The next day, I accompanied our lady up the stone steps which led to the top of the walls. With us were Jon Ploster and my lieutenants. The city’s archers were spread along here, far too thinly, for the wall stretched long across the width of the headland upon which the town had been built. I nodded at their leader, Captain Grange, as I passed him. He looked at me, but did not offer a greeting. As my party scanned the distant fields, I told them what they’d already seen for themselves.
“Bonecruncher has arrived,” I said.
“He’s getting lazy now that he’s only got one arm,” said Sinnar with a barking laugh. “He should have been here yesterday.”
“I doubt he’s in a rush to assail the walls by himself. Gagnol won’t want him to waste nearly half of their army by throwing men at us before he’s arrived with his own,” I said. The small silver mirror that Warmont had used to communicate with me was only one of many. His most trusted captains often bore one, so that they could speak across vast distances. Gagnol had the power to speak to Bonecruncher even without one.
There were several turrets along the walls of Treads, which provided an even better vantage of the surrounding countryside. The dwellings which clustered outside the walls were not tall enough to block our line of sight entirely, but they did cause an obstruction.
“He doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry,” said Lieutenant Craddock.
“They’ll be ready to go,” I warned him. “They’ll have had their camp somewhere close by and then a half-morning’s march to get here. His men will be as fresh as we’ll see them.” I turned to our lady, where she stood next to me, craning for a look at the infantry we faced. “My lady, can you sense if Gagnol is close? I don’t expect them to hesitate when he arrives. They will form up and come down this main street without waiting for our by-your-leave.”
“Will they bring siege machinery?” she asked, before it sunk in that it would not be battering rams that would tear down the gates.
“It will get bloody in the square behind the main gates,” I said. “The bodies of the dead will be piled high within the hour of Gagnol reaching us.”
Our lady took on a faraway stare and I sensed a part of her drop into the threads beneath the surface of the world we saw. This part of her flew out to the south, seeking to locate Warmont’s Second as he approached us. As I studied her face, she turned to me and smiled. This simple act hinted at the extent of her untrained skill, for Ploster had once told me that the act of searching took an enormous focus to ensure that the spirit did not lose its path back to the mind.
After a few moments her smile twisted suddenly into a look of pain, and her piercing, blue eyes closed as she sank to her knees. Ploster was there at once, putting his arm about her to stop her from toppling over. She groaned for a few seconds as we hardened soldiers fluttered around ineffectually, wondering what to do.
“What is it, Jon?” I demanded.
“She’s found Gagnol and the sorcerer does not want her to return.”
“Fuck!” I exclaimed. “What can we do?”
Ploster smiled without humour. “Nothing at all, except wait.”
We didn’t have to wait for long, which was fortunate, since we were not used to the frustration of being unable to influence events. With a grunt, our lady pushed herself to her feet, wobbled once and then steadied herself.
“He caught me unawares,” she said, her voice weak. “And nearly cut off my path back.”
Then, with her voice becoming stronger she smiled again, though it was partly a grimace. “He’s made a mistake, the bastard. I’ve seen him now and he won’t catch me like that again. We need to speak to the Treads Council immediately. Gagnol will be here in two hours.”
The Blackhearted arrived as our lady had predicted, at the head of his infantry. By that time, every fighting man in Treads had been mustered and they lined the walls, or clustered in the narrow square behind the main gates. From their formation and discipline, I could see that they had been trained and drilled, but I doubted they’d seen much action. The cities of the Emperor’s realm were not permitted to maintain a standing army, though many had a trained militia, ostensibly to keep the peace or protect their base from bandits. In a town so far from Warmont’s capital, I wasn’t surprised to find that they had managed to equip so many men without detection. They weren’t quite a rabble, but I was worried that their fervour might quickly become fear once they saw what happened to a man when a sword was driven into his guts.
“Get Footsore up here,” I said. The men need to see what they’re fighting for.
