In front and to the side of the First Cohort, the enemy line sagged their infantry tried to see what was behind them, as well as fend off attacks from my men. Sinnar and Craddock could read these signs as well as I could, and they redoubled their efforts, shouting at my men to press forward and drive away the enemy. We did just that, shouting our own war cries in signal of our impending victory.
Warmont’s men trampled over each other to squeeze through the funnel of the gateway, and we pursued them, cutting them down without mercy, not caring that we were driving our swords into the backs of men. Across the square, I was able to make out the Treads infantry doing the same, hoping to destroy the Duke’s ability to use these armies against the town again. On the wall, the few remaining archers who had arrows to use, were sending their shafts into the exposed backs of the fleeing army.
I allowed the First Cohort to follow until we were close to the gateway through the wall, then I called us to a halt. In the past, I had allowed my men to pursue our enemies until they were all slain, but on this day I did not wish to do so. Perhaps a part of me knew that we might one day require these men to fight with us against a common enemy, or perhaps I felt that the men of our lady should be honourable. Honour is a strange concept and though the First Cohort had always possessed its own rules of combat, I did not think that other men would have considered them to be honourable. Whatever the truth of it, we had won on this day and the enemy had lost.
I heard a barked command from elsewhere and I watched as the Treads infantry ended their own pursuit. These were soldiers unused to combat or victory, so it took two repeats of the order before the most hot-headed of them realised that they were being told to stop. The banner of our lady had not moved at all from where it had been when she faced Bonecruncher, and I already knew that she would have been sickened by the slaughter enacted by the pursuers.
What felt like a complete silence descended over the town square, as the enormity of what had happened sunk in to the inexperienced infantry who had defended their town. I watched men stare dumbly around them, not quite sure what to do. One or two dropped their swords to the ground, as shock took over and they realised that they were standing not upon hard, familiar stone, but upon a vast red carpet of bodies, blood, severed limbs and smashed armour. I watched several sink to their haunches and I knew from experience that their eyes would be glazed and their minds seeking escape somewhere within.
“First Cohort! Close lines! Forward face!” I shouted. Under the direction of Lieutenant Craddock I had us move into position in front of the passageway through the wall. I knew the enemy wasn’t coming back, but I had no intention of turning victory into defeat because of my own stubborn certainty.
I left my men and picked my way across the town square towards our lady’s banner. I guessed that Warmont had lost six thousand men here today – a stinging blow for the man, but I knew that the loss of life would not concern him greatly. The Duke’s only concern was for victory and if he’d had to lose all eighteen thousand of his men today to ensure it, I doubted that he would have spared the matter too much thought. The death of Bonecruncher would cause enormous anger, but I could picture the Duke’s glee when he learned that Gagnol had also perished.
Our lady was surrounded by infantrymen, who stepped aside as I approached, one or two of them doing so grudgingly. I met their eyes as I brushed past and they looked back at me, with a new-found sense of their own worth.
“How are you doing?” I asked. I could see that she was as shocked as some of her men, but doing her best to conceal it. She attempted a smile.
“A great victory for us today,” she said.
“One that Warmont will not quickly forget,” I replied. “Nor these men from Treads either.”
“They fought well.”
“Far better than I had expected them to,” I admitted. Something caught my eye, a few yards away and half-covered in charred bodies. It looked like a huge, misshapen lump of cracked charcoal, about eight feet in length. “Bonecruncher’s surprise was great when you burned him.” I said.
“His resistance to my power was difficult to overcome, but I wanted him to be close before I destroyed him.”
I asked the simple question, hoping that she’d give me the answer I wanted to hear. “Why?” I asked.
She smiled weakly at me. “If I’d have burned him the moment he stepped through the gate, these men of Treads would have learned nothing. Now they have been pushed to their limits and beyond. They will come out of it much stronger for the battles that lie ahead. The war will be about men and women, not magic. I must have those who follow me be willing and prepared to fight with everything they have, rather than fight with half a heart as they wait for me to vanquish their foes with magic.” She dropped her voice. “I am not sure I am as powerful as they hope.”
I smiled back at her, though I felt remorse at the burden of guilt she would have to carry over the decision she’d made. The freedom of these lands would come at a price and the people needed a leader who was willing to pay it in order to ensure victory. I prayed to the gods I didn’t believe in that she’d be capable of balancing along the line between sacrifice for her cause and compassion for her men.
Fifteen
We cleared up the detritus of battle, though it took the better part of a day and the stains of blood and bile would take longer to swab away. None of my men enjoyed the task though they were inured to the emotional distress - when it came to the deaths of others at least. We had come through the battle with fewer casualties than had all other units, but with fifty-six dead and another eighty carrying injuries of some sort, this was one of the worst days we’d suffered in a long time. I knew that the other soldiers wondered how we escaped so lightly, when their own casualties numbered over one thousand, but we did not die as easily as other people. In order for one of our own to be killed, the trauma to his body needed to be great. Even disease did not seem to affect us anymore, nor gangrene set in around our bloodless wounds. I was sure that there were many men who would see our longevity and hardiness as a great blessing and wish for it themselves, but we had made other sacrifices to obtain these things. In all honesty, I would have been reluctant to give up what I had, but I couldn’t say if I would accept the Emperor’s gift were I once more back at the start.
