuable?"
Kovas turns, slowly, his bald head shinier than ever, sweating under the lights. "They have proven themselves useless," he grunts. "We have no further need of them. They will be disposed of shortly."
"Disposed of?" I say. "But...they're prisoners of war, aren't they? Don't they have rights?"
I pose the question gently, Kovas appearing in no mood now to be pushed or prodded, to have his decisions questioned.
"They are not prisoners of war. They are not part of this war. They are merely taking up resources that could be better used elsewhere."
I look to the Overseer, who steps forward gently. His voice is ever a cooling tonic to the heat, which has grown stifling in this room. "I would like to have one final stab at them," he says. "If that is OK by you, Herald Kovas?"
"You think you might finally learn something of value?" Kovas asks, unsure.
"There's little harm in trying," he says. "I'll have a final session with them later this afternoon, see if I can't get through."
Kovas takes a breath. "So be, Master Overseer. I'm not one to question your wisdom."
I continue to look on at him, quite unable to hide the dislike from my eyes. A couple of days ago he was announcing them all as soldiers from Haven. Now, they're not even part of this war, and therefore expendable. Frankly, I don't like the idea of killing prisoners, no matter the situation. Surely, even in war, certain values need to be maintained?
He seems to notice me looking at him with such distaste, his own gaze turning threatening as he does so. For a man who's never short of surly, he appears to be truly volcanic in his disgruntlement today. Unable to deal with those who question him. Unable to give straight answers to those he, really, should be trusting and including in his plots and plans.
But no, he seems to be sidelining us, keeping us in the dark. If things keep going this way, I think, perhaps he'll even cut us all out entirely. Run things his own way without fear of being questioned. Become, essentially, little more than a military dictator.
A moment of quiet follows as he turns his darkened eyes around the room, as if asking if anyone has anything further to say. When they don't, he fixes his jaw, lifts his chin, exposing that deep scar along his neck, and nods.
"Good," he grunts. "For now...you are dismissed. We all need...we all need to recover from last night." He looks to the door. "Go."
His eyes shape off again as he finishes, and without delay, he steps away, moving towards a door and into another section of the command station. Those still seated share knowing and slightly concerned looks. The heat, it would appear, is already getting to Herald Kovas.
Eventually, we start moving off, as I look once again to Elian, who continues to sit and mope in his chair. Every additional second I look at him, I feel my anger brewing further. I decide, as the others begin to file out, to step towards him, confront him. I make it only a metre or two before he suddenly stands up, and moves away, heading right for the door where Kovas went, nothing but a pet pursuing his master.
And not once does he look at me. Not once.
Coward, I think.
I step outside, back into the fresh air, the sun still shining above as morning evolves into afternoon. I find Alfred the Overseer standing with Dianna and Gailen, Atlas and Avon moving off elsewhere together, perhaps to aid in the camp's continued erection or to help commit to the defence of our borders.
I move towards the Overseer and the others, drawn to the crowd I like the most.
"He's just such a...such a..." I hear Dianna say as I approach.
"I know, Dianna," says the Overseer softly, laying a calming hand on her arm. "He was always like that, since he was a boy. Angry and self-righteous. Yet he is a good leader, we must remember that."
"But not a strategist," Dianna returns, sending a set of fingers through her dazzling white hair. "He can inspire some of the more brutish soldiers, but he doesn't know how to plan a war. He'll have us all marching towards the front gate, trying to knock it down, thinking it's the only way in. He'll probably pick the worst place to begin the bombardment, and have us all rushing in when we break through, having no idea what's beyond..."
She pants the words out, frustrated and shaking her head.
"Dianna, calm," says the Overseer. "You don't give him enough credit. And he has Avon with him in support." He looks to Gailen. "And Herald Gailen, of course." Gailen smiles, knowing he really can't contribute much in that regard. "They have enough experience among them to make a success of this, and will have considered all options with Perses over the course of the trip. He says he has a strategy to follow. We must trust that he does."
Dianna begins to nod, her eyes finding me there for the first time.
"Perhaps you should be in there too," she says to me. I feel so small amid such company. "You are a Herald of War, Amber, and clearly much smarter than that brute." She raises her eyes and sighs once more. "We Chosen have little power to lead here. It is such a shame the Heralds are of higher authority in war." She looks around the group. "I'd far sooner devise our own little strategy between us. I'm sure you'd have some tricks to play, Master Overseer."
The Overseer grins sneakily, and glances at me. "Amber knows my name now, Dianna," he says. "You can all call me Alfred in this company, if that's your preference." He looks to Herald Gailen, leaning in a touch. "That's my proper name, Gailen. Now...don't go telling anyone."
We laugh at that, led by Gailen who's able to enjoy the joke without the attached offence, an optional addition that many people chose to take. It lightens us all, I think, and certainly me, to see that even the likes of Dianna are frustrated at being left out, not having her voice heard.
