Soldiers' Redemption (First Cohort Book 1)

by M. R. Anthony

  On the thirteenth morning of our stay, I was alerted by Lieutenant Craddock that a column of men approached, from the same direction as we had entered the town. I was there to greet them as they rode in on their overworked horses. They were a hundred and one all told, and with them were many wagons. These wagons had bars in place of windows and they were all empty. I knew immediately what they were for.

  The lead man was dressed in lightweight armour of hardened leather, with bands of metal fixed in place with studs. He carried a sword at his side, and a metal cosh hung from his belt. He dismounted smoothly in front of me.

  “Captain Charing?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m Captain Fide. I’m here to relieve you and take command of this town.” Fide was a tall man, with an imperious face and his chin clean shaven, in spite of the journey.

  “Captain Fide, we will go inside so that we can discuss matters.” I didn’t offer him pleasantries or refreshments. I was a soldier and since he was a justiciar, I knew him to be a torturing bully. I didn’t need him to like me, nor was I interested in whether he did so or not.

  Someone else spoke. “Captain Charing, I feel that I should attend as well. I have certain instructions for you.” This second voice came from a hunched figure seated in the saddle of a black mare. The figure was dressed in black robes, covering most of his face. His voice was sibilant and strangely unpleasant.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The figure reached up and drew back its hood. Beneath it was a pale, white face. This man had a slack red-lipped mouth, flat nose and strangely yellow eyes. He had no hair at all and his pate was spotted with brown marks of age. “I’m Dag’Vosh,” he said. “Third of Warmont’s Five.”

  “Sinnar, see these men to the stables and then let them alone. Craddock, let Ploster know that Warmont’s Third has arrived.”

  I led Fide and Dag’Vosh over our compound and to my office. As we passed, the First Cohort’s men looked at the sorcerer with curiosity. They knew who he was and what he was. The men were not fearful, but knew that the sorcerer was by far the most dangerous man in the town.

  When the was door closed, I didn’t bother to sit, nor to offer my guests the opportunity to do so. Dag’Vosh helped himself to a seat anyway. There was no point in further greetings or niceties - I was not a diplomat.

  “Captain Fide. I assume you will want the morning to familiarise yourself with the town before you take on your duties. I won’t bother to make any suggestions – I’m sure you know what you’re going to do.” I turned my gaze to Dag’Vosh. “You said you have instructions for me, sorcerer.”

  “Indeed I do,” he said. “Duke Warmont insists that the First Cohort follow my direct command until I decide your men are no longer required. You will assist me. Then you are to make all haste to Treads. War is coming and the First Cohort will be needed where the fighting is fiercest.”

  “I command the First Cohort,” I snapped. “Any instruction comes through me. No one else will give orders to my men!”

  The sorcerer paused and narrowed his eyes, evidently weighing up whether or not this was something worth challenging. I felt tendrils of his power snaking around me, probing at my mind as he sought to find any weaknesses in my mental walls. I saw his surprise when he found out that I was not so easily unravelled.

  “Very well, Captain Charing,” he said. “All orders will come from me, to you and then to your men. Be prepared to act, though, for we will be leaving Nightingale as soon as we are able. Later this afternoon would be acceptable. We will need supplies for several days at least.”

  I must confess I was surprised at this turn of events. I’d imagined we were to be sent immediately off to Treads or Farthest. I’d mentally begun to prepare for a real battle. The coastal cities would not be easily defeated if they chose to hide behind their walls and attempt to last out a siege. Warmont’s navy was hardly more than a dozen warships - I doubted he could maintain any sort of blockade against these cities, nor bombard them into submission.

  “We will make the necessary preparations and will be ready to move by the middle of this afternoon.” I said these words with certainty. We were always ready to move.

  “Captain Charing,” said Fide. “On our approach, I noticed that you have almost thirty of your men stationed outside of a storage building of some sort. Have you had trouble?”

  “No trouble at all. The people of Nightingale have been defeated and they know it. The building you speak of holds the prisoners from their beaten army.”

