by Steven Brust
Excitement, what there was of it, came in the form of raids from the enemy, usually directed at the supply trains that came along several miles behind us. We would hear about them because we’d suddenly be ordered to halt, we’d have to take battle positions, and then we’d wait, and then we’d be ordered back in line and we’d set off marching again.
Then, one day, we made a sharp turn, put our backs to the river, and headed toward the mountains. There began to be a feeling of urgency, or maybe purpose is a better word, but I’m not sure where it came from. It grew colder as we climbed still higher, and the Eastern Mountains loomed ever larger. One peak in particular seemed to be our destination; a very tall, reddish-looking mountain with, it appeared, nothing whatsoever growing on its side. One evening, before the light failed, we stopped a few miles away from it, and I saw just how steep it was; it seemed to rise straight up from the ground, its top lost in the overcast.
The funny thing was, I didn’t recognize it until the next day, when, after only a two-hour march we reached its foot, and Loiosh dived into my cloak with a psychic squeal, and then I looked around and said, “I’ll be damned.”
“Then don’t get killed,” said Virt. “But what is it this time?”
“I know where we are.”
“That’s good. Where are we?”
“That piece of rock,” I said, “is Baritt’s Tomb.”
She nodded and looked around the area: a few hills here and there, and off to the southwest a flat plain covered with rocks and low grass, then a tall hill beyond. I could suddenly imagine warriors on each of those hills, and others charging across the plain.
“Good ground for fighting,” she said.
13
SOLDIER’S STEW
Just a few short minutes before, the approaching battle had been terrifying. Now it was also loud. I felt this awful sense of urgency, that I should be doing something now, but I just stood there, and so did Fornia. It did accomplish one thing—which was to give myself time to think. What was Fornia accomplishing by doing nothing? Why was he letting me, an enemy, just stand there like that?
Was he delaying, too? If so, why? The only thing he could want was for the battle to close in on him, and what would that get him? I would have given whole worlds to know what he had in mind. I wished—
I did a quick check. Yes, indeed, there was a teleport block in place. But. Maybe.
Time. I needed time. I needed time to find out why Fornia needed time. Well, okay, so maybe he’d be willing to give it to me.
“What are you going to do when they get here?” I ventured.
“You’ll see,” he told me.
“Do you expect me to just wait here?”
“Do as you wish.”
“Kragar!”
“Vlad?”
“Kragar, I need Daymar. .Now.”
“Daymar?”
“Now.”
“Uh … how do I—?”
“I’ll give you my location, you pass it on to Daymar, and warn him there’s a teleport block up.”
“How can he get past a teleport block?”
“Damned if I know. But he said—”
“Yeah, he might at that. I take it this is urgent.”
“You might put it that way, yes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“hurry.”
Yeah, Daymar. He might be able to help me. I didn’t terribly enjoy calling on him; I hadn’t much enjoyed what he’d done last time we’d met. That had been … what? Two weeks ago? Less? Impossible. In that time I’d fought in three engagements, marched halfway around the world through rain, mud, and dust, and come to here, to this place: the Wall of Baritt’s Tomb.
There had been nothing, at first, to indicate that stopping there was any different from any of our other temporary halts, except for the obvious one that we had halted early in the day. But there was no rush to put up defenses, and no indications we’d been given a position we would be holding against an attack. I found out later that this was because the original plan had been for us to be part of a major attack against one side of Fornia’s army, but that this had changed when Sethra, at the last minute, had learned how Fornia had deployed his forces.
“Deployed.” That’s a military word. I learned it from Sethra. I’ll have to make sure to use it on Kragar sometime, just to see his reaction.
Virt and Aelburr scraped out a fire-pit while Napper and I pitched the tent. “No wood around here,” said Aelburr.
“So we freeze?” I said.
They ignored me. Virt said, “The wagons should be across in a couple of hours.”
I looked at Napper. “Coal,” he explained.
I felt stupid and didn’t say anything.
We went through the rituals of setting up camp, but I kept looking up at that mountain, the flat slab extending up until it became lost in the overcast. Occasionally the giant Jhereg would swoop down and Loiosh would dive into my cloak. The Wall had been dedicated to Baritt’s memory, and as long as it stood it would bring him to mind whenever it was seen or even mentioned. I thought back to meeting him. Would someone by now have mentioned the Wall? Would he care? It seemed a shame, not to mention ironic, for him not to know that there was a monument to his memory.
On the other hand, I hadn’t much liked him.
Three hours later we had a fire going and water heating. Aelburr made something called Soldier’s Stew, which involved crumbling a lot of biscuits into boiling water along with the rest of our rations, and molasses, and it should have been disgusting, but he added some basil, mushrooms, toeroot, and nutmeg that he’d picked up somewhere, and the thing was all right; we sang his praises the rest of the day.