Dianna's words of insurrection, however, aren't taken too seriously. Frustrating though it is, there's no space for anything but solidarity here.
A rumble of movement begins to build in the air, drawing us all to look to the front edge of the camp. There, several carriages, as yet unpacked, roll out towards the fields, accompanied by a large contingent of soldiers. They move off past the large shield pillars, yet to be activated, in the direction of the city.
I look to the others. "And...what are they?"
I find them all frowning as they stare on.
"Dianna?" I ask.
She draws a breath. "Those, young Herald, are long range ordnance weapons," she says. "Looks like he's moving them into position..."
"Ordnance?" I say. "What's that?"
"Artillery," says the Overseer. "They are used to attack the walls, and whatever lies beyond. It seems that Herald Kovas might be preparing to begin his assault quite imminently."
"You didn't know about this?" I ask.
"He mentioned it before you arrived," Dianna says. "That's why he had the map of Haven up on the screen. From what we know, the defensive weapons in Haven have a range a little shorter than our own. That means we can park beyond their range, and fire upon the city."
"Fire upon the...he's just going to randomly start bombarding them?" I shake my head, shocked by it. But...should I be. Isn't this just the reality of war? "Shouldn't we," I go on, thinking, "I don't know, target military structure
s? What, he's just going to attack their citizens? They're innocent in all this, aren't they?"
"I...don't think that's the true intention," says the Overseer pensively. "We suspect, as we discussed just now, that the population of the city resides within Inner Haven. We have no capacity to shoot that far without coming into range of their own cannons and defensive weapons."
"So...? He's, what, just planning to fire at empty buildings? What's the point in that?"
"Aside from him being a fool?" says Dianna. She shakes her head. "No, he isn't that foolish. It could be misdirection. Make them think it's our only strategy. Or perhaps a form of terror warfare. Make them so afraid or our might that their resolve is weakened. Force them, perhaps, to merely lay down and give us the keys to the city."
"Huh. Yeah, like that's going to happen," I huff. "Why wouldn't he just attack the walls, try to break them down so we can get inside? Is that too...obvious?"
"Well, perhaps we will do that eventually," says the Overseer. "Maybe he's aiming to clear the buildings within a certain part of the city, so that we can then enter without being forced through a bottleneck. He is a bold man, and very direct, but he is acutely aware that our numbers are finite, and so are our resources here. He must be smart when engaging in any attack. If we lose too many men, we will be forced to return home."
"And the same goes for our rations and provisions of food," says Dianna. "We have enough for an extended siege, but they can certainly outlast us. When he says he has plans to defeat them within days, it could just be his typical bluster, or maybe he really does have something up his sleeve."
I look to Gailen, as if hoping he might have some insight. The Overseer does the same, acting translator, as the two connect eyes. Gailen shrugs lightly, and the Overseer turns to us.
"He was hardly privy," he says, "to many of their war meetings. Gailen's strengths lie elsewhere. I'm sure, in time, we will be included in his plans. He just needs some time to cool."
"Yes, well he wouldn't get so flustered if he actually gave us something to go on," Dianna says. "He is treating us as subordinate soldiers to be directed when he pleases." She shakes her head, eyes dropping momentarily. "Perhaps that's all we are, really. I just... I just don't respect the man as I did Perses. His loss is..."
She goes quiet a moment, a fresh wind of sadness blowing between us. The light rumble of the transports continues to hum in the air, rolling off to set their guns in place.
At least, a part of me thinks, he's acting fast.
Expediting the outcome of this war, one way or another.
That can only be a good thing.
93
Our little group disbands, leaving me with an afternoon to wonder where my next order is going to come from.
Gailen heads off, indicating that he wishes to help patrol our new borders. The Overseer, meanwhile, appears keen to visit once again with the barbarian captives. Lady Dianna, perhaps needing to let off some steam and try to relax, chooses to go and tend her garden, a pastime that she appears to have brought with her from Olympus, and one that seems comically out of place amid a war.
They wander off, going their separate ways, and I stand amid the quarters of the Heralds and Chosen, considering what next to do with myself. Having spent many weeks now keeping to a particular schedule, it seems odd to have landed more permanently. And where I might be off training with Elian, or else hearing some of Perses's wisdom, I now find myself bereft of both.
I decide to take a wander, moving back through the camp as it continues to unpack and unload, growing ever more into a functioning military base, well protected along its borders by shields and sentries, dug in at various lookout points along our lines.
I know, of course, that Jude is part of the effort to build those dugouts and sentry positions, one that I suspect will be highly dangerous. Yes, they will have soldiers there to help protect them as they work, but any sudden attack from the enemy will likely put them in great peril.
I try not to think too deeply on it as I wander towards the Fringers' area of the camp, set towards the rear of our lines and, it would appear, operating as another form of defensive barrier should the enemy manage to breach our lines that way. Unlike our high command, situated towards the front of the camp, and yet well protected by barracks and training areas and a high proliferation of defensive positions, the rear is left a little more unguarded.