  “Prisoners?” asked Fide. “I was told there were no prisoners.”

  “There are always prisoners, Captain Fide. Not every man dies in battle. Some run away and are captured, while some fall with injuries from which they will recover.”

  I had never met Captain Fide, but already I thought that I hated him. I doubted he’d ever fought in a real, proper scrap, knee-deep in shit and guts, where the screaming of the living and the dying were the only sounds you could hear. Where you strain every sinew to overcome the enemy, knowing that they are equally determined and the only thing that distinguishes them from you is your will to beat the odds. The justiciars never fought a fair fight. They used cruelty and fear to cow people who were not fighters – farmers and shopkeepers were their usual opponents. The odds were never against them; hence they never knew the fear that they might one day lose.

  “You will have them killed!” Fide spluttered. “The Duke demands it!”

  I took a stride towards him. There was no threat in the movement, but Fide’s brain forced his mouth closed before it could say anything that would get him into trouble. I am not a small man. The tattoos and scars that criss-cross my face tell their own story about my past.

  “The First Cohort are soldiers,” I told him quietly. There was no need to give him further detail – he either understood or he did not. All I needed was for him to keep quiet and in this he obliged me.

  “Captain Charing, we will take our leave from you now,” said the sorcerer. “I will expect the First Cohort to be ready to move out at the promised time.” I didn’t reply and they left my office.

  The sun was past its mid-way point in the sky when we gathered in the compound. Five hundred and eighty men, fully armed and with enough provisions to see us through a month of hard marching. I doubted we’d need so much, but I was a firm believer that you should take full advantage of the ability to prepare. A soldier never died because he was overprepared, whilst many was the army that had foundered through a lack of provisions and materiel. I would not be a man who lost a battle because of my own failings.

  Warmont’s Third was upon his horse and he looked around him knowingly as we stood muster.

  “Can you nullify him?” I asked Ploster. We were meant to be on the same side, but I liked information – I thrived on knowing it, though Ploster had often warned me that too much of it could cloud a man’s vision.

  “No,” said Ploster without hesitation. “He’s the real deal, while I’m just a man who knows some tricks.”

  “More than just a few tricks, friend,” I told him, but took the warning on board. Until I knew why the sorcerer was here, or what he wanted, I wasn’t willing to trust him. Warmont’s Third or not.

  Waiting was a game I had never enjoyed, though some would say that a man never enjoys a game that he is not good at. I knew we were headed north, through the far fields of Nightingale, so I raised my arm in a signal to show Craddock and Sinnar that it was time to move. Even as I lowered my clenched fist, I saw billowing smoke from near the outskirts of town. The steady wind brought more than just a chill and carried with it the faint sounds of voices shouting in panic.

  “The prisoners, Captain,” said Sinnar. “The bastards have set the building alight.”

  I knew that Lieutenant Sinnar was correct and as we marched out of our compound in perfect order, my eye caught sight of Captain Fide upon his horse. He had a victor’s smile on his face and tried to meet my gaze as we walked past. I didn’t give him the sat
isfaction, but marked him as a man who would suffer an accident should our paths ever cross again. The First Cohort had many men with no past who were skilled in the arts of murdering a man without being seen.

  As we marched through Nightingale’s central square, the doors of the town’s ancient clock opened and a carved wooden bird emerged on its stand, to sing most beautifully while we walked beneath. As far as I knew it hadn’t sung once in the two weeks since we’d arrived. The emotion of music was the one thing that many of us had remained susceptible to, even after the changes wrought upon us, and I noticed several of the men wiping at imaginary motes in their eyes as they heard the bird’s exquisite voice.

  Behind, there was the harsh clatter of horse’s hooves across the uneven pavement of the street. The rider guided his horse through the men, until he walked close by me.

  “Keen to be off, Captain?” asked Dag’Vosh.

  “I always keep my promises, sorcerer,” I responded. Neither of us smiled.

