by Gav Thorpe
Allenya twirled her goblet and watched the wine swirling inside, red reflected against the gold. Ullsaard had shared concerns over Anglhan's ultimate motives before he had left, and warned Allenya not to trust him. She knew she could not take what he was saying at face value, though he made a good point.
"You are right, of course," she said. "It is important to Ullsaard that he knows he has people he can trust here. I will consider what you have said."
Anglhan stood and gave a shallow bow.
"We have entrusted our lives to your husband's endeavours. It is in both our interests to see that he succeeds. If there is anything I can do, any service or comfort I can provide to make your time in Magilnada an easier ordeal, just let me know. I am, of course, your servant as well as the king's."
Allenya nodded but did not stand up.
"I will see you again when Ullsaard returns," she said. "Thank you for visiting."
When the governor had left, Allenya finished her wine. She had never thought she would miss Luia, especially her venomous attitude to Ullsaard and her flagrant disrespect, but at that moment she wished dearly that her sister was around. She had a mind for the sorts of games Anglhan was playing, while Allenya did not. She would be much better at keeping an eye on the governor.
Sighing, Allenya left the table and headed towards the bath chambers. Luia was not here; she would have to do the best she could to look after Ullsaard's interests. If that meant staying in this dismal city, that would be the price.
Free Country
Early Spring, 211th year of Askh
I
A pealing horn signalled the turning of Dawnwatch. Jutaar stayed in his bed, eyes closed, enjoying the privilege of his rank. It would be another hour before he had to get up, but nearly ten years in the legions meant that he could never get to sleep again after that wakening call. Sometimes he even still caught himself stirring at the change of Gravewatch, finding himself halfway out of bed before realising that it was no longer his duty.
Being First Captain was nothing like he had expected. He had been Third Captain for most of his life, a deputy leader to the bodyguard company of Governor Allon. He had been responsible for the kit and drill of one hundred-and-sixty men; the taskmaster that ordered the watch rotations; the oft-hidden force that ensured meals were on time, latrines were cleaned, foraging was undertaken, and patrols walked.
He had imagined that being First Captain was more of the same, in charge of companies rather than men, overseeing the human machine that was an Askhan legion. The reality had been far easier, yet somehow more disconcerting. He realised now that a First Captain only had work to do when things went wrong; while the Second and Third Captains were performing the duties, there was nothing for Jutaar's attention. He oversaw the punishments, signed the stores manifests, checked the paymaster's sums, but little else. He received his orders from his father, and his only job was to tell his subordinates to move the camp where it was needed. His legion, the First Magilnadan, had not yet been involved in a battle.
On this morning, he wondered at this inactivity. Both of the Magilnadan legions had been kept back in the Free Country. His father had explained that he wanted them fresh and ready if needed, but Jutaar was not convinced. He received news from the other legions and had heard that there had been setbacks. Some of the new legions, the ones raised earlier in the year by the nobles, had proven their inexperience, allowing themselves to be beaten by coalitions of Salphorian tribes. Surely, Jutaar reasoned to himself, an established commander like himself was better employed in the fighting, rather than overseeing a glorified garrison spread out over hundreds of miles of Free Country.
Jutaar knew that the supply route between Salphoria and Askhor was vital, but there was no threat to defend against. The Salphorian tribes of the Free Country lowlands had soon sworn allegiance to his father; any other attacks would have to come around or through the main Askhan advance.
As he did most mornings, Jutaar lay in his cot and wondered if today would be the day he received fresh orders; instructions to gather the legion together and march duskwards to join the proper campaign. It was a distant hope, but Jutaar knew that one day it would have to come true. As Ullsaard advanced, it was inevitable that the Magilnadans would have to move up into the space left behind to protect the rear. If Jutaar was lucky, there might even be a foolish Salphorian tribe or two to test his men against.