The Fringers' camp, as it's known to be called - of course, they cannot surely be spoken as part of the 'main' camp - thus stands as a further line of defence, a hurdle for any attacking force to get through should they wish to try their luck that way.
Such a thing, of course, is considered highly unlikely. While we are prepared for sneak attacks and sabotage, the idea of a full enemy force coming to invade our new position isn't deemed as a concern. No, we are here as the attacking army. Their role, within this war as designed by us, is merely to defend.
I ponder things idly as I go, still needing to have a proper rest after the few hours I grabbed in the carriage on the way here. I will, in time, put my head down and rest, and let my dreams forge into nightmares, attacking my unconscious mind as I sleep. I have no defence against that, of course, and I'm certain that I'll be reliving those last moments with Perses for many years to come.
My wandering takes me through the camp, reaching that used by the Fringers, slightly detached from the main concentration of our forces. I walk across the short stretch of field that sits empty, noting how quiet the carriages and accommodations ahead seem to be. Only a few of the older workers and slaves linger around, performing minor labours suited to their age and whatever expertise, if you can call it that, they possess. I consider asking where the others are, but realise that I already know the answer. They are out there, beyond the safety of the camp, crafting the sentry positions utilised by our watchmen and sentinels.
I do, however, notice the figure of old Ralph, the Fringers' infirmary set off to one side next to a series of billets used by the workers. He sits, as he so often does, with a cigarette puffing into the clear air, polluting it as it does his lungs. I get the impression that he's almost trying to speed along his passing, as if he's had quite enough of this life and wishes to see it end.
That goes against his general manner, of course, which is ever bright and breezy, at least in my company. He spots me and, breaking protocol without a worry in the world, waves me over to join him. I do so, drawn to the old man's good nature like a moth to a flame. He reminds me, I think, of a simpler world and simpler time. In many ways, he helps me stay grounded here when the world might otherwise just swallow me up.
His eyes are sad, however, as I near him, his old face dotted with prickly groupings of grey stubble, sprouting from his chin and cheeks in unusual patterns. He shakes his head and puffs out a final cloud of smoke from his lungs, billowing off into the sky to speedily join the rest.
"Dreadful, just dreadful news," he says as I near. "I am truly sorry, Mistress. Truly I am."
I know, immediately, that word has reached his ear by now about the death of the great Perses. The entire camp, though it has plenty of work to do, will be feelingly similarly saddened right now by the news.
I don't really have anything to say. Ralph is fully aware that I've been travelling with Perses all this time, learning the ways of the Heralds, operating under his wing. His loss is devastating for us all, the military not quite the same without him. Yet for me, it's more personal. He was almost as a father to me out there, guiding me, protecting and teaching me. I feel...so lost without him.
And, to make things so much worse, I feel as if I've lost Elian too.
"I heard what happened," Ralph goes on. "I don't know what to think, to be honest. I honestly don't believe it. It is true, then? Perses and..."
I nod abruptly, stopping him from saying any more. I don't know if he's aware that I was there too at the time. I doubt whether that particular bit of information has yet spread. I'd rather it didn't, to be honest. I
t would only lead to sympathy from some, perhaps, and blame, even, from others.
I can take neither. I just want to get on with my job now, and forget.
"We're...dealing with it," I say. "The army is more than one man. We have no choice but to look forward."
He looks at me silently, quite able to see that I'm merely speaking words that, right now, we all need to follow. Words that, probably he imagines, have been spoken by Herald Kovas and the other leaders, ordered to be spread around the camp to avoid a panic. And were he to have done that, I'd have found myself in rare agreement with the man.
We do need to look forward.
We do need to put on hold our collective grief.
"You're...right, Mistress," Ralph says. "I'm supposing that these, er, Havenites are a little tougher than we expected, then?"
"I'd say that's a fair assessment," I say. "We have to remember that these are their lands. They likely know how to defend them best."
"Right, right. And they've had their own wars, haven't they? I guess you grow used to it after a while. Know how to be, I don't know, efficient with that you've got."
I turn around the much smaller Fringer camp once again, a lonely place right now, though far more peaceful than that across the way. It strikes me that, aside from being under the command of the Children of the Prime, this might be a rather nice place to settle, were they somewhere far away. Beyond, perhaps, the influence of any party who might try to dominate them.
Just a simple people, hunting and gathering, sowing the fields and growing crops, cultivating a pleasant little community without the larger problems that begin to brew when a society outgrows itself. I imagine that - or perhaps hope is a better word - there are places like that dotted here and there, friendly little communities where each person has a say, a role, a place among them.
"Maybe you should all just run away," I say, looking around. "You and the rest of the Fringers. Find somewhere...better. While the fighting is going on."