  The afternoon wore on and the sorcerer kept us directed with the occasional point of his finger, or wave of his hand. I could tell that he wasn’t certain of his exact path, for he would stop often, sometimes staring ahead as though he was in a trance. I was sure he was searching, though he gave no clue as to what it was that he sought. Nevertheless, the presence of Warmont’s Third was sufficient indication that we were looking for more than a lost bracelet.

  Night came quickly and the sky darkened, leaving only the brightness of the moon for illumination. It was clear and cloudless, making the night colder, though no one complained at the lateness of the hour or the lack of warmth. The rolling fields had long ago given way to a lumpy and uneven scrubland, with hidden pools of brackish water and loose rocks hidden beneath the tussocks. It was not a land safe to cross in the darkness, unless you wanted to risk a broken ankle, or worse and we brought few enough horses with us that we’d want one of them slaughtered for a broken leg.

  I ordered the stop. I’d expected complaints from Dag’Vosh, but he uttered none, simply dismounting and handing his horse over to Horsemaster Tradis’ care.

  In less than half an hour we’d established a secure camp, with guards stationed around the perimeter. I didn’t know these lands and wasn’t eager to fall prey to the unknown. In my youth, I’d been berated for my recklessness. As I’d grown older, that recklessness had been replaced by caution, though I was not averse to taking risks where the rewards were great enough. I told myself that it was wisdom and had yet to hear a convincing argument that it was something other.

  After we’d eaten, I retired to my tent with Ploster and the First Cohort’s two lieutenants to discuss what we knew of Treads and Farthest. Only Lieutenant Craddock had been to either.

  “I was there as a nipper,” he told us. “My old man was a wine merchant and he took us all to Treads as part of a trade caravan. He reckoned it would make our fortune and he took his finest wares with him. Stuff it took him months to afford. Anyway, we got attacked on the coast road by bandits. They killed my ma’ and my sister. My old man wasn’t a fighter. He managed to gather me up and ran with me. He told me later that the bandits chased him for a while, but they’d got what they’d come for, so didn’t bother with us. We got to Treads and lived there for a few years, but he was never the same again.”

  The wan candlelight in the tent scarce illuminated our faces as we sat in silence. I couldn’t recall Craddock speaking so much about his past, at least in one go. From the set of his jaw I could tell that the memories were strong, even with the passing of time.

  Our reverie was broken by the arrival of Dag’Vosh, who pushed his way into the tent without announcing himself.

  “And there’ve been no bandits on the coast road for fifty or a hundred years, until recently. I know the Duke is not a popular man, but he brings the rule of law and he upholds it, no matter what the cost.”

  “I won’t give you an argument on any of those things, sorcerer,” I said. “We’ve fought for Warmont for long enough to know what he stands for.”

  “You sound as though you have doubts,” replied Dag’Vosh. It wasn’t clear if he asked a question or spoke rhetorically. Either way, the words were too laden with potential pitfalls for me to venture an answer.

  “You were talking about Treads, I believe,” the sorcerer continued. “In that at least, I’m sure we all share a similar interest.”

  “Aye, that we do. Lieutenant Craddock, please continue.”

  “I’m not sure I know much of the town that will be of use to us now, Captain. It was another lifetime that I lived there. I remember walls, as high as the eye could see, with turrets and spires of grey stone. There were great, wooden gates. They were never closed back then and I don’t even know if they worked.”

  “I assure you those gates work,” said Dag’Vosh. “Treads is very old and has seen its fair share of wars, both within its walls and without. It will not be an easy town to overcome and even the First Cohort will taste hardship.”

  “You sound like you’ve been there,” said Ploster.

  “I’ve been to many places in the Duke’s lands, and beyond them. I am not a village boy, with sight clouded by the confines of the limited things which he knows.”

  “What are we doing out here, sorcerer?” I asked. “Our path does not take us closer to the coast.”

  “You are correct, Captain. Tomorrow we shall enter the Lower Rans. What I seek is there. When I find it, you will make haste for the coast.”