These thoughts, cogitations that occupied him every morning, were interrupted by the stamp of the sentries outside his pavilion. He jumped out of his cot and threw on a shirt. Belting his kilt around his waist, he strode into the main section of the tent just as the door flap was pulled back and a grubby-looking Salphor entered.
Jutaar knew Kubridias well, much to the First Captain's distaste. His bearskin furs stank and his poorly braided beard was always thick with dirt. The chieftain tucked his thumbs into his belt, his long and grubby fingernails fidgeting with the colourful wool weave of his trousers.
"I greeting you, First Captain," said Kubridias, in strained Askhan that made Jutaar want to wince. However, despite his efforts, the prince had failed to grasp all but the basics of Nerghian, the language of the lowland tribes.
Before Jutaar could reply, another man entered. He wore the red sash of a king's herald over his bronze breastplate. The First Captain's heart skipped a beat; the messenger's presence could only mean fresh orders.
Ignoring Kubridias, Jutaar took the letter offered by the bowing herald.
"Do you need to wait for a reply?" asked Jutaar as he pulled open the wax seal.
"No, prince," said the herald. "No reply is expected."
"Very well," said Jutaar, unfolding the parchment, eyes fixed on the revealed scrawl. "One of the sentries will guide you to the first company's mess."
"Thank you, prince," the messenger said with another bow.
Jutaar did not notice the man leave. He was intent on the letter he had brought. Reading slowly, he took in the usual platitudes and form that started all official orders. Other officers would have skipped over them, but Jutaar read every name and phrase, committing them to memory, keen not to miss any important detail. Eventually he came to the meat of the orders.
He was, by order of the king the letter claimed, to move his headquarters fifty miles to duskwards, to a town called Arondunda. The name was familiar, but Jutaar could not place it until he caught the whiff of flatulence from Kubridias; Arondunda was the chieftain's capital.
He read on, and then re-read to ensure he had understood everything. The First Magilnadan and Second Magilnadan legions were to join forces at Arondunda. They were to prepare a march camp and stand ready to launch an offensive campaign. It was, according to the letter, likely to be a temporary posting lasting only a few days before further instructions would be sent.
This is it, Jutaar thought. This is when we get involved in the conquest. He smiled to himself and read the letter again.
"You come with me, eh?" Kubridias said with a grin, spoiling the moment. "You see how good my town be."
"You know about my orders?" replied Jutaar, eyeing the chieftain suspiciously. "How could you know?"
"I get letter from big man in Magilnada," said the chieftain. "He tell me come here. Show you way to Arondunda."
"Governor Anglhan sent you?"
"That the one." Kubridias looked perplexed, as if Jutaar has overlooked something obvious.
The First Captain looked the chieftain up and down, and wondered what to do with him. Jutaar knew exactly where Arondunda was, he had no need of this ignorant Salphorian to show him the way.
"Get someone to take you to Second Captain Allas. He will look after you."
"No, not look after me," said Kubridias, shaking his head, the beads in his beard cracking together and slapping against his chest. "Anglhan say I stay with you. You prince, yes? I look after you."
"I do not need you to look after me," snapped Jutaar. Kubridias's frown deepened. Jutaar held up a hand in apolog
y. "I have a whole legion to look after me."
"Yes, big man say that," said Kubridias. "But not good here. Some tribes, not like you. I make them happy, yes? Got gold."
"You have gold?" said Jutaar, unsure where the conversation was heading. "Why do you have gold?"
"Pay chieftains, yes? Some chieftains not like me. They stupid. Chieftains not want gold from king, get spear in arse from you!"
Realisation slowly seeped into Jutaar's brain. It seemed a waste of money to bribe the Salphors when the legions could just as easily force them into line. Jutaar shrugged to himself; it was not his place to doubt his father's plans.
"Yes," Jutaar said with a sigh. "I will have a sharp spear ready, in case the other chieftains are not as smart as you."