I didn’t use the privilege of rank to escape these unwholesome duties, and waded in with the rest of the men as we tirelessly hauled the dead outside the walls and dumped them in a tangled heap, friend and foe alike. Once dead, a man has no enemies.
People from the town, alerted by news of victory, arrived in great numbers, many scanning the faces of the living, before turning to search amongst the bodies, wailing as they desperately prayed that their flesh and blood would not be amongst them. Everything was a confusion and I couldn’t blame them – how often were people put into a situation like this? By the time someone had arranged a team of soldiers to take an inventory of the dead, it was too late and the pile of bodies outside was too high to search through. They’d have to rely on memory and guesswork to compile a list of their dead and I pitied the relatives for the uncertainty of their future.
Wood was fetched, in great bundles, and packed around the bodies, along with sacks of coal fetched up from the city’s warehouses. The pyre was lit and it smouldered for some time as the flames struggled to take hold. Flesh does not willingly ignite and more fuel was brought as the townsfolk gathered around in misery, listening to the crackling sounds of flesh and fat as it slowly roasted in the flame. The prevailing winds, which invariably blew in from the sea, seemed to swirl and change direction, pulling the thick, black smoke and the stench it carried, back over the wall and into the town itself.
Our lady was young and inexperienced, but I knew that she was missing an opportunity to lift the hearts of these people before they sank into a permanent despair. I had determined to seek her out, when she appeared above us on the walls. There must have been fifteen or twenty thousand people from the town
who had gathered to see the dead and her voice reached them all. It came soft into every ear and into every heart. No one took their eyes from the crackling pyre, but a warmth reached them – not the warmth on their skin from the dead who burned, but a comforting feeling of comradeship with the people around them and also those who had died.
“My people, your sacrifice has been great today. We are the first in two hundred years to have inflicted such a defeat upon the Duke. I weep for our loss, but our deeds will light the flames of rebellion across his lands. I know you do not crave glory, only freedom for yourselves and your children, but what we have done today is the noblest act that a man or a woman can perform. The debt for our hardships will be repaid a thousand times over by the people who will follow us. I thank you for what you have given today.”
I have heard great speeches before, given by great orators. The power of a voice can swell a man’s heart to bursting, making him feel that his individual action can have a significant effect on the whole, even when he might be one amongst a hundred thousand. Our lady’s words were not punctuated by a fist raised into the air, nor did her speech last for many minutes. There was nothing triumphant about what she said, but each person was given support and comfort by what they heard. I am prone to the occasional burst of enlightenment, and I realised that it was precisely because she was a woman that her words were so effective. Maybe the world had had enough of powerful men directing armies of men to kill other armies of men.
After a time, night fell and people drifted slowly away, back through the gates towards their homes. I later learned that the Mongrels had killed over a hundred people before they had been destroyed, so it came as little shock that people were in no hurry to return to their dwellings. Some parts of the civic machinery remained in operation and I watched in approval as gangs of organised men – carpenters and blacksmiths – did their best to restore the shattered gates. They were crudely patched up and new metal bands were riveted to the wooden surfaces, before others used a series of winches, pulleys and brute force to manoeuvre the battered gates onto hastily-repaired hinges. They wouldn’t stop a determined force from entering the city, but they were much better than having no gates at all.
I’d sent out my own scouts – Sprinter, Flight, Eyeball and Twist to find out where Warmont’s fleeing army had gone. I didn’t want them establishing a base in the buildings outside of the town’s walls. Building-to-building fighting could get thoroughly unpleasant if you had to prise out men determined to stay put.
My men returned, though Sprinter came back just in time before the repaired gates were swung shut. He found me in the company of our lady and the Treads Council at the town hall where we’d spoken to them just after our arrival. We were in a large room somewhere between an office and a meeting hall, with a large table and many chairs. Food had been brought – bread, cheese, meat and some wine – but I lacked an appetite, even after the exertions of the day. I sipped at a glass of wine as Sprinter made his report, unable to tell if what I was drinking was fine quality or sour.
“They’ve not stuck around, Captain. If any of them have hidden in the outskirts, it’s not enough to worry about. I looked in twenty buildings I reckon, and there was no one to be found.”
I nodded approvingly at his thoroughness. “Where’d they go to then?”
“That’s why I’m a bit late, Captain. I ran quite a few miles, but I had to keep hiding to stay out of sight. It seems like there’s a lot of them just running off wherever it is that takes their fancy. Most of them are heading to the south-east though. They’ve got a formation going as well, like someone’s decided to take charge and lead them.”
“Thank you, Sprinter. And thank you for your good work in the square today.”
“That’s all right, Captain. It’s what we’re here for.”
“Go back and drink your toast. I’ll be back later to do the same.”