Shortly, the First Cohort’s standard-bearer arrived. He was thickset and broad, with a heavy brow and a gruff sense of humour. He carried a tall, wooden pole in his hands. Atop the pole was a piece of cloth, hung from a horizontal piece of wood on the pole, so that it would be visible even when there was no wind to blow it. The flag was white and upon it was a bright yellow depiction of the sun.
“Captain Charing, thank you for my standard. Where is your own?” she asked.
“Your standard is now ours, my lady. If we are to be born anew, we must change from that which we were. This one is a bit rough up close, but it’s all that Footsore could come up with in the time he had.”
She nodded at that. “We will keep it as it is Captain Charing. I like the idea that perfection is only possible when looked at from far away.”
I looked into the town square once again. All eyes were focused on our lady’s banner.
“They need to see it at all times, or to know you are close. You have a radiance that gives them hope and will keep a wavering man with his comrades. You are now their leader and your strength and guidance must be apparent to all.”
“I understand, Captain Charing.” Again, she had that set of her face. I wondered to myself if the Saviour was nothing but this young woman I saw before me – a remarkable young woman, but a woman nonetheless – or if she was something more. Was she guided by a powerful spirit or even a demi-god that lived inside her? Could it be that there was nothing human about her at all and that she was merely a vessel, a plaything, for such a being, sent here to toy with the lives of men? If I had asked myself that question only a dozen years earlier I would have not cared. Perhaps I would not have even had the wherewithal to have asked myself the question. Now, on the walls of Treads, I found the question an unusually important one and I hoped more than anything else that our lady was a woman and nothing more than that. To feel that our success or failure could be guided by an otherworldly hand would diminish our own efforts, making us unnecessary participants in the war to come.
We turned our attention to the troops massing on the fields in the distance.
“All infantry, as far as I can tell, Captain,” said Lieutenant Sinnar.
“No, not all, I think, Lieutenant.” I strained my eyes to see. “They’ve got Mongrels with them. Not many. A couple of hundred, maybe.”
Sinnar’s eyes gleamed and he smiled. “Been a while since I saw one of those. I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to face them.”
“They’ll cause a mess inside the walls,” I said. “If they get too far into the city.”
“Will he send them over first?” asked Lieutenant Craddock.
“Possibly. Gagnol likes to use chaos as a shield for him to work behind. It could be that he’ll just send them in after we’re all occupied elsewhere, to kill as many people as he can. I am sure the Duke has told his Second to set an example here,” I told him. “Can any of you make out the liveries of the men with the Blackhearted? I think I know who they are.”
“Green on red, looks like to me,” said Sinnar.
“That’s what I thought. Regulars out of Graster. I wonder how he got them here so soon.”
“Last you told us there were only five thousand in Graster, Captain.”
“Now there’re ten thousand of the bastards. Five thousand of the Duke’s least capable troops, joined by five thousand new recruits. Things may be looking up, men.�
� I said.
“I’ll bet Gagnol was furious when he found out what he’d been given,” said Craddock. “I’ll bet it felt like a kick in his empty, shrivelled balls.”
I laughed at that. “I’m sure you’re correct, Lieutenant. Gagnol can travel a lot faster than his men but he’ll have realised the necessity of working with any tool he could lay his hands on. Though it’s good news for us today, it suggests that Warmont is building up again. If he can get five thousand extra out of Graster and strips Blades in the same way, he’s going to double the number of fighting men he has.”
“They’ll be nothing to worry about if they’re fresh off the training ground, Captain,” said Sinnar with confidence.
“I agree with you Sinnar. But in two years or three, they’ll have been knocked into shape. They won’t be battle-hardened until they see some action, but if they can hold a line, that’s enough to make them a threat.”
“Aye Captain. Let us hope that we face men who will run once they see who they face.”
I nodded. “And I want Bonecruncher’s head this time.”
Our lady had been standing by listening to our exchange, absorbing the words.