II
The sun was still burning off the morning haze that surrounded the camp. It was a little past the third hour of Dawnwatch and the legionnaires had already dismantled a third of the camp in preparation for the day's march. According to the maps — and the unasked-for testimony of Kubridias — they would come to Arundonda late in the coming afternoon.
Most of the tents had been packed away already, the forges and kitchen fires quenched, the abadas harnessed to their carts and the kolubrid riders sent out on patrol. Everything was happening smoothly and quietly, a source of pride to the legion commander as he walked through the dwindling camp with his senior Second Captains; Luusin, Bariilin, Kasod and Daariun.
The four of them were tested officers, brought in by Jutaar's father from other legions to help him run the legion. To stiffen the resolve of the Magilnadans — a mixture of men descended from Salphors, Hillmen and Ersuans — the captains had brought their companies with them, forming a core of legionnaires that had fought across the empire and who Jutaar knew were loyal Askhans. Their presence served as an example to the other companies to live up to, and Jutaar, taking the advice of his father, had been forthright in his praise and reward of them in the hope that it would persuade the newer companies to come up to the level expected.
Legionnaires and Third Captains barely paid any heed to the officers in their midst as the captains made their way towards the main gate. Jutaar looked for anything out of place or badly done, and knew that his subordinates were doing the same. There was no cause for complaint; no poorly stacked supplies, no errant legionnaires slacking off, no discarded gear or slovenly behaviour.
"Have any of you seen… that filthy chieftain?" Jutaar asked his companions. He used the epithet rather than make a mangled attempt at pronouncing Kubridias's name, an issue that had caused the chieftain umbrage several times since coming to the camp.
"He left last night," said Kasod. "I think he's gone ahead to make sure there's a suitable welcome celebration for our arrival."
Jutaar grunted with displeasure.
"We are not here for feasting and drinking," said the First Captain. "There is no cause for celebrations yet. When my father stands in the hall of Carantathi we can break out the wine."
"Of course, prince," said Kasod. Jutaar detected an unusual surliness to the Second Captain's tone.
"You have something to say about the situation, Kasod?"
"Just a little frustration, prince," the captain replied. He looked at the others before continuing. "I speak for us all when I say we wish we had something more to do. Ever since the legion was raised, these men have done nothing except march to Maasra and back, and guard a few roads. I would be happier once we've seen them in proper action."
"I understand," said Jutaar. He smiled at the group. "I will let you into a small secret. Although Anglhan has given gold to that bestial man to bribe the other chieftains, it is my intent that we do not spend it. I am not happy about paying off tribesmen with gold that could be spent paying legionnaires and building towns. My standing order to the legion is to attack any Salphorian settlement we come across. If they want to surrender, we will give them the chance, but nothing more."
"A good decision, prince," said Daariun. "If word gets around that the chieftains can earn themselves some coin by playing hard to get, it will only make matters worse. I'm surprised Anglhan would be so generous, he's not usually that free with his money."
The group had reached the gatehouse, which was being quickly dismantled as they passed out of the camp. Clouds filled the sky and Jutaar could barely see half a mile in the pre-dawn gloom; the fog around the base of the hill swathed everything in grey. Sounds of shouted orders, axes, hammers and the jangle of abada harnesses emanated from the camp behind.
Jutaar stretched to ease the ache in his shoulders. After the previous day's full march he had been a mess of sore feet and cramped muscles, unfit from the long days of inactivity. He had longed for a hot bath, but the lack of lava fuel made such a thing impractical on the move.
"I reckon it's going to be a fine day," said Jutaar. "Once this cloud has been burned away, it'll be good marching weather."
"Campaigning in the spring, you can't beat it," said Bariilin. "Warm days, cool nights, dry ground underfoot."
"It'll be nice to get an early test of the men," said Kasod. "Drill is all good, but it's only proper battle that sorts out the best."