  “You are not coming with us to Treads?” I asked, hopeful that our paths would soon diverge.

  “We’ll see,” he assured me, with a smile that was neither friendly nor one of menace. Dag’Vosh had little use for human niceties and was poor at them.

  “When we get to the Lower Rans, what do you need us for?” I was curious to learn what a sorcerer as powerful as Warmont’s Third might need so many men for. I already had an idea of what he hoped to find.

  “There may be trouble.” He paused for a moment. “And I might need men to assist in the search.”

  I was struck with a sudden realisation, from the way he spoke and the way he placed his words. Warmont does not know that he is out here. I had no way to be certain that what I thought was true, but I determined to speak to Ploster about it as soon as I could. I doubted that if the sorcerer found what he sought that it would be a benefit to the First Cohort. I never trusted a man whose motives were not clear to me. I didn’t mind secrets – everyone is entitled to keep that which is precious to themselves, and we in the First Cohort all had our secrets – but motives were what would drive a man to do things which benefitted himself to the detriment of others.

  “If there is to be trouble, I do not wish it to take my men by surprise,” I said, my tone making it clear that my ire would be great if we were caught unawares by something that we might otherwise have received warning of.

  “Rest assured, Captain. As soon as I have certainty on the extent of any perils, I will communicate them to you.” His muddy, yellow eyes glittered. “Believe it or not, it is in my interests and the interests of the Duke for the First Cohort to remain at full strength. It is not as though you can grow your numbers through recruitment, is it?”

  After that, the conversation died. Dag’Vosh was not a welcome guest and no one wished to talk in front of him, lest something of importance be inadvertently divulged. The sorcerer did not seem to mind, and he appeared to have his own thoughts to deal with. Craddock and Sinnar rose to leave, excusing themselves that they might go and mix with the men - the bonding was important. Dag’Vosh did not stay much longer; he simply pushed himself to his feet and left, without offering a word.

  When it seemed likely that distance was sufficient that he would not be overheard, Ploster spoke. “He’s a snake, Tyrus. We can’t trust him at all.”

  “I know, Jon. I feel it in my gut that he’s here on his own business. If that’s the case, he won’t hesitate to do whatever he needs to in order that his own goals a
re met.”

  “We’ve been away from Blades for too long. Away from the politics.”

  “Politics!” I spat. “What do we need to know of politics?” Even as I spoke the words I knew that I was being glib. Of course we needed to know what was happening in Warmont’s court. Knowledge was power and there were too many powerful men with too many conflicting aims for me to dismiss the politics as being worthless to a soldier. It was by the order of such men that we might live or die.

  “Keep an eye on him, Tyrus,” Ploster warned. “Warmont needs us, but it may be that Dag’Vosh does not.”

  “How will he cover his footprints if something befalls us?”

  “It may be that he has no concerns about it. Captain Fide belongs to the sorcerer – I could see it in the respect he showed. Treads is a long way distant. There is plenty of opportunity for something to happen to us as we travel.”

  “He will not outflank me. I am determined of that. And you will do your best to keep him chained,” I said.

  “I’ve started building my cage already, but he is old and cunning. It may be that I can’t delay him for long if it comes to a confrontation between our powers.”

  “I trust you, Jon, as much as I trust any of my men.” I told him.

  “I hope that I will not disappoint,” he replied with a grim smile.

  Five

  The following morning was the same as the one which preceded it, which is to say, cold and with the same, bitter wind that we had begun to feel embodied this misbegotten corner of Warmont’s domain. It remained dark for some time after we had roused ourselves. The men were restless to make progress, but the morning’s darkness was no less dangerous than that of the evening. I didn’t know if the First Cohort’s impatience with waiting was something I had instilled in them, or if it was a part of our changing. Maybe I was wrong when I said that I do not like to wait, as if it’s a trait I’ve always possessed. It could be that our past has defined our future more than I have imagined. I was sure that time would make things clearer, as it always did.