We did picket duty early in the evening, and so were able to get a good night’s sleep, and the picket assignments indicated no enemy nearby. The next day some of the company drew out a squareball field, wrapped a bunch of rope around a rock to use as the ball, and played a good rousing game while the rest of us stood around and yelled encouragement and obscenities. The injuries weren’t nearly as bad as a full-scale battle would have been but were bad enough to get us yelled at by Crown and cursed by the company physicker. I did, however, resolve never to get into a fair fight with Dortmond. That was okay, I had no intention of ever having a fair fight with anyone. There was more S’yang Stones that night, and someone pulled out a reedpipe and a bunch of them sang bad songs off key, and Aelburr made more Soldier’s Stew.
At one point, I found Rascha, Virt, Dunn, and Aelburr standing looking out over the flat field nestled between the hills. “That’s where they’ll be,” Rascha was saying. “They’ll spread out between those hills, Dorian’s and Smoker’s, command both of them, and try to hold us off from there.”
“If we fight here,” said Aelburr.
“Well, yes,” said Rascha. “But the sergeant hasn’t given any indication that we’re going anywhere.”
“I think it’ll be here,” said Virt. “What I don’t understand is why we haven’t taken positions on those hills ourselves.”
“You’re the expert,” said Rascha. “What do you think?”
“I think the only thing that could keep the Captain’s grubby paws off those hills is orders from above.”
“Good thinking,” said Rascha.
“You’ve heard that?” put in Dunn. “We’ve had specific orders about them?”
“Only a rumor, but that’s what I’ve heard.”
“But why?”
Rascha looked at Virt and gave a bow. Virt said, “To entice an attack. Same reason we haven’t built up any defenses. Sethra wants them to attack us, and she’s making it as attractive as possible.”
I said, “Will they fall for it?”
“It isn’t a matter of falling for it,” said Virt. “They’ll know how we’re laid out. If we’re offering battle on favorable terms, they’ll take it.”
“But then they wouldn’t be favorable terms for us.”
“It isn’t that simple,�
�� said Virt.
“Then don’t try to explain it to me,” I said. I wandered away. It was too pleasant a day to think about fighting. There was a breeze whipping south along the mountain that brought cool air, but it wasn’t yet cold, and it was dry, and not even terribly dusty. I came upon Dortmond, who was sitting back in his chair, feet stretched out, smoking a pipe. He opened one eye and said, “Well, it’s the Easterner who fights like a Dragon. Wine?”
“Sure.”
He pulled a beautifully carved wooden goblet from a canvas bag at his feet, filled it from a bottle next to his hand, and passed it to me. I tasted it. It wasn’t wine, it was brandy; even better as far as I was concerned.
“To the soldier’s life,” he said.
I didn’t care to drink to that, but I did care to drink, so I raised my glass and swallowed.
“How did you get this stuff?”
“The victualer is a friend of mine, and a few of the provisioners owe me some favors, and there’s always a little spare room in some of the supply wagons.”
I drank the brandy. Loiosh, who had been flying about collecting scraps of food, found me and landed on my shoulder. Dortmond eyed him. I said, “Do you believe he’s good luck, too?”
“Sure. Why not? We’ve had good luck during the whole campaign, haven’t we?”
“Have we?”
“Well, are you alive?”
“Haven’t checked lately.”
He refrained from the obvious wisecracks and poured me more brandy, still calling it “wine.” He said, “I think the campaign has been pretty lucky, all in all.” He reached into the canvas bag once more, removed a loaf of bread and a large chunk of cheese. He broke off some of each and passed them over to me. It was a smokey meiren cheese, very sharp and good. The bread was stale but not moldy, and much, much better than biscuit. He broke off some more cheese, held it up, and Loiosh flew over and took it from him in one claw, holding it almost delicately while feeding himself. I watched him eat: nibble, chew, swallow, wipe mouth on wing. He was rather more civilized than I.
“Luck,” said Dortmond.
“I feel sick, Loiosh.”
“Good cheese, Boss.”
I said, “So tell me, what are you going to do after the campaign is over?”
“Me?” said Dortmond. “I’m going to go fight another one.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“Because,” he said, “I like it.”
“You’re not looking for promotion?”
“No. I like it where I am.”
“And if you get knocked on the head in one of these battles?”
He closed one eye, tilted his head, and said, “You’re a cheerful son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“Just curious.”
He shrugged. “All right. Well, you have to die sometime.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. It doesn’t strike me as a good reason to rush into it.”
“Have some more cheese.”
I did. A little later a woman I didn’t know came over and joined us. He gave her some cheese and brandy; I took the hint and made myself scarce. Back by our own tent I met Napper, who scowled, I suppose just on principle, and said, “Are we going on any more of your expeditions?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Hey, Napper.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?”
“What, the war? Why, do you know?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“What, then?”
“Fornia stole something Morrolan wanted.”
“Oh. Seems reasonable. We should go steal it back.”
“I doubt it will be that simple.”
“You’re probably right.” I thought, but didn’t say, Besides, that would end the war, and you’d hate that. Then I thought, Yeah, it would end the war. Maybe I should do that.