Jutaar cast a glance at Kasod, wondering if the captain's comment was somehow directed at him. Kasod was looking down the hillside, nonchalant with one hand on his sword hilt, the other on his hip. The prince said nothing, but knew that his ability to command was as untested as the fighting skills of the legion he led. He was under no delusion about his own talents; everything he knew about battle tactics he had learned from treatises or his father. He was also aware that he was not blessed with the active imagination and far-sighted vision of the truly great commanders.
Such deficiencies did not worry Jutaar too much; his father had assured him that winning a battle was more about doing things properly and efficiently than extravagant manoeuvres and wild plans. And, considering all things. Jutaar did not believe his father would put him in charge of the legion if the king did not think he was capable.
Knowing that he could lead an army on the field was one thing, showing it to his men was another. A victory, however gained, would be of benefit to everybody.
"Let us hope that some stupid warlord decides to make a stand," said the prince. "Nothing too dangerous; like a spar before a wrestling bout to get loosened up, work out the stiffness."
"There are half a dozen tribes within three days' march," said Luusin. "It would be easy enough to go and pick a fight with one of them."
"I would be all for it, captain, but those are not our orders," Jutaar replied with a sigh. "Not yet, at least. I hope that my father loosens the leash with new orders soon."
The group stood for a while in silence, each man enjoying the view and weighing the prospects of the future. A shout from a sentry patrolling outside the wall to their right broke the reverie. Looking to where the legionnaire was pointing through the thinning mist, Jutaar saw a lone outrider heading towards the camp at some speed, urging on his sluggish kolubrid.
In the clearing haze, the officers did not need the outrider to tell them what he had seen; a dark mass was coming into view across the crest of a ridge to hotwards, above the trail leading to Arondunda. Several thousand tribesmen were assembling on the hillside, no more than two miles away.
"It looks like our Salphorian allies have decided to join us," said Jutaar. He watched for a little longer. "Why are they stopping on the hill?"
"Why are they here at all?" said Kasod. "I don't think they are allies, prince."
Jutaar considered this. It seemed odd that the Salphors would attack now, when the legion had been camped only another day to dawnwards for the whole of the winter. On the other hand, there did seem to be quite a lot of them, several thousand at a rough guess; more than would be accounted for if Kubridias had brought just his own tribe.
"I'll have the men stand to arms," said Kasod, taking a step towards the gate.
"Yes, do that," said Jutaar, eyes on the expanding crowd of
warriors extending along the ridge. "Surely they realise I am not going to simply march down there and let them attack? And I do not think they are foolish enough to come at us. What are they hoping to gain?"
The Second Captains offered no suggestions as horns sounded around the camp. The legionnaires dropped what they were doing — literally in the case of those men pulling down the walls — and gathered in ranks behind their company icons. The clatter of a breaking camp was replaced by the drum of sandaled feet, the clatter of spears and shields and a general murmur of confusion and suspicion. Bellows from the sergeants and Third Captains silenced the rowdier soldiers and harangued the slowest. Kasod prowled amongst the companies, sword in hand, shouting orders to the other Second Captains.
Watching the Salphors, Jutaar confirmed that they were massing on the hill but coming no closer.
"Do you think they are waiting for something?" he said.
"It looks like it, but waiting for what?" said Luusin.
Jutaar headed back into the camp, assessing the situation. Half of the wall had been brought down already. To stay within would be more of a hindrance than a help.
"I find the Salphors' timing remarkable," said Luusin, trailing behind the prince with the others. "It seems more than coincidence that they turn up right when we're in the middle of breaking camp."
Jutaar said nothing, but the thought put in his mind by Luusin did not sit comfortably. The timing was too neat, and contrary to what he had learned in general about the Salphors from the reports of the other legion commanders; their warriors took considerable time to prepare for battle and were rarely ready to fight before mid-morning. Thinking along this line in his own plodding way, Jutaar added in the fact that there was obviously more than one tribe gathering on the ridge. Only rarely had the Salphors been able to put aside their traditional differences even in the face of the Askhan advance.