“Captain Charing, I have asked Commander Wolf to position her men along the walls and down in the square below. Where would you advise me to place the First Cohort?” she asked.
“Straight behind the gate,” I said with a grin. “I’m sure these other boys of Treads are brave enough, but they’ll need us to form their backbone. If I could spare him, I’d have Lieutenant Sinnar put in charge of their infantry, but I want him with me for now.”
“Maybe later, Captain,” said Sinnar. “When we’ve sent Gagnol’s men running from us with shit in their pants and had ourselves a look inside the Blackhearted’s visor to see what he’s hiding in there these days.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, Lieutenant. We’ll have two of Warmont’s Five for our trophy cabinet today. Bonecruncher’s head and Gagnol’s withered cock.”
I noticed our lady blinking uncertainly. “You have a trophy cabinet?” she asked, betraying some naivety.
I kept my face as straight as I could. “No, my lady. We have no trophy cabinet, but after today we’ll build one.” After all these many years, I still had the remnants of a foot soldier’s humour.
We were distracted from our verbal interplay by a shout from the wall.
“Someone approaches!”
Our position in the turret allowed us a fine vantage into the distant fields, but not into the main street that led from the outskirts to the main gates. We hurried back to the wall, so that we might see who it was that came.
“Gagnol!” I hissed.
He came towards the gates, seven feet tall in his blood-red plate armour. He walked jerkily and stiffly, but I had seen how quickly he could move if he needed to. It took him several minutes until he got close enough to speak. He stood without fear and within range of the Treads archers. For a moment, I considered suggesting that we throw open the postern gate and try to overcome the sorcerer, but I didn’t know if Warmont’s men had infiltrated the surrounding houses, waiting to strike if such an opportunity arose. Also, Gagnol would likely have ample time to escape if he saw what we planned.
He looked up at the walls. “Who is in charge?” he asked. His voice was a sibilant whisper, but cruel to the core. He spoke quietly, but we could all hear it, in the same way that the Saviour’s voice had carried when we ourselves stood at the gates.
“I am in charge,” said our lady, loudly and without fear. “Take your men and leave us, sorcerer-slave.”
From here we could see Gagnol’s eyes glowing a faint white through his closed visor. He chuckled to himself. “You are not in charge here. This the Duke’s town, to do with as he pleases.”
“This is the free town of Treads. We do not recognize Warmont’s claim to it. Go back and tell your master that change is coming. I am the Saviour and I will lead the people of these lands to victory over anyone who challenges our freedom.”
“Bold words, Saviour, but we will not be leaving here until the Duke’s wishes are fulfilled.” Then, Gagnol caught sight of me. “Tyrus Charing. You are on the wrong side of the wall,” he said mockingly. “I thought you enjoyed working for the Duke. Open the gates for us and you may be forgiven.”
It was all lies and Gagnol wasn’t even expecting me to believe them. I didn’t grace him with a reply and he continued:
“Bonecruncher is looking forward to seeing you again, after your cowardly attack on him recently. Twelve onto one? A very poor showing, Captain Charing. You will be pleased to learn that I have managed to save his arm. Next time you meet him, he will be as hale and hearty as he ever was.”
“We’re going to have his head this time,” I shouted back. “And we’ll have a look at what’s inside your plates. Is Warmont’s poker still up your backside, withered man?” I was not ashamed to exchange insults and was quite happy to anger Gagnol if I could – if you can change a man’s demeanour, you have shown him that you have some control over him.
Gagnol was an old hand and didn’t fall for it. “I am pledged to the Duke and to the Emperor above him. You would do well to remember your debt to Malleus.”
“All debts are paid, Gagnol. Except those we owe to the people of these lands. You know that the First Cohort always pay what we owe.”
“Bravo, Captain of the People. Let us see how you fare now that you have turned your back on the Emperor’s protection. I hope that your Saviour is everything you wanted her to be. When I bring her to the Duke, he will enjoy her so much more if she is.”
“You always did like to talk, Gagnol,” I shouted.