“Sure, Boss. It’ll be easy.”
“Well, but it might be possible.”
“How?”
“If we get to a decisive battle, Fornia will be there, and if Fornia is there, the sword will be there.” .
“Sure, just walk up and take it.”
“I don’t know, Loiosh. Maybe—”
“Maybe you’ll get yourself killed, Boss.”
“Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
“Heh.”
“And it’ll probably be safer than standing to battle.”
I had him on that one; he shut up.
We were joined by Dunn, Tibbs, Virt, Aelburr, and Rascha, and the bunch of us sat around and I listened as they told stories, most of them funny and not terribly complimentary toward officers, about various campaigns they’d been on. Rascha announced light picket duty again, which I went off and did, then I went to bed once more.
It was one of the most pleasant days I’ve ever had.
The next morning we watched as a cavalry troop rode in and set up camp near ours, and, shortly thereafter, we saw the movement of more of our infantry. I recognized Aliera riding a light-colored, spotted horse alongside the infantry column; I wondered if she knew how much those who marched beside her hated the dust she was kicking up. They made camp to the west of us.
Things changed with the new arrivals. Nothing drastic, yet it was unmistakable. There was a bit more snap to everyone’s motion, and a little more saluting here and there, as if to look good in front of the conscripts. There was no fraternizing between corps, either.
Late in the afternoon, word spread through the camp that Sethra Lavode had arrived; Aelburr claimed to have seen her. Shortly after the evening “meal” a young-looking Dragonlord I didn’t recognize arrived at our tent and said I was to follow him. Virt shot me a look. I shrugged, collected Loiosh from one of his scavenging expeditions, and followed.
We went through the camp and into the camp of the conscripts. I tried to spot the differences between their camp and ours, but there just wasn’t all that much; except, of course, that these were mostly Teckla rather than Dragons and there were certainly a great many more of them. But they had the same sort of campstools we were using, and the bits of conversation I caught seemed about the same, the expressions on their faces were no different from those in our camp. Make of that what you will.
At the far edge was a large pavilion tent, and it was to there my nameless escort directed me. I clapped and heard Sethra’s voice telling me to enter. I did and was directed to a chair between Morrolan and Aliera—not a terribly comfortable position, by the way—with Sethra and the Necromancer sitting across from me. I had obviously interrupted some sort of discussion: Aliera had a look as if she were about to froth and spit; Sethra’s brow was furrowed; and Morrolan kept making glances at his cousin as if she were an unidentified creature that had appeared in his soup. The Necromancer seemed only barely present; I wondered where her thoughts were while suspecting I was glad not to know.
“Well, Vlad,” said Morrolan after I was sitting and drinking bad wine. “How are you enjoying the life of a soldier?”
I shrugged. “Loiosh likes it more than I do.”
“I’ve heard,” said Morrolan, “that he has been adopted by your company as mascot.”
“Yeah. He’s insufferably smug about it.”
“Hey now, Boss. That’s not fair.”
“Truth isn’t, Loiosh.”
Sethra said, “You’ve done some good work, I am told.”
“Sure,” I said. “For what it’s worth.”
“I think it was worth something,” said Morrolan.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I don’t have enough of an idea of how our little company fits in with everything else that’s been happening.”
“You saved some lives in your company,” said Morrolan.
“Okay,” I said. “But none of those battles were decisive.”
“The next one will be,” said Sethra.
I digested that. “You’re ready, then?”
>
“I hope so,” said Sethra. “But, more important, Fornia is. He has to make a stand somewhere, and this location has symbolic importance. He won’t be able to pass it up.”
“Symbolic importance,” I repeated.
Sethra gave me a half smile. “Don’t start,” she said. “It also has a great deal of strategic importance; as far as he can tell, we’re backed up against the mountain, and—”
“As far as he can tell?”
“We have lines of retreat, Vlad. Northward. Let me worry about that part of it.”
“Sorry.”
“In any case, this will be a good place for him to win a battle. He’ll fight here. He has to. From here, I can push straight into the heart of his realm. Besides, if he can hold us for a few days, he has another division coming up.”
“He does?”
“He sent his third division all the way around the other side of Chengri to cut me off from my base of supplies.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Well, if we’re stuck here for three or four days it won’t be good. You’ll start getting hungry. But I don’t plan on being stuck that long; I plan on pushing through him while I have the advantage of numbers. He knows that. He’ll fight here.”
“I believe you,” I said. “What exactly do you want of me?”
“What we want,” said Morrolan, “or, rather, what I want, is exactly what you said you wouldn’t do, way back when this all started. I want you to get that sword from Fornia.”
“Funny about that,” I said. “I’d just been thinking the same thing.”
“I still don’t like it,” said Aliera, evidently continuing a discussion I’d missed the beginning of. “If we’re going to do that, why not go all the way? Hire a thief and just be done with it.”
“For one thing,” said Sethra, “we don’t know any thieves.”