Sprinter saluted and made his exit from our room. I turned my attention to the table, where someone had rolled out a map of the Duke’s lands. Even a cursory glance told me that it contained inaccuracies, reminding me that Warmont did not encourage learning. Even within his own domain, he allowed ignorance to flourish. The Emperor and his nobles were truly empty beings, ruling only for the sake of ruling and for whatever enjoyment they gained from having power over living creatures.
“If Warmont’s army flees south-east, then they are heading to Gold,” said our lady. “Gagnol the Blackhearted reached Treads far too quickly for him to have been sent all the way from Blades, so he must have been stationed there. Do we know why?”
I admired her incisive comments, but did not have an answer for her myself. The First Cohort was moved here and there around the map of Warmont’s lands and I wasn’t always told why.
“Rumours of insurrection in Gold reached us as far back as last year,” said Magister Rainshadow. He pointed at the town’s location on the map. “If you draw a line directly west from Gold, you cut through Septic and Bunsen on the coast. Perhaps the Duke’s troubles are more extensive than he hoped.”
“If insurrection becomes outright rebellion, it might easily spread across these three towns and then perhaps down the coast to Demox. It would cut off the northern quarter of Warmont’s lands,” said Magister Frost.
I studied the map as they talked. What they said made sense – Blades was a long way away and the Duke would not want to risk such a vast chunk of his lands taking up arms against him. Better to send a large force quickly in order that his message would be clearly heard. It was his bad luck that the men he’d sent hadn’t been enough to take Treads.
“Captain Charing?” asked our lady. “You know the Duke much better than any of us. What will his next steps be from here?”
“There is no person who knows the Duke, my lady. Maybe the Emperor does, though you can rule a man by fear without knowing what that man is thinking. Warmont will certainly know of his loss by now, and that Bonecruncher and Gagnol have been killed. If he doesn’t, it won’t be long before his journeys along the warp and the weft tell him what has happened. The Duke is full of cunning and every time I met him he surprised me with the extent of his knowledge about his lands – he guards them jealously.”
“Your point is taken, Captain Charing. Nevertheless, would you offer us an opinion?”
“Warmont keeps most of his troops in Blades, Furnace, Scar and Graster.” I pointed at these cities as I spoke their names. “The latter in particular has always been a problem for him and I suspect that it’s only the great wealth that the city’s commerce produces which stops him from burning it to the ground. Furnace is the closest city to Gold and the Duke may send his men from there to provide reinforcement, if he is sure that by doing so he won’t leave the city in revolt again. Scar is further away from Gold, but is loyal to the Duke. He may have men there he can send north.”
“Will he definitely send men to Gold?” our lady asked.
I shrugged. “He’ll definitely not allow Treads its freedom. The Emperor will be watching most carefully, I am sure.”
“We will take Gold before he reaches it,” she said calmly. “Send messengers to Farthest asking them to send men. Send others to Septic and Bunsen. Let the people of those cities know that the Saviour has won a great battle today and that I call them to my banner. We will gain a foothold here in the north before the Duke can prevent us.”
She had that look on her face that I knew meant she would not be dissuaded. It was probably not a risk I would have taken myself, but I would do as I was asked without fear or doubt.
“Captain Charing, you will take control of the Treads forces,” she said. Around the tables, mouths opened in surprise, mine being one of them.
“Saviour, the men will not follow the First Cohort!” protested Magister Scafe. “The hatred runs too deep.”
“They will follow,” our lady repeated. “Commander Wolf was killed today and Captain Charing is the only one amongst you with the experience to take over.”
>
It spoke volumes about how deeply their desire for the Saviour to lead them to freedom was ingrained, for no one offered any further protest about my unexpected appointment.
“My lady, should we wait for possible reinforcements from Farthest before we take to the field?” I asked.
“Can we afford to?” she asked.
“The town is almost two days to the north. I have been told that they do not have nearly as many men as Treads and we can’t assume that they will happily send them to us without the Saviour appearing directly amongst them to prove her existence.”
“I can’t spend four days on such a trip. Captain Charing, we will leave for Gold tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my lady,” I said.
Politics. Nothing embodies the threat to a soldier more than this word. As the captain of the First Cohort I knew I should have taken a greater interest in politics, but no matter how I tried, I gained no enjoyment listening to the plans of others, except where they directly pertained to my men. I left the room with some relief.
I knew that the next day would be an interesting one, but as I headed towards our warehouse barracks, I had other things on my mind. We’d lost a lot of men today – I knew them all and I knew them to be good soldiers, each irreplaceable in his own way.
When I reached our barracks, I saw the eyes of the men turned towards me expectantly and it was then that the numbness set in, as I realised that they really were gone and forever. These were men I’d spent countless hours marching with, fighting alongside and sharing reluctantly-divulged tales of love and loss around the camp fire. I already knew their names, had committed them to memory like a list of my own failings. I took a large mug of Grask, handed to me by Corporal Gloom and climbed onto a low crate against one of the walls.
I spoke the words the men needed to hear – that I needed to hear – my voice sounding distant as if spoken by a stranger. I didn’t eulogise them – we had no time for platitudes. I simply spoke the names of each in turn and added my blessing to each and thanked them for their service.
Soldiers' Redemption (First Cohort Book 1) Page 16