He turned without a word and put his back to us.
“Should I order the archers to fire?” asked our lady.
“No, don’t waste our ammunition. Their arrows can’t get through his armour.”
“What can, then? Must I face him with magic?” she asked.
I drew my own sword and showed her the blade. Runes and markings skittered along its length, catching the light and gleaming as I turned it slowly in front of her.
“My lady, we have lost battles we have been part of, but our unit has never seen defeat. We are feared wherever we fight and it is not merely because of our reputation. Gagnol will not want us to get close to him and that will be our advantage. It will start soon - you may want to order the blocking of the postern gate.”
The order was given and we felt an enormous, low shuddering from deep within the wall, as the pins holding a gigantic stone block in place were removed, letting the stone behind the postern gate fall into place, sealing that doorway permanently.
Warmont’s Second remained outside of the walls, with his back to us. As I’d expected, several of the archers thought they’d try their luck and a smattering of arrows sailed over, two of them striking the metal-clad figure below. The archers were using long bows and heavy arrows, which would punch easily through normal plate at this distance. Against Gagnol’s armour they did nothing, plinking away onto the ground as if they’d been fired into the side of a granite cliff. The sorcerer didn’t even acknowledge that he’d been struck, and continued to stare back towards the fields where he’d stationed his troops.
Except that they were no longer stationed there. They’d been marshalled, and marched towards the gates of Treads, six abreast in the confines of the street. Those at the front and for many ranks behind, carried iron-tipped wooden spears and shields to complement their iron-and-leather chest guards and helmets. Much further away from us, the back lines of the enemy had only short swords and wooden bucklers – the armaments of expendable men. Soon, the street leading up to the gates was full of Warmont’s men, who waited silently, watching for any arrows coming their way. There was a space of about fifty yards between the last building outside the wall and the wall itself, but the enemy didn’t venture here, staying within the shelter offered by the roofs and walls of the houses. If I’d had t
he time, I would have insisted that the buildings closest to the town’s main walls were demolished and their rubble scattered about in such a way that it provided no cover, yet was an impediment to foot soldiers trying to traverse it in formation. I had my regrets, but I never dwelled on what might or might not have been in a battle.
The air seemed to become still for a time as we up high looked down upon those below, each knowing that we’d soon be doing our best to kill the other. This was the time when hands would become clammy and jaws become tight. I knew that the men of Treads would be cracking jokes nervously amongst themselves, as a distraction from what was coming.
We only get one life and though mine had been longer than any behind the walls, I could still remember my own fear at the dawn of a battle, even where the odds were stacked in my favour. I found myself empathising with these people and telling myself that the First Cohort would do everything we could to keep them alive to fight another day, in order that they could become the veterans of our lady’s army. With a start, I realised that I had already started to change. It had been a long time since I’d cared for the lives of anyone outside of my men. Always in the past, I had felt nothing.
Gagnol the Blackhearted gave no visible sign, beyond turning once more to face the gates. He didn’t need to speak to betray his intentions. I knew I was much more sensitive than most to the flows of power, but even the blindest of men can tell when he is getting hit with a stick. There was a rush of wind, rapid, but which quickly dissipated. There was the shortest of pauses before I felt Gagnol release the energy he had pent up within him. There was a boom, hideously loud and centred on both gates. The noise reached us on the walls, the shock from it buffeting those who were not hidden completely behind the battlements.
“He’s grown stronger,” I said to Ploster and our lady.
“I am not sure if Warmont would relish another confrontation with his Second,” Ploster responded. “I’ll bet that he keeps that crystal vial well hidden.”
I chuckled. “The Duke may be grateful to us by the end of the day. Perhaps he sent Gagnol here in the hope that the Saviour will emerge victorious.” It was an interesting thought. “Ploster, do you think you can do anything to unbalance the sorcerer while he strikes at our doors?”
Soldiers' Redemption (First Cohort Book 1) Page 13